Current
When you've spent the best part of three days dedicated to creating a new character and then suddenly having nothing to do..
4
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4 mos ago
IN WAAAAAAVES.. You made me miss Trivium..
2
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4 mos ago
Another day refreshing RPG waiting for responses so I can get my RP fix..
13
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5 mos ago
Anyone fancy doing a 1x1? I'm down for pretty much anything but I need an RP fix before the twitching comes back
5 mos ago
Sat here waiting for replies on several things and just.. AGH, I want more RP!
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Bio
A R C H A Z E N 32 | M | UK
My name is Archazen but, considering you are on my page, I'm sure you already knew that. Feel free to call me Archie, if you like. I am a long time role-player of many years, roughly 15 years as of writing this, and I am open to RPing just about anything. I have experience primarily with fantasy but I have also done Sci-fi, Horror, romance, slice of life, supernatural, etc, etc.
I will be uploading my RP requests as well as Bios of my OCs below please feel free to check them out and to PM if you have any interest in any of them.
I will primarily be roleplaying on my working days, my job has a lot of down time and my home life is hectic enough without trying to find time for roleplay. If I'm silent for a while, I'll let you know in advance if I can so I'd expect the same courtesy.
Name: Jet Korrin True Name / Alias: Tech, Ratchet, Junker, tinker.. the list goes on. Faction: Ex-republic Mechanic Rank: Master Technician Species: Human (Coruscanti) Age: 54 Sex: Male Height: 6'4ft Eyes: brown Physique: Sturdy and robust physique // combines strength with practicality // His frame reflects the weariness of a seasoned mechanic who has spent countless hours hunched over starship consoles, yet his movements remain agile. Hair: brown, graying hair // low bun Skin: Originally Fair skin tone // bears the wear and tear of life spent tinkering // Bronzed from years under harsh suns Force Sensitive: Unlikely.
NPC: Alright, listen up. Rexa Voss—codename “Whisper.” She was more than just a partner; we danced through the stars together. Brave as a comet dodging asteroids, she earned a Republic Commendation for her gutsy moves during Operation Nebula Serpent. But the galaxy’s a cruel place, and it took her away. Deceased. Damn shame.
Now, Lena Talon—she preferred “Nova.” My apprentice, my right hand. We tinkered with hyperdrives, patched hull breaches, and shared stories over greasy caf. But fate’s a twisted navigator. Lena’s gone too, marked as deceased. She was family, and the void feels colder without her.
STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES:
Mechanical genius. Got this knack for machinery—can disassemble and diagnose complex systems like it’s a walk in the asteroid field. Ain’t just about fixin’ isolated problems, though. I take a whole-damn-ship approach. When scarcity hits, my creativity kicks in—I rig solutions with whatever’s lyin’ around. Starship schematics? Manuals? They etch themselves into my brain, like a tattoo on a spacefaring outlaw. I can visualize intricate designs, recall wiring diagrams, and dance with system interplay. It’s like I’m plugged into the cosmic mainframe. So whether it’s a Corellian freighter or an Imperial TIE fighter, I’m the mechanic who ain’t just fixin’ engines—I’m rewiring fate itself.
Resilience, kid. It’s the only currency that matters out in the outer rim. Lost my share of folks. But you don’t survive this underworld by wearin’ your heart on your sleeve. Danger? Hell, it’s my workshop soundtrack—the hum of fusion cutters, the sizzle of repulsorlifts. See that flickering neon sign? It’s where I’m fixin’ up a stolen landspeeder, no questions asked. No roots, no sentimental attachments. Just me and the junkyard vibes. People? They’re like malfunctioning droids—wired wrong, glitchin’ at the seams. Nah, I ain’t a loner; I’m a grease monkey with a knack for jury-riggin’. The stars? They’re the neon signs reflected in oily puddles. Stoicism ain’t cold; it’s survival. Each scar’s a story—blaster burns, electroshock mishaps. Lost love, lost credits. But I keep wrenchin’, keep tweakin’. So, kid, remember: Resilience ain’t about fixin’ shiny starships. It’s about cobblin’ together rusty speeders and stayin’ one step ahead of the Hutts.
Stubborn? Well, kid, let me tell ya. Yeah, I ain’t one to back down, even when the stars themselves seem to be conspirin’ against me. You see, life’s dealt me a hand full of busted hyperdrive coils and malfunctionin’ blasters. But I keep flyin’, keep fixin’. It’s like this: when the galaxy throws a curveball, I swing harder. Maybe it’s pride, maybe it’s just the way I’m wired. But that refusal to yield? It’s both my strength and my curse. So, kid, remember this—sometimes, the toughest battles ain’t in the stars; they’re right here, in your gut. And that stubbornness? It’ll either save your hide or send you spiralin’ into a black hole. Choose wisely.
APPEARANCE:
Jet’s face bears the marks of countless orbits around suns and moons. His skin, bronzed by space’s unforgiving rays, holds the memory of star maps traced with fingertips. Crow’s feet fan from the corners of his eyes—constellations of laughter, worry, and the weight of unspoken burdens. His eyes—deep and unyielding. They’ve witnessed hyperspace jumps and smuggler’s deals, betrayal and fleeting alliances. When Jet gazes at you, it’s like staring into the heart of a black hole—an event horizon where secrets collide. His jawline—square and resolute—speaks of resolve. It’s the anchor that keeps him grounded amidst the chaos of starports and cantinas. Scars, like asteroid impacts, trace the contours of his chin—a testament to battles fought and debts unpaid. Jet’s mouth—often a thin line—holds the echoes of lost comrades and unanswered questions. It’s the gateway to stories told over glasses of Corellian whiskey. When he smiles, it’s like a distant nebula flickering—a rare burst of warmth against the cosmic chill.
Jet’s frame is solid, built for the gritty underbelly of the galaxy. His shoulders—broad as a smuggler’s cargo hold—carry the weight of starship repairs and underworld secrets. Each muscle, honed by countless hours wrenching hyperdrive cores and recalibrating blasters, tells a story of survival. His arms—sinewy and scarred—are tools in themselves. The left, cybernetic and matte black, is a relic from his days in the replublic. It’s not just for show; it’s a fusion of strength and utility. When he grips a blaster, it’s like a wookiee’s embrace—firm but not crushing. His spine, slightly curved from years hunched over starship consoles, echoes the curvature of hyperspace routes. It’s a weariness etched into bone—the weight of lost comrades, unpaid debts, and unanswered questions. Despite weariness, Jet’s movements remain agile. He sidesteps danger like a nimble astromech evading blaster fire. When he pivots, it’s like a starfighter banking into a tight turn—graceful yet ready to unleash firepower. His boots—scuffed from countless cantina brawls—keep rhythm with the seedy undercurrents of the galaxy.
BIOGRAPHY:
Jet Korrin, a man of his years, a culmination of firefights, fist fights, spark lights, and long nights. A well-respected mechanic during his time with the republic turned back-alley tech for the many criminals, syndicates, and cartels. He's not to be messed with, and the common suspects in Nar Shaddaar know it. He wouldn't say he was "under their protection" more that everyone relies on him being there, in some way or another.
He generally keeps to himself, he shares a laugh in the cantina after a long day, sure, but making long-lasting relationships isn't for him, not anymore. He keeps his head down, day in, day out, working on whatever work seems to come his way. His resilience has managed to keep him going in a galaxy that seems to only ever to have the worst planned. His name known throughout both the shady underbelly of civilisation as well as spoken in high-regard through republic channels, whether it's getting a job done perfectly or done cheap and quiet-like, he's the man for the job.
His history before his republic days was nothing special, raised to a middle class family on Coruscant, he went to good schools and got himself a good education, he shined with mechanics much to the distain of his family, it being a working class job and all, but he liked it. He signed to the military at 16, getting himself off world and his parents off his back for good. He liked the military, a steady work style, known expectations and access to all the starships he could get his grubby hands on. He started out as any recruit does, with a blaster strapped and armour-clad but soon showed his worth to the engineers, getting a quick shift into the mechanic core by the time he was 17.
Still, Jet misses the adventure that his life used to possess, stalling out in his workshop getting tiresome, he was soon looking for his next stage, him being unaware of just how hectic that would be wasn't a problem, it wouldn't have stopped him regardless.
”“In the shadow of my curse, I found strength. What’s a hero without a burden to bear?””
Kael Thorn grew up in the small town of Willow Springs, nestled among the rolling hills of upstate New York. The town was picturesque, with its quaint houses, winding streets, and a sense of quiet isolation. Kael’s childhood was marked by lazy summers spent exploring the nearby woods, riding his bike down dusty trails, and occasionally getting into minor mischief with his best friend, Jake.
His parents, both hardworking but unremarkable, ran a small antique shop on Main Street. The shop was filled with desiccated relics of the past—old typewriters, tarnished silverware, and faded photographs. Kael often helped out after school, dusting off forgotten treasures and listening to the stories behind them: his fascination with history and mystery began there, amidst the creaky floorboards and the scent of old leather-bound books.
School was a different story: Kael’s grades were lackluster, and he rarely felt motivated to excel. He daydreamed during math class, doodling dragons and knights in the margins of his notebook. Detention became a familiar place for him, whether due to tardiness, missed assignments, or simply zoning out during lectures. His teachers saw potential in him if they spent the effort to look, but Kael preferred the escape of fantasy novels and late-night video game sessions.
His attire matched his rebellious spirit. Black combat boots, baggy jeans, and a faded band t-shirt were his daily uniform. A red flannel shirt, worn open, completed the grunge look. His shaggy brown hair fell into his eyes, and he rarely bothered to comb it. Kael wasn’t interested in conforming; he wanted life to surprise him, to unfold like an epic quest with unexpected twists.
Kael’s hobbies reflected his inner world. Video games transported him to realms of magic and adventure, where he could be a hero battling dark forces. Anime introduced him to complex characters and intricate plots, and he’d binge-watch entire series during weekends. Dungeons & Dragons sessions with Jake and a few other misfit friends allowed Kael to step into different personas—a rogue thief, a brooding sorcerer, or a noble knight.
But perhaps Kael’s most intriguing pastime was exploring abandoned buildings. Willow Springs had its share of forgotten places—an old mill, a crumbling mansion, and an eerie asylum. Armed with a flashlight and a sense of curiosity, Kael would slip through broken windows, feeling the chill of decay and the weight of history. These places whispered secrets—the laughter of forgotten parties, the cries of patients, the echoes of lives left behind.
As for friends, Kael didn’t have many. Jake was his steadfast companion, sharing Kael’s love for the mysterious and the inexplicable. They’d swap ghost stories by the campfire, daring each other to venture deeper into the woods. But beyond Jake, Kael kept his distance: social interactions felt like a chore, and he preferred the solitude of his room, surrounded by stacks of fantasy novels and half-finished sketches.
One fateful day, Kael ventured into the abandoned soda factory. Its metal skeletons loomed against the sky, rusted and forgotten. As he stepped onto an overhead walkway, his footing gave way. He plummeted, wind rushing past, and then—darkness.
When he awoke, he was no longer in Willow Springs. The air pollution that permeated his lungs, replaced with fresh air and the smell of pine filled his senses. Where once was cement beneath his boots now lay soft, delicate earth. Those who greeted him, spoke of prophecies and ‘Reincarnates.’ Kael’s mundane life was wholly shattered, replaced by a destiny he couldn’t comprehend, or so he thought.
Kael’s search for purpose in this new, more interesting world led him through the hallowed halls of paladins and the arcane chambers of magi. He tried to fit into their ranks, to prove himself worthy, but the universe remained indifferent: he wasn’t special enough for their grand designs. Disheartened and taken from his familiar world, he clung to old habits—the thrill of exploring abandoned places, where echoes of forgotten lives whispered in the shadows.
One crisp autumn day, Kael stumbled upon ruins that seemed to resonate with his very soul. The stones hummed with ancient energy, and he felt an innate pull—a destiny carved into the moss-covered stones. He ventured inside, brushing aside cobwebs, and there, half-buried beneath rubble, lay a weapon unlike any other.
The dagger, its features scratched and vague lingered beneath his gaze, its blade stained with dirt and ash and yet still mustered the will to shimmer… replete with forgotten potential. As Kael reached for the implement, he heard a voice—a droning, otherworldly thrum that echoed deep within his mind. It spoke with authority, offset with a measured softness, as if the weapon itself held ancient wisdom upon an open palm.
“I am Nihilus,” the voice intoned. “Born before this world began. Bond with me, Mortal, and become more than you could ever be. More than you could ever wish to be. Both the paladins and the Magi will regret not helping to manifest your potential.”
The plethora of thoughts ricocheting around in his mind were intoxicating. Kael scarcely hesitated, fingers trembling as they touched the dagger’s hilt. Memories surged—a recollection of battles fought, of destruction under a blood-stained moon, and the taste of both victory and despair. Nihilus had a soul—a Demon's soul, imprisoned within the blade.
And thus, he was bound to it, as any paladin would be with their weapon. But this bond was different: Nihilus hungered—for chaos, for spilled blood, for dominion over realms. It whispered dark secrets—how to command the arcane, how to rend flesh, how to reshape the world. Kael’s mind blurred—the line between self and weapon fading. He became a vessel for Nihilus, it’s pawn.
Personality:
Kael’s curious mind, once a beacon of exploration, has been stripped of its innocence. No longer does he seek the thrill of adventure; instead, he hungers for control. The latent power within him pulses, demanding recognition. It’s a double-edged sword—a gift and a curse.
From a carefree boy, content with the simplicity of life, Kael has metamorphosed into a man burdened by the weight of his choices. Fear gnaws at him, and regret tugs at his heart. He knows he must act, for his actions ripple outward. He cannot be the reason for another’s evil.
And so, with determination, he walks the tightrope. He will wield his newfound “power,” but not recklessly. It must serve a greater purpose—a force for good. For Kael, redemption lies in the delicate balance between purpose and fear, between creation and destruction.
Appearance:
Kael stands at an average height, lean but sinewy. His frame suggests agility rather than brute strength. His eyes are a striking shade of deep blue, often reflecting determination and curiosity. His once shaggy brown hair now falls in a tousled cascade. Kael wears practical attire—a tunic of earth-toned fabric, reinforced with leather patches. His trousers are sturdy, allowing freedom of movement. Around his waist, a leather belt adorned with pouches for whatever he may need. Leather boots, worn but well-crafted, protect his feet from thorns and rocky terrain. Draped over his shoulders is a cloak of midnight blue, its fabric whisper-soft. The hood conceals his features when needed, casting shadows across his face.
Powers/Abilities:
Kael has a very basic access to Magic due to his bond with his cursed weapon, this has allowed him to access his own affinity as well as that of Ty’Kyran’s.
Airblast (Air Sorcery)
Medium: Somatic
placing both wrists together with his hands outstretched, Kael can summon varying degrees of airblasts.
Fireball (Fire Sorcey)
Medium: Somatic
By focusing on the fire affinity cursed upon him, Kael can summon a ball of fire within his hand.
Lightning Bolt (Lightning Compound Sorcery)
Medium: Somatic
Reaching his hand out in a straight line and focusing allows Kael to mix Air and Fire to create a forceful lightning bolt from his fingertips.
Weapon:
Kael’s cursed connection to his weapon has bonded his and Ty’Kyran’s souls. At will, Kael can activate their symbiosis which merges their physical beings.
0% Symbiosis (Kael Dominant): Kael retains full control. His actions are independent, guided solely by his desires. 25% Symbiosis: Kael begins to feel Ty’Kyran’s presence—a subtle influence on his thoughts and emotions. 50% Symbiosis: The balance shifts. Kael’s autonomy wavers, and Ty’Kyran’s desires seep into his consciousness. 75% Symbiosis: Ty’Kyran’s rage and cunning surge. Kael struggles to resist, but their minds blur together. 100% Symbiosis (Ty’Kyran Dominant): Ty’Kyran takes over, wielding Kael’s body as his vessel. Kael’s willpower is the last defense against complete possession.
Symbiosis changes several things as the level increases, allowing Kael additional availability to Ty’Kyran’s mana pool as well as his demonic strength, agility, and abilities and the exchange of his own autonomy. His own will is the deciding factor for how much he resists Ty’Kyran’s possession.
When merged with Ty’Kyran, Kael’s personality may shift. His normally cautious demeanor might become more daring, fueled by Ty’Kyran’s desire for destruction.
Physically, Kael's body goes through changes as the symbiosis increases. At low symbiosis levels, the changes are almost superficial, his muscles may bulge, his teeth grow sharp etc. Whereas at high levels, Kael would grow Ty’Kyran’s horns, his eyes would turn from calm blue to the Fiery hue of Ty’Kyran’s.
0% Symbiosis (Kael Dominant): Appearance: Kael appears entirely human. His eyes are a calm shade of blue. No visible alterations—just an ordinary young man. Internal Sensations: Kael feels no different from his usual self. Ty’Kyran’s presence is a distant echo. 25% Symbiosis: Appearance: Subtle shifts begin: His eyes occasionally flicker with a fiery glint. Veins beneath his skin pulse faintly. A hint of Ty’Kyran’s aura surrounds him. Internal Sensations: Kael experiences fleeting bursts of aggression or recklessness. His thoughts sometimes echo Ty’Kyran’s desires. 50% Symbiosis: Appearance: The changes become more pronounced: Horns emerge from Kael’s forehead, curving back like a ram’s. His eyes now hold a dual hue—blue and fiery orange. Tattoos resembling ancient runes appear on his arms. His muscles ripple with newfound strength. Internal Sensations: Kael battles conflicting impulses—his will against Ty’Kyran’s. Dreams blur memories of battles long past. 75% Symbiosis: Appearance: The horns grow longer, twisting like serpents. Kael’s skin toughens, resisting minor cuts. His teeth sharpen subtly. His eyes blaze with Ty’Kyran’s rage. Internal Sensations: Kael’s autonomy wavers. Ty’Kyran’s voice whispers in his mind. The urge to destroy battles his desire to protect. 100% Symbiosis (Ty’Kyran Dominant): Appearance: His skin takes on a faint, otherworldly glow. Claws extend from his fingertips. His entire presence radiates menace. Internal Sensations: Kael fights to retain fragments of self-awareness. Ty’Kyran’s memories flood his consciousness.
Due to the Infernal origins of the weapon, it allowed Kael access to deeper levels of magic that he would be attuned to by himself, his spells becoming infernally empowered, well beyond what his abilities should allow.
For example, fireballs that should have been the size of a dodgeball blaze hotter, larger, and able to melt through stone. Airblasts become sharp cutting winds, and lightning bolts become uncontrollable like a storm.
To access this power, Kael must choose it, wielding the dagger. It comes with the risk of Ty’Kyran becoming more influential, furthering his symbiosis beyond his will.
“I am oblivion—the void that swallows empires, the echo of annihilation.”
Age: Unknown
Type: Cambion Demon
Rank: Mythril
Appearance:
Ty’Kyran’s eyes, twin orbs of seething intensity, mirrored the dying embers of distant stars. Within those crimson irises, the fury of collapsing galaxies churned—a testament to battles waged in the realms far beyond mortal time.
His skin, taut and unyielding, bore the hue of a sun nearing its final breath. The crimson expanse clung to the contours of muscle and bone, a testament to both resilience and vulnerability. Each scar etched upon his flesh told a story—a saga of skirmishes, of forces clashing in demonic arenas.
Ty’Kyran’s physique defied easy categorization. Slender, yet muscular, he moved with a grace that belied the raw power simmering beneath the surface. His muscles held strength in check—an energy harnessed, waiting for release.
Backstory:
In the time prior to humanity's kingdoms, when Demons ruled the land of what is now Harvess, Ty’Kyran was already feared even among his own kin. Here, blood flowed like molten glass. Ages passed, malevolence simmered, steeped in the primordial chaos.
In this realm Ty’Kyran’s shadow fell. Mortals glimpsed him—a silhouette against the rising sun—and felt the tremors of destiny. They knew not his name but sensed his purpose: annihilation.
Ty’Kyran’s crimson eyes held no remorse. His wings, infernal tempests, swept across villages, toppling spires and extinguishing hearth fires. His greatsword, an extension of his wrath, cleaved through ancient oaks and castle walls alike. Each swing unraveled the delicate threads that bound their reality. As Ty’Kyran roamed, they quivered. Mortals felt the weight of impending doom—their dreams haunted by visions of fractured worlds. A canvas for Ty’Kyran’s malevolence, each stroke tearing at the seams. His greatsword relished their souls, its blade etched with blood. The land bore scars—crops withered, rivers choked, and stones cracked. Ty’Kyran reveled in the symphony of destruction, each note resonating with his malevolent laughter.
The first paladins clashed with Ty’Kyran. Seraphina, their stalwart leader, driven by hope, struck at Ty’Kyran’s heart, only to meet his blade in her fall. As Ty’Kyran fell, Seraphina sacrificed her remaining lifeforce to seal Ty’Kyran within the very weapon he wielded, binding him to its malevolent power.
The paladins buried the greatsword deep within a sacred grove, where ancient oaks stood sentinel. Over centuries, the blade’s malevolence waned. Its once imposing form dwindled, until it resembled a mere dagger—a relic forgotten by all but the oldest trees.
And so, Ty’Kyran slumbered within the blade, his consciousness flickering in the dark. The dagger lay undisturbed, waiting for a time when destiny would stir it awake once more. Perhaps a curious adventurer would stumble upon it, unaware of the Demon’s legacy.
In the fiery depths of Ty’Kyran’s malevolent realm, where the screams of tormented souls echo through sulfurous caverns, Nihilus took shape–an embodiment of destruction forged within the infernal warforges.
The blade of Nihilus is wrought from infernal iron, a malefic substance that defies the laws of mortal craftsmanship. Its form remains unyielding–a straight line devoid of taper, culminating in a wickedly sharp point. This blade is no mere weapon; it is a manifestation of Ty’Kyran’s wrath, honed to cleave through armor, bone, and spirit alike.
Lifting Nihilus seems like an act of defiance against the very laws of reality. Mortal hands would strain under its weight, for the infernal iron has rendered it too heavy for ordinary men and women. As if the earth itself conspires against those who dare to wield it, the ground trembles beneath their feet, urging them to relinquish their grasp.
Wrapped in obsidian-black leather, the hilt provides a stark contrast to the blade’s malevolence. The crossguard serves as a macabre ornament–a testament to the blade’s otherworldly origins.
Nihilus transcends mere utility.. It is Ty’Kyran’s proclamation etched in fire and iron–a symbol of devastation and reckoning. The insatiable hunger for domination that drives him.
As the power of Ty’Kyran waned, the greatsword form couldn’t be maintained. The once-glorious blade faltered, its form shifting and shrinking until it resembled a mere dagger. No longer capable of maintaining its grandeur, the greatsword surrendered to the inexorable pull of time.
The dagger, beneath the dust and ash, is a brilliant iron. the dagger feels deceptively heavy in hand. Its weight belies its seemingly unassuming appearance.The blade, straight and unadorned, lacks ostentation. No intricate patterns or embellishments distract from its purpose. The hilt, wrapped in a small leather cord, bears no gemstones or engravings. Simplicity masks its true significance. When gripped, the leather feels worn, as if it was eons old. The blade’s surface, when exposed to certain light, emits an eerie black glow—an otherworldly luminescence that defies explanation.
As the symbiosis increases and Ty’Kyrans power is allowed to take over, the weapon too grows. Kael is seen to wield a dagger but as the symbiosis grows, it would become a shortsword, an arming sword, a bastard sword, a longsword and finally into the greatsword Ty’Kyran once wielded.
Dagger (0% Symbiosis): Kael wields a simple dagger, its blade unremarkable and compact. The weapon serves as a tool rather than a formidable weapon. Shortsword (25% Symbiosis): As Kael activates symbiosis, the dagger begins to change: The blade elongates, edges sharpening. Intricate runes appear along the hilt, pulsing with energy. The weapon gains weight, becoming more substantial. Kael feels the surge of Ty’Kyran’s power, and the weapon responds. Arming Sword (50% Symbiosis): The transformation continues: The blade grows further, balanced and deadly. The runes glow brighter, resonating with ancient magic. Kael’s grip adjusts to accommodate the weapon’s new form. Ty’Kyran’s essence seeps into the steel. Bastard Sword (75% Symbiosis): The weapon becomes formidable: Its length rivals that of a longsword. Etchings on the blade depict scenes of battle and sacrifice. Kael’s movements flow seamlessly with the weapon’s weight. Ty’Kyran’s rage and cunning pulse through Kael’s veins. Longsword (90% Symbiosis): The blade reaches its zenith: Polished to a mirror sheen, it reflects both Kael and Ty’Kyran. The hilt bears symbols of dual mastery. Kael’s identity blurs with Ty’Kyran’s memories. The weapon hungers for conflict. Greatsword (100% Symbiosis): Finally, the dagger completes its transformation: It reshapes into the magnificent greatsword Ty’Kyran once wielded. The blade gleams with an otherworldly light, etched with ancient symbols. Kael wields it effortlessly, channeling both their essences. The greatsword embodies their combined strength and purpose.
A L A R I C D R A K E
“Magic is in the little things – - A smile, a warm cup of tea, and unexpected kindness”
Full Name: Alaric Harvard Drake
Age: 38
Appearance: Standing at an impressive 6 feet, his lean frame suggests athleticism despite years spent behind a desk. His chestnut-brown hair, perpetually tousled, catches glimmers of gold in the sunlight. The meticulously groomed brown beard adds character to his rugged handsomeness.
But it’s Alaric’s eyes that captivate—a mesmerizing blend of blue and green, shifting like the tides. When he focuses, they deepen to a stormy gray; when he laughs, they sparkle like sunlight on water. And there, on his left wrist, lies an enchanted compass tattoo—a fine reminder of adventure and direction. He got it during holiday turned disaster, where he lost his family forever.
In the corporate world, Alaric navigates with quiet confidence. Crisp white shirts, sleeves rolled up to reveal the compass, paired with tailored trousers—the uniform of a man who balances professionalism with subtle rebellion. Casual Fridays see him swapping ties for a well-worn watch, a relic from his travels with his father. His favorite black loafers carry stories of cobblestone streets and hidden cafés.
Worldview: Alaric Drake is a man of quiet introspection and subtle rebellion. He possesses a deep sense of curiosity and a yearning for adventure, often finding beauty in the mundane. Alaric is introspective, frequently lost in thought during routine meetings, and has a habit of scribbling enchantment ideas on the margins of his reports. His colleagues see him as dependable and patient, always willing to lend an ear or stay late to fix a problem.
Beneath his professional exterior lies a dreamer with a wanderer’s soul. Alaric is passionate about exploring new places and experiences, which is reflected in his collection of travel brochures and vintage maps. He believes in signs and destiny, often drawing inspiration from his favorite book, “The Alchemist.” Alaric’s personality is a blend of responsibility and wanderlust, making him a unique and intriguing individual who navigates life with a quiet confidence and an ever-present sense of adventure.
Position: Customer Service - Customer relationships and office maintenance and improvement.
Magic: Alaric was being trained in the art of evocation by his parents but always had a knack for enchantment. After the death of his mother and father, Alaric left evocation behind him, only using it in minor ways for his own convenience but dived head first into enchantment. His personal enchantments seem mundane to most people but it's things he couldn't live without. Whether it's a pen enchanted to write whatever he is thinking, a self-tying tie, or his most important one, the compass on his wrist. He applies this by ensuring office enchantments are maintained, improved or undone as need be. His enchantments in the field are primarily for maintenance and clean-up of unsuspecting witnesses.
Resume: Born to well respected evoker father and elementalist mother, Alaric always knew of magic but wasn't aware of the importance of it until he was 11 years old. He had often in his pre-magic years, done things that were left unexplained, like made his toys move by themselves. His father took him under his wing at this age and began to teach him. Over the years that followed, Alaric joined his parents on many expeditions and missions involving use of his new-found magic prowess. He wasn't gifted in evoking like his father and after a short stint at learning elemental control in which he managed to set fire to the living room carpet, meant he never truly experienced the danger that his parents did.
Shortly after Alaric had turned eighteen, he would go on his last expedition with his parents. It all started when he dreamt a week prior of a red robed figure warning him of disaster, he ignored this almost in it's entirety but during one late night where he couldn't sleep, he drew a compass on his wrist, closed his eyes, and focussed on it bringing direction to him and his family. When he opened his eyes again, he found the drawing had become an intricately detailed tattoo, one where when he touched it, pointed true-north.
On the first day of the final trip, the family was departing for an island off of the United Kingdom mainland. During their short boat trip, the weather seemed to be getting worse before violently growing into a hurricane, one seemingly solely located onto their boat. The boat eventually bowed to the storm, being destroyed in the process. Alaric managed to find his way to shore, using his compass, but never did find his parents.
The years following Alaric travelled for many years using his ill-gotten inheritance, until it was time to seek work. He flew back to his family home and wandered through halls in which he hadn't seen with adult eyes. Everything seemed wrong and destitute. When he was looking through his parents things, he found many letters from a company called 'MagiCorp,' it seemed they wanted his parents to join them for a very long time. A company solely for wizards seemed like a good lead for a career start. After several attempts of getting through and getting hired, he put his family home under a unique enchantment. One that would keep it safe from any trying to find it.
Other Junk: -Alaric suffers from debilitating panic attacks when near deep water since the tragic end of his parents. -Soulful music often brings back memories of meaningful moments and places he’s visited. Whether it’s a quiet evening in a cozy café or a walk through scenic landscapes, the music evokes a sense of nostalgia and warmth. -Alaric's mother was a lover of books and research and, as Alaric grew older, found solace and inspiration in books. They became his escape from the mundane and a gateway to new worlds and ideas. His favourite book, “The Alchemist,” was one his mother owned, it's pages littered with little notes of hers.
N O T I N U S E
K A I T O "A M P F I R E" T A N A K A
Name: Kaito Tanaka
Hero Name: Ampfire
Quirk: Energy Reservoir
Background: Kaito Tanaka, known by his hero name “Ampfire,” was born with a unique quirk called “Energy Reservoir.” His body acts as a living battery, absorbing energy from the food and drinks he consumes. However, unlike most quirks, Ampfire's power isn’t instantaneous. Instead, he accumulates energy over time, storing it within himself.
Appearance: Ampfire is a lanky young man with unruly black hair and perpetually tired eyes. He wears a modified hero costume that resembles a cross between a tracksuit and a futuristic jumpsuit. The suit is adorned with glowing energy patterns that pulse across the fabric.
Personality: Kaito is a laid-back and easy-going individual. He often jokes about being “charged up” after a cup of coffee or an energy drink. However, beneath his casual demeanour lies a deep exhaustion. His quirk demands constant energy intake, leaving him perpetually drained. Despite this, he remains committed to hero work, fuelled by a sense of duty and a desire to protect others.
Abilities:
Energy Absorption: Ampfire can absorb energy from various sources, including food, beverages, and even sunlight. The more he consumes, the greater his energy reservoir becomes. Energy Release: When needed, Ampfire can tap into his stored energy. He can channel it into bursts of superhuman speed, strength, or agility. However, prolonged use leaves him fatigued. Limitations: Ampfire must carefully balance his energy intake. Too much, and he risks becoming hyperactive and jittery; too little, and he’s ineffective in battle. Hero Work: His signature move, the “Energetic Dash,” propels him forward at incredible speeds, leaving a trail of energy sparks behind. He’s also known for his “Power Surge Punch,” a devastating blow fuelled by his stored energy.
Weaknesses:
Energy Drain: Ampfire's quirk constantly drains his stamina. He relies on caffeine and energy drinks to maintain functionality. Crashes: After intense battles, Ampfire experiences energy crashes, leaving him bedridden for hours or even days.
Trivia: Ampfire's favorite coffee shop is “Caffeine Haven,” where he’s a regular customer. He once accidentally powered an entire city block during an energy surge, causing flickering lights and confused pedestrians.
Fun Fact: Ampfire's hero costume has built-in energy patches which adhere to his skin. These patches release a slow, steady stream of energy to keep him going for long patrols without overwhelming him with energy.
A K A R I "A N E M O S" F U J I K A Z E
Name: Akari Fujikaze
Hero Name: Anemos
Quirk: Zephyr
Background: Akari Fujikaze grew up in a small town outside of Kyoto. Her parents, both meteorologists, encouraged her education into science. When her quirk manifested—control over wind—she mainly used it to blow leaves and play, then in school to help her in sports, and then as she got stronger, to lift herself and move around.
Appearance: Anemos stands petite and graceful, her eyes the color of a clear sky. Her windswept hair, a cascade of sun-kissed waves, dances around her face. When she smiles, it’s as if the breeze itself has whispered a secret.
Personality: Anemos is a whirlwind of enthusiasm. She giggles when the breeze ruffles her hair and dances during storms. Her optimism is infectious, and she believes that everyone deserves a second chance.
Abilities:
Aerokinesis: Anemos manipulates air currents to varying degrees and results. Flight Control: She glides effortlessly, riding the wind like a kite. Whether hovering or darting through the sky. Zephyr Float: Anemos can stand on a small zephyr, levitating above the ground, this has slowly become her main means of travelling. Gale Push: She sends gale force winds to knock foes off balance. Lift and manipulate: Anemos can use the control over wind to lift objects and people as well as control how they move through the air.
Hero Costume: Anemos wears a Blue bodysuit. Her hood flares like a sail and ends with a cape, and her boots have hidden air vents for precise manoeuvres.
Teaching Style: Anemos’s classes are outdoor adventures. She teaches students to feel their wind’s rhythm, whether in combat or daily life. Her catchphrase: “Embrace the change, my little heroes!”
Signature Moves:
Hurricane winds: Anemos crosses her arms, her hands outstretched, before swiping them across her chest, creating a hurricane level blast of wind to force her enemies to submit. Currents whispers: Anemos can feel the slightest movement of air, she uses this to locate people who may be trapped in disaster zones. Air Pocket: Anemos's control over wind isn't limited to the air. She has also trained long and hard in the ability to create air pockets underwater that allows people to breathe underwater. These can be small, if needed for many people, and attached to the face, or large to fit an entire person inside.
Catchphrase: “Breathe easy—I’ve got this!”
Trivia: Besides heroics, Anemos is an amateur flutist. She plays haunting melodies that seem to echo the wind’s whispers. Anemos can predict minor weather changes based on the wind’s behaviour.
Fun fact: On lazy afternoons, Anemos shapes clouds into whimsical forms—dragons, sailing ships, and even smiley faces. Her cloud art brings joy to passers-by.
C H A T T E R
Name: Chatter
Age: 14 (Young adult for race)
Race: Kenku
Fighting Class: Ranger
Gear: Carrys a notebook full detailed drawings of things he has seen
Weapons: Bow and Arrows that are crafted using his own feathers, as well as a dagger and shortword.
Appearance: Chatter has the appearance of a Crow, he is adorned in black feathers, has a long, curved black beak and eyes like abyssal pearls. He wears a blue shawl which is tattered and torn in places. Underneath he wears a soft cloth tunic with many leather straps holding together his many bags and weapons.
Backstory: Chatter was born in the heart of the Whispering Woods—a dense, ancient forest where shadows danced among gnarled trees. Kenkus, known for their mimicry and affinity for secrets, thrived here. Chatter’s earliest memories were of echoing bird calls and the rustling of leaves.
As a young Kenku, Chatter discovered their unique gift: the ability to mimic any sound they heard. They imitated the songs of warblers, the creaking of branches, and even the hushed conversations of passing travelers. But it was the whispers—the secrets shared under moonlight—that fascinated them most.
Chatter’s mentor, an old ranger named Talon, recognized their potential. Under Talon’s guidance, Chatter learned to blend into the forest seamlessly. They wore a tattered blue shawl—the color of twilight—and moved silently, leaving no trace. Their bow, carved from a sacred yew tree, hummed with magic as they nocked arrows feathered with azure plumes.
After leaving the safety of the forest, Chatter entered the nearby town and was soon granted with cacophony of voices, all singular and different and all melodious to his ear. He learned all he could by visiting the local tavern but accidently overhead a plot of thievery. He approached the town guard and braced himself. Using a hundred voices he explained how he heard the story of thievery and perfectly recreated the men talking about it.
He left the town shortly after, fearing retaliation from the men and slowly has travelled the land, far and wide hoping to find something that is missing from himself.
Racial skills Cursed by a forgotten god, they lost their wings and voices. Now, they mimic sounds and speech they hear, unable to produce their own. This also isn't limited to sounds. Kenku can duplicate any document, any handwriting they’ve seen. In a world of contracts and decrees, this ability opens doors—sometimes literally.
W I P
A R C H A Z E N D A R K S T O N E O F T H E S I L V E R F L A M E
Name: Archazen Darkstone True Name / Alias: Sir Archazen Darkstone of the Silver Flame | Knight of the Silver Flame | Silver Warden | Silverbrand | The Burned Man Faction/Association: Order of the Silver Flame Rank/Position: Warden of the Second Legion Species: Human Age: His true age is forgotten, even by himself. The Silver Flame has kept him alive for much longer than the human lifespan. Sex: Male Height: 6'2ft | 188cm Eyes: They used to be the colour of sapphire but now have a silver hue. Physique: Lean and toned. Hair: Ashen Brown Skin: Tanned from soot, fire, and fights.
A P P E A R A N C E:
Armor: His armor, once gleaming and proud, now bears the scars of countless battles. Dents and scratches mar its surface, but it still clings to him like a second skin. The metal is that of iron. Helm: His helm conceals his face, leaving only shadows visible. Cloak: A tattered cloak drapes over his shoulders, its edges frayed and singed. It billows dramatically as he moves, catching the light of the silver fire. Gloves and Gauntlets: His gauntlets are etched with the marks of battle, of war. The gloves, however, are surprisingly delicate—fine leather adorned with silver-threaded embroidery. Boots: His boots are worn and patched, yet they carry him silently across the blighted landscape. Their soles leave faint silver footprints wherever he treads. Additional: Archazen’s most remarkable feature is the silver fire that burns within him. It seeps through the gaps in his armor, illuminating the darkness around him. When he draws his sword, the blade ignites with the same ethereal flames, turning it into a weapon of both silver and steel.
A B I L I T I E S:
Silver Fire: Archazen is a knight of the Silver Flame, an order of knights that have undergone The Pledge of Silver Fire. The silver fire is both a weapon and a curse. It doesn’t grant brute strength; instead, it enhances agility and reflexes. Archazen can dodge arrows mid-flight and scale walls effortlessly. It enhances his natural senses, his sight sees wisps of where Shadowbane has touched. When he draws his sword, it blazes with silver flames, allowing him to cut through the shadowbane's minions. But it comes with a price, Archazen’s touch is lethal. His skin is scarred with the silver flame, able to burn those he touches. He wears gloves at all times, their inner lining woven with protective charms to shield others from the silver fire’s wrath. Human touch is a distant memory for him. He can’t hold a lover’s hand or comfort a fallen comrade. The warmth of friendship eludes him, replaced by the fire that courses through his veins.
As the UA breached the veil of hyperspace, the triumphant grin that had stretched across Jet's face faltered and dissolved, leaving behind a stark, sobering clarity. The pilots in those TIEs were merely doing what they had to do to survive—a reality that stung with a poignant truth. Jet could have taken their lives, but to what end? He lingered in this moment of contemplation, sifting through the fragments of his life, each piece a testament to battles fought and choices made. A slow, methodical sigh escaped his lips, akin to the hiss of an airlock, as he released his tumultuous thoughts, allowing them to drift away like so much space debris after a skirmish.
Descending the ladder, each metallic clang of his boots against the rungs reverberated through the hollow corridors, echoing the doubts and uncertainties that swirled within him. The sound seemed to pulse with the rhythm of his heart, each beat a reminder of the existential weight he bore. Upon reaching the deck, he moved towards the cockpit, his steps heavy and deliberate, as though each one carried the burden of his reflections. The corridor's dim lighting cast elongated shadows that danced mockingly, mirroring the inner turmoil he fought to contain.
As he neared the cockpit door, Jet paused, drawing in a deep, cleansing breath. The exhale was forced, a tangible effort to reclaim his composure and bury the introspection that threatened to unravel him. Stepping through the threshold, he donned his familiar facade, the mask of resolve and duty, even as the echoes of his doubts lingered, whispering through the vast emptiness of space.
As he attempted to step inside, Jet faltered once more, his gaze falling to the cold, unyielding steel floor. The weight of the facade he needed to uphold seemed almost insurmountable. He lingered for a moment longer, the silence amplifying his inner turmoil, before stepping back and resolving to retreat to his quarters. He decided he would face the others later, once he had composed himself.
Before heading back to his cramped quarters, Jet retrieved his rifle from where he had left it. Returning it to its designated resting place was more than just a habit; it was a meticulous ritual, a methodical way to reorder his mind and thoughts. Each action was deliberate, serving as a way to compartmentalize the chaos within, much like stowing away pieces of himself that he wasn't ready to confront.
Jet stood and walked over to the shelf. He picked up the picture and gently brushed his thumb over its surface, tracing the familiar contours. "Another job done, Rexa... Thanks for watchin' out for me," he murmured, his voice soft but steady, imbued with a quiet calmness. He placed the picture back on the shelf with a deliberate and purposeful exhale, a moment steeped in reflection and the bittersweet remembrance of a love lost.
As Jet returned the picture to its place on the shelf, a tidal wave of emotions surged within him, breaking through the dam of his carefully constructed facade. He clutched the edge of the shelf, knuckles turning white, as memories of Rexa flooded back with an overwhelming intensity. She had always been his anchor, the steady presence that assured him he was on the right path. With her by his side, every mission, every choice, had felt justified. Her unwavering belief in him had been his guiding star, illuminating even the darkest moments.
His breathing became ragged, and he felt a crushing weight on his chest, as though the very air had turned to lead. He sank to his knees, the cold steel floor biting through his fatigues, grounding him in the stark reality of his solitude. Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision as he fought to suppress the sobs that threatened to escape. The relentless ache of loss, guilt, and loneliness gnawed at his insides, each pang a reminder of the battles he could never truly leave behind.
Without Rexa, doubt crept into every corner of his mind. He questioned the righteousness of his actions, the moral compass she had once kept aligned now spinning wildly. Jet buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with the effort to hold back his emotions. But it was futile; a heart-wrenching sob tore through him, resonating through the otherwise silent quarters. The sound was raw, primal, an unfiltered outpouring of grief and pain that he had kept locked away for too long.
He stayed there for a while, letting the tears flow freely, each drop a release of the pent-up anguish that had been festering within him. As the storm of emotions began to subside, Jet felt a strange sense of catharsis. Though his heart still ached, there was a newfound clarity in the aftermath of his breakdown—a fragile understanding that he could not carry the weight of his past alone.
Rising to his feet, his legs trembling, Jet took one last look at Rexa's picture, the familiar features now blurred by his tears. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "For everything." With a renewed sense of resolve, he turned and made his way to the cockpit, each step a testament to his resilience and his determination to keep moving forward, even when the past threatened to pull him under.
Stepping into the cockpit where his comrades were waiting, Jet enforced a broad smile, his usual exuberant demeanor quickly taking over. With a light-hearted tone, he said, "So that was fun, huh?"
It wasn’t long after the two returned to the ship that Jet noticed two black specks on the horizon. From his vantage point, he watched as they gradually grew in size. It became clear that the Basilisk had finally deployed TIE fighters. Jet’s heart rate quickened, each beat pounding in his ears.
“Not a moment too soon, Fel. I’ve got two coming up on us. I’d say it’s time we make tracks,” he barked into the commlink, his voice steady but urgent. He trained his aim towards the TIE which he assumed to be the closest. Firing at this range would be a fool’s errand, but being ready was the best thing to be done.
A single drop of perspiration perched upon his brow, nestled into the fine, greying hairs that crossed his weathered face. The muscles in his arms tensed, his grip tightening on the cannon’s controls. The hum of the ship’s engines reverberated through the hull, mingling with the distant, ominous drone of the approaching TIEs.
As the ship made its distance from the village, Jet took a deep breath, steadying his aim. The TIE fighters were almost within firing range now, following the UA as they made their ascent off world. He could see the faint glint of the sun off their solar panels, the menacing shape of their cockpits becoming clearer with every second.
The landing was anything but graceful—a desperate manoeuvre that left the shuttle skidding across the surface like a pod-racer on a bad day.
Jet stood up, feeling the familiar strain in his muscles as he lifted the two containers from the ground, exhaling slowly and deliberately. His grip tightened on the handles of each case, knuckles whitening. He took a brief glance over his shoulder, a silent roll call of faces and forms, ensuring everyone was ready, before taking his first step forward onto the ramp, feeling the weight of the containers shift with him.
The ramp creaked under his boots as he descended, each step a careful balancing act to adjust to the shifting weight of the containers. Reaching the bottom, he carefully set the cases down. With a slight grunt, Jet slid out of the shuttle, lowering himself to the ground, and pulled the cases out after him. His senses were immediately hit with the stench of the planet—a foul mix of rust and decay. His breath caught, "Kriff," he muttered to himself, missing the stormtrooper helmet, for the first time, and its filter that had once shielded him from this harsh reality.
Jet’s breaths came in measured puffs, a steady rhythm that matched the relentless beat of his heart. His muscles strained with the effort of carrying the heavy containers, but he embraced the burn—it fueled his drive; keenly aware of the responsibility on his shoulders, not just the physical burden of the crates, but the critical importance of their contents.
The path to the UA was treacherous, a battlefield of twisted metal and shattered remnants. The ground was parched and cracked, yet the residue of past acid rains had left it coated in a fine layer of corrosive dust. Jet’s boots scraped against the dry surface, each step a careful negotiation with the unstable, corroded surface.
He could feel the weight of the containers in his shoulders as he continued toward the UA, each step bringing him closer to the goal. The constant reminder of what was at stake kept his mind sharp, pushing him to maintain a relentless pace.
The UA's silhouette came into view, a stark contrast against the barren landscape. Jet’s heart pounded with a mix of exhaustion and anticipation. The sight of their destination injected a surge of energy into his tired limbs. The path had been arduous, but now the end was in sight.
With a final surge of effort, Jet closed the distance to the ship. The weariness in his limbs seemed to dissipate as he reached the old hull. He carefully placed the crates down and sat on one of them, wiping his brow with his arm. Looking up, he caught Fel's eye and said, "That was a tough haul." Jet paused to wipe a drop of sweat from his cheek, "But we made it."
Fel was a dozen paces behind the mechanic, hauling anything not too broken or bolted down from inside the wrecked shuttle. “Too tough.” Fel agreed.
“They may have been on me…” Aellyn gave a look of resentment as she passed Fel. Perhaps she was a bit harsh on his plan but she wasn’t going to let him know that just yet.
His dreaded, matted hair gave away the measure of his emotions. There were a lot of things Fel could have added, and might have, were he and Jet alone. The mech knew Fel often used him as sounding board and conscience. Almost as often as Wrench …if they had been alone, and not carrying a boatload of strangers. He might have said “too tough, considering the payoff.” Or that they were taking too many risks, trusting in folks that might just as soon have ditched them or turned on them. He might also have said that he’d be reserving judgment on whether or not they’d “made it” until they’d left this rock, done and dusted. But he didn’t. And for the last bit, Jet knew that was exactly how Galdaart felt, from the look in his eye. Instead, dumping two cargo crates and an armful of Imperial-grade weapons on a workbench in the hold, he raced to the flight deck, barely acknowledging Wrench, and powered up the ship, beginning the quick process of closing her up, and getting airborne. Even without taking visual stock of the beings boarding the UA – the thirty seconds he’d spent getting to this point was more than enough for them to haul ass aboard. If they weren’t hauling ass, they didn’t want offworld, or didn’t mind a firing squad.
Zane had been grabbing everything he could think of that would be of use to himself or the crew - whether it be medkits, repair items, tools, or even the environment scrubbers, putting everything into one of the extra-large bio bags that were normally used for body removals. Grabbing one of the scrubber masks and the attached unit, he masked up and turned on the device. Once he had accounted for everything Fel hadn’t grabbed, he zipped up the bag and hauled choobs to the Unfair Advantage. The engines were just beginning to spool up when he was fumbling across the entry ramp, taking a moment to look back and see that the doc was coming up behind him, likely to be the final one coming aboard.
The boy stowed his ill-gotten haul in one of the (assumed) cargo bays where Jet had stored the other crates, assuming this was where they were likely to go through all of their “acquisitions” when they were off-planet. The feeling in his gut about his brother hadn’t gone away, and he was wondering when - or even if he would be able to tell him what was going on.
Fel didn’t go so far as to remote-close the boarding ramp – leaving that to Jet or the last aboard, but moments after firing up the retro-rockets and repulsors, they were airborne, angling toward the wretched ville they’d left behind only an hour before. Wrench was all over him with warnings about proximity and the percentage chance of enemy interception. But that kolto was worth the risk. Wasn’t it?
Two minutes later they were slowing to a stop, hovering over the ville at about seventy feet, while Fel angled the deflector shields and flipped on the internal comms. “Jet, I’ll need you in the dorsal cannon. Watch for incoming. Aellyn, the ventral cannon. Take out any troops that decide to pay us a visit. Doc – get up here!” He flipped off the comm and turned to Wrench. ”Keep us level and low, partner. If things get too hot, you fly us out of here, understand me? When the doc gets here, you centre us over the building he marks for you. That’s our target. I’m going down to secure the load.”
Jet couldn't help but smirk as Fel's voice crackled through the intercom, taking on that familiar authoritative tone. Jet knew this was Fel stepping into his leadership role once again, as he often did. Even before the orders were fully articulated, Jet was already making his way to the dorsal gun. The clarity of everyone’s positions thanks to Fel's directives was an added advantage.
Jet firmly gripped the ladder and began his climb, the metallic clang of his boots resonating with each step. With every rung he conquered, he felt the weight of responsibility settle more firmly on his shoulders. He swiftly reached the top and secured himself in the turret, ensuring his vision was broad and encompassing. The threat of TIE fighters was imminent, and he knew they could strike from any direction, not just straight from the Basilisk.
As he settled into the gunner's seat, his eyes scanned the vast expanse, his senses heightened and alert. The hum of the ship's engine, the distant echoes of the intercom, and the soft beeping of the radar served as a backdrop to his focused vigilance. This scenario was all too familiar to him. He had spent countless hours aboard ships like this during the Clone Wars. The anticipation of the possible coming conflict brought back memories of those intense battles. This was his element—poised, ready, and determined to protect his crew from any impending danger.
Super Powered High [Group] - A group of new students enrolling in one of the most prestigious high schools designed for the strongest, smartest and brightest of people that have had the fortune to inherit super powers through one reason or another. The schools position is to teach them how to best use their powers to keep the world from any threats that might appear in the future, be it alien, villain or natural disaster. But is there a secret subplot running beneath the sight of the common folks, and what are those rumors about people losing control of their super powers??
I second this. I'd have interest in this as either a slice of life or as something more
The old man glanced up from the fire, his amber eyes reflecting the flickering flames. He offered a gentle smile, his voice soft yet full of warmth.
"Ah, my dear, I am but a humble wanderer, much like yourselves." He paused, his brow furrowing in thought. For a moment, his eyes seemed distant, lost in the echoes of countless years.
"My name... my name is Edrion," he said slowly, as if the word had taken a moment to resurface from the depths of his memory. "Yes, Edrion." A smile crept across his face, the memory of his name bringing a small, quiet joy.
"But truly, I am just a man who has wandered these woods for longer than I care to remember. The trees and stars have been my only companions for many a year." He waved a hand dismissively, as if his own story were of little importance compared to those gathered around the fire.
The night deepened, wrapping the group in a cocoon of darkness and the warmth of the campfire. The forest around them was alive with nocturnal sounds—the rustle of leaves, the distant calls of owls, and the occasional snap of a twig. The firelight flickered, casting dancing shadows on the travelers’ faces, creating a sense of intimacy and shared purpose. The scent of burning wood and the subtle aroma of the simple stew simmering over the fire combined to create a comforting atmosphere amidst the dense, shadowy trees.
Edrion cleared his throat gently. "You know, my home lies just beyond these woods, on the edge of a tranquil meadow. It is a humble place, but it has served me well for many years. If you would accompany me, I would be honored to offer you shelter and perhaps a more comfortable rest. The journey is not far."
He looked around the group, his amber eyes warm and inviting, the firelight dancing in their depths. The offer was extended with genuine kindness, and a hint of eagerness at the prospect of sharing his sanctuary with new companions. The firelight illuminated the lines etched into his weathered face, telling silent tales of a life filled with countless journeys and unseen battles. The warmth of the campfire contrasted with the cool night air, making the gathering feel like a protected enclave amidst the vast, shadowy forest.
[color=Blue][h1][b]A R C H A Z E N 32 | M | UK[/b][/h1][/color]
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My name is Archazen but, considering you are on my page, I'm sure you already knew that. Feel free to call me Archie, if you like.
I am a long time role-player of many years, roughly 15 years as of writing this, and I am open to RPing just about anything.
I have experience primarily with fantasy but I have also done Sci-fi, Horror, romance, slice of life, supernatural, etc, etc.
I will be uploading my RP requests as well as Bios of my OCs below please feel free to check them out and to PM if you have any interest in any of them.
I will primarily be roleplaying on my working days, my job has a lot of down time and my home life is hectic enough without trying to find time for roleplay. If I'm silent for a while, I'll let you know in advance if I can so I'd expect the same courtesy.
[hr][color=Blue][h1][B]C U R R E N T R P P R O J E C T S[/b][/h1][/color]
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[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/192923-floating-star-wars-2-bby/ic]F L O A T I N G[/url] [color=DimGray]a s[/color] [color=ff0000][b]J E T K O R R I N[/b][/color]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/193022-destiny-reborn/ooc]D E S T I N Y R E B O R N ![/url] [color=DimGray]a s[/color] [color=ff4000][b]K A E L T H O R N[/b][/color]
[URL=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/193032-shadows-of-the-forgotten-realm/ooc]S H A D O W S O F T H E F O R G O T T E N R E A L M S[/URL] [color=DimGray]a s[/color] [color=0072bc][b]D M[/b][/color]
[URL=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/192905-magicorp-wizards-gone-corporate/ic]M A G I C O R P: W I Z A R D S G O N E C O R P O R A T E[/URL] [color=DimGray]a s[/color] [color=ForestGreen][b]A L A R I C D R A K E[/b][/color]
[hr][color=Blue][h1][B]C U R R E N T R P R E Q U E S T S[/b][/h1][/color]
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[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/192907-shadows-of-the-forgotten-realm/ooc#post-5540858]S H A D O W S O F T H E F O R G O T T E N R E A L M S - I N T E R E S T C H E C K[/url]
[hr][color=Blue][h1][b]C H A R A C T E R B I O S[/b][/h1][/color]
[hr][h2][color=RoyalBlue]I N U S E[/color][/h2]
[hider=Jet Korrin - SW]
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[h3]“The galaxy’s a mess, kid. Best get used to it.”[/h3][/centre]
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[color=7ea7d8]Name:[/color] Jet Korrin
[color=7ea7d8]True Name / Alias:[/color] Tech, Ratchet, Junker, tinker.. the list goes on.
[color=7ea7d8]Faction:[/color] Ex-republic Mechanic
[color=7ea7d8]Rank:[/color] Master Technician
[color=7ea7d8]Species:[/color] Human (Coruscanti)
[color=7ea7d8]Age:[/color] 54
[color=7ea7d8]Sex:[/color] Male
[color=7ea7d8]Height:[/color] 6'4ft
[color=7ea7d8]Eyes:[/color] brown
[color=7ea7d8]Physique:[/color]
Sturdy and robust physique // combines strength with practicality // His frame reflects the weariness of a
seasoned mechanic who has spent countless hours hunched over starship consoles, yet his movements remain agile.
[color=7ea7d8]Hair:[/color] brown, graying hair // low bun
[color=7ea7d8]Skin:[/color] Originally Fair skin tone // bears the wear and tear of life spent tinkering // Bronzed from years under harsh suns
[color=7ea7d8]Force Sensitive:[/color] Unlikely.
[color=7ea7d8]NPC:[/color]
Alright, listen up. Rexa Voss—codename “Whisper.” She was more than just a partner; we danced through the stars together. Brave as a comet dodging asteroids, she earned a Republic Commendation for her gutsy moves during Operation Nebula Serpent. But the galaxy’s a cruel place, and it took her away. Deceased. Damn shame.
Now, Lena Talon—she preferred “Nova.” My apprentice, my right hand. We tinkered with hyperdrives, patched hull breaches, and shared stories over greasy caf. But fate’s a twisted navigator. Lena’s gone too, marked as deceased. She was family, and the void feels colder without her.
[color=7ea7d8]STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES:[/color]
[color=39b54a]Mechanical genius.[/color] Got this knack for machinery—can disassemble and diagnose complex systems like it’s a walk in the asteroid field. Ain’t just about fixin’ isolated problems, though. I take a whole-damn-ship approach. When scarcity hits, my creativity kicks in—I rig solutions with whatever’s lyin’ around. Starship schematics? Manuals? They etch themselves into my brain, like a tattoo on a spacefaring outlaw. I can visualize intricate designs, recall wiring diagrams, and dance with system interplay. It’s like I’m plugged into the cosmic mainframe. So whether it’s a Corellian freighter or an Imperial TIE fighter, I’m the mechanic who ain’t just fixin’ engines—I’m rewiring fate itself.
[color=fff200]Resilience,[/color] kid. It’s the only currency that matters out in the outer rim. Lost my share of folks. But you don’t survive this underworld by wearin’ your heart on your sleeve. Danger? Hell, it’s my workshop soundtrack—the hum of fusion cutters, the sizzle of repulsorlifts. See that flickering neon sign? It’s where I’m fixin’ up a stolen landspeeder, no questions asked. No roots, no sentimental attachments. Just me and the junkyard vibes. People? They’re like malfunctioning droids—wired wrong, glitchin’ at the seams. Nah, I ain’t a loner; I’m a grease monkey with a knack for jury-riggin’. The stars? They’re the neon signs reflected in oily puddles. Stoicism ain’t cold; it’s survival. Each scar’s a story—blaster burns, electroshock mishaps. Lost love, lost credits. But I keep wrenchin’, keep tweakin’. So, kid, remember: Resilience ain’t about fixin’ shiny starships. It’s about cobblin’ together rusty speeders and stayin’ one step ahead of the Hutts.
[color=ed1c24]Stubborn?[/color] Well, kid, let me tell ya. Yeah, I ain’t one to back down, even when the stars themselves seem to be conspirin’ against me. You see, life’s dealt me a hand full of busted hyperdrive coils and malfunctionin’ blasters. But I keep flyin’, keep fixin’. It’s like this: when the galaxy throws a curveball, I swing harder. Maybe it’s pride, maybe it’s just the way I’m wired. But that refusal to yield? It’s both my strength and my curse. So, kid, remember this—sometimes, the toughest battles ain’t in the stars; they’re right here, in your gut. And that stubbornness? It’ll either save your hide or send you spiralin’ into a black hole. Choose wisely.
[color=7ea7d8]APPEARANCE:[/color]
Jet’s face bears the marks of countless orbits around suns and moons. His skin, bronzed by space’s unforgiving rays, holds the memory of star maps traced with fingertips. Crow’s feet fan from the corners of his eyes—constellations of laughter, worry, and the weight of unspoken burdens. His eyes—deep and unyielding. They’ve witnessed hyperspace jumps and smuggler’s deals, betrayal and fleeting alliances. When Jet gazes at you, it’s like staring into the heart of a black hole—an event horizon where secrets collide. His jawline—square and resolute—speaks of resolve. It’s the anchor that keeps him grounded amidst the chaos of starports and cantinas. Scars, like asteroid impacts, trace the contours of his chin—a testament to battles fought and debts unpaid. Jet’s mouth—often a thin line—holds the echoes of lost comrades and unanswered questions. It’s the gateway to stories told over glasses of Corellian whiskey. When he smiles, it’s like a distant nebula flickering—a rare burst of warmth against the cosmic chill.
Jet’s frame is solid, built for the gritty underbelly of the galaxy. His shoulders—broad as a smuggler’s cargo hold—carry the weight of starship repairs and underworld secrets. Each muscle, honed by countless hours wrenching hyperdrive cores and recalibrating blasters, tells a story of survival. His arms—sinewy and scarred—are tools in themselves. The left, cybernetic and matte black, is a relic from his days in the replublic. It’s not just for show; it’s a fusion of strength and utility. When he grips a blaster, it’s like a wookiee’s embrace—firm but not crushing. His spine, slightly curved from years hunched over starship consoles, echoes the curvature of hyperspace routes. It’s a weariness etched into bone—the weight of lost comrades, unpaid debts, and unanswered questions. Despite weariness, Jet’s movements remain agile. He sidesteps danger like a nimble astromech evading blaster fire. When he pivots, it’s like a starfighter banking into a tight turn—graceful yet ready to unleash firepower. His boots—scuffed from countless cantina brawls—keep rhythm with the seedy undercurrents of the galaxy.
[color=7ea7d8]BIOGRAPHY:[/color]
Jet Korrin, a man of his years, a culmination of firefights, fist fights, spark lights, and long nights. A well-respected mechanic during his time with the republic turned back-alley tech for the many criminals, syndicates, and cartels. He's not to be messed with, and the common suspects in Nar Shaddaar know it. He wouldn't say he was "under their protection" more that everyone relies on him being there, in some way or another.
He generally keeps to himself, he shares a laugh in the cantina after a long day, sure, but making long-lasting relationships isn't for him, not anymore. He keeps his head down, day in, day out, working on whatever work seems to come his way. His resilience has managed to keep him going in a galaxy that seems to only ever to have the worst planned. His name known throughout both the shady underbelly of civilisation as well as spoken in high-regard through republic channels, whether it's getting a job done perfectly or done cheap and quiet-like, he's the man for the job.
His history before his republic days was nothing special, raised to a middle class family on Coruscant, he went to good schools and got himself a good education, he shined with mechanics much to the distain of his family, it being a working class job and all, but he liked it. He signed to the military at 16, getting himself off world and his parents off his back for good. He liked the military, a steady work style, known expectations and access to all the starships he could get his grubby hands on. He started out as any recruit does, with a blaster strapped and armour-clad but soon showed his worth to the engineers, getting a quick shift into the mechanic core by the time he was 17.
Still, Jet misses the adventure that his life used to possess, stalling out in his workshop getting tiresome, he was soon looking for his next stage, him being unaware of just how hectic that would be wasn't a problem, it wouldn't have stopped him regardless.
[/hider][hider=Kael Thorn - Destiny Reborn!][centre][img]https://txt.1001fonts.net/img/txt/dHRmLjk2LmZmMDAwMC5TMkZsYkNCMGFHOXliZy4w/grunger.regular.webp[/img][/centre]
[centre][i]”“In the shadow of my curse, I found strength. What’s a hero without a burden to bear?””[/i][/centre]
[color=ff4000]Age:[/color] 18
[color=ff4000]Type:[/color] Mage
[color=ff4000]Element:[/color] Air
[color=ff4000]Secondary (weapon):[/color] Fire
[color=ff4000]Rank:[/color] Varies on Symbiosis.
- Base = Apprentice Mage
- 25% = Iron + Sage
- 50% = Gold + Mage
- 75% = Silver + Wizard
- 100% = Platinum + Wizard + possible permanent possession.
[h2][color=ff4000]Backstory:[/color][/h2]
[hider=Click to unveil]
Kael Thorn grew up in the small town of Willow Springs, nestled among the rolling hills of upstate New York. The town was picturesque, with its quaint houses, winding streets, and a sense of quiet isolation. Kael’s childhood was marked by lazy summers spent exploring the nearby woods, riding his bike down dusty trails, and occasionally getting into minor mischief with his best friend, Jake.
His parents, both hardworking but unremarkable, ran a small antique shop on Main Street. The shop was filled with desiccated relics of the past—old typewriters, tarnished silverware, and faded photographs. Kael often helped out after school, dusting off forgotten treasures and listening to the stories behind them: his fascination with history and mystery began there, amidst the creaky floorboards and the scent of old leather-bound books.
School was a different story: Kael’s grades were lackluster, and he rarely felt motivated to excel. He daydreamed during math class, doodling dragons and knights in the margins of his notebook. Detention became a familiar place for him, whether due to tardiness, missed assignments, or simply zoning out during lectures. His teachers saw potential in him if they spent the effort to look, but Kael preferred the escape of fantasy novels and late-night video game sessions.
His attire matched his rebellious spirit. Black combat boots, baggy jeans, and a faded band t-shirt were his daily uniform. A red flannel shirt, worn open, completed the grunge look. His shaggy brown hair fell into his eyes, and he rarely bothered to comb it. Kael wasn’t interested in conforming; he wanted life to surprise him, to unfold like an epic quest with unexpected twists.
Kael’s hobbies reflected his inner world. Video games transported him to realms of magic and adventure, where he could be a hero battling dark forces. Anime introduced him to complex characters and intricate plots, and he’d binge-watch entire series during weekends. Dungeons & Dragons sessions with Jake and a few other misfit friends allowed Kael to step into different personas—a rogue thief, a brooding sorcerer, or a noble knight.
But perhaps Kael’s most intriguing pastime was exploring abandoned buildings. Willow Springs had its share of forgotten places—an old mill, a crumbling mansion, and an eerie asylum. Armed with a flashlight and a sense of curiosity, Kael would slip through broken windows, feeling the chill of decay and the weight of history. These places whispered secrets—the laughter of forgotten parties, the cries of patients, the echoes of lives left behind.
As for friends, Kael didn’t have many. Jake was his steadfast companion, sharing Kael’s love for the mysterious and the inexplicable. They’d swap ghost stories by the campfire, daring each other to venture deeper into the woods. But beyond Jake, Kael kept his distance: social interactions felt like a chore, and he preferred the solitude of his room, surrounded by stacks of fantasy novels and half-finished sketches.
One fateful day, Kael ventured into the abandoned soda factory. Its metal skeletons loomed against the sky, rusted and forgotten. As he stepped onto an overhead walkway, his footing gave way. He plummeted, wind rushing past, and then—darkness.
When he awoke, he was no longer in Willow Springs. The air pollution that permeated his lungs, replaced with fresh air and the smell of pine filled his senses. Where once was cement beneath his boots now lay soft, delicate earth. Those who greeted him, spoke of prophecies and ‘Reincarnates.’ Kael’s mundane life was wholly shattered, replaced by a destiny he couldn’t comprehend, or so he thought.
Kael’s search for purpose in this new, more interesting world led him through the hallowed halls of paladins and the arcane chambers of magi. He tried to fit into their ranks, to prove himself worthy, but the universe remained indifferent: he wasn’t special enough for their grand designs. Disheartened and taken from his familiar world, he clung to old habits—the thrill of exploring abandoned places, where echoes of forgotten lives whispered in the shadows.
One crisp autumn day, Kael stumbled upon ruins that seemed to resonate with his very soul. The stones hummed with ancient energy, and he felt an innate pull—a destiny carved into the moss-covered stones. He ventured inside, brushing aside cobwebs, and there, half-buried beneath rubble, lay a weapon unlike any other.
The dagger, its features scratched and vague lingered beneath his gaze, its blade stained with dirt and ash and yet still mustered the will to shimmer… replete with forgotten potential. As Kael reached for the implement, he heard a voice—a droning, otherworldly thrum that echoed deep within his mind. It spoke with authority, offset with a measured softness, as if the weapon itself held ancient wisdom upon an open palm.
“I am Nihilus,” the voice intoned. “Born before this world began. Bond with me, Mortal, and become more than you could ever be. More than you could ever wish to be. Both the paladins and the Magi will regret not helping to manifest your potential.”
The plethora of thoughts ricocheting around in his mind were intoxicating. Kael scarcely hesitated, fingers trembling as they touched the dagger’s hilt. Memories surged—a recollection of battles fought, of destruction under a blood-stained moon, and the taste of both victory and despair. Nihilus had a soul—a Demon's soul, imprisoned within the blade.
And thus, he was bound to it, as any paladin would be with their weapon. But this bond was different: Nihilus hungered—for chaos, for spilled blood, for dominion over realms. It whispered dark secrets—how to command the arcane, how to rend flesh, how to reshape the world. Kael’s mind blurred—the line between self and weapon fading. He became a vessel for Nihilus, [i]it’s pawn.[/i][/hider]
[h2][color=ff4000]Personality:[/color][/h2]
[hider=Click to unveil]
Kael’s curious mind, once a beacon of exploration, has been stripped of its innocence. No longer does he seek the thrill of adventure; instead, he hungers for control. The latent power within him pulses, demanding recognition. It’s a double-edged sword—a gift and a curse.
From a carefree boy, content with the simplicity of life, Kael has metamorphosed into a man burdened by the weight of his choices. Fear gnaws at him, and regret tugs at his heart. He knows he must act, for his actions ripple outward. He cannot be the reason for another’s evil.
And so, with determination, he walks the tightrope. He will wield his newfound “power,” but not recklessly. It must serve a greater purpose—a force for good. For Kael, redemption lies in the delicate balance between purpose and fear, between creation and destruction.[/hider]
[h2][color=ff4000]Appearance:[/color][/h2]
[hider=Image][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/9de0f13f-4a76-4f3f-993a-5f6c4786c4ce.jpg[/img][/hider][hider=Description]
Kael stands at an average height, lean but sinewy. His frame suggests agility rather than brute strength. His eyes are a striking shade of deep blue, often reflecting determination and curiosity. His once shaggy brown hair now falls in a tousled cascade. Kael wears practical attire—a tunic of earth-toned fabric, reinforced with leather patches. His trousers are sturdy, allowing freedom of movement. Around his waist, a leather belt adorned with pouches for whatever he may need. Leather boots, worn but well-crafted, protect his feet from thorns and rocky terrain. Draped over his shoulders is a cloak of midnight blue, its fabric whisper-soft. The hood conceals his features when needed, casting shadows across his face.[/hider]
[h2][color=ff4000]Powers/Abilities:[/color][/h2]
[hider=Magic]
Kael has a very basic access to Magic due to his bond with his cursed weapon, this has allowed him to access his own affinity as well as that of Ty’Kyran’s.
[h3]Airblast (Air Sorcery)[/h3]
Medium: Somatic
[i]placing both wrists together with his hands outstretched, Kael can summon varying degrees of airblasts.[/i]
[h3]Fireball (Fire Sorcey)[/h3]
Medium: Somatic
[i]By focusing on the fire affinity cursed upon him, Kael can summon a ball of fire within his hand.[/i]
[h3]Lightning Bolt (Lightning Compound Sorcery)[/h3]
Medium: Somatic
[i]Reaching his hand out in a straight line and focusing allows Kael to mix Air and Fire to create a forceful lightning bolt from his fingertips.[/i]
[/hider]
[h2][color=ff4000]Weapon:[/color][/h2]
[Hider=Special ability: Symbiosis]
Kael’s cursed connection to his weapon has bonded his and Ty’Kyran’s souls. At will, Kael can activate their symbiosis which merges their physical beings.
0% Symbiosis (Kael Dominant):
Kael retains full control.
His actions are independent, guided solely by his desires.
25% Symbiosis:
Kael begins to feel Ty’Kyran’s presence—a subtle influence on his thoughts and emotions.
50% Symbiosis:
The balance shifts. Kael’s autonomy wavers, and Ty’Kyran’s desires seep into his consciousness.
75% Symbiosis:
Ty’Kyran’s rage and cunning surge.
Kael struggles to resist, but their minds blur together.
100% Symbiosis (Ty’Kyran Dominant):
Ty’Kyran takes over, wielding Kael’s body as his vessel.
Kael’s willpower is the last defense against complete possession.
Symbiosis changes several things as the level increases, allowing Kael additional availability to Ty’Kyran’s mana pool as well as his demonic strength, agility, and abilities and the exchange of his own autonomy. His own will is the deciding factor for how much he resists Ty’Kyran’s possession.
When merged with Ty’Kyran, Kael’s personality may shift. His normally cautious demeanor might become more daring, fueled by Ty’Kyran’s desire for destruction.
Physically, Kael's body goes through changes as the symbiosis increases. At low symbiosis levels, the changes are almost superficial, his muscles may bulge, his teeth grow sharp etc. Whereas at high levels, Kael would grow Ty’Kyran’s horns, his eyes would turn from calm blue to the Fiery hue of Ty’Kyran’s.
0% Symbiosis (Kael Dominant):
Appearance:
Kael appears entirely human.
His eyes are a calm shade of blue.
No visible alterations—just an ordinary young man.
Internal Sensations:
Kael feels no different from his usual self.
Ty’Kyran’s presence is a distant echo.
25% Symbiosis:
Appearance:
Subtle shifts begin:
His eyes occasionally flicker with a fiery glint.
Veins beneath his skin pulse faintly.
A hint of Ty’Kyran’s aura surrounds him.
Internal Sensations:
Kael experiences fleeting bursts of aggression or recklessness.
His thoughts sometimes echo Ty’Kyran’s desires.
50% Symbiosis:
Appearance:
The changes become more pronounced:
Horns emerge from Kael’s forehead, curving back like a ram’s.
His eyes now hold a dual hue—blue and fiery orange.
Tattoos resembling ancient runes appear on his arms.
His muscles ripple with newfound strength.
Internal Sensations:
Kael battles conflicting impulses—his will against Ty’Kyran’s.
Dreams blur memories of battles long past.
75% Symbiosis:
Appearance:
The horns grow longer, twisting like serpents.
Kael’s skin toughens, resisting minor cuts.
His teeth sharpen subtly.
His eyes blaze with Ty’Kyran’s rage.
Internal Sensations:
Kael’s autonomy wavers. Ty’Kyran’s voice whispers in his mind.
The urge to destroy battles his desire to protect.
100% Symbiosis (Ty’Kyran Dominant):
Appearance:
His skin takes on a faint, otherworldly glow.
Claws extend from his fingertips.
His entire presence radiates menace.
Internal Sensations:
Kael fights to retain fragments of self-awareness.
Ty’Kyran’s memories flood his consciousness.
[/hider][hider=Neutral Ability: Infernal Resonance]
Due to the Infernal origins of the weapon, it allowed Kael access to deeper levels of magic that he would be attuned to by himself, his spells becoming infernally empowered, well beyond what his abilities should allow.
For example, fireballs that should have been the size of a dodgeball blaze hotter, larger, and able to melt through stone. Airblasts become sharp cutting winds, and lightning bolts become uncontrollable like a storm.
To access this power, Kael must choose it, wielding the dagger. It comes with the risk of Ty’Kyran becoming more influential, furthering his symbiosis beyond his will.
[/hider]
[hr]
[centre][img]https://txt.1001fonts.net/img/txt/dHRmLjk2LmZmZmZmZi5WSGtuUzNseVlXNC4w/demons-and-darlings.regular.webp[/img][/centre]
[centre][i]“I am oblivion—the void that swallows empires, the echo of annihilation.”[/i][/centre]
Age: Unknown
Type: Cambion Demon
Rank: Mythril
Appearance:
[hider=Image][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/a2b0b297-2e85-4a15-a5c5-770c8f833521.png[/img][/hider][hider=Description]
Ty’Kyran’s eyes, twin orbs of seething intensity, mirrored the dying embers of distant stars. Within those crimson irises, the fury of collapsing galaxies churned—a testament to battles waged in the realms far beyond mortal time.
His skin, taut and unyielding, bore the hue of a sun nearing its final breath. The crimson expanse clung to the contours of muscle and bone, a testament to both resilience and vulnerability. Each scar etched upon his flesh told a story—a saga of skirmishes, of forces clashing in demonic arenas.
Ty’Kyran’s physique defied easy categorization. Slender, yet muscular, he moved with a grace that belied the raw power simmering beneath the surface. His muscles held strength in check—an energy harnessed, waiting for release.[/hider]
Backstory:
[hider=Unveil]
In the time prior to humanity's kingdoms, when Demons ruled the land of what is now Harvess, Ty’Kyran was already feared even among his own kin. Here, blood flowed like molten glass. Ages passed, malevolence simmered, steeped in the primordial chaos.
In this realm Ty’Kyran’s shadow fell. Mortals glimpsed him—a silhouette against the rising sun—and felt the tremors of destiny. They knew not his name but sensed his purpose: annihilation.
Ty’Kyran’s crimson eyes held no remorse. His wings, infernal tempests, swept across villages, toppling spires and extinguishing hearth fires. His greatsword, an extension of his wrath, cleaved through ancient oaks and castle walls alike. Each swing unraveled the delicate threads that bound their reality.
As Ty’Kyran roamed, they quivered. Mortals felt the weight of impending doom—their dreams haunted by visions of fractured worlds. A canvas for Ty’Kyran’s malevolence, each stroke tearing at the seams. His greatsword relished their souls, its blade etched with blood. The land bore scars—crops withered, rivers choked, and stones cracked. Ty’Kyran reveled in the symphony of destruction, each note resonating with his malevolent laughter.
The first paladins clashed with Ty’Kyran. Seraphina, their stalwart leader, driven by hope, struck at Ty’Kyran’s heart, only to meet his blade in her fall. As Ty’Kyran fell, Seraphina sacrificed her remaining lifeforce to seal Ty’Kyran within the very weapon he wielded, binding him to its malevolent power.
The paladins buried the greatsword deep within a sacred grove, where ancient oaks stood sentinel. Over centuries, the blade’s malevolence waned. Its once imposing form dwindled, until it resembled a mere dagger—a relic forgotten by all but the oldest trees.
And so, Ty’Kyran slumbered within the blade, his consciousness flickering in the dark. The dagger lay undisturbed, waiting for a time when destiny would stir it awake once more. Perhaps a curious adventurer would stumble upon it, unaware of the Demon’s legacy.[/hider]
[hr]
[centre][img]https://txt.1001fonts.net/img/txt/b3RmLjk2LmZmZmZmZi5Ua2xJU1V4VlV3LCwuMA,,/the-beast.regular.webp[/img][/centre]
[hider=Original Form:]
[centre][img]https://tse1.mm.bing.net/th?id=OIG2.nEIvVoPayktcLdA0Qnh2&pid=ImgGn[/img][/centre]
In the fiery depths of Ty’Kyran’s malevolent realm, where the screams of tormented souls echo through sulfurous caverns, Nihilus took shape–an embodiment of destruction forged within the infernal warforges.
The blade of Nihilus is wrought from infernal iron, a malefic substance that defies the laws of mortal craftsmanship. Its form remains unyielding–a straight line devoid of taper, culminating in a wickedly sharp point. This blade is no mere weapon; it is a manifestation of Ty’Kyran’s wrath, honed to cleave through armor, bone, and spirit alike.
Lifting Nihilus seems like an act of defiance against the very laws of reality. Mortal hands would strain under its weight, for the infernal iron has rendered it too heavy for ordinary men and women. As if the earth itself conspires against those who dare to wield it, the ground trembles beneath their feet, urging them to relinquish their grasp.
Wrapped in obsidian-black leather, the hilt provides a stark contrast to the blade’s malevolence. The crossguard serves as a macabre ornament–a testament to the blade’s otherworldly origins.
Nihilus transcends mere utility.. It is Ty’Kyran’s proclamation etched in fire and iron–a symbol of devastation and reckoning. The insatiable hunger for domination that drives him.
[/hider][hider=Dagger form]
[centre][img]https://tse4.mm.bing.net/th?id=OIG4.ZecmvueEOSHZQTICW6Zl&pid=ImgGn[/img][/centre]
As the power of Ty’Kyran waned, the greatsword form couldn’t be maintained. The once-glorious blade faltered, its form shifting and shrinking until it resembled a mere dagger. No longer capable of maintaining its grandeur, the greatsword surrendered to the inexorable pull of time.
The dagger, beneath the dust and ash, is a brilliant iron. the dagger feels deceptively heavy in hand. Its weight belies its seemingly unassuming appearance.The blade, straight and unadorned, lacks ostentation. No intricate patterns or embellishments distract from its purpose. The hilt, wrapped in a small leather cord, bears no gemstones or engravings. Simplicity masks its true significance. When gripped, the leather feels worn, as if it was eons old. The blade’s surface, when exposed to certain light, emits an eerie black glow—an otherworldly luminescence that defies explanation.
[/hider][hider=Symbiosis effect]
As the symbiosis increases and Ty’Kyrans power is allowed to take over, the weapon too grows. Kael is seen to wield a dagger but as the symbiosis grows, it would become a shortsword, an arming sword, a bastard sword, a longsword and finally into the greatsword Ty’Kyran once wielded.
Dagger (0% Symbiosis):
Kael wields a simple dagger, its blade unremarkable and compact.
The weapon serves as a tool rather than a formidable weapon.
Shortsword (25% Symbiosis):
As Kael activates symbiosis, the dagger begins to change:
The blade elongates, edges sharpening.
Intricate runes appear along the hilt, pulsing with energy.
The weapon gains weight, becoming more substantial.
Kael feels the surge of Ty’Kyran’s power, and the weapon responds.
Arming Sword (50% Symbiosis):
The transformation continues:
The blade grows further, balanced and deadly.
The runes glow brighter, resonating with ancient magic.
Kael’s grip adjusts to accommodate the weapon’s new form.
Ty’Kyran’s essence seeps into the steel.
Bastard Sword (75% Symbiosis):
The weapon becomes formidable:
Its length rivals that of a longsword.
Etchings on the blade depict scenes of battle and sacrifice.
Kael’s movements flow seamlessly with the weapon’s weight.
Ty’Kyran’s rage and cunning pulse through Kael’s veins.
Longsword (90% Symbiosis):
The blade reaches its zenith:
Polished to a mirror sheen, it reflects both Kael and Ty’Kyran.
The hilt bears symbols of dual mastery.
Kael’s identity blurs with Ty’Kyran’s memories.
The weapon hungers for conflict.
Greatsword (100% Symbiosis):
Finally, the dagger completes its transformation:
It reshapes into the magnificent greatsword Ty’Kyran once wielded.
The blade gleams with an otherworldly light, etched with ancient symbols.
Kael wields it effortlessly, channeling both their essences.
The greatsword embodies their combined strength and purpose.
[/hider][/hider][hider=Alaric Drake - MagiCorp]
[centre][h1][color=ForestGreen]A L A R I C D R A K E[/color][/h1]
[img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/3ad15822-88aa-4412-8f99-f2d2cb226126.png[/img]
“Magic is in the little things –
- A smile, a warm cup of tea, and unexpected kindness”[/centre]
[color=ForestGreen]Full Name:[/color]
Alaric Harvard Drake
[color=ForestGreen]Age:[/color]
38
[color=ForestGreen]Appearance:[/color]
Standing at an impressive 6 feet, his lean frame suggests athleticism despite years spent behind a desk. His chestnut-brown hair, perpetually tousled, catches glimmers of gold in the sunlight. The meticulously groomed brown beard adds character to his rugged handsomeness.
But it’s Alaric’s eyes that captivate—a mesmerizing blend of blue and green, shifting like the tides. When he focuses, they deepen to a stormy gray; when he laughs, they sparkle like sunlight on water. And there, on his left wrist, lies an enchanted compass tattoo—a fine reminder of adventure and direction. He got it during holiday turned disaster, where he lost his family forever.
In the corporate world, Alaric navigates with quiet confidence. Crisp white shirts, sleeves rolled up to reveal the compass, paired with tailored trousers—the uniform of a man who balances professionalism with subtle rebellion. Casual Fridays see him swapping ties for a well-worn watch, a relic from his travels with his father. His favorite black loafers carry stories of cobblestone streets and hidden cafés.
[color=ForestGreen]Worldview:[/color]
Alaric Drake is a man of quiet introspection and subtle rebellion. He possesses a deep sense of curiosity and a yearning for adventure, often finding beauty in the mundane. Alaric is introspective, frequently lost in thought during routine meetings, and has a habit of scribbling enchantment ideas on the margins of his reports. His colleagues see him as dependable and patient, always willing to lend an ear or stay late to fix a problem.
Beneath his professional exterior lies a dreamer with a wanderer’s soul. Alaric is passionate about exploring new places and experiences, which is reflected in his collection of travel brochures and vintage maps. He believes in signs and destiny, often drawing inspiration from his favorite book, “The Alchemist.” Alaric’s personality is a blend of responsibility and wanderlust, making him a unique and intriguing individual who navigates life with a quiet confidence and an ever-present sense of adventure.
[color=ForestGreen]Position:[/color]
Customer Service - Customer relationships and office maintenance and improvement.
[color=ForestGreen]Magic:[/color]
Alaric was being trained in the art of evocation by his parents but always had a knack for enchantment. After the death of his mother and father, Alaric left evocation behind him, only using it in minor ways for his own convenience but dived head first into enchantment. His personal enchantments seem mundane to most people but it's things he couldn't live without. Whether it's a pen enchanted to write whatever he is thinking, a self-tying tie, or his most important one, the compass on his wrist. He applies this by ensuring office enchantments are maintained, improved or undone as need be. His enchantments in the field are primarily for maintenance and clean-up of unsuspecting witnesses.
[color=ForestGreen]Resume:[/color]
Born to well respected evoker father and elementalist mother, Alaric always knew of magic but wasn't aware of the importance of it until he was 11 years old. He had often in his pre-magic years, done things that were left unexplained, like made his toys move by themselves. His father took him under his wing at this age and began to teach him. Over the years that followed, Alaric joined his parents on many expeditions and missions involving use of his new-found magic prowess. He wasn't gifted in evoking like his father and after a short stint at learning elemental control in which he managed to set fire to the living room carpet, meant he never truly experienced the danger that his parents did.
Shortly after Alaric had turned eighteen, he would go on his last expedition with his parents. It all started when he dreamt a week prior of a red robed figure warning him of disaster, he ignored this almost in it's entirety but during one late night where he couldn't sleep, he drew a compass on his wrist, closed his eyes, and focussed on it bringing direction to him and his family. When he opened his eyes again, he found the drawing had become an intricately detailed tattoo, one where when he touched it, pointed true-north.
On the first day of the final trip, the family was departing for an island off of the United Kingdom mainland. During their short boat trip, the weather seemed to be getting worse before violently growing into a hurricane, one seemingly solely located onto their boat. The boat eventually bowed to the storm, being destroyed in the process. Alaric managed to find his way to shore, using his compass, but never did find his parents.
The years following Alaric travelled for many years using his ill-gotten inheritance, until it was time to seek work. He flew back to his family home and wandered through halls in which he hadn't seen with adult eyes. Everything seemed wrong and destitute. When he was looking through his parents things, he found many letters from a company called 'MagiCorp,' it seemed they wanted his parents to join them for a very long time. A company solely for wizards seemed like a good lead for a career start. After several attempts of getting through and getting hired, he put his family home under a unique enchantment. One that would keep it safe from any trying to find it.
[color=ForestGreen]Interests:[/color]
-Travel
-Soulful music
-Reading
[color=ForestGreen]Non-Interests:[/color]
-Deep waters
-Fast food
-Crowded places
[color=ForestGreen]Other Junk:[/color]
-Alaric suffers from debilitating panic attacks when near deep water since the tragic end of his parents.
-Soulful music often brings back memories of meaningful moments and places he’s visited. Whether it’s a quiet evening in a cozy café or a walk through scenic landscapes, the music evokes a sense of nostalgia and warmth.
-Alaric's mother was a lover of books and research and, as Alaric grew older, found solace and inspiration in books. They became his escape from the mundane and a gateway to new worlds and ideas. His favourite book, “The Alchemist,” was one his mother owned, it's pages littered with little notes of hers.
[/hider]
[h2][color=RoyalBlue]N O T I N U S E[/color][/h2]
[hider=Kaito "Ampfire" Tanaka - MHA]
[centre][h1][color=0072bc]K A I T O "A M P F I R E" T A N A K A[/color][/h1][/centre]
[centre][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/66254cd3-1dd2-492d-8d13-3e6221e1f838.png[/img][/centre]
[color=0072bc]Name:[/color]
Kaito Tanaka
[color=0072bc]Hero Name:[/color]
Ampfire
[color=0072bc]Quirk:[/color]
Energy Reservoir
[color=0072bc]Background:[/color]
Kaito Tanaka, known by his hero name “Ampfire,” was born with a unique quirk called “Energy Reservoir.” His body acts as a living battery, absorbing energy from the food and drinks he consumes. However, unlike most quirks, Ampfire's power isn’t instantaneous. Instead, he accumulates energy over time, storing it within himself.
[color=0072bc]Appearance:[/color]
Ampfire is a lanky young man with unruly black hair and perpetually tired eyes. He wears a modified hero costume that resembles a cross between a tracksuit and a futuristic jumpsuit. The suit is adorned with glowing energy patterns that pulse across the fabric.
[color=0072bc]Personality:[/color]
Kaito is a laid-back and easy-going individual. He often jokes about being “charged up” after a cup of coffee or an energy drink. However, beneath his casual demeanour lies a deep exhaustion. His quirk demands constant energy intake, leaving him perpetually drained. Despite this, he remains committed to hero work, fuelled by a sense of duty and a desire to protect others.
[color=0054a6]Abilities:[/color]
[color=0072bc]Energy Absorption:[/color]
Ampfire can absorb energy from various sources, including food, beverages, and even sunlight. The more he consumes, the greater his energy reservoir becomes.
[color=0072bc]Energy Release:[/color]
When needed, Ampfire can tap into his stored energy. He can channel it into bursts of superhuman speed, strength, or agility. However, prolonged use leaves him fatigued.
[color=0072bc]Limitations:[/color]
Ampfire must carefully balance his energy intake. Too much, and he risks becoming hyperactive and jittery; too little, and he’s ineffective in battle.
[color=0072bc]Hero Work:[/color]
His signature move, the “Energetic Dash,” propels him forward at incredible speeds, leaving a trail of energy sparks behind. He’s also known for his “Power Surge Punch,” a devastating blow fuelled by his stored energy.
[color=0072bc]Weaknesses:[/color]
[color=0072bc]Energy Drain:[/color]
Ampfire's quirk constantly drains his stamina. He relies on caffeine and energy drinks to maintain functionality.
Crashes: After intense battles, Ampfire experiences energy crashes, leaving him bedridden for hours or even days.
[color=0072bc]Trivia:[/color]
Ampfire's favorite coffee shop is “Caffeine Haven,” where he’s a regular customer.
He once accidentally powered an entire city block during an energy surge, causing flickering lights and confused pedestrians.
[color=0072bc]Fun Fact:[/color]
Ampfire's hero costume has built-in energy patches which adhere to his skin. These patches release a slow, steady stream of energy to keep him going for long patrols without overwhelming him with energy.
[/hider][hider=Akari "Anemos" Fujikaze - MHA]
[centre][h1][color=6ecff6]A K A R I "A N E M O S" F U J I K A Z E[/color][/h1][/centre]
[centre][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/3812f875-8ae3-4035-96fe-0c29d8e9144a.jpg[/img][/centre]
[color=6ecff6]Name:[/color]
Akari Fujikaze
[color=6ecff6]Hero Name:[/color]
Anemos
[color=6ecff6]Quirk:[/color]
Zephyr
[color=6ecff6]Background:[/color]
Akari Fujikaze grew up in a small town outside of Kyoto. Her parents, both meteorologists, encouraged her education into science. When her quirk manifested—control over wind—she mainly used it to blow leaves and play, then in school to help her in sports, and then as she got stronger, to lift herself and move around.
[color=6ecff6]Appearance:[/color]
Anemos stands petite and graceful, her eyes the color of a clear sky. Her windswept hair, a cascade of sun-kissed waves, dances around her face. When she smiles, it’s as if the breeze itself has whispered a secret.
[color=6ecff6]Personality:[/color]
Anemos is a whirlwind of enthusiasm. She giggles when the breeze ruffles her hair and dances during storms. Her optimism is infectious, and she believes that everyone deserves a second chance.
[color=6ecff6]Abilities:[/color]
[color=6ecff6]Aerokinesis:[/color]
Anemos manipulates air currents to varying degrees and results.
[color=6ecff6]Flight Control:[/color]
She glides effortlessly, riding the wind like a kite. Whether hovering or darting through the sky.
[color=6ecff6]Zephyr Float:[/color]
Anemos can stand on a small zephyr, levitating above the ground, this has slowly become her main means of travelling.
[color=6ecff6]Gale Push:[/color]
She sends gale force winds to knock foes off balance.
[color=6ecff6]Lift and manipulate:[/color]
Anemos can use the control over wind to lift objects and people as well as control how they move through the air.
[color=6ecff6]Hero Costume:[/color]
Anemos wears a Blue bodysuit. Her hood flares like a sail and ends with a cape, and her boots have hidden air vents for precise manoeuvres.
[color=6ecff6]Teaching Style:[/color]
Anemos’s classes are outdoor adventures. She teaches students to feel their wind’s rhythm, whether in combat or daily life. Her catchphrase: “Embrace the change, my little heroes!”
[color=6ecff6]Signature Moves:[/color]
[color=6ecff6]Hurricane winds:[/color]
Anemos crosses her arms, her hands outstretched, before swiping them across her chest, creating a hurricane level blast of wind to force her enemies to submit.
[color=6ecff6]Currents whispers:[/color]
Anemos can feel the slightest movement of air, she uses this to locate people who may be trapped in disaster zones.
[color=6ecff6]Air Pocket:[/color]
Anemos's control over wind isn't limited to the air. She has also trained long and hard in the ability to create air pockets underwater that allows people to breathe underwater. These can be small, if needed for many people, and attached to the face, or large to fit an entire person inside.
[color=6ecff6]Catchphrase:[/color]
“Breathe easy—I’ve got this!”
[color=6ecff6]Trivia:[/color]
Besides heroics, Anemos is an amateur flutist. She plays haunting melodies that seem to echo the wind’s whispers.
Anemos can predict minor weather changes based on the wind’s behaviour.
[color=6ecff6]Fun fact:[/color]
On lazy afternoons, Anemos shapes clouds into whimsical forms—dragons, sailing ships, and even smiley faces. Her cloud art brings joy to passers-by.
[/hider][hider=Chatter - DnD]
[centre][h1][color=blue]C H A T T E R[/color][/h1][/centre]
[centre][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/6aeab8e7-fc48-4797-8eb3-a8fc2d3c48b8.jpg[/img][/centre]
[color=Blue]Name:[/color]
Chatter
[color=Blue]Age:[/color]
14 (Young adult for race)
[color=Blue]Race:[/color]
Kenku
[color=Blue]Fighting Class:[/color]
Ranger
[color=Blue]Gear:[/color]
Carrys a notebook full detailed drawings of things he has seen
[color=Blue]Weapons:[/color]
Bow and Arrows that are crafted using his own feathers, as well as a dagger and shortword.
[color=Blue]Appearance:[/color]
Chatter has the appearance of a Crow, he is adorned in black feathers, has a long, curved black beak and eyes like abyssal pearls. He wears a blue shawl which is tattered and torn in places. Underneath he wears a soft cloth tunic with many leather straps holding together his many bags and weapons.
[color=Blue]Backstory:[/color]
Chatter was born in the heart of the Whispering Woods—a dense, ancient forest where shadows danced among gnarled trees. Kenkus, known for their mimicry and affinity for secrets, thrived here. Chatter’s earliest memories were of echoing bird calls and the rustling of leaves.
As a young Kenku, Chatter discovered their unique gift: the ability to mimic any sound they heard. They imitated the songs of warblers, the creaking of branches, and even the hushed conversations of passing travelers. But it was the whispers—the secrets shared under moonlight—that fascinated them most.
Chatter’s mentor, an old ranger named Talon, recognized their potential. Under Talon’s guidance, Chatter learned to blend into the forest seamlessly. They wore a tattered blue shawl—the color of twilight—and moved silently, leaving no trace. Their bow, carved from a sacred yew tree, hummed with magic as they nocked arrows feathered with azure plumes.
After leaving the safety of the forest, Chatter entered the nearby town and was soon granted with cacophony of voices, all singular and different and all melodious to his ear. He learned all he could by visiting the local tavern but accidently overhead a plot of thievery. He approached the town guard and braced himself. Using a hundred voices he explained how he heard the story of thievery and perfectly recreated the men talking about it.
He left the town shortly after, fearing retaliation from the men and slowly has travelled the land, far and wide hoping to find something that is missing from himself.
[color=Blue]Racial skills[/color]
Cursed by a forgotten god, they lost their wings and voices. Now, they mimic sounds and speech they hear, unable to produce their own.
This also isn't limited to sounds. Kenku can duplicate any document, any handwriting they’ve seen. In a world of contracts and decrees, this ability opens doors—sometimes literally.
[/hider]
[color=RoyalBlue][h2]W I P[/h2][/color]
[hider=Sir Archazen Darkstone of the Silver Fire]
[centre][h1][color=8882be]A R C H A Z E N D A R K S T O N E
O F T H E S I L V E R F L A M E[/color][/h1][/centre]
[hr]
[color=8882be]Name:[/color] Archazen Darkstone
[color=8882be]True Name / Alias:[/color] Sir Archazen Darkstone of the Silver Flame | Knight of the Silver Flame | Silver Warden | Silverbrand | The Burned Man
[color=8882be]Faction/Association:[/color] Order of the Silver Flame
[color=8882be]Rank/Position:[/color] Warden of the Second Legion
[color=8882be]Species:[/color] Human
[color=8882be]Age:[/color] His true age is forgotten, even by himself. The Silver Flame has kept him alive for much longer than the human lifespan.
[color=8882be]Sex:[/color] Male
[color=8882be]Height:[/color] 6'2ft | 188cm
[color=8882be]Eyes:[/color] They used to be the colour of sapphire but now have a silver hue.
[color=8882be]Physique:[/color] Lean and toned.
[color=8882be]Hair:[/color] Ashen Brown
[color=8882be]Skin:[/color] Tanned from soot, fire, and fights.
A P P E A R A N C E:
[color=8882be]Armor:[/color]
His armor, once gleaming and proud, now bears the scars of countless battles. Dents and scratches mar its surface, but it still clings to him like a second skin. The metal is that of iron.
[color=8882be]Helm:[/color]
His helm conceals his face, leaving only shadows visible.
[color=8882be]Cloak:[/color]
A tattered cloak drapes over his shoulders, its edges frayed and singed. It billows dramatically as he moves, catching the light of the silver fire.
[color=8882be]Gloves and Gauntlets:[/color]
His gauntlets are etched with the marks of battle, of war. The gloves, however, are surprisingly delicate—fine leather adorned with silver-threaded embroidery.
[color=8882be]Boots:[/color]
His boots are worn and patched, yet they carry him silently across the blighted landscape. Their soles leave faint silver footprints wherever he treads.
[color=8882be]Additional:[/color]
Archazen’s most remarkable feature is the silver fire that burns within him. It seeps through the gaps in his armor, illuminating the darkness around him. When he draws his sword, the blade ignites with the same ethereal flames, turning it into a weapon of both silver and steel.
A B I L I T I E S:
[color=8882be]Silver Fire:[/color]
Archazen is a knight of the Silver Flame, an order of knights that have undergone The Pledge of Silver Fire. The silver fire is both a weapon and a curse. It doesn’t grant brute strength; instead, it enhances agility and reflexes. Archazen can dodge arrows mid-flight and scale walls effortlessly. It enhances his natural senses, his sight sees wisps of where Shadowbane has touched. When he draws his sword, it blazes with silver flames, allowing him to cut through the shadowbane's minions. But it comes with a price, Archazen’s touch is lethal. His skin is scarred with the silver flame, able to burn those he touches. He wears gloves at all times, their inner lining woven with protective charms to shield others from the silver fire’s wrath. Human touch is a distant memory for him. He can’t hold a lover’s hand or comfort a fallen comrade. The warmth of friendship eludes him, replaced by the fire that courses through his veins.
B I O G R A P H Y:
WIP
[/hider]
[hr][CENTRE][color=blue][h1][b]T H A N K S F O R S T O P P I N G B Y ![/b][/h1][/color]
[/centre]
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><font color="blue"><div class="bb-h1"><span class="bb-b">A R C H A Z E N 32 | M | UK</span></div></font><br><hr class="bb-hr"><br>My name is Archazen but, considering you are on my page, I'm sure you already knew that. Feel free to call me Archie, if you like.<br>I am a long time role-player of many years, roughly 15 years as of writing this, and I am open to RPing just about anything.<br>I have experience primarily with fantasy but I have also done Sci-fi, Horror, romance, slice of life, supernatural, etc, etc. <br><br>I will be uploading my RP requests as well as Bios of my OCs below please feel free to check them out and to PM if you have any interest in any of them.<br><br>I will primarily be roleplaying on my working days, my job has a lot of down time and my home life is hectic enough without trying to find time for roleplay. If I'm silent for a while, I'll let you know in advance if I can so I'd expect the same courtesy. <br><br><hr class="bb-hr"><font color="blue"><div class="bb-h1"><span class="bb-b">C U R R E N T R P P R O J E C T S</span></div></font><br><hr class="bb-hr"><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/192923-floating-star-wars-2-bby/ic">F L O A T I N G</a> <font color="dimgray">a s</font> <font color="#ff0000"><span class="bb-b">J E T K O R R I N</span></font><br><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/193022-destiny-reborn/ooc">D E S T I N Y R E B O R N !</a> <font color="dimgray">a s</font> <font color="#ff4000"><span class="bb-b">K A E L T H O R N</span></font><br><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/193032-shadows-of-the-forgotten-realm/ooc">S H A D O W S O F T H E F O R G O T T E N R E A L M S</a> <font color="dimgray">a s</font> <font color="#0072bc"><span class="bb-b">D M</span></font><br><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/192905-magicorp-wizards-gone-corporate/ic">M A G I C O R P: W I Z A R D S G O N E C O R P O R A T E</a> <font color="dimgray">a s</font> <font color="forestgreen"><span class="bb-b">A L A R I C D R A K E</span></font><br><br><hr class="bb-hr"><font color="blue"><div class="bb-h1"><span class="bb-b">C U R R E N T R P R E Q U E S T S</span></div></font><br><hr class="bb-hr"><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/192907-shadows-of-the-forgotten-realm/ooc#post-5540858">S H A D O W S O F T H E F O R G O T T E N R E A L M S - I N T E R E S T C H E C K</a><br><br><hr class="bb-hr"><font color="blue"><div class="bb-h1"><span class="bb-b">C H A R A C T E R B I O S</span></div></font><br><hr class="bb-hr"><div class="bb-h2"><font color="royalblue">I N U S E</font></div><br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Jet Korrin - SW">Jet Korrin - SW [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://txt.1001fonts.net/img/txt/dHRmLjEwNi43ZWE3ZDguU21WMElFdHZjbkpwYmcsLC4x/jabba-the-font.regular.webp" /><br><div class="bb-h3">“The galaxy’s a mess, kid. Best get used to it.”</div></div><br><br><hr class="bb-hr"><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/a7da7c23-ba83-46fa-ae59-07f0a56b4216.jpg" /></div><br><br><font color="#7ea7d8">Name:</font> 			Jet Korrin<br><font color="#7ea7d8">True Name / Alias:</font> 	Tech, Ratchet, Junker, tinker.. the list goes on. <br><font color="#7ea7d8">Faction:</font> 			Ex-republic Mechanic<br><font color="#7ea7d8">Rank:</font> 			Master Technician<br><font color="#7ea7d8">Species:</font> 			Human (Coruscanti)<br><font color="#7ea7d8">Age:</font> 			54<br><font color="#7ea7d8">Sex:</font> 			Male<br><font color="#7ea7d8">Height:</font> 			6'4ft<br><font color="#7ea7d8">Eyes:</font> 			brown<br><font color="#7ea7d8">Physique:</font> <br>				Sturdy and robust physique // combines strength with practicality // His frame reflects the weariness of a<br>				seasoned mechanic who has spent countless hours hunched over starship consoles, yet his movements remain agile.<br><font color="#7ea7d8">Hair:</font> 			brown, graying hair // low bun<br><font color="#7ea7d8">Skin:</font> 			Originally Fair skin tone // bears the wear and tear of life spent tinkering // Bronzed from years under harsh suns<br><font color="#7ea7d8">Force Sensitive:</font>	Unlikely. <br><br><font color="#7ea7d8">NPC:</font> <br>Alright, listen up. Rexa Voss—codename “Whisper.” She was more than just a partner; we danced through the stars together. Brave as a comet dodging asteroids, she earned a Republic Commendation for her gutsy moves during Operation Nebula Serpent. But the galaxy’s a cruel place, and it took her away. Deceased. Damn shame.<br><br>Now, Lena Talon—she preferred “Nova.” My apprentice, my right hand. We tinkered with hyperdrives, patched hull breaches, and shared stories over greasy caf. But fate’s a twisted navigator. Lena’s gone too, marked as deceased. She was family, and the void feels colder without her.<br><br><font color="#7ea7d8">STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES:</font><br><br><font color="#39b54a">Mechanical genius.</font> Got this knack for machinery—can disassemble and diagnose complex systems like it’s a walk in the asteroid field. Ain’t just about fixin’ isolated problems, though. I take a whole-damn-ship approach. When scarcity hits, my creativity kicks in—I rig solutions with whatever’s lyin’ around. Starship schematics? Manuals? They etch themselves into my brain, like a tattoo on a spacefaring outlaw. I can visualize intricate designs, recall wiring diagrams, and dance with system interplay. It’s like I’m plugged into the cosmic mainframe. So whether it’s a Corellian freighter or an Imperial TIE fighter, I’m the mechanic who ain’t just fixin’ engines—I’m rewiring fate itself.<br><br><font color="#fff200">Resilience,</font> kid. It’s the only currency that matters out in the outer rim. Lost my share of folks. But you don’t survive this underworld by wearin’ your heart on your sleeve. Danger? Hell, it’s my workshop soundtrack—the hum of fusion cutters, the sizzle of repulsorlifts. See that flickering neon sign? It’s where I’m fixin’ up a stolen landspeeder, no questions asked. No roots, no sentimental attachments. Just me and the junkyard vibes. People? They’re like malfunctioning droids—wired wrong, glitchin’ at the seams. Nah, I ain’t a loner; I’m a grease monkey with a knack for jury-riggin’. The stars? They’re the neon signs reflected in oily puddles. Stoicism ain’t cold; it’s survival. Each scar’s a story—blaster burns, electroshock mishaps. Lost love, lost credits. But I keep wrenchin’, keep tweakin’. So, kid, remember: Resilience ain’t about fixin’ shiny starships. It’s about cobblin’ together rusty speeders and stayin’ one step ahead of the Hutts.<br><br><font color="#ed1c24">Stubborn?</font> Well, kid, let me tell ya. Yeah, I ain’t one to back down, even when the stars themselves seem to be conspirin’ against me. You see, life’s dealt me a hand full of busted hyperdrive coils and malfunctionin’ blasters. But I keep flyin’, keep fixin’. It’s like this: when the galaxy throws a curveball, I swing harder. Maybe it’s pride, maybe it’s just the way I’m wired. But that refusal to yield? It’s both my strength and my curse. So, kid, remember this—sometimes, the toughest battles ain’t in the stars; they’re right here, in your gut. And that stubbornness? It’ll either save your hide or send you spiralin’ into a black hole. Choose wisely.<br><br><font color="#7ea7d8">APPEARANCE:</font><br><br>Jet’s face bears the marks of countless orbits around suns and moons. His skin, bronzed by space’s unforgiving rays, holds the memory of star maps traced with fingertips. Crow’s feet fan from the corners of his eyes—constellations of laughter, worry, and the weight of unspoken burdens. His eyes—deep and unyielding. They’ve witnessed hyperspace jumps and smuggler’s deals, betrayal and fleeting alliances. When Jet gazes at you, it’s like staring into the heart of a black hole—an event horizon where secrets collide. His jawline—square and resolute—speaks of resolve. It’s the anchor that keeps him grounded amidst the chaos of starports and cantinas. Scars, like asteroid impacts, trace the contours of his chin—a testament to battles fought and debts unpaid. Jet’s mouth—often a thin line—holds the echoes of lost comrades and unanswered questions. It’s the gateway to stories told over glasses of Corellian whiskey. When he smiles, it’s like a distant nebula flickering—a rare burst of warmth against the cosmic chill.<br><br>Jet’s frame is solid, built for the gritty underbelly of the galaxy. His shoulders—broad as a smuggler’s cargo hold—carry the weight of starship repairs and underworld secrets. Each muscle, honed by countless hours wrenching hyperdrive cores and recalibrating blasters, tells a story of survival. His arms—sinewy and scarred—are tools in themselves. The left, cybernetic and matte black, is a relic from his days in the replublic. It’s not just for show; it’s a fusion of strength and utility. When he grips a blaster, it’s like a wookiee’s embrace—firm but not crushing. His spine, slightly curved from years hunched over starship consoles, echoes the curvature of hyperspace routes. It’s a weariness etched into bone—the weight of lost comrades, unpaid debts, and unanswered questions. Despite weariness, Jet’s movements remain agile. He sidesteps danger like a nimble astromech evading blaster fire. When he pivots, it’s like a starfighter banking into a tight turn—graceful yet ready to unleash firepower. His boots—scuffed from countless cantina brawls—keep rhythm with the seedy undercurrents of the galaxy.<br><br><font color="#7ea7d8">BIOGRAPHY:</font><br><br>Jet Korrin, a man of his years, a culmination of firefights, fist fights, spark lights, and long nights. A well-respected mechanic during his time with the republic turned back-alley tech for the many criminals, syndicates, and cartels. He's not to be messed with, and the common suspects in Nar Shaddaar know it. He wouldn't say he was "under their protection" more that everyone relies on him being there, in some way or another. <br><br>He generally keeps to himself, he shares a laugh in the cantina after a long day, sure, but making long-lasting relationships isn't for him, not anymore. He keeps his head down, day in, day out, working on whatever work seems to come his way. His resilience has managed to keep him going in a galaxy that seems to only ever to have the worst planned. His name known throughout both the shady underbelly of civilisation as well as spoken in high-regard through republic channels, whether it's getting a job done perfectly or done cheap and quiet-like, he's the man for the job. <br><br>His history before his republic days was nothing special, raised to a middle class family on Coruscant, he went to good schools and got himself a good education, he shined with mechanics much to the distain of his family, it being a working class job and all, but he liked it. He signed to the military at 16, getting himself off world and his parents off his back for good. He liked the military, a steady work style, known expectations and access to all the starships he could get his grubby hands on. He started out as any recruit does, with a blaster strapped and armour-clad but soon showed his worth to the engineers, getting a quick shift into the mechanic core by the time he was 17. <br><br>Still, Jet misses the adventure that his life used to possess, stalling out in his workshop getting tiresome, he was soon looking for his next stage, him being unaware of just how hectic that would be wasn't a problem, it wouldn't have stopped him regardless.</div></div><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Kael Thorn - Destiny Reborn!">Kael Thorn - Destiny Reborn! [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://txt.1001fonts.net/img/txt/dHRmLjk2LmZmMDAwMC5TMkZsYkNCMGFHOXliZy4w/grunger.regular.webp" /></div><br><div class="bb-center"><span class="bb-i">”“In the shadow of my curse, I found strength. What’s a hero without a burden to bear?””</span></div><br><br><font color="#ff4000">Age:</font> 18<br><br><font color="#ff4000">Type:</font> Mage<br><br><font color="#ff4000">Element:</font> Air<br><br><font color="#ff4000">Secondary (weapon):</font> Fire <br><br><font color="#ff4000">Rank:</font> Varies on Symbiosis.<br><br>	- Base = Apprentice Mage<br>	- 25% = Iron + Sage<br>	- 50% = Gold + Mage<br>	- 75% = Silver + Wizard<br>	- 100% = Platinum + Wizard + possible permanent possession. <br><br><div class="bb-h2"><font color="#ff4000">Backstory:</font></div><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Click to unveil">Click to unveil [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none">Kael Thorn grew up in the small town of Willow Springs, nestled among the rolling hills of upstate New York. The town was picturesque, with its quaint houses, winding streets, and a sense of quiet isolation. Kael’s childhood was marked by lazy summers spent exploring the nearby woods, riding his bike down dusty trails, and occasionally getting into minor mischief with his best friend, Jake.<br><br>His parents, both hardworking but unremarkable, ran a small antique shop on Main Street. The shop was filled with desiccated relics of the past—old typewriters, tarnished silverware, and faded photographs. Kael often helped out after school, dusting off forgotten treasures and listening to the stories behind them: his fascination with history and mystery began there, amidst the creaky floorboards and the scent of old leather-bound books.<br><br>School was a different story: Kael’s grades were lackluster, and he rarely felt motivated to excel. He daydreamed during math class, doodling dragons and knights in the margins of his notebook. Detention became a familiar place for him, whether due to tardiness, missed assignments, or simply zoning out during lectures. His teachers saw potential in him if they spent the effort to look, but Kael preferred the escape of fantasy novels and late-night video game sessions.<br><br>His attire matched his rebellious spirit. Black combat boots, baggy jeans, and a faded band t-shirt were his daily uniform. A red flannel shirt, worn open, completed the grunge look. His shaggy brown hair fell into his eyes, and he rarely bothered to comb it. Kael wasn’t interested in conforming; he wanted life to surprise him, to unfold like an epic quest with unexpected twists.<br><br>Kael’s hobbies reflected his inner world. Video games transported him to realms of magic and adventure, where he could be a hero battling dark forces. Anime introduced him to complex characters and intricate plots, and he’d binge-watch entire series during weekends. Dungeons & Dragons sessions with Jake and a few other misfit friends allowed Kael to step into different personas—a rogue thief, a brooding sorcerer, or a noble knight.<br><br>But perhaps Kael’s most intriguing pastime was exploring abandoned buildings. Willow Springs had its share of forgotten places—an old mill, a crumbling mansion, and an eerie asylum. Armed with a flashlight and a sense of curiosity, Kael would slip through broken windows, feeling the chill of decay and the weight of history. These places whispered secrets—the laughter of forgotten parties, the cries of patients, the echoes of lives left behind.<br><br>As for friends, Kael didn’t have many. Jake was his steadfast companion, sharing Kael’s love for the mysterious and the inexplicable. They’d swap ghost stories by the campfire, daring each other to venture deeper into the woods. But beyond Jake, Kael kept his distance: social interactions felt like a chore, and he preferred the solitude of his room, surrounded by stacks of fantasy novels and half-finished sketches. <br><br>One fateful day, Kael ventured into the abandoned soda factory. Its metal skeletons loomed against the sky, rusted and forgotten. As he stepped onto an overhead walkway, his footing gave way. He plummeted, wind rushing past, and then—darkness.<br><br>When he awoke, he was no longer in Willow Springs. The air pollution that permeated his lungs, replaced with fresh air and the smell of pine filled his senses. Where once was cement beneath his boots now lay soft, delicate earth. Those who greeted him, spoke of prophecies and ‘Reincarnates.’ Kael’s mundane life was wholly shattered, replaced by a destiny he couldn’t comprehend, or so he thought. <br><br>Kael’s search for purpose in this new, more interesting world led him through the hallowed halls of paladins and the arcane chambers of magi. He tried to fit into their ranks, to prove himself worthy, but the universe remained indifferent: he wasn’t special enough for their grand designs. Disheartened and taken from his familiar world, he clung to old habits—the thrill of exploring abandoned places, where echoes of forgotten lives whispered in the shadows.<br><br>One crisp autumn day, Kael stumbled upon ruins that seemed to resonate with his very soul. The stones hummed with ancient energy, and he felt an innate pull—a destiny carved into the moss-covered stones. He ventured inside, brushing aside cobwebs, and there, half-buried beneath rubble, lay a weapon unlike any other.<br><br>The dagger, its features scratched and vague lingered beneath his gaze, its blade stained with dirt and ash and yet still mustered the will to shimmer… replete with forgotten potential. As Kael reached for the implement, he heard a voice—a droning, otherworldly thrum that echoed deep within his mind. It spoke with authority, offset with a measured softness, as if the weapon itself held ancient wisdom upon an open palm.<br><br>“I am Nihilus,” the voice intoned. “Born before this world began. Bond with me, Mortal, and become more than you could ever be. More than you could ever wish to be. Both the paladins and the Magi will regret not helping to manifest your potential.”<br><br>The plethora of thoughts ricocheting around in his mind were intoxicating. Kael scarcely hesitated, fingers trembling as they touched the dagger’s hilt. Memories surged—a recollection of battles fought, of destruction under a blood-stained moon, and the taste of both victory and despair. Nihilus had a soul—a Demon's soul, imprisoned within the blade.<br><br>And thus, he was bound to it, as any paladin would be with their weapon. But this bond was different: Nihilus hungered—for chaos, for spilled blood, for dominion over realms. It whispered dark secrets—how to command the arcane, how to rend flesh, how to reshape the world. Kael’s mind blurred—the line between self and weapon fading. He became a vessel for Nihilus, <span class="bb-i">it’s pawn.</span></div></div><br><div class="bb-h2"><font color="#ff4000">Personality:</font></div><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Click to unveil">Click to unveil [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none">Kael’s curious mind, once a beacon of exploration, has been stripped of its innocence. No longer does he seek the thrill of adventure; instead, he hungers for control. The latent power within him pulses, demanding recognition. It’s a double-edged sword—a gift and a curse.<br><br>From a carefree boy, content with the simplicity of life, Kael has metamorphosed into a man burdened by the weight of his choices. Fear gnaws at him, and regret tugs at his heart. He knows he must act, for his actions ripple outward. He cannot be the reason for another’s evil.<br><br>And so, with determination, he walks the tightrope. He will wield his newfound “power,” but not recklessly. It must serve a greater purpose—a force for good. For Kael, redemption lies in the delicate balance between purpose and fear, between creation and destruction.</div></div><br><div class="bb-h2"><font color="#ff4000">Appearance:</font></div><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Image">Image [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><img src="https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/9de0f13f-4a76-4f3f-993a-5f6c4786c4ce.jpg" /></div></div><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Description">Description [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none">Kael stands at an average height, lean but sinewy. His frame suggests agility rather than brute strength. His eyes are a striking shade of deep blue, often reflecting determination and curiosity. His once shaggy brown hair now falls in a tousled cascade. Kael wears practical attire—a tunic of earth-toned fabric, reinforced with leather patches. His trousers are sturdy, allowing freedom of movement. Around his waist, a leather belt adorned with pouches for whatever he may need. Leather boots, worn but well-crafted, protect his feet from thorns and rocky terrain. Draped over his shoulders is a cloak of midnight blue, its fabric whisper-soft. The hood conceals his features when needed, casting shadows across his face.</div></div><br><div class="bb-h2"><font color="#ff4000">Powers/Abilities:</font></div><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Magic">Magic [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none">Kael has a very basic access to Magic due to his bond with his cursed weapon, this has allowed him to access his own affinity as well as that of Ty’Kyran’s.<br><br><div class="bb-h3">Airblast (Air Sorcery)</div><br>Medium: Somatic<br><br><span class="bb-i">placing both wrists together with his hands outstretched, Kael can summon varying degrees of airblasts.</span><br><br><div class="bb-h3">Fireball (Fire Sorcey)</div><br>Medium: Somatic<br><br><span class="bb-i">By focusing on the fire affinity cursed upon him, Kael can summon a ball of fire within his hand.</span><br><br><div class="bb-h3">Lightning Bolt (Lightning Compound Sorcery)</div><br>Medium: Somatic<br><br><span class="bb-i">Reaching his hand out in a straight line and focusing allows Kael to mix Air and Fire to create a forceful lightning bolt from his fingertips.</span></div></div><br><div class="bb-h2"><font color="#ff4000">Weapon:</font></div><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Special ability: Symbiosis">Special ability: Symbiosis [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none">Kael’s cursed connection to his weapon has bonded his and Ty’Kyran’s souls. At will, Kael can activate their symbiosis which merges their physical beings. <br><br>0% Symbiosis (Kael Dominant): <br>	Kael retains full control. <br>	His actions are independent, guided solely by his desires.<br>25% Symbiosis: <br>	Kael begins to feel Ty’Kyran’s presence—a subtle influence on his thoughts and emotions.<br>50% Symbiosis: <br>	The balance shifts. Kael’s autonomy wavers, and Ty’Kyran’s desires seep into his consciousness.<br>75% Symbiosis: <br>	Ty’Kyran’s rage and cunning surge. <br>	Kael struggles to resist, but their minds blur together.<br>100% Symbiosis (Ty’Kyran Dominant): <br>	Ty’Kyran takes over, wielding Kael’s body as his vessel. <br>	Kael’s willpower is the last defense against complete possession.<br><br>Symbiosis changes several things as the level increases, allowing Kael additional availability to Ty’Kyran’s mana pool as well as his demonic strength, agility, and abilities and the exchange of his own autonomy. His own will is the deciding factor for how much he resists Ty’Kyran’s possession. <br><br>When merged with Ty’Kyran, Kael’s personality may shift. His normally cautious demeanor might become more daring, fueled by Ty’Kyran’s desire for destruction.<br><br>Physically, Kael's body goes through changes as the symbiosis increases. At low symbiosis levels, the changes are almost superficial, his muscles may bulge, his teeth grow sharp etc. Whereas at high levels, Kael would grow Ty’Kyran’s horns, his eyes would turn from calm blue to the Fiery hue of Ty’Kyran’s. <br><br>0% Symbiosis (Kael Dominant):<br>	Appearance:<br>		Kael appears entirely human.<br>		His eyes are a calm shade of blue.<br>		No visible alterations—just an ordinary young man.<br>	Internal Sensations:<br>		Kael feels no different from his usual self.<br>		Ty’Kyran’s presence is a distant echo.<br>25% Symbiosis:<br>	Appearance:<br>		Subtle shifts begin:<br>		His eyes occasionally flicker with a fiery glint.<br>		Veins beneath his skin pulse faintly.<br>		A hint of Ty’Kyran’s aura surrounds him.<br>	Internal Sensations:<br>		Kael experiences fleeting bursts of aggression or recklessness.<br>		His thoughts sometimes echo Ty’Kyran’s desires.<br>50% Symbiosis:<br>	Appearance:<br>		The changes become more pronounced:<br>		Horns emerge from Kael’s forehead, curving back like a ram’s.<br>		His eyes now hold a dual hue—blue and fiery orange.<br>		Tattoos resembling ancient runes appear on his arms.<br>		His muscles ripple with newfound strength.<br>	Internal Sensations:<br>		Kael battles conflicting impulses—his will against Ty’Kyran’s.<br>		Dreams blur memories of battles long past.<br>75% Symbiosis:<br>	Appearance:<br>		The horns grow longer, twisting like serpents.<br>		Kael’s skin toughens, resisting minor cuts.<br>		His teeth sharpen subtly.<br>		His eyes blaze with Ty’Kyran’s rage.<br>	Internal Sensations:<br>		Kael’s autonomy wavers. Ty’Kyran’s voice whispers in his mind.<br>		The urge to destroy battles his desire to protect.<br>100% Symbiosis (Ty’Kyran Dominant):<br>	Appearance:<br>		His skin takes on a faint, otherworldly glow.<br>		Claws extend from his fingertips.<br>		His entire presence radiates menace.<br>	Internal Sensations:<br>		Kael fights to retain fragments of self-awareness.<br>		Ty’Kyran’s memories flood his consciousness.</div></div><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Neutral Ability: Infernal Resonance">Neutral Ability: Infernal Resonance [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none">Due to the Infernal origins of the weapon, it allowed Kael access to deeper levels of magic that he would be attuned to by himself, his spells becoming infernally empowered, well beyond what his abilities should allow.<br><br>For example, fireballs that should have been the size of a dodgeball blaze hotter, larger, and able to melt through stone. Airblasts become sharp cutting winds, and lightning bolts become uncontrollable like a storm. <br><br>To access this power, Kael must choose it, wielding the dagger. It comes with the risk of Ty’Kyran becoming more influential, furthering his symbiosis beyond his will.</div></div><br><hr class="bb-hr"><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://txt.1001fonts.net/img/txt/dHRmLjk2LmZmZmZmZi5WSGtuUzNseVlXNC4w/demons-and-darlings.regular.webp" /></div><br><div class="bb-center"><span class="bb-i">“I am oblivion—the void that swallows empires, the echo of annihilation.”</span></div><br><br>Age: Unknown<br><br>Type: Cambion Demon<br><br>Rank: Mythril<br><br>Appearance:<br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Image">Image [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><img src="https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/a2b0b297-2e85-4a15-a5c5-770c8f833521.png" /></div></div><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Description">Description [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none">Ty’Kyran’s eyes, twin orbs of seething intensity, mirrored the dying embers of distant stars. Within those crimson irises, the fury of collapsing galaxies churned—a testament to battles waged in the realms far beyond mortal time.<br><br>His skin, taut and unyielding, bore the hue of a sun nearing its final breath. The crimson expanse clung to the contours of muscle and bone, a testament to both resilience and vulnerability. Each scar etched upon his flesh told a story—a saga of skirmishes, of forces clashing in demonic arenas.<br><br>Ty’Kyran’s physique defied easy categorization. Slender, yet muscular, he moved with a grace that belied the raw power simmering beneath the surface. His muscles held strength in check—an energy harnessed, waiting for release.</div></div><br><br>Backstory:<br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Unveil">Unveil [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none">In the time prior to humanity's kingdoms, when Demons ruled the land of what is now Harvess, Ty’Kyran was already feared even among his own kin. Here, blood flowed like molten glass. Ages passed, malevolence simmered, steeped in the primordial chaos.<br><br>In this realm Ty’Kyran’s shadow fell. Mortals glimpsed him—a silhouette against the rising sun—and felt the tremors of destiny. They knew not his name but sensed his purpose: annihilation.<br><br>Ty’Kyran’s crimson eyes held no remorse. His wings, infernal tempests, swept across villages, toppling spires and extinguishing hearth fires. His greatsword, an extension of his wrath, cleaved through ancient oaks and castle walls alike. Each swing unraveled the delicate threads that bound their reality.<br>As Ty’Kyran roamed, they quivered. Mortals felt the weight of impending doom—their dreams haunted by visions of fractured worlds. A canvas for Ty’Kyran’s malevolence, each stroke tearing at the seams. His greatsword relished their souls, its blade etched with blood. The land bore scars—crops withered, rivers choked, and stones cracked. Ty’Kyran reveled in the symphony of destruction, each note resonating with his malevolent laughter.<br><br>The first paladins clashed with Ty’Kyran. Seraphina, their stalwart leader, driven by hope, struck at Ty’Kyran’s heart, only to meet his blade in her fall. As Ty’Kyran fell, Seraphina sacrificed her remaining lifeforce to seal Ty’Kyran within the very weapon he wielded, binding him to its malevolent power. <br><br>The paladins buried the greatsword deep within a sacred grove, where ancient oaks stood sentinel. Over centuries, the blade’s malevolence waned. Its once imposing form dwindled, until it resembled a mere dagger—a relic forgotten by all but the oldest trees.<br><br>And so, Ty’Kyran slumbered within the blade, his consciousness flickering in the dark. The dagger lay undisturbed, waiting for a time when destiny would stir it awake once more. Perhaps a curious adventurer would stumble upon it, unaware of the Demon’s legacy.</div></div><br><br><hr class="bb-hr"><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://txt.1001fonts.net/img/txt/b3RmLjk2LmZmZmZmZi5Ua2xJU1V4VlV3LCwuMA,,/the-beast.regular.webp" /></div><br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Original Form:">Original Form: [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://tse1.mm.bing.net/th?id=OIG2.nEIvVoPayktcLdA0Qnh2&pid=ImgGn" /></div><br><br>In the fiery depths of Ty’Kyran’s malevolent realm, where the screams of tormented souls echo through sulfurous caverns, Nihilus took shape–an embodiment of destruction forged within the infernal warforges.<br><br>The blade of Nihilus is wrought from infernal iron, a malefic substance that defies the laws of mortal craftsmanship. Its form remains unyielding–a straight line devoid of taper, culminating in a wickedly sharp point. This blade is no mere weapon; it is a manifestation of Ty’Kyran’s wrath, honed to cleave through armor, bone, and spirit alike. <br><br>Lifting Nihilus seems like an act of defiance against the very laws of reality. Mortal hands would strain under its weight, for the infernal iron has rendered it too heavy for ordinary men and women. As if the earth itself conspires against those who dare to wield it, the ground trembles beneath their feet, urging them to relinquish their grasp.<br><br>Wrapped in obsidian-black leather, the hilt provides a stark contrast to the blade’s malevolence. The crossguard serves as a macabre ornament–a testament to the blade’s otherworldly origins.<br><br>Nihilus transcends mere utility.. It is Ty’Kyran’s proclamation etched in fire and iron–a symbol of devastation and reckoning. The insatiable hunger for domination that drives him.</div></div><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Dagger form">Dagger form [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://tse4.mm.bing.net/th?id=OIG4.ZecmvueEOSHZQTICW6Zl&pid=ImgGn" /></div><br><br>As the power of Ty’Kyran waned, the greatsword form couldn’t be maintained. The once-glorious blade faltered, its form shifting and shrinking until it resembled a mere dagger. No longer capable of maintaining its grandeur, the greatsword surrendered to the inexorable pull of time.<br><br>The dagger, beneath the dust and ash, is a brilliant iron. the dagger feels deceptively heavy in hand. Its weight belies its seemingly unassuming appearance.The blade, straight and unadorned, lacks ostentation. No intricate patterns or embellishments distract from its purpose. The hilt, wrapped in a small leather cord, bears no gemstones or engravings. Simplicity masks its true significance. When gripped, the leather feels worn, as if it was eons old. The blade’s surface, when exposed to certain light, emits an eerie black glow—an otherworldly luminescence that defies explanation.</div></div><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Symbiosis effect">Symbiosis effect [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none">As the symbiosis increases and Ty’Kyrans power is allowed to take over, the weapon too grows. Kael is seen to wield a dagger but as the symbiosis grows, it would become a shortsword, an arming sword, a bastard sword, a longsword and finally into the greatsword Ty’Kyran once wielded. <br><br>Dagger (0% Symbiosis):<br>Kael wields a simple dagger, its blade unremarkable and compact.<br>The weapon serves as a tool rather than a formidable weapon.<br>Shortsword (25% Symbiosis):<br>As Kael activates symbiosis, the dagger begins to change:<br>The blade elongates, edges sharpening.<br>Intricate runes appear along the hilt, pulsing with energy.<br>The weapon gains weight, becoming more substantial.<br>Kael feels the surge of Ty’Kyran’s power, and the weapon responds.<br>Arming Sword (50% Symbiosis):<br>The transformation continues:<br>The blade grows further, balanced and deadly.<br>The runes glow brighter, resonating with ancient magic.<br>Kael’s grip adjusts to accommodate the weapon’s new form.<br>Ty’Kyran’s essence seeps into the steel.<br>Bastard Sword (75% Symbiosis):<br>The weapon becomes formidable:<br>Its length rivals that of a longsword.<br>Etchings on the blade depict scenes of battle and sacrifice.<br>Kael’s movements flow seamlessly with the weapon’s weight.<br>Ty’Kyran’s rage and cunning pulse through Kael’s veins.<br>Longsword (90% Symbiosis):<br>The blade reaches its zenith:<br>Polished to a mirror sheen, it reflects both Kael and Ty’Kyran.<br>The hilt bears symbols of dual mastery.<br>Kael’s identity blurs with Ty’Kyran’s memories.<br>The weapon hungers for conflict.<br>Greatsword (100% Symbiosis):<br>Finally, the dagger completes its transformation:<br>It reshapes into the magnificent greatsword Ty’Kyran once wielded.<br>The blade gleams with an otherworldly light, etched with ancient symbols.<br>Kael wields it effortlessly, channeling both their essences.<br>The greatsword embodies their combined strength and purpose.</div></div></div></div><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Alaric Drake - MagiCorp">Alaric Drake - MagiCorp [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><div class="bb-center"><div class="bb-h1"><font color="forestgreen">A L A R I C D R A K E</font></div><br><img src="https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/3ad15822-88aa-4412-8f99-f2d2cb226126.png" /><br>“Magic is in the little things – <br> - A smile, a warm cup of tea, and unexpected kindness”</div><br><br><font color="forestgreen">Full Name:</font> <br>Alaric Harvard Drake<br><br><font color="forestgreen">Age:</font> <br>38<br><br><font color="forestgreen">Appearance:</font> <br>Standing at an impressive 6 feet, his lean frame suggests athleticism despite years spent behind a desk. His chestnut-brown hair, perpetually tousled, catches glimmers of gold in the sunlight. The meticulously groomed brown beard adds character to his rugged handsomeness.<br><br>But it’s Alaric’s eyes that captivate—a mesmerizing blend of blue and green, shifting like the tides. When he focuses, they deepen to a stormy gray; when he laughs, they sparkle like sunlight on water. And there, on his left wrist, lies an enchanted compass tattoo—a fine reminder of adventure and direction. He got it during holiday turned disaster, where he lost his family forever.<br><br>In the corporate world, Alaric navigates with quiet confidence. Crisp white shirts, sleeves rolled up to reveal the compass, paired with tailored trousers—the uniform of a man who balances professionalism with subtle rebellion. Casual Fridays see him swapping ties for a well-worn watch, a relic from his travels with his father. His favorite black loafers carry stories of cobblestone streets and hidden cafés.<br><br><font color="forestgreen">Worldview:</font> <br>Alaric Drake is a man of quiet introspection and subtle rebellion. He possesses a deep sense of curiosity and a yearning for adventure, often finding beauty in the mundane. Alaric is introspective, frequently lost in thought during routine meetings, and has a habit of scribbling enchantment ideas on the margins of his reports. His colleagues see him as dependable and patient, always willing to lend an ear or stay late to fix a problem.<br><br>Beneath his professional exterior lies a dreamer with a wanderer’s soul. Alaric is passionate about exploring new places and experiences, which is reflected in his collection of travel brochures and vintage maps. He believes in signs and destiny, often drawing inspiration from his favorite book, “The Alchemist.” Alaric’s personality is a blend of responsibility and wanderlust, making him a unique and intriguing individual who navigates life with a quiet confidence and an ever-present sense of adventure. <br><br><font color="forestgreen">Position:</font> <br>Customer Service - Customer relationships and office maintenance and improvement.<br><br><font color="forestgreen">Magic:</font> <br>Alaric was being trained in the art of evocation by his parents but always had a knack for enchantment. After the death of his mother and father, Alaric left evocation behind him, only using it in minor ways for his own convenience but dived head first into enchantment. His personal enchantments seem mundane to most people but it's things he couldn't live without. Whether it's a pen enchanted to write whatever he is thinking, a self-tying tie, or his most important one, the compass on his wrist. He applies this by ensuring office enchantments are maintained, improved or undone as need be. His enchantments in the field are primarily for maintenance and clean-up of unsuspecting witnesses.<br><br><font color="forestgreen">Resume:</font> <br>Born to well respected evoker father and elementalist mother, Alaric always knew of magic but wasn't aware of the importance of it until he was 11 years old. He had often in his pre-magic years, done things that were left unexplained, like made his toys move by themselves. His father took him under his wing at this age and began to teach him. Over the years that followed, Alaric joined his parents on many expeditions and missions involving use of his new-found magic prowess. He wasn't gifted in evoking like his father and after a short stint at learning elemental control in which he managed to set fire to the living room carpet, meant he never truly experienced the danger that his parents did. <br><br>Shortly after Alaric had turned eighteen, he would go on his last expedition with his parents. It all started when he dreamt a week prior of a red robed figure warning him of disaster, he ignored this almost in it's entirety but during one late night where he couldn't sleep, he drew a compass on his wrist, closed his eyes, and focussed on it bringing direction to him and his family. When he opened his eyes again, he found the drawing had become an intricately detailed tattoo, one where when he touched it, pointed true-north. <br><br>On the first day of the final trip, the family was departing for an island off of the United Kingdom mainland. During their short boat trip, the weather seemed to be getting worse before violently growing into a hurricane, one seemingly solely located onto their boat. The boat eventually bowed to the storm, being destroyed in the process. Alaric managed to find his way to shore, using his compass, but never did find his parents.<br><br>The years following Alaric travelled for many years using his ill-gotten inheritance, until it was time to seek work. He flew back to his family home and wandered through halls in which he hadn't seen with adult eyes. Everything seemed wrong and destitute. When he was looking through his parents things, he found many letters from a company called 'MagiCorp,' it seemed they wanted his parents to join them for a very long time. A company solely for wizards seemed like a good lead for a career start. After several attempts of getting through and getting hired, he put his family home under a unique enchantment. One that would keep it safe from any trying to find it.<br><br><font color="forestgreen">Interests:</font> <br>-Travel<br>-Soulful music<br>-Reading<br><br><font color="forestgreen">Non-Interests:</font><br>-Deep waters<br>-Fast food<br>-Crowded places<br><br><font color="forestgreen">Other Junk:</font><br>-Alaric suffers from debilitating panic attacks when near deep water since the tragic end of his parents.<br>-Soulful music often brings back memories of meaningful moments and places he’s visited. Whether it’s a quiet evening in a cozy café or a walk through scenic landscapes, the music evokes a sense of nostalgia and warmth.<br>-Alaric's mother was a lover of books and research and, as Alaric grew older, found solace and inspiration in books. They became his escape from the mundane and a gateway to new worlds and ideas. His favourite book, “The Alchemist,” was one his mother owned, it's pages littered with little notes of hers.</div></div><br><div class="bb-h2"><font color="royalblue">N O T I N U S E</font></div><br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Kaito "Ampfire" Tanaka - MHA">Kaito "Ampfire" Tanaka - MHA [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><div class="bb-center"><div class="bb-h1"><font color="#0072bc">K A I T O "A M P F I R E" T A N A K A</font></div></div><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/66254cd3-1dd2-492d-8d13-3e6221e1f838.png" /></div><br><br><font color="#0072bc">Name:</font> <br>Kaito Tanaka<br><br><font color="#0072bc">Hero Name:</font> <br>Ampfire<br><br><font color="#0072bc">Quirk:</font> <br>Energy Reservoir<br><br><font color="#0072bc">Background:</font> <br>Kaito Tanaka, known by his hero name “Ampfire,” was born with a unique quirk called “Energy Reservoir.” His body acts as a living battery, absorbing energy from the food and drinks he consumes. However, unlike most quirks, Ampfire's power isn’t instantaneous. Instead, he accumulates energy over time, storing it within himself.<br><br><font color="#0072bc">Appearance:</font> <br>Ampfire is a lanky young man with unruly black hair and perpetually tired eyes. He wears a modified hero costume that resembles a cross between a tracksuit and a futuristic jumpsuit. The suit is adorned with glowing energy patterns that pulse across the fabric.<br><br><font color="#0072bc">Personality:</font> <br>Kaito is a laid-back and easy-going individual. He often jokes about being “charged up” after a cup of coffee or an energy drink. However, beneath his casual demeanour lies a deep exhaustion. His quirk demands constant energy intake, leaving him perpetually drained. Despite this, he remains committed to hero work, fuelled by a sense of duty and a desire to protect others.<br><br><font color="#0054a6">Abilities:</font><br><br><font color="#0072bc">Energy Absorption:</font> <br>Ampfire can absorb energy from various sources, including food, beverages, and even sunlight. The more he consumes, the greater his energy reservoir becomes.<br><font color="#0072bc">Energy Release:</font> <br>When needed, Ampfire can tap into his stored energy. He can channel it into bursts of superhuman speed, strength, or agility. However, prolonged use leaves him fatigued.<br><font color="#0072bc">Limitations:</font> <br>Ampfire must carefully balance his energy intake. Too much, and he risks becoming hyperactive and jittery; too little, and he’s ineffective in battle.<br><font color="#0072bc">Hero Work:</font> <br>His signature move, the “Energetic Dash,” propels him forward at incredible speeds, leaving a trail of energy sparks behind. He’s also known for his “Power Surge Punch,” a devastating blow fuelled by his stored energy.<br><br><font color="#0072bc">Weaknesses:</font><br><br><font color="#0072bc">Energy Drain:</font> <br>Ampfire's quirk constantly drains his stamina. He relies on caffeine and energy drinks to maintain functionality.<br>Crashes: After intense battles, Ampfire experiences energy crashes, leaving him bedridden for hours or even days.<br><br><font color="#0072bc">Trivia:</font><br>Ampfire's favorite coffee shop is “Caffeine Haven,” where he’s a regular customer.<br>He once accidentally powered an entire city block during an energy surge, causing flickering lights and confused pedestrians.<br><br><font color="#0072bc">Fun Fact:</font> <br>Ampfire's hero costume has built-in energy patches which adhere to his skin. These patches release a slow, steady stream of energy to keep him going for long patrols without overwhelming him with energy.</div></div><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Akari "Anemos" Fujikaze - MHA">Akari "Anemos" Fujikaze - MHA [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><div class="bb-center"><div class="bb-h1"><font color="#6ecff6">A K A R I "A N E M O S" F U J I K A Z E</font></div></div><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/3812f875-8ae3-4035-96fe-0c29d8e9144a.jpg" /></div><br><br><font color="#6ecff6">Name:</font> <br>Akari Fujikaze<br><br><font color="#6ecff6">Hero Name:</font> <br>Anemos<br><br><font color="#6ecff6">Quirk:</font> <br>Zephyr<br><br><font color="#6ecff6">Background:</font> <br>Akari Fujikaze grew up in a small town outside of Kyoto. Her parents, both meteorologists, encouraged her education into science. When her quirk manifested—control over wind—she mainly used it to blow leaves and play, then in school to help her in sports, and then as she got stronger, to lift herself and move around.<br><br><font color="#6ecff6">Appearance:</font> <br>Anemos stands petite and graceful, her eyes the color of a clear sky. Her windswept hair, a cascade of sun-kissed waves, dances around her face. When she smiles, it’s as if the breeze itself has whispered a secret.<br><br><font color="#6ecff6">Personality:</font> <br>Anemos is a whirlwind of enthusiasm. She giggles when the breeze ruffles her hair and dances during storms. Her optimism is infectious, and she believes that everyone deserves a second chance.<br><br><font color="#6ecff6">Abilities:</font><br><br><font color="#6ecff6">Aerokinesis:</font> <br>Anemos manipulates air currents to varying degrees and results.<br><font color="#6ecff6">Flight Control:</font> <br>She glides effortlessly, riding the wind like a kite. Whether hovering or darting through the sky.<br><font color="#6ecff6">Zephyr Float:</font> <br>Anemos can stand on a small zephyr, levitating above the ground, this has slowly become her main means of travelling.<br><font color="#6ecff6">Gale Push:</font> <br>She sends gale force winds to knock foes off balance.<br><font color="#6ecff6">Lift and manipulate:</font> <br>Anemos can use the control over wind to lift objects and people as well as control how they move through the air.<br><br><font color="#6ecff6">Hero Costume:</font> <br>Anemos wears a Blue bodysuit. Her hood flares like a sail and ends with a cape, and her boots have hidden air vents for precise manoeuvres.<br><br><font color="#6ecff6">Teaching Style:</font> <br>Anemos’s classes are outdoor adventures. She teaches students to feel their wind’s rhythm, whether in combat or daily life. Her catchphrase: “Embrace the change, my little heroes!”<br><br><font color="#6ecff6">Signature Moves:</font> <br><br><font color="#6ecff6">Hurricane winds:</font> <br>Anemos crosses her arms, her hands outstretched, before swiping them across her chest, creating a hurricane level blast of wind to force her enemies to submit.<br><font color="#6ecff6">Currents whispers:</font> <br>Anemos can feel the slightest movement of air, she uses this to locate people who may be trapped in disaster zones.<br><font color="#6ecff6">Air Pocket:</font> <br>Anemos's control over wind isn't limited to the air. She has also trained long and hard in the ability to create air pockets underwater that allows people to breathe underwater. These can be small, if needed for many people, and attached to the face, or large to fit an entire person inside.<br><br><font color="#6ecff6">Catchphrase:</font> <br>“Breathe easy—I’ve got this!”<br><br><font color="#6ecff6">Trivia:</font><br>Besides heroics, Anemos is an amateur flutist. She plays haunting melodies that seem to echo the wind’s whispers.<br>Anemos can predict minor weather changes based on the wind’s behaviour.<br><br><font color="#6ecff6">Fun fact:</font> <br>On lazy afternoons, Anemos shapes clouds into whimsical forms—dragons, sailing ships, and even smiley faces. Her cloud art brings joy to passers-by.</div></div><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Chatter - DnD">Chatter - DnD [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><div class="bb-center"><div class="bb-h1"><font color="blue">C H A T T E R</font></div></div><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/6aeab8e7-fc48-4797-8eb3-a8fc2d3c48b8.jpg" /></div><br><br><font color="blue">Name:</font> <br>Chatter<br><br><font color="blue">Age:</font> <br>14 (Young adult for race)<br><br><font color="blue">Race:</font> <br>Kenku<br><br><font color="blue">Fighting Class:</font> <br>Ranger<br><br><font color="blue">Gear:</font> <br>Carrys a notebook full detailed drawings of things he has seen<br><br><font color="blue">Weapons:</font> <br>Bow and Arrows that are crafted using his own feathers, as well as a dagger and shortword.<br><br><font color="blue">Appearance:</font> <br>Chatter has the appearance of a Crow, he is adorned in black feathers, has a long, curved black beak and eyes like abyssal pearls. He wears a blue shawl which is tattered and torn in places. Underneath he wears a soft cloth tunic with many leather straps holding together his many bags and weapons.<br><br><font color="blue">Backstory:</font> <br>Chatter was born in the heart of the Whispering Woods—a dense, ancient forest where shadows danced among gnarled trees. Kenkus, known for their mimicry and affinity for secrets, thrived here. Chatter’s earliest memories were of echoing bird calls and the rustling of leaves.<br><br>As a young Kenku, Chatter discovered their unique gift: the ability to mimic any sound they heard. They imitated the songs of warblers, the creaking of branches, and even the hushed conversations of passing travelers. But it was the whispers—the secrets shared under moonlight—that fascinated them most.<br><br>Chatter’s mentor, an old ranger named Talon, recognized their potential. Under Talon’s guidance, Chatter learned to blend into the forest seamlessly. They wore a tattered blue shawl—the color of twilight—and moved silently, leaving no trace. Their bow, carved from a sacred yew tree, hummed with magic as they nocked arrows feathered with azure plumes.<br><br>After leaving the safety of the forest, Chatter entered the nearby town and was soon granted with cacophony of voices, all singular and different and all melodious to his ear. He learned all he could by visiting the local tavern but accidently overhead a plot of thievery. He approached the town guard and braced himself. Using a hundred voices he explained how he heard the story of thievery and perfectly recreated the men talking about it. <br><br>He left the town shortly after, fearing retaliation from the men and slowly has travelled the land, far and wide hoping to find something that is missing from himself.<br><br><font color="blue">Racial skills</font><br>Cursed by a forgotten god, they lost their wings and voices. Now, they mimic sounds and speech they hear, unable to produce their own.<br>This also isn't limited to sounds. Kenku can duplicate any document, any handwriting they’ve seen. In a world of contracts and decrees, this ability opens doors—sometimes literally.</div></div><br><font color="royalblue"><div class="bb-h2">W I P</div></font><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Sir Archazen Darkstone of the Silver Fire">Sir Archazen Darkstone of the Silver Fire [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><div class="bb-center"><div class="bb-h1"><font color="#8882be">A R C H A Z E N D A R K S T O N E<br>O F T H E S I L V E R F L A M E</font></div></div><br><hr class="bb-hr"><br><font color="#8882be">Name:</font>				Archazen Darkstone<br><font color="#8882be">True Name / Alias:</font> 		Sir Archazen Darkstone of the Silver Flame | Knight of the Silver Flame | Silver Warden | Silverbrand | The Burned Man<br><font color="#8882be">Faction/Association:</font>	Order of the Silver Flame<br><font color="#8882be">Rank/Position:</font> 		Warden of the Second Legion<br><font color="#8882be">Species:</font>				Human<br><font color="#8882be">Age:</font>					His true age is forgotten, even by himself. The Silver Flame has kept him alive for much longer than the human lifespan.<br><font color="#8882be">Sex:</font>					Male<br><font color="#8882be">Height:</font>				6'2ft | 188cm<br><font color="#8882be">Eyes:</font>				They used to be the colour of sapphire but now have a silver hue. <br><font color="#8882be">Physique:</font>			Lean and toned. <br><font color="#8882be">Hair:</font>				Ashen Brown<br><font color="#8882be">Skin:</font>				Tanned from soot, fire, and fights.<br><br>A P P E A R A N C E:<br><br><font color="#8882be">Armor:</font> <br>His armor, once gleaming and proud, now bears the scars of countless battles. Dents and scratches mar its surface, but it still clings to him like a second skin. The metal is that of iron.<br><font color="#8882be">Helm:</font> <br>His helm conceals his face, leaving only shadows visible. <br><font color="#8882be">Cloak:</font> <br>A tattered cloak drapes over his shoulders, its edges frayed and singed. It billows dramatically as he moves, catching the light of the silver fire.<br><font color="#8882be">Gloves and Gauntlets:</font> <br>His gauntlets are etched with the marks of battle, of war. The gloves, however, are surprisingly delicate—fine leather adorned with silver-threaded embroidery.<br><font color="#8882be">Boots:</font> <br>His boots are worn and patched, yet they carry him silently across the blighted landscape. Their soles leave faint silver footprints wherever he treads.<br><font color="#8882be">Additional:</font> <br>Archazen’s most remarkable feature is the silver fire that burns within him. It seeps through the gaps in his armor, illuminating the darkness around him. When he draws his sword, the blade ignites with the same ethereal flames, turning it into a weapon of both silver and steel. <br><br>A B I L I T I E S:<br><br><font color="#8882be">Silver Fire:</font><br>Archazen is a knight of the Silver Flame, an order of knights that have undergone The Pledge of Silver Fire. The silver fire is both a weapon and a curse. It doesn’t grant brute strength; instead, it enhances agility and reflexes. Archazen can dodge arrows mid-flight and scale walls effortlessly. It enhances his natural senses, his sight sees wisps of where Shadowbane has touched. When he draws his sword, it blazes with silver flames, allowing him to cut through the shadowbane's minions. But it comes with a price, Archazen’s touch is lethal. His skin is scarred with the silver flame, able to burn those he touches. He wears gloves at all times, their inner lining woven with protective charms to shield others from the silver fire’s wrath. Human touch is a distant memory for him. He can’t hold a lover’s hand or comfort a fallen comrade. The warmth of friendship eludes him, replaced by the fire that courses through his veins.<br><br>B I O G R A P H Y:<br><br>WIP</div></div><br><br><hr class="bb-hr"><div class="bb-center"><font color="blue"><div class="bb-h1"><span class="bb-b">T H A N K S F O R S T O P P I N G B Y !</span></div></font></div><br></div>
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Snowdrops
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Silly
wintersoldier
Zoie Hart
Vampiretwilight
TaintedMushroom
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Lunamaria Hawke
rabidbacon
