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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6 mos ago
IN WAAAAAAVES.. You made me miss Trivium..
2
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6 mos ago
Another day refreshing RPG waiting for responses so I can get my RP fix..
13
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7 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
7 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.
Jet slapped the panelling above the doorway, a gesture signaling he had tasks to attend to. He gave Fel a firm nod, accompanied by a smug grin. He hoped the spacer picked up on the pride he felt and the unspoken confidence he had in him as a pilot. Turning on his heel, Jet began his trek through the ship, making his way toward the cargo hold where he had stored the crates from their last escapade.
As his boots echoed through the corridors, Jet's mind wandered to how quickly things had shifted. Just a few hours ago, the trio was stealthily descending into Lotho Minor, aiming for a quick and quiet operation. Now, they were on approach to Abilene with nearly a full crew. Jet shook his head softly, a grunt and a smirk escaping him. Life out here had a way of changing at lightning speed, but looking back, he wouldn't alter a single moment. The mission had been successful—they got what they came for, and everyone made it back in one piece. Even though things had gotten a bit dicey… All’s well that ends well.
He grasped the handle of one of the two crates he had stored earlier and pulled it out, walking over to a nearby bench. Popping open the crate, he found that he was lucky with his choice; the emitter lay there, ready to be assembled into a single cohesive unit. Jet sighed and muttered under his breath, "Alright, let's see what we've got here..." He laid out the various components on the bench, mentally mapping out the assembly process. It was a complicated piece of tech, no doubt about it, but he'd tackled worse.
Elsewhere in the U.A., Zane was taking the time to alter his “acquired” uniform. Now that he was no longer trying to impersonate an Imperial tech, it seemed only logical that he didn’t want to be seen with the markings on his jumpsuit. He found himself a quiet part of the ship - well, quiet-er, given that this place creaked and shuddered more than some of the buildings back home. Once he was by himself, he slipped the jumpsuit off and used some of the tools in his technician’s pack, improvising their use to remove the patches and identifying marks from the garment. By the time he was through, it had become nothing but a dull grey jumpsuit. Once he slid it back on, he left the top half unzipped, tying the sleeves around his waist after buckling the toolbelt back on. After all, it was still useful for carrying certain items, like the holdout pistol and the tech’s kit. Even if the boy didn’t know how to use the variety of tools, they could still come in handy. So could the patches, which is why he stowed them in one of the pouches on his belt - in case he ever needed to impersonate an Imperial again.
So, now Zane looked like a slightly more at-ease version of himself, with the white, long-sleeved undershirt and tied-off jumper making him seem more easy-going. He hated the fact that he still hadn’t addressed some of the wounds on his body. There were a few spots on the pristine white shirt that had already been made dingy by the open sores, but the kid wasn’t a doctor. So, for the time being, he just went about his business, trusting there would come a time where he could get it all taken care of.
On his way back to the common area, Zane stepped out of his hiding spot in the work-bay area into the central corridor, and heard Jet going through some of the crates within the cargo area. Thinking back to his previous job of “inventorying” the bags, he peeked inside to see if the big guy was going back over his work, instead finding that he was opening up one of the crates that they had heisted from the Imperial ship. Curious to figure out what was inside, he slid into the cargo bay and craned his head to the side to watch what Jet was getting himself into, quietly-observing his actions as the elder gentleman went on.
As Zane stepped inside, Jet gave him a wide smile, he couldn’t help but notice how the jumpsuit look suited him, reminding him of himself back in the day. “You wanna help me piece this one together, kid?” He nodded his head towards the collection of parts, leaning on his palms.
Folding his hand behind his head and scratching the back of his neck, the kid gave a nonchalant shrug, ”Uh, sure man. This seems like it’ll be more of a two-person job anyway, huh?”
Jet stuck his hand deep into his pocket, searching around a little while before ripping out a hydrospanner. “You’ll need yourself one of these, here,” he said, holding out the tool toward the lad. “We’ll get started with the base unit.”
Zane nodded, taking the tool into his hand and deftly flipping through its different settings. As a scrapper, he’d used a ‘spanner several times to disassemble and modify certain items, so it wasn’t really anything new. Except this tool seemed to be in much better shape than what he was used to. Once he was done, he moved around the crate to start working alongside Jet to get everything done, waiting to hear his instructions.
“The base unit keeps the whole thing still, stops it from shaking itself to bits, basically, Make sure those bolts are tight or we’re gunna have a problem.” He said, pointing to the bolts in question. He picked up the power core, handling it with a steady and practiced hand. “This’uns a tricky one, let me.”
The youth nodded, making sure to patiently observe the seasoned technician’s steady hands as he began to work on the unit. Zane took care to move in where the housing was on the emitter itself, using the ‘spanner to ratchet the bolts into place and ensure they were nice and tight while also doing his best to stay out of Jet’s way. He felt his thin muscles getting tired quickly from the effort, but kept going to make certain he was doing the proper job for his “instructor”.
Seeing Zane work made Jet's heart sink a little, it had been a while since he had the chance to work on something with someone, the last person being Nova. His mind wandered a little about her, wondering where she was, if she was okay, if he'd ever see her again… snapping back to reality, he picked up the field generator modules and placed them in front of Zane, “Allign them up around the base–here” he said, pointing towards the base of the power core. “Make sure they're all aligned proper or our fields not gunna be worth a damn.” He smirked, giving a cheeky wink Zane’s way before getting to work connecting the control circuits. Now wasn't the time to teach the intricate ways the wiring needed to be done, it had to be right or the whole thing would simply fail.
Zane followed Jet’s instructions, his eyes laser-focused on where the technician was instructing him to align the mods as he took each of them and placed them along the cardinal points of the emitter’s frame, right near the base. It reminded him of his days in the field, taking apart radomes and projectors that had very similar structures. The modules seemed to click into place, allowing Zane to place the pins right through the holes at the head and base of their seats and secure them properly before dusting his hands off in satisfaction and looking back to Jet. ”Think that should do it, Chief…what’s next?”
Jet watched the kid work as he finished up with the modules, he took to machinations pretty damn quickly, Jet mused it must have been all that time deconstructing that helped him figure things out. He picked up the outer shell and began sliding it over the skeletal emitter they had constructed together. “You mind grabbing some remote detonators from storage–should be over there?” He indicated with a flick of his head. Lowering the shell down, he twisted it into the slots and tightened the last bolts.
”Uh, yeah…one sec!” Zane’s head swiveled about, trying to find where Jet was indicating. Rising from his haunches, he jogged over toward the shelves and moved a couple of items around until he came across the aforementioned detonators, which were in a labeled case marked with all sorts of hazardous signs. The kid popped the latches on it, looking inside to make sure they were within before securing it again and taking it under his arm back over to where Jet waited. Holding onto it, he gestured with a half-shrug with his carrying arm, ”Got ‘em!”
Jet eyed the completed emitter, a three-foot-tall marvel that would keep those feral creatures at bay. He wrapped his fingers around the emitter's legs and hoisted it onto his shoulder with a grunt, feeling the weight of the device. It was heavy, but manageable—just another challenge for him to overcome. Jet smirked to himself with confidence. He carried the emitter over to the offramp and set it down gently, making sure it was secure. With that done, he knew the crew would have one less thing to worry about.
The kid followed along, carrying the small case with a careful hand to where Jet had set the completed piece of tech near the off-ramp. His brows furrowed with a bit of confusion as he saw Jet sort of stop there. ”Wait…that’s all for now? I thought we needed to get this thing set up or whatevs?”
Jet turned to Zane, nodding at him softly. “Yeah, it'll need to be set up but wouldn't want that in here, I'm pretty good with this sort of stuff but kriff if I know what sort of crazy that'd set off on-board.” He ran his arm across his face, softly mopping up a few dregs of sweat. “Nah, just need to get them attached and jobs a good'un, for now.” He spoke, again pointing at the detonators cradled under Zane's arm. “You good getting them attached–Sure you've messed with explosives tons back on that scrap planet?”
Zane looked at the case, his eyes widening a bit in fear as he considered his past luck with excavating and the like - the particulars of which were…less than stellar, from his memory. Grinning sheepishly, he felt a little bit of a shake enter his voice as he tried to convince Jet of the benefits of working together on such a task, ”Uhm…actually…? I think you might wanna keep me as far away from these dets as possible, if I’m being honest. Or, if you think you could help me figure them out, I’ll know how to do it if it ever comes up again? That…would be great, thanks…”
The next hour or so, Zane listened intently as Jet patiently took the time to show him how to properly install the charges and rig them to the detonators, putting the youth’s mind at ease as they managed to expertly place them in a concealed position. The boy was able to learn a new skill, and “many hands made short work”, or so it seemed. By the time they were done, they had rigged the explosives, but Zane watched as Jet chose not to sync the remote to the charges themselves. Zane was a bit puzzled by the spacer’s choice, but didn’t want to put too much thought into it. Maybe there was something that the Captain had in mind when choosing to deal with this “Abilene” lady that was just beyond the boy’s understanding. He’d simply have to trust that Jet knew what he was doing.
The two of them finished up, and then walked back toward the common area of the ship to report back to the rest of the group, ready for the long day that they surely had ahead of them.
Afraid I, too, will be heading out on this one. When it started there was a lot of hype and I thought having a lot of applicants would be good but the cast ended up being too large and I feel like it's taken a lot away from it for me.
As @BurningCold said, I'd totally be willing to join something similar if it was on a smaller scale. Apologies all, but especially to @Estylwen and @Pumpkinlord
It had been 3 months, 4 days, 16 hours, 23 minutes, and 22 seconds—23 seconds—since Mumeiki found himself with no choice but to join Tsuki’s group. Technically, he had a choice: return to Ijōna for destruction or align with Tsuki in hopes of finding some semblance of existence. The latter, albeit uncertain, seemed slightly more appealing, though he still had no idea how to navigate this new reality. For his entire 8 years of life, he had adhered strictly to instructions. Now, an eerie silence reigned. No directives, no parameters, no one to dictate his behavior. Just his existence among people in situations both similar and vastly different, depending on how one looked at it.
Perched on the edge of a chair in the center of his assigned room—what passed for home, though he struggled to grasp the concept—Mumeiki pondered his existence. This space, a mere room, was where he stored himself when not in use. It was a place defined by its functionality, devoid of any warmth or familiarity. Tsuki had conversed with him when she could, taking the time to engage in dialogue, although their exchanges were mostly one-sided. Mumeiki had cautiously deemed Tsuki 'safe' for the moment. She hadn't displayed any active intention to dismantle him, at least as far as he could discern.
Ren’s shout abruptly interrupted his contemplations. Mumeiki’s auditory sensors locked onto the source, capturing every nuance of Ren’s voice as orders were issued. It wasn't until the sharp rapping of Ren's knuckles on his door that Mumeiki realized he was included in the directive.
Mission Parameters Updated:
// Attend the Meeting:
Report to the Clubhouse lobby or face Tsuki’s wrath.
// Confidentiality:
Keep any discussions of destruction or intent for destruction confidential.
// Store Filthy Media:
Hide any dirty or inappropriate magazines.
// Speed is Priority:
Ensure prompt arrival to the meeting.
Mumeiki’s response was immediate and precise. He stood swiftly, the chair scraping lightly against the floor as he pushed it under the desk. His sensors scanned the room with rapid efficiency, searching for any offensive magazines. He found none. The task was completed in a few seconds, enough time for Ren to leave and head back to the meeting.
// Store Filthy Media - Complete
He grabbed the door handle with a firm grip, the cool metal grounding him for a fleeting moment. As he slid the door open, he moved with a fluidity that belied his mechanical nature. In the blink of an eye, he vanished beyond the threshold, leaving the decisive click of the closing door to echo in the stillness behind him. Had anyone been watching, it would have appeared as though he had evaporated into thin air, leaving only a whisper of movement in his wake.
Mumeiki's form became a mere blur as he streaked down the corridor, his speed defying the limits of human perception. Each step was a calculated motion, designed to avoid obstacles with effortless precision. The walls and furnishings seemed to melt away before him, making way for his rapid advance. It was as if time itself slowed down for everything but him, granting him an ethereal swiftness that bordered on the supernatural.
The corridor, usually a mundane passageway, transformed into a dynamic arena where Mumeiki’s every move was a testament to his extraordinary capabilities. Lights flickered and shadows danced as he propelled himself forward, his focus unwavering. The distance to the Clubhouse lobby shrank in an instant, his journey a marvel of kinetic energy and sheer determination.
// Speed is Priority - Complete
As he arrived, he stood, a silent sentinel, at the back of the room. His presence was a quiet affirmation of his compliance. Being there meant he could hear and be heard, see and be seen. Every sensory input was meticulously cataloged, each interaction meticulously analyzed. The ambient chatter of those around him was a constant reminder of the human element he now found himself amidst.
His optic scanned the room, taking in the various faces and expressions. Some were deep in conversation, others seemed lost in thought. The atmosphere was a blend of anticipation and tension, a prelude to whatever instructions would follow. Mumeiki's presence, though unobtrusive, was a testament to his unwavering dedication to his mission parameters.
From here, he could monitor the entire room, analyzing body language, listening for cues, and preparing to respond if necessary. He remained focused and ready, embodying the role of an observer and participant in equal measure.
Nicknames/Aliases Mumeiki (無名機), meaning 'Nameless Machine' in Japanese.
Birth City/District: Neo-Tokyo
Age: 24 years since birth, 8 years since awakening from coma.
Height 5'11 ft (1.8 m)
Racial Background: Pure blood Japanese
Race: Zero Percenters
Hair Color: N/A
Eye Color: N/A
Appearance:
Mumeiki is a ghost in the neon-lit streets of the underworld, a human silhouette stripped of identity and replaced with machine. His form is sleek and efficient, designed for both the shadows and the chaos of open combat.
His body is entirely cybernetic, composed of advanced composite alloys and synthetic muscle fibers that mimic human movemen. The plating is smooth yet subtly segmented, allowing for seamless articulation. Traces of deep gunmetal and darkened silver highlight the contours of his form, giving him the appearance of a machine sculpted for lethality rather than bulk. He is built for agility, neither towering nor diminutive—his frame is compact but powerful, built to strike and vanish.
His head is a featureless mask of reinforced metal, a smooth, expressionless visage that absorbs light rather than reflects it. There are no human features—no mouth, no nose—only a blank faceplate broken by a small, circular visor where his optics reside. The visor glows faintly, shifting between muted orange, purples, and blues, or white, depending on his system state. Sometimes, it flickers erratically, as if betraying the instability beneath his programmed obedience.
Beneath his outer shell, artificial muscle fibers coil like living steel. His joints move with unnatural fluidity, making his motions eerily precise. His hands are dexterous, each finger capable of near-microscopic adjustments.
His legs are reinforced for silent movement, with digitized actuators in his ankles that allow for impossible landings and split-second acceleration. Magnetic nodes within his feet grant him the ability to grip surfaces, scaling walls and clinging to ceilings like a specter.
When moving, Mumeiki does not walk—he glides, steps too smooth, too controlled to be mistaken for anything human. His presence is cold and calculated, yet when he stands idle, there’s an unsettling stillness to him, as if he is waiting for an order, an activation, a purpose.
His katana, his sole weapon of choice, is housed in a magnetic sheath along his back, seamlessly integrated into his frame. It is an extension of his body, drawn with a whisper of steel.
Despite his inhuman appearance, there are faint traces of what he once was. His proportions remain eerily childlike in subtle ways—not in size, but in posture, in the occasional tilt of his head as if questioning the world. In moments of stillness, one might catch the way he shifts his weight, fidgeting in a way reminiscent of a child waiting for instruction.
In the neon glow of the city, he is a shadow—nameless, faceless, and inescapable.
Mutation Marker(s): None.
Personality: Kaito Fujimoto, now known solely as Mumeiki, is a complex blend of advanced cybernetic efficiency and innocent human naivety. At 25 years old, his personality is shaped by a life of comatose existence followed with isolation and obedience.
Innocent and Child-like: Despite his formidable physical capabilities, Kaito exhibits a child-like innocence. His sheltered upbringing and prolonged medical coma mean he sees the world with wide-eyed wonder and simplicity. This innocence often manifests in his behavior, such as tilting his head curiously when asked a question or swaying gently when idle, behaviors others might misinterpret as frustration, impatience, or malice.
Obedient and Loyal: Kaito’s sense of loyalty and obedience is deeply ingrained. Having been raised under the watchful eye of the company that 'saved' him, he follows orders with unwavering dedication. He perceives the company as a parental figure, leading to an almost blind trust and a willingness to carry out any directive, no matter how dangerous or morally ambiguous.
Emotionally Detached: Due to his cybernetic enhancements and lack of traditional human experiences, Kaito struggles with emotional depth. He is often emotionally detached, processing situations and interactions with a mechanical logic rather than human empathy. This detachment, however, is not due to lack of feeling but rather a lack of understanding.
Curious and Adaptive: Kaito possesses a natural curiosity about the world around him. This curiosity drives him to explore and learn, albeit in a limited capacity given his sheltered upbringing. His cybernetic enhancements allow him to quickly adapt and process new information, making him an efficient and formidable shadow enforcer.
Tragic Innocence: There is a sense of tragedy in Kaito’s personality. His advanced cybernetic body contrasts sharply with his child-like mind, creating a poignant image of a being caught between two worlds. This tragic innocence endears him to those who take the time to understand his unique nature.
Overall, Kaito Fujimoto’s personality is a blend of obedient loyalty, child-like curiosity, and a haunting sense of emotional detachment. These traits make him a formidable enforcer, bound by the company that shaped his very existence. Aspirations: Despite his mechanical precision, Kaito Fujimoto harbors simple yet profound desires shaped by his innocent and child-like mind.
Understanding: Kaito is driven by a basic curiosity about the world around him. He wants to understand his place in it, the people he encounters, and the mechanics of his own body.
Belonging: Kaito longs to feel accepted and part of a community. This stems from his inherent need for connection and the loneliness he feels due to his isolated upbringing. He wishes to find friends and allies who see beyond his mechanical exterior.
Approval: Kaito seeks approval and praise from those he respects, especially from the company. He equates completing missions successfully with gaining acceptance, much like a child seeking validation from a parent.
Playfulness: Despite his role as a shadow enforcer, Kaito has a playful side. He enjoys discovering new things, exploring his environment, and even engaging in light-hearted activities. This playfulness is a way for him to connect with his child-like innocence.
Protection: Kaito has an inherent desire to protect those he cares about. This protective instinct is simple and straightforward, rooted in a child-like sense of loyalty and duty. He wants to ensure the safety of those he considers friends or allies.
Fears:
Disappointment: Kaito is deeply afraid of disappointing the company that raised him. He fears failing his missions and letting down those he seeks approval from.
Rejection: Kaito fears being rejected or abandoned by the company and the few individuals he trusts. The thought of not being needed or valued terrifies him.
Unworthiness: Kaito has a fear of not being good enough. He worries that he might not meet the expectations set for him, and this fear drives him to constantly strive for perfection.
Identity Loss: Even with his child-like mind, Kaito has a subtle fear of losing whatever sense of self he has. The thought of becoming entirely machine-like and losing his humanity is unsettling to him.
Vehicle: N/A, the company has provided all his long-range transport needs.
P O W E R / C Y B E R N E T I C S I N F O R M A T I O N
Strengths/Natural Abilities:
Assassination: Kaito is highly skilled in assassination techniques. His cybernetic enhancements grant him exceptional precision and stealth, allowing him to eliminate targets efficiently and silently.
Covert Infiltration: Kaito excels in covert infiltration missions. His ability to blend into the shadows and move undetected makes him an expert at entering and exiting high-security areas without leaving a trace.
Hand-to-Hand Combat: Kaito's cybernetic body grants him enhanced strength, speed, and reflexes, making him a formidable hand-to-hand combatant. He is proficient in various martial arts and combat techniques, allowing him to defeat opponents with ease.
Katanas: Kaito is a master swordsman, specializing in the use of katanas. His precision and speed, combined with his cybernetic enhancements, make him deadly in close-quarters combat.
Hacking: Kaito possesses advanced hacking abilities, allowing him to infiltrate secure networks, disable security systems, and gather sensitive information. His cybernetic enhancements include interfaces for direct connection to digital systems, making him a powerful asset in cyber warfare.
Information Gathering: Kaito is adept at gathering intelligence and analyzing data. His enhanced cognitive abilities enable him to process and retain vast amounts of information quickly, making him an invaluable asset for reconnaissance missions.
Enhanced Senses: Kaito's cybernetic enhancements include augmented senses, such as improved vision, hearing, and tactile sensitivity. These enhancements allow him to detect threats, identify targets, and navigate complex environments with ease.
No Need for Sleep: Kaito does not require sleep in the traditional sense. Instead, he enters a "stand-by" state to pass the time and recharge his energy reserves. This ability allows him to operate continuously without fatigue, making him highly efficient and reliable.
No Need for Food: Kaito's cybernetic body eliminates the need for conventional nutrition. He does not require food to sustain himself, further enhancing his ability to remain operational for extended periods without the need for sustenance.
Unwavering Obedience: Kaito follows orders to a T, ensuring all directives are completed with precision and dedication. His programmed loyalty means he prioritizes mission success above all else, even at the expense of his own personal safety. This unwavering obedience makes him a dependable and effective asset for the company, capable of handling high-risk and morally ambiguous tasks without hesitation.
Weaknesses/Flaws:
Naivety: Kaito's child-like innocence makes him naive and easily manipulated. He tends to trust others without questioning their motives, which can put him at risk of being deceived or taken advantage of.
Emotional Immaturity: Kaito's lack of emotional depth and understanding leads to difficulty in processing complex emotions. He often struggles to cope with situations that require empathy or nuanced emotional responses, making him appear cold or detached.
Obsession with Approval: Kaito's deep-seated need for approval from the company and his superiors can cloud his judgment. He may prioritize completing missions perfectly over considering alternative, more humane approaches, potentially leading to reckless decisions.
Limited Autonomy: Kaito's unwavering obedience to the company means he lacks the ability to think independently. He follows orders to the letter, even when they may be morally questionable or detrimental to his well-being.
Lack of Self-Preservation: Kaito's commitment to completing directives makes him disregard his own safety. He is willing to put himself in extreme danger to ensure mission success, which can lead to severe injury or mechanical failure, or even destruction.
Isolation: Kaito's inability to form deep connections with others due to his emotional detachment and mechanical nature leaves him feeling isolated and lonely. This isolation can lead to a sense of emptiness and lack of purpose beyond his missions.
Mechanical Limitations: While Kaito's cybernetic body grants him many advantages, it also has limitations. He may experience malfunctions or performance issues in long exposure to extreme environments, such as intense electromagnetic fields or severe weather conditions.
Unfamiliarity with Social Norms: Kaito's sheltered upbringing and lack of traditional human experiences make him unfamiliar with social norms and customs. This can lead to awkward interactions and misunderstandings when dealing with others.
Cybernetics/Gadets/Accessories: Weapon: Nano-Katana The Nano-Katana resembles a traditional, albeit sleek and modern katana. Its blade is honed to a nano-thin edge, making it extraordinarily sharp and capable of slicing through most materials with ease.
Cybernetics:
Neurolink Core – Overhauled human brain enhanced with cybernetics, allowing rapid data processing.
Internal Diagnostic Suite – Provides real-time analysis of cybernetics, detecting damage, malfunction, or performance degradation.
Cognitive Enhancement Module – Grants complex thought beyond natural human ability, assisting in infiltration, combat strategy, and hacking.
Neural Firewall – Advanced cybersecurity measures to resist hacking attempts, with corporate-level encryption and counter-intrusion systems.
Cortical Black Box – Stores critical memories and mission data in a secure system, ensuring continuity even in case of partial system failure.
Multi-Spectrum Optics – Optical enhancements allowing thermal, night vision, infrared, ultraviolet, and electromagnetic spectrum analysis.
Adaptive Targeting System – Tracks and predicts movement, assisting with precise attacks, dodging, and threat assessment.
Acoustic Amplification Suite – Enhanced hearing, capable of filtering frequencies, detecting heartbeats, and isolating conversations.
Silent Step Feedback – Adjusts footstep pressure in real time for silent movement, crucial for stealth.
Olfactory Sensor Array – Detects chemicals, toxins, and environmental changes through artificial scent processing.
Tactile Sensory Dampening – Reduces pain perception to ensure focus in combat as well as assist with repairs, with the ability to re-enable full sensitivity
Augmented Musculature – Synthetic fiber muscles provide enhanced strength, agility, and speed.
Kinetic Energy Redistribution – Absorbs impact from falls, strikes, and blunt trauma.
Hyper-Reflex Suite – Near-instantaneous reaction speed, increasing combat efficiency and evasive capabilities.
Integrated Combat Recorder – Logs fight patterns and opponent data for post-mission review and adaptation.
Limb Synchronization Enhancements – Eliminates movement lag, ensuring complete control over every action with peak efficiency.
Internal Lockpicking Suite – Built-in micro-tools in fingertips for bypassing mechanical and electronic locks.
Electromagnetic Footing – Allows walking on walls or ceilings using magnetism and micro-thrusters.
Chameleon Surface – Minor color-shifting ability on armor to blend into dark environments.
Composite Endoskeleton – Reinforced but lightweight structure, providing durability without sacrificing speed.
Subdermal Shock Absorption – Reduces impact damage and neutralizes blunt force trauma.
EMP Shielding Layer – Provides resistance against electromagnetic pulses, though powerful EMPs can still affect him.
Retractable palm claws – Hidden within fingers and palms for precise climbing.
Integrated Dart Launcher – Fires tranquilizers, poisons, or EMP darts from his forearm.
Wrist-Mounted Grappling Line – High-speed retractable line for rapid movement, stealth kills, or vertical mobility.
Internal Blade Maintenance System – Keeps his katana in pristine condition, sharpening and cleaning it as needed.
Augmented Grip Enhancement – Allows unbreakable hold on objects, useful for combat and wall-scaling.
E X T R A
Anything else? - Theme song - Memory Glitch: Occasionally, Kaito experiences brief moments of memory lapse due to his neural interface. During these moments, he might pause mid-conversation or action, appearing lost in thought before snapping back to reality. These glitches are harmless but add a layer of vulnerability to his character. - Quiet Humming: Kaito has a habit of quietly humming a traditional Japanese lullaby when he's idle or deep in thought. Unbeknowst to him it's a song his Mother used to sing to him when he was in the coma. - Analyzing Gesture: When processing information or making decisions, Kaito has a habit of tapping his temple lightly with his cybernetic fingers. This gesture indicates that he's accessing his neural enhancements for deeper analysis.
H_i_s_t_o_r_y
In the sprawling cityscape of Neo-Tokyo, within the humble Ishibashi district lived a couple whose love for each other was as enduring as their struggles. For years, they yearned for a child, but their attempts were met with heartache and disappointment. Yet, against all odds, their miracle finally arrived—Kaito. He was their beacon of hope, the embodiment of their dreams, and they cherished him with all their hearts.
However, life dealt a cruel hand. Shortly after his birth, Kaito was diagnosed with a debilitating disease that would be fatal without extensive medical intervention. Undeterred, his parents poured every ounce of their resources, love, and hope into saving him. Doctors, treatments, and experimental procedures became their world. Kaito spent his life in a medical coma, a state of suspended animation where cutting-edge technology battled the relentless disease.
As the years passed, Kaito's tiny body was gradually replaced with cybernetic parts. Each enhancement was a testament to his parents' unwavering dedication. But the cost was steep—financially and emotionally. The once-joyous household grew somber and strained as the weight of debt and despair bore down upon them. Despite their sacrifices, Kaito's parents succumbed to bankruptcy and died, never seeing their beloved son awaken.
When Kaito finally emerged from his sixteen-year slumber, he found himself in a world alien. His parents were gone, their debts cleared by a corporation known as Ijōna Corp. Recognizing the potential in his cybernetic form, they claimed him as their own. They saw in Kaito not just a boy, but a tool—a weapon to be honed and wielded.
Stripped of his name and identity, Kaito was reborn as Mumeiki, or "Nameless Machine." Under the cold, calculated oversight of his assigned handler, codename Kage, he underwent rigorous training. Day in and day out, Mumeiki mastered the arts of assassination, covert infiltration, and intelligence gathering. Kage ensured his obedience through psychological conditioning, molding him into the perfect shadow enforcer.
Kept in isolation, Mumeiki's social skills remained stunted. The world outside the company’s walls was a mystery, one he was only allowed to glimpse during missions. Despite his child-like innocence, he became a figure of fear and efficiency—a ghost in the machine, executing orders with lethal precision.
Yet, within the heart of the nameless enforcer, a spark of curiosity flickered. Fragmented memories of his past, the faint echo of a lullaby, and the warmth of parental love haunted his thoughts.
Three months ago, Ijōna deployed Mumeiki on what should have been a routine data-scrubbing mission, eliminating traces of a supposed intelligence leak. However, the mission was a trap—set by Tsuki’s gang to confirm the existence of Ijōna’s rumored assassin. The fabricated data forced Mumeiki into an inescapable paradox: follow orders and risk destruction, or abandon Ijōna entirely. With no way back, he defected, and ever since that night, he has been with Tsuki’s gang.
Nicknames/Aliases Mumeiki (無名機), meaning 'Nameless Machine' in Japanese.
Birth City/District: Neo-Tokyo
Age: 24 years since birth, 8 years since awakening from coma.
Height 5'11 ft (1.8 m)
Racial Background: Pure blood Japanese
Race: Zero Percenters
Hair Color: N/A
Eye Color: N/A
Appearance:
Mumeiki is a ghost in the neon-lit streets of the underworld, a human silhouette stripped of identity and replaced with machine. His form is sleek and efficient, designed for both the shadows and the chaos of open combat.
His body is entirely cybernetic, composed of advanced composite alloys and synthetic muscle fibers that mimic human movemen. The plating is smooth yet subtly segmented, allowing for seamless articulation. Traces of deep gunmetal and darkened silver highlight the contours of his form, giving him the appearance of a machine sculpted for lethality rather than bulk. He is built for agility, neither towering nor diminutive—his frame is compact but powerful, built to strike and vanish.
His head is a featureless mask of reinforced metal, a smooth, expressionless visage that absorbs light rather than reflects it. There are no human features—no mouth, no nose—only a blank faceplate broken by a small, circular visor where his optics reside. The visor glows faintly, shifting between muted orange, purples, and blues, or white, depending on his system state. Sometimes, it flickers erratically, as if betraying the instability beneath his programmed obedience.
Beneath his outer shell, artificial muscle fibers coil like living steel. His joints move with unnatural fluidity, making his motions eerily precise. His hands are dexterous, each finger capable of near-microscopic adjustments.
His legs are reinforced for silent movement, with digitized actuators in his ankles that allow for impossible landings and split-second acceleration. Magnetic nodes within his feet grant him the ability to grip surfaces, scaling walls and clinging to ceilings like a specter.
When moving, Mumeiki does not walk—he glides, steps too smooth, too controlled to be mistaken for anything human. His presence is cold and calculated, yet when he stands idle, there’s an unsettling stillness to him, as if he is waiting for an order, an activation, a purpose.
His katana, his sole weapon of choice, is housed in a magnetic sheath along his back, seamlessly integrated into his frame. It is an extension of his body, drawn with a whisper of steel.
Despite his inhuman appearance, there are faint traces of what he once was. His proportions remain eerily childlike in subtle ways—not in size, but in posture, in the occasional tilt of his head as if questioning the world. In moments of stillness, one might catch the way he shifts his weight, fidgeting in a way reminiscent of a child waiting for instruction.
In the neon glow of the city, he is a shadow—nameless, faceless, and inescapable.
Mutation Marker(s): None.
Personality: Kaito Fujimoto, now known solely as Mumeiki, is a complex blend of advanced cybernetic efficiency and innocent human naivety. At 25 years old, his personality is shaped by a life of comatose existence followed with isolation and obedience.
Innocent and Child-like: Despite his formidable physical capabilities, Kaito exhibits a child-like innocence. His sheltered upbringing and prolonged medical coma mean he sees the world with wide-eyed wonder and simplicity. This innocence often manifests in his behavior, such as tilting his head curiously when asked a question or swaying gently when idle, behaviors others might misinterpret as frustration, impatience, or malice.
Obedient and Loyal: Kaito’s sense of loyalty and obedience is deeply ingrained. Having been raised under the watchful eye of the company that 'saved' him, he follows orders with unwavering dedication. He perceives the company as a parental figure, leading to an almost blind trust and a willingness to carry out any directive, no matter how dangerous or morally ambiguous.
Emotionally Detached: Due to his cybernetic enhancements and lack of traditional human experiences, Kaito struggles with emotional depth. He is often emotionally detached, processing situations and interactions with a mechanical logic rather than human empathy. This detachment, however, is not due to lack of feeling but rather a lack of understanding.
Curious and Adaptive: Kaito possesses a natural curiosity about the world around him. This curiosity drives him to explore and learn, albeit in a limited capacity given his sheltered upbringing. His cybernetic enhancements allow him to quickly adapt and process new information, making him an efficient and formidable shadow enforcer.
Tragic Innocence: There is a sense of tragedy in Kaito’s personality. His advanced cybernetic body contrasts sharply with his child-like mind, creating a poignant image of a being caught between two worlds. This tragic innocence endears him to those who take the time to understand his unique nature.
Overall, Kaito Fujimoto’s personality is a blend of obedient loyalty, child-like curiosity, and a haunting sense of emotional detachment. These traits make him a formidable enforcer, bound by the company that shaped his very existence. Aspirations: Despite his mechanical precision, Kaito Fujimoto harbors simple yet profound desires shaped by his innocent and child-like mind.
Understanding: Kaito is driven by a basic curiosity about the world around him. He wants to understand his place in it, the people he encounters, and the mechanics of his own body.
Belonging: Kaito longs to feel accepted and part of a community. This stems from his inherent need for connection and the loneliness he feels due to his isolated upbringing. He wishes to find friends and allies who see beyond his mechanical exterior.
Approval: Kaito seeks approval and praise from those he respects, especially from the company. He equates completing missions successfully with gaining acceptance, much like a child seeking validation from a parent.
Playfulness: Despite his role as a shadow enforcer, Kaito has a playful side. He enjoys discovering new things, exploring his environment, and even engaging in light-hearted activities. This playfulness is a way for him to connect with his child-like innocence.
Protection: Kaito has an inherent desire to protect those he cares about. This protective instinct is simple and straightforward, rooted in a child-like sense of loyalty and duty. He wants to ensure the safety of those he considers friends or allies.
Fears:
Disappointment: Kaito is deeply afraid of disappointing the company that raised him. He fears failing his missions and letting down those he seeks approval from.
Rejection: Kaito fears being rejected or abandoned by the company and the few individuals he trusts. The thought of not being needed or valued terrifies him.
Unworthiness: Kaito has a fear of not being good enough. He worries that he might not meet the expectations set for him, and this fear drives him to constantly strive for perfection.
Identity Loss: Even with his child-like mind, Kaito has a subtle fear of losing whatever sense of self he has. The thought of becoming entirely machine-like and losing his humanity is unsettling to him.
Vehicle: N/A, the company has provided all his long-range transport needs.
P O W E R / C Y B E R N E T I C S I N F O R M A T I O N
Strengths/Natural Abilities:
Assassination: Kaito is highly skilled in assassination techniques. His cybernetic enhancements grant him exceptional precision and stealth, allowing him to eliminate targets efficiently and silently.
Covert Infiltration: Kaito excels in covert infiltration missions. His ability to blend into the shadows and move undetected makes him an expert at entering and exiting high-security areas without leaving a trace.
Hand-to-Hand Combat: Kaito's cybernetic body grants him enhanced strength, speed, and reflexes, making him a formidable hand-to-hand combatant. He is proficient in various martial arts and combat techniques, allowing him to defeat opponents with ease.
Katanas: Kaito is a master swordsman, specializing in the use of katanas. His precision and speed, combined with his cybernetic enhancements, make him deadly in close-quarters combat.
Hacking: Kaito possesses advanced hacking abilities, allowing him to infiltrate secure networks, disable security systems, and gather sensitive information. His cybernetic enhancements include interfaces for direct connection to digital systems, making him a powerful asset in cyber warfare.
Information Gathering: Kaito is adept at gathering intelligence and analyzing data. His enhanced cognitive abilities enable him to process and retain vast amounts of information quickly, making him an invaluable asset for reconnaissance missions.
Enhanced Senses: Kaito's cybernetic enhancements include augmented senses, such as improved vision, hearing, and tactile sensitivity. These enhancements allow him to detect threats, identify targets, and navigate complex environments with ease.
No Need for Sleep: Kaito does not require sleep in the traditional sense. Instead, he enters a "stand-by" state to pass the time and recharge his energy reserves. This ability allows him to operate continuously without fatigue, making him highly efficient and reliable.
No Need for Food: Kaito's cybernetic body eliminates the need for conventional nutrition. He does not require food to sustain himself, further enhancing his ability to remain operational for extended periods without the need for sustenance.
Unwavering Obedience: Kaito follows orders to a T, ensuring all directives are completed with precision and dedication. His programmed loyalty means he prioritizes mission success above all else, even at the expense of his own personal safety. This unwavering obedience makes him a dependable and effective asset for the company, capable of handling high-risk and morally ambiguous tasks without hesitation.
Weaknesses/Flaws:
Naivety: Kaito's child-like innocence makes him naive and easily manipulated. He tends to trust others without questioning their motives, which can put him at risk of being deceived or taken advantage of.
Emotional Immaturity: Kaito's lack of emotional depth and understanding leads to difficulty in processing complex emotions. He often struggles to cope with situations that require empathy or nuanced emotional responses, making him appear cold or detached.
Obsession with Approval: Kaito's deep-seated need for approval from the company and his superiors can cloud his judgment. He may prioritize completing missions perfectly over considering alternative, more humane approaches, potentially leading to reckless decisions.
Limited Autonomy: Kaito's unwavering obedience to the company means he lacks the ability to think independently. He follows orders to the letter, even when they may be morally questionable or detrimental to his well-being.
Lack of Self-Preservation: Kaito's commitment to completing directives makes him disregard his own safety. He is willing to put himself in extreme danger to ensure mission success, which can lead to severe injury or mechanical failure, or even destruction.
Isolation: Kaito's inability to form deep connections with others due to his emotional detachment and mechanical nature leaves him feeling isolated and lonely. This isolation can lead to a sense of emptiness and lack of purpose beyond his missions.
Mechanical Limitations: While Kaito's cybernetic body grants him many advantages, it also has limitations. He may experience malfunctions or performance issues in long exposure to extreme environments, such as intense electromagnetic fields or severe weather conditions.
Unfamiliarity with Social Norms: Kaito's sheltered upbringing and lack of traditional human experiences make him unfamiliar with social norms and customs. This can lead to awkward interactions and misunderstandings when dealing with others.
Cybernetics/Gadets/Accessories: Weapon: Nano-Katana The Nano-Katana resembles a traditional, albeit sleek and modern katana. Its blade is honed to a nano-thin edge, making it extraordinarily sharp and capable of slicing through most materials with ease.
Cybernetics:
Neurolink Core – Overhauled human brain enhanced with cybernetics, allowing rapid data processing.
Internal Diagnostic Suite – Provides real-time analysis of cybernetics, detecting damage, malfunction, or performance degradation.
Cognitive Enhancement Module – Grants complex thought beyond natural human ability, assisting in infiltration, combat strategy, and hacking.
Neural Firewall – Advanced cybersecurity measures to resist hacking attempts, with corporate-level encryption and counter-intrusion systems.
Cortical Black Box – Stores critical memories and mission data in a secure system, ensuring continuity even in case of partial system failure.
Multi-Spectrum Optics – Optical enhancements allowing thermal, night vision, infrared, ultraviolet, and electromagnetic spectrum analysis.
Adaptive Targeting System – Tracks and predicts movement, assisting with precise attacks, dodging, and threat assessment.
Acoustic Amplification Suite – Enhanced hearing, capable of filtering frequencies, detecting heartbeats, and isolating conversations.
Silent Step Feedback – Adjusts footstep pressure in real time for silent movement, crucial for stealth.
Olfactory Sensor Array – Detects chemicals, toxins, and environmental changes through artificial scent processing.
Tactile Sensory Dampening – Reduces pain perception to ensure focus in combat as well as assist with repairs, with the ability to re-enable full sensitivity
Augmented Musculature – Synthetic fiber muscles provide enhanced strength, agility, and speed.
Kinetic Energy Redistribution – Absorbs impact from falls, strikes, and blunt trauma.
Hyper-Reflex Suite – Near-instantaneous reaction speed, increasing combat efficiency and evasive capabilities.
Integrated Combat Recorder – Logs fight patterns and opponent data for post-mission review and adaptation.
Limb Synchronization Enhancements – Eliminates movement lag, ensuring complete control over every action with peak efficiency.
Internal Lockpicking Suite – Built-in micro-tools in fingertips for bypassing mechanical and electronic locks.
Electromagnetic Footing – Allows walking on walls or ceilings using magnetism and micro-thrusters.
Chameleon Surface – Minor color-shifting ability on armor to blend into dark environments.
Composite Endoskeleton – Reinforced but lightweight structure, providing durability without sacrificing speed.
Subdermal Shock Absorption – Reduces impact damage and neutralizes blunt force trauma.
EMP Shielding Layer – Provides resistance against electromagnetic pulses, though powerful EMPs can still affect him.
Retractable palm claws – Hidden within fingers and palms for precise climbing.
Integrated Dart Launcher – Fires tranquilizers, poisons, or EMP darts from his forearm.
Wrist-Mounted Grappling Line – High-speed retractable line for rapid movement, stealth kills, or vertical mobility.
Internal Blade Maintenance System – Keeps his katana in pristine condition, sharpening and cleaning it as needed.
Augmented Grip Enhancement – Allows unbreakable hold on objects, useful for combat and wall-scaling.
E X T R A
Anything else? - Theme song - Memory Glitch: Occasionally, Kaito experiences brief moments of memory lapse due to his neural interface. During these moments, he might pause mid-conversation or action, appearing lost in thought before snapping back to reality. These glitches are harmless but add a layer of vulnerability to his character. - Quiet Humming: Kaito has a habit of quietly humming a traditional Japanese lullaby when he's idle or deep in thought. Unbeknowst to him it's a song his Mother used to sing to him when he was in the coma. - Analyzing Gesture: When processing information or making decisions, Kaito has a habit of tapping his temple lightly with his cybernetic fingers. This gesture indicates that he's accessing his neural enhancements for deeper analysis.
H_i_s_t_o_r_y
In the sprawling cityscape of Neo-Tokyo, within the humble Ishibashi district lived a couple whose love for each other was as enduring as their struggles. For years, they yearned for a child, but their attempts were met with heartache and disappointment. Yet, against all odds, their miracle finally arrived—Kaito. He was their beacon of hope, the embodiment of their dreams, and they cherished him with all their hearts.
However, life dealt a cruel hand. Shortly after his birth, Kaito was diagnosed with a debilitating disease that would be fatal without extensive medical intervention. Undeterred, his parents poured every ounce of their resources, love, and hope into saving him. Doctors, treatments, and experimental procedures became their world. Kaito spent his life in a medical coma, a state of suspended animation where cutting-edge technology battled the relentless disease.
As the years passed, Kaito's tiny body was gradually replaced with cybernetic parts. Each enhancement was a testament to his parents' unwavering dedication. But the cost was steep—financially and emotionally. The once-joyous household grew somber and strained as the weight of debt and despair bore down upon them. Despite their sacrifices, Kaito's parents succumbed to bankruptcy and died, never seeing their beloved son awaken.
When Kaito finally emerged from his sixteen-year slumber, he found himself in a world alien. His parents were gone, their debts cleared by a corporation known as Ijōna Corp. Recognizing the potential in his cybernetic form, they claimed him as their own. They saw in Kaito not just a boy, but a tool—a weapon to be honed and wielded.
Stripped of his name and identity, Kaito was reborn as Mumeiki, or "Nameless Machine." Under the cold, calculated oversight of his assigned handler, codename Kage, he underwent rigorous training. Day in and day out, Mumeiki mastered the arts of assassination, covert infiltration, and intelligence gathering. Kage ensured his obedience through psychological conditioning, molding him into the perfect shadow enforcer.
Kept in isolation, Mumeiki's social skills remained stunted. The world outside the company’s walls was a mystery, one he was only allowed to glimpse during missions. Despite his child-like innocence, he became a figure of fear and efficiency—a ghost in the machine, executing orders with lethal precision.
Yet, within the heart of the nameless enforcer, a spark of curiosity flickered. Fragmented memories of his past, the faint echo of a lullaby, and the warmth of parental love haunted his thoughts.
Three months ago, Ijōna deployed Mumeiki on what should have been a routine data-scrubbing mission, eliminating traces of a supposed intelligence leak. However, the mission was a trap—set by Tsuki’s gang to confirm the existence of Ijōna’s rumored assassin. The fabricated data forced Mumeiki into an inescapable paradox: follow orders and risk destruction, or abandon Ijōna entirely. With no way back, he defected, and ever since that night, he has been with Tsuki’s gang.
Jet was too engrossed in filling his belly to fully participate in the animated discussion around him. Instead, he nodded occasionally, his eyes keenly observing as the new recruit grappled with the harsh truths of crew life. With a soft smile, he acknowledged Zane who tucked into his own meal. Lifting the almost-empty bowl to his lips, Jet shoveled the last few granules of protein into his mouth. He sighed softly as he chewed, the meal turning into a paste between his teeth.
After swallowing, Jet finally spoke up. "Don’t let it get to ya, kid. It’s pretty cushy here, and you'll earn your keep in no time. Besides, this ship needs all the upkeep it can get." He chuckled lightly but abruptly stopped himself. "Crap," he muttered, standing up and breaking into a hurried jog. ”The damn power plant…”
Fel watched Jet leave, nodding silently to himself, having a pretty good notion what was going down. He likewise stood, leaving Zane finishing his bowl, laying his hand on the kid’s shoulder as he passed by. ”There’s more in the pot, Zee. Feel free, but also know that the leftovers will be there later if you feel the need to graze.” Fel made for the flight deck. Zane looked up from his bowl of chili as the grizzled soldier took off down the corridor. Looking at the others that were nearby, he pointed in the direction of the “vapor trail” that Jet left and spoke with a mouth half-full of his food. ”Anybody else catch that? Somethin’ about a ‘power plant’? That don’t sound too welcomin’...” the youth said nervously as he slid out from his seat at the table and meandered off after him.
The doc was at the table, and thanked Fel for the meal, to which the spacer merely nodded, smiled thinly. It weren’t nothin.’ Folks had to eat. And aboard the UA, there were times that were lean. Leaner than he’d like. So when the cupboards were stocked, better to eat up. Wrench was there too, at his usual spot at the corner of the table closest to the galley. The little astromech liked to be able to swivel to see everything, and that spot had the best vantage point fore and aft. He extended his third wheel, ready to follow Fel to the flight deck, but Galdaart waved a hand relaxedly as if to say it wasn’t necessary, and the little droid stopped, tooting its indifference.
Jet's relief was palpable as he swung into the engine bay, shoulders sagging as he saw everything was still, mostly, intact. The thought crossed his mind that this sudden dash might have been the last grain that broke the Eopie's back. He stepped in, immediately pulling out his datapad to check over the vital systems.
Jet muttered to himself quietly as he went over each item. “Hyperdrive... coolant leak, should be fine for now. Ion flow regulators... Fluctuations, nothing major. Plasma injectors... Worn out, need replacing Again. Power conduits... good. Gravitic stabilizers... Slightly miscalibrated, easy fix. Backup systems... all good..” He took a deep breath, reassuring himself that everything seemed to be holding together, at least for now.
”Everythin’ all right here, old timer?” the confused youth inquired, the tension in his tone suggesting he was quite worried with how the older man left the galley in such a hurry. His eyes were wide with wonder as he looked around the engine bay, all of the flashing lights and whirring sounds of machinery distracting him from anything else at the moment. The youth stared around in awe as he waited on Jet to finish going through all of his checklists.
Jet looked up from his datapad, a wry smile crossing his face. "Yeah, everything looks good, for now," he reassured, his tone calm and steady. "Just making sure we keep this old bird flying. These engines have a way of keeping me on my toes, but nothing to worry about." He patted a nearby control panel affectionately. "Welcome to the heart of the ship, kid. Stick around and you might learn a thing or two about keeping her in the sky."
Jet then returned his focus to the datapad, continuing to review the list of items they needed. The chaos back on Lotho had completely distracted him from the fact that this old makeshift rig required some serious TLC—Tough Love and Calibration.. He reviewed the diagnostics again, methodically making notes of what they 'desperately-needed,' 'somewhat-needed,' and 'would-be-nice-to-have.' The list was short, thankfully. For now.
As he turned to leave, he placed a reassuring hand on Zane’s shoulder and plastered his face with a wide grin. ”Maybe, when it comes to it, you could give me a hand? Kark.. It constantly needs work and..” Jet's heart sank for a second, his thoughts lingering on Nova. His voice dropped, somewhat melancholic, his grin faltering. ”I like to teach you young’uns.”
Fel had that difficult-to-identify, yet impossible-to-ignore need to check the Navacomp that seemed hard-wired into his consciousness. Too many jumps, too many years, too much riding on their success, and mostly – as a smuggler and erstwhile ne’er-do-well, too many custom routes and corners cut to ever feel too comfortable in a hyperspace lane.
The outlander sat heavily in his seat, and called up their plotted course on the navacomp. Fourteen minutes till sublight, for a final course change, to Abilene. (it was tough to trace a ship’s destination via hyperspace jumps, but you could never be too careful. Fel had heard tell of pirates jumping unsuspecting civilians (or Republic ships) on the standard routes, and there had even been talk of the Empire tracking ships through hyperspace. Fel wasn’t sure how much of that he bought… but when the Empire was concerned, Fel was willing to believe almost anything.
He leaned back from the Navacomp and caught sight of a flashing red light on the console. Nothing to be concerned about, just one of many hull temperature sensors (that one had been on the fritz for a few weeks) but he allowed his mind to wander, focussed on that red light, and before more than a heartbeat had gone past, he was in the seat of his TIE/IN once more, different red lights flashing all around him, and that comm chatter… the screams… that acrid, burnt smell… his thumbs hovering over the triggers… sweat stinging his eyes and the fire… the fire…
He startled away from the memory, hand falling instinctively to the sidearm that wasn’t there. He calmed his racing heart and steadied his breathing. Wiped a hand over his four days’ stubble. Checked the Navacomp. Three minutes to sublight.
Leaning back, staring at nothing but the swirl of the vortex out the view-port, the deep-spacer punched a button on the arm of his chair, activating the internal comms. ”We’re dropping out of hyperspace in a minute, folks. Could be a bit of turbulence for a few tics. Then on our last jump to Abilene. Should be planetside by just after skydark, local time. Just under an hour’s flight time from now.” Pressing the button once more, the comms clicked off, and Fel thought how nice it would be to not have to rack down aboard ship that night. An actual bed, and fresh air, would do just fine. Now – if only he could avoid getting shot by a local, they’d be in great shape.
Jet finished reviewing the list with a practiced ease, already running through the mental steps of what needed handling first. He slid the datapad under his arm and made his way back to the galley.
As Jet entered, he glanced around the room but didn’t spot Fel. The empty chair where the spacer had been moments ago told him everything he needed to know. The walk was short, one he’d made countless times before, and as the cockpit door slid open with a soft hiss, there was Fel, just as he’d figured. The spacer was sunk into the pilot’s seat, staring out at the swirling vortex of hyperspace, his expression distant.
Jet stepped inside, his boots lightly tapping against the decking. He didn’t say anything at first, just crossed the small space and pulled out the datapad, setting it down on the console where Fel couldn’t miss it.
"Got the list," Jet said finally, his tone easy, matter-of-fact. "Injectors are shot. Stabilizers are drifting—not bad yet, but you’ll feel it soon enough. Coolant patch from earlier is holding, but you know how those go. Nothing we haven’t handled before." He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms as he studied Fel. "Figured you’d want to know before we hit Abilene. Market’s probably our best shot to grab what we need. Question is, you want me on that, or are we splitting the joy?” Jet smirked faintly at the thought, his tone light but steady. "She’ll hold for now, but it’s creeping. One weak link’s all it takes," he added with a small shrug.
”Always something, kark…” Fel looked over the list, only then realizing that his tension and the fevered memory he had only just snapped out of had left a sheen of sweat on his brow. “Wonder if Abilene’ll even have half this stuff. Ain’t no starport. We might have to make a stop at a shop. If Abilene has this gear, any of it, it’ll be ours for the taking. If she don’t, we gotta go elsewhere for it. Hell, can’t be without ‘jectors or stab’s.” He cursed again, but as much because of the weight of the situation, the crush of people who relied on his ability to succeed, to pull in paying work… as the added cost of doing business. And maybe the memory was playing havoc on his nerves. Maybe.
He didn’t have to think much to do the mental math. “We don’t get this from the boss lady… and I don’t imagine our luck is that good… this takes five large off the cuts before we even get to fuel. I’ll shoulder ten of it out of my take, split the rest amongst the rest of the crew, ‘cept the Doc. He has no stake in our ship. But even if Abilene has the goods, I can’t have you on repairs while we’re her ‘guests.’ I don’t trust her, and I need your eyes on our backs… no, we’ll have to set down elsewhere, or stop at a dock to do the repairs after Abilene. …Kark.”
He rubbed at the back of his neck. The frustration wasn’t with Jet, and the Spacer hoped he knew that.
Jet chuckled and gave Fel a hearty slap on the back, trying to lighten the mood. "Don't sweat it, Fel. We'll manage. We always do," he said with a reassuring grin. "I'll cover the costs with my share, too, no problem. Between the two of us, we can shoulder the whole expense. No need to worry about splitting it with the rest of the crew."
Jet took a step back, his stance more relaxed. "We'll get what we need, one way or another. And you know I always have your back. Just point me in the right direction, and we'll sort it out." He glanced out the viewport at the swirling vortex of hyperspace, then back at Fel. "We'll be fine. Just another day in the life, right?"
Fel smiled good-naturedly. “Yeah… just another day, living the dream.” He thought about the fifty different ways they could have got dead in the last twenty-four hours, the host of issues surely to come, the tense dealings to come with Abilene, getting paid (or not getting paid) and the, well, cat issue. Dream. Right. Better than any day under the yoke of the Empire, though. Silver linings…
Astlo offered a curt nod in return to the steward, his acknowledgment tempered by his age and a tendency to forego the flourish younger men might employ. Respect was given, though not with the elaborate gestures that so often accompanied courtly displays. After decades in service, Astlo had earned the privilege of brevity.
He inhaled deeply, the air filling his lungs before escaping in a slow, deliberate sigh. The idea of a royal heir being found was, on its surface, a hopeful proposition, one that could alter the course of a faltering kingdom. Yet Astlo’s seasoned mind, sharpened by years of intrigue and deception, found it difficult to embrace such hope without skepticism. It was far more plausible that the story was born of idle tongues—some mountain charlatan seeking favor or fame, perhaps to impress a lover or secure a fleeting moment of grandeur. Such tales had a way of inflating with each telling.
Despite his doubts, Astlo could not dismiss the matter outright. The summons to investigate had come directly, and with it, a clear mandate: to ascertain the truth and to curb the overzealous actions of those desperate to prove themselves. For all his cynicism, a faint ember of hope remained within him. If the rumors held even a shred of truth, the discovery of an heir might restore not just the royal line, but the stability of a fractured realm. And should such a day come, Astlo fancied he might play a part in shaping this heir—not merely in matters of ceremony and etiquette, but in the deeper arts of governance and wisdom.
He stepped forward, his boots striking the polished stone floor with a deliberate rhythm. Clearing his throat, Astlo addressed the steward, his voice measured and calm.
"My Lord Steward," he began, his tone imbued with a practiced steadiness born of countless councils, "I must admit that the likelihood of these rumors being anything more than mere fabrication seems exceedingly slim." There was no arrogance in his words, nor a lack of deference—only the tempered perspective of a man who had seen far too many false hopes raised.
Pausing, he stroked the length of his beard, as if the action might tease further insight from his thoughts. "That said, I will attend to this matter as requested. Any course of action that merits your attention deserves to be pursued with diligence, regardless of my reservations."
His gaze met the steward’s, the weight of his words hanging in the air. Astlo’s doubts were clear, but so too was his commitment to the task at hand. Whatever the outcome, he would approach it with the care and gravity it deserved.
[The Old Sentinel District, a Derelict Warehouse] [The Night Before]
Draven trudged through the crumbling streets of the old Sentinel District, a plastic grocery bag dangling from his hand. The ‘hero’s’ salary—what little was left of it—had sustained him thus far, but it was a far cry from the life he used to lead. His latest attempt at grocery shopping had been another exercise in frustration. The stores were crowded, even during hours when only night owls and misfits once roamed. He had preferred it that way, back when he didn’t have to dodge strollers or endure the endless chatter of the public he once served.
As he neared the warehouse that now masqueraded as his home, he paused at the battered metal door. A sigh slipped out, carrying with it a quiet prayer.
Please, not tonight,” he muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with resignation.
The door groaned open, the hinges protesting in a drawn-out wail. The interior was just as he’d left it—dim, damp, and bearing the scars of long-forgotten fires. Charred walls and a lingering smell of ash reminded him daily of the life he’d burned to the ground, both literally and figuratively. Yet, past the desolation of the outer corridors lay a patch of relative normalcy.
Draven had spent months carving out a semblance of living space from the ruins. The concrete walls, ceiling, and floors gave the area an austere, bunker-like quality, and every piece of furniture—if it could be called that—was made of concrete or metal. Anything remotely flammable was locked away in fireproof containers. It wasn’t ideal, but it was safe, and for Draven, safety had become synonymous with solitude.
He entered the makeshift kitchen and set the offending plastic bag on the counter. The fact that paper bags had fallen out of fashion annoyed him more than it should have. After all, they were biodegradable. Grumbling to himself, he unpacked the meager assortment of items he had managed to procure.
For once, the warehouse was silent, devoid of unwelcome visitors. His self-proclaimed ‘fan’ hadn’t shown up yet, which spared him the task of scrubbing scorch marks off the floors after futile attempts to burn the creature into oblivion. He leaned against the counter, his mind drifting.
Why Glutton—that thing—kept coming here was beyond comprehension. The demon, as he liked to call it, was the only one who still dared to call him by his old name: Blaze. A name Draven had long since buried, along with the bright-eyed fool who thought the world was worth saving.
Blaze was dead. Nova City had killed him. He had been remade in the ashes of their betrayal—he was Hellfire now. A villain, yes, but at least an honest one.
Still, Glutton clung to the name as if it had meaning, as if the hero it belonged to could somehow be coaxed back to life. “Blaze,” the creature would rasp with that maddening grin. Draven’s fists clenched at the memory. He’d tried to burn it out of Glutton, but the demon was as stubborn as it was grotesque.
Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to calm down. The flames flickering at his fingertips faded.
[The Following Morning]
The sun hadn’t risen yet, but Draven was already awake. Sleep came in short, unsatisfying bursts these days. Concrete beds weren’t exactly designed for comfort, even when covered with the best flame-retardant sheets he could find. Not that it mattered. The lingering heat from his Hellfire often left the bedding smelling faintly of smoke by morning.
Swinging his legs over the edge of the slab, his feet met the cold, unforgiving surface of the concrete floor. He winced slightly, slipping on a pair of well-worn, fireproof slippers that made faint scuffing sounds as he shuffled into the kitchen.
With the remote in one hand, he flicked on the television, letting the familiar hum of morning news fill the air. It wasn’t so much entertainment as it was white noise to drown out the echoing silence of the warehouse. The anchor’s monotone voice prattled on about weather forecasts and mundane local events, but Draven hardly paid attention.
His focus was on the battered coffee maker sitting on the counter—a relic from a better time. He filled it with water and a scoop of cheap, pre-ground coffee, its bitter smell wafting through the kitchen as it brewed. Grabbing a chipped ceramic mug, he waited, leaning against the counter as the machine sputtered to life.
The screen behind him flashed brighter as the segment transitioned, catching his eye. He turned back, watching absently as the headline scrolled across the bottom of the screen.
“Bank robbery in progress at Nova First National Bank,” the anchor announced, her voice carrying a note of urgency.
Draven’s brow furrowed, his interest piqued. He grabbed his mug, the coffee still steaming, and took a careful sip as the report continued. The camera cut to a chaotic scene outside the bank—shattered glass, panicked civilians, and the familiar glint of hero armor.
Still shirtless, he crossed the room, leaning closer to the television. The announcer began listing the heroes who had arrived on the scene, her voice now bordering on excited. Then, a name that made him freeze:
”Glutton.”
Draven’s breath hitched slightly, the mug hovering mid-air. He set it down with a faint clink, his jaw tightening as the screen displayed the figure of the demon among the would-be heroes.
“What the hell are you doing?” he muttered, his voice laced with irritation.
He turned from the television and walked briskly back to the bedroom, the concrete floor cool under his feet. Tossing on a black shirt and a pair of worn jeans, he caught a glimpse of himself in the cracked mirror propped against the wall. A shadow of who he’d been stared back—gaunt, unshaven, and tired.
Fully dressed, he returned to the kitchen, pouring another splash of coffee into his mug. Glutton’s name repeated in his head, each echo tugging at a mix of curiosity and annoyance.
The thought of the demon meeting its end in a mundane robbery was, at first, satisfying. But the longer the idea lingered, the more it rankled. Draven chuckled dryly, shaking his head as he leaned against the counter to watch the broadcast unfold.
”I’ve tried to kill you myself, you bastard,” he mused aloud, taking another sip. ”If I couldn’t, I doubt a couple of crooks will manage it.”
He set the mug down, his lips twitching into a wry smile. Still, a flicker of unease remained. Whatever game Glutton was playing, it was bound to be as maddening as it was dangerous.
“Do not disappoint me, Demon.” Draven muttered, his voice low and cold.
As the camera panned to the ongoing chaos, he settled into the chair nearest the television, coffee in hand, wondering just how far the morning would spiral.
[color=Blue][h1][b]A R C H A Z E N 32 | M | UK[/b][/h1][/color]
[hr]
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]
[centre][img]https://txt.1001fonts.net/img/txt/dHRmLjEwNi43ZWE3ZDguU21WMElFdHZjbkpwYmcsLC4x/jabba-the-font.regular.webp[/img]
[h3]“The galaxy’s a mess, kid. Best get used to it.”[/h3][/centre]
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[centre][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/a7da7c23-ba83-46fa-ae59-07f0a56b4216.jpg[/img][/centre]
[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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