Brink_

The Sands of Blood (Dead)

Name
Barrats Et'lhomme

Age
Human equivalent of mid-forties.

Race
High-blood elf.

High-blood elfs, or simply high-bloods, can be described as a "near-Human" race, though physically distinguished by their blue skin and glowing red eyes, which grow darker depending on the oxygen content of their surroundings. The more oxygen present, the more intense the color of both their eyes and skin tone. While their hair is typically jet black, it does, on rare occasions, go gray with age (many high-bloods believe that the development of gray hair is an indication of the siring of exceptional children). Their physical form has led to some speculation on whether they are an offshoot of some near-human species' ancient expansions into the galaxy or whether their physical form coincidentally matches that of humans. However, recent spiritual analysis indicates that they are an offshoot of near-humanity, and it was believed that moving underground thousands of years led to a divergence between them and baseline near-humans. Furthermore, this analysis indicates that their unique skin tone is the result of exposure to glacial minerals. Their blue skin, jet black hair and red eyes generally command attention once they are in a crowd of regular humanoids, and these features make them physically striking and instantly recognizable. Male and female high-bloodss tend to be more powerfully built when compared to humans but exhibit the same variances as humanoid sexes. A high-blood stands between either 1.6 to 2.1 meters in height, though an average height of an adult is closer to 1.7 meters.

Studies have concluded that the fact that all high-bloodss often appear in very good physical shape is an indication that the species possesses an active metabolism which is responsible for their trim figure. Thus, this is believed to be responsible for preventing obesity that is commonly found within more sedentary humanoids. While the report concludes that they are indeed "near-humans," they have not determined a specific point of evolutionary divergence. There was, in fact, a number of near-human colonies established throughout much of the world, though records of this are virtually nonexistent and it remains unknown how a remote area of the galaxy could have been trailblazed so far back. They do display, physiologically, very few signs of evolutionary adaptations to their original icy environment with even their skin pigmentation not providing any apparent benefit. Beyond the obvious physical features, physiologically, high-bloods are similar to humans to the point that they possess a comparable circulatory, neurological, digestive and reproductive systems. The high-blood vocal mechanism is noted for being similar to those of humans but there are apparent differences which is evident in their capacity to speak their native language.

In addition, high-bloods experience a greatly accelerated growth rate compared to humans, which contributes to their reaching maturity faster than humans. Thus an high-bloods at the age of ten-years holds the physical maturity of a twenty-year old human. This in turn results in a culturally-imprinted emotional maturity that is many times above that of their human counterparts. They are capable of living up to eighty years old, at which point a high-blood is considered venerable; children are between the ages one to ten, and they experience a rapid adolescence from eleven to twelve and are considered full adults by thirteen or fourteen. Middle-age follows between the ages of fifty-one to sixty-two, and those aged sixty-three to seventy-nine are considered old.

Biography
Et'lhomme experienced an early life typical of most people, high-blood elf or otherwise, on the outskirts of a bustling market town. Days were spent hauling hay and preparing livestock for a journey to the slaughterhouse. However, after the outbreak of war amongst the many warring states surrounding the farmlands he'd grown up on, life took a turn for the worst. His parents were, among others, captured and ultimately executed for what was likely considered to be noncompliance, and the entire village was razed and its inhabitants, including Et'lhomme, launched into diaspora. It was because of this that he enrolled in an institution for higher learning and, eventually, the military.

At this point, and as his decade-long stint of fending off thieves and cults from various settlements neared its end, Et'lhomme had fathered several children. Upon returning home with his family after hearing word of restorations taking place, he became a humble playwright managed to put together a number of hits that became immensely popular among both the townspeople and those in the world's largest cities. The success of his plays helped fund the region's growing entertainment empire, and Et'lhomme himself became an influential trade guild baron. He kept much of his past shrouded in mystery, however, so it was not known how he was able to cultivate his information network that some claimed even rivaled that of the military, thereby making him somewhat of a legend. He spent some time working by refurbishing theaters and during that period, he gained a position as a statesman for the sizable township of Hochschule.

Demeanor/Attitude
Et'lhomme is, by nature, a loner and an outcast, with a ruthless streak to him that makes him extremely dangerous when provoked. Despite this outwardly cold nature, however, his colleagues have noted that that behind his exterior lies a fiercely loyal friend, and a man of good humor and giver of sound advice. Records have shown that him to have many good friends throughout much of the world. He is also shown to be extremely adept at defusing difficult situations, and as a man who would much sooner have everyone return home than to draw his sword. His experience of at least three decades in the world makes him a world-weary man, often expressing disdain and veiled insults to those he considers cruel and foolish.

Equipment
Long, flowing cloak and robes common among government officials.

Skills/Abilities
Swimming
Diplomacy
Negotiation
Strategy
Navigation
Above Average Intelligence

Weapons
Elaborate, curved steel sword issued to all former military officers.

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<Snipped quote by Brink_>

Are you dropping out? or was that a joke? ...... bad me for not knowing the difference lol :s

@my Lalia

I'm leaving, sorry.

Delete

Rp too fast. Haerald's little Gem heart can't take it no more. Ciao.

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The young man arrived at the village after an exhausting five-day ride, during which he'd had more than enough time to reflect upon his failure. And thus it was with the heaviest of hearts that he arrived at the gates, was allowed in by the guard and made his way to the stables.

Dismounting and feeling his knotted muscles relax at last, he handed his horse to the stable boy, then stopped by the well to take some water, sipping it at first, then gulping and, last, splashing it over himself, gratefully rubbing the dirt from his face. He still felt the grime of the journey upon his body, though. His armour hung heavy and filthy and he looked forward to washing in the shimmering waters of the nearby river, hidden away in an alcove of a cliff face. All he craved now was solitude.

As he made his way through the outskirts of the town, his gaze was drawn upwards – past the stable huts and bustling market to the winding paths that led up to the ramparts of the former Drakken outpost that now served as the movement's headquarters. Here was where his fellow rebels trained and lived under the command of Haerald, whose quarters stood in the centre of the citadel's crumbling towers. He was often to be seen staring from the window of his tower, lost in thought, and the man pictured him there now, gazing down upon the village. The same village that bustled with life, bright with sunshine and loud with business. To which, ten days ago, he, leaving for Shadow's Worth had planned to return as a triumphant hero.

Never – not in his darkest imaginings – had he foreseen failure, and yet…

A familiar insurgent hailed him as he made his way across the sun-dappled marketplace, and he pulled himself together, pushing back his shoulders and holding up his head, trying to summon from within the great rebel who had left the village, rather than the empty-handed fool who had returned.

It was his brother, and man's heart sank further – if that were possible, which he sincerely doubted. Of all the people to greet him on his return it would have to be his youngest sibling, who worshipped the man like a god. It looked as though the boy had been waiting from him, wiling away the time by a walled fountain. Indeed, he bounded up now with wide and eager eyes, oblivious to the nimbus of failure that the man felt around himself.

"You've returned." He was beaming, as pleased as a puppy to see him.

The man nodded slowly. He watched as behind his sibling an elderly merchant refreshed himself at the fountainhead then greeted a younger woman, who arrived carrying a vase decorated with gazelles, her skin glinting in the midsummer sun. She placed it on the low wall surrounding the waterhole and they began to talk, the woman excited, gesticulating. The man envied them. He envied them both.

"It is good to see you're unharmed," continued the boy. "I trust your mission was a success?"

The man ignored the question, still watching those at the fountain. He was finding it difficult to meet his brother's eye. "Is Melindant in his tower?‟ he asked at last, tearing his gaze away.

"Yes, yes." The boy was squinting as though to divine somehow what was wrong with him. "Buried in his books, as always. No doubt he expects you."

"My thanks, brother."

And with that he left his sibling and the chattering village folk at the fountainhead and began to make his way past the covered stalls and hay carts and benches, over the paving, until the dry and dusty ground sloped sharply upwards, the parched grass brittle in the sunshine, all paths leading to the castle.

Never had he felt so much in its shadow, and he found himself clenching his fists as he crossed the plateau and was greeted by the guards at the fortress approach, their hands on the hilts of their swords, their eyes watchful.

Now he reached the grand archway that led to the barbican, and once more his heart sank as he saw a figure he recognized within: Aslaugh.

Aslaugh stood beneath a torch that chased away what little dark there was within the arch. He was leaning against the rough dark stone, bare-headed, his arms folded and his sword at his hip. The man stopped, and for a moment or so the two men regarded each other as villagers moved around them, oblivious of the old enmity blooming afresh between the two rebels. Once they had called each other brother. But that time was long past.

Aslaugh smiled slowly, mockingly. "Ah. He returns at last." He looked pointedly over the man's shoulder. "Where are the others? Did you ride ahead, hoping to be the first one back? I know you are loath to share the glory."

The man did not answer.

"Silence is just another form of assent," added Aslaugh, still trying to goad him – and doing it with all the cunning of an adolescent.

"Have you nothing better to do?" sighed the man.

"I bring word from Melindant. He waits for you in the library," said Abbas. He ushered the man past. "Best hurry. No doubt you're eager to put your tongue to his boot."

"Another word," retorted the man, "and I'll put my blade to your throat."

Aslaugh replied, "There will be plenty of time for that later, brother."

The man shouldered past him and continued to the courtyard and training square, and then to the doorway to Haerald's tower. Guardsmen bowed their heads to him, affording him the respect such an experienced commandant rightfully commanded, and he acknowledged them knowing that soon – as long as it took word to spread – their respect would be a memory.

But first he had to deliver the terrible news to Haerald, and he made his way up the steps of the tower towards the man's chamber. Here the room was warm, the air heavy with its customary sweet scent. Dust danced in shafts of light from the great window at the far end, where Haerald stood, his hands clasped behind his back. His master. His mentor. A man he venerated above all others.

Whom he had failed.

In a corner, Haerald's carrier pigeons cooed quietly in their cage and around him were his books and manuscripts, hundreds of maps and letters, either on shelves or stacked in tottering, dusty piles. His sumptuous armor flowed about him, his long hair lay over his shoulders, and he was, as usual, contemplative.

"Master," said the man, breaking the thick silence. He lowered his head.

Wordless, Haerlad turned and moved towards his desk, scrolls littered the floor beneath it. He regarded the man with one sharp, flinty eye. His mouth, hidden within his grey-white bangs, betrayed no emotion until at last he spoke, beckoning to his pupil. "Come forward. Tell me of your mission. I trust you have recovered the potential bride…"

The man felt a trickle of perspiration make its way from his forehead and down his face. "There was some trouble, Master. The convoy was not alone.‟

Haerlad waved away the notion. "We are not a militia. When does our work ever go as expected? It's our ability to adapt that makes us who we are."

"This time, it was not enough."

Haerald took a moment to absorb the man's words. He moved from behind his desk, and when he next spoke, his voice was sharp. "What do you mean?"

The man found himself having to force out the words. "I have failed you."

"The princess?"

"Lost to us."

The atmosphere in the room changed. It seemed to tense and crackle as though brittle, and there was a pause before Haerald spoke again. "And the Drakken noblemen?"

"Escaped."

The word fell like a stone in the darkening space.

Now Haerald came closer to the man. His eyes were bright with anger, his voice barely restrained, his fury filling the room. "I send you – my best man – to complete a mission more important than any that has come before and you return to me with nothing but apologies and excuses?"

"I did –"

"Do not speak." His voice was a whipcrack. "Not another word. This is not what I expected. We‟ll need to mount another force so –"

"I swear to you I'll find her – I'll go and...‟ began the man, who was already desperate to catch sight of the foreboding castle again. This time the outcome would be very different.

Now Haerald was looking about himself, as though only just recalling that when the man had left the village he had done so with two companions. "Where are the two other men?" he demanded.

A second bead of sweat made its way from the man's temple.

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@Brink_
I really like your character, though I am unsure on how to work him into the rp. Since most of us will be able to rp with each other, I don't want to leave you out in any way. If you have an idea for how to make it work, I am all ears.

@my Lalia

I was thinking that he might often meet with the Gem brides in an attempt to, as Fiesty-Pants put it, get them to take part in an Underground Railroad of sorts that would allow for his resistance's numbers to bolster.

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Haerald Melindant

Haerald Melindant

Race:
Gemminite
Age:
Late sixties.
Element:
Earth
Height:
Just below six feet.

Bio:
Unlike most Gemminites, who do nothing more than perform their expected duties without so much as a though of resisting, Haerald has long been at the forefront of an extensive extremist movement. As war draws nearer and nearer to the Gemminite home front, he sees this as the most opportune of moments to decimate the Drakkens' supposed superiority and allow the Gemminite people to reign over their Drakken counterparts. As for his actual history, Haerald was born into a typical farming family in an equally typical farming community, which was subject to methodical visits by those seeking brides.

Since most every revolutionary with a thirst for blood requires some sort of revenge story or whatever, Haerald's own family was not only once but oftentimes brought to the Drakkens' attention, for, in their opinion, the Melindant brides were some of the finest in the land, meaning that Haerald could do nothing but expect all three of his closest siblings to be dragged away to some Drakken liar. Ever since then, he's vowed to bring down their vile rule over the land, and upon leaving his parents' home in his early twenties has begun organizing a violent uprising.

Other:
-

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Hider

Haerald Melindant

Race:
Gemminite
Age:
Late sixties.
Element:
Earth
Height:
Just below six feet.

Bio:
Unlike most Gemminites, who do nothing more than perform their expected duties without so much as a though of resisting, Haerald has long been at the forefront of an extensive extremist movement. As war draws nearer and nearer to the Gemminite home front, he sees this as the most opportune of moments to decimate the Drakkens' supposed superiority and allow the Gemminite people to reign over their Drakken counterparts. As for his actual history, Haerald was born into a typical farming family in an equally typical farming community, which was subject to methodical visits by those seeking brides. Since most every revolutionary with a thirst for blood requires some sort of revenge story or whatever, Haerald's own family was not only once but oftentimes brought to the Drakkens' attention, for, in their opinion, the Melindant brides were some of the finest in the land, meaning that Haerald could do nothing but expect all three of his closest siblings to be dragged away to some Drakken liar. Ever since then, he's vowed to bring down their vile rule over the land, and upon leaving his parents' home in his early twenties has begun organizing a violent uprising.

Other:
-

The Downhill Slide

Adrian neared the bar, its clapboard figure sandwiched in-between two similarly sized shops, whose weathered brick storefronts were stained with human and Hunter blood, if you can call it that. The dirt street's stately rows of cottonwoods shaded the couple of bodies and single car who had taken up residence there, effectively providing any nearby carnivores with an adequate meal. Once he'd reached the doorway, whose door and hinges were nowhere to be found, Adrian began investigating the interior. The night before, as he was scouting the area, he'd noticed numerous flashes of light from within the building, and had hoped to find some fellow survivors. However, to his dismay, he discovered nothing of the sort.

Instead, he was greeted by the sight of upturned deer antlers that'd once lined the wall next to mawkish paintings of birds taking flight, which where on the floor as well. Broken glass covered much of the hardwood floor and whatever beer promos had ended up there too. The bar was lined with empty bottles of both liquor and medicine, which likely belonged to the owner of the small cot that was hurriedly positioned in between the bar itself and the adjacent liquor cabinet. Torn and nearly overturned, it was of no use to Adrian, who instead filled his backpack with the few cigarettes and untouched beer cans that were left over from the visitor. Since it was clear that there wasn't much else of use in that particular room, hewalked to the wall farthest away from the entrance, where he discovered a door that, although not possessing a conventional lock of any sort, was very clearly jammed by something on the other side. Curious as to what that might be and if there was anything of use behind it, he, not wanting to attract any nearby Hunters or humans, quietly knocked on the door with as much force as such a low volume would allow.

The Downhill Slide

Name
Adrian

Appearance
Thanks to the many years he has under his belt, Adrian looks very much like a Hunter himself, with sunken eyes and a curl, downturned mouth that does nothing but contribute to his already cadaverous look. He's beardless and sports close-cropped white hair, typical of someone his age, and has dark, harsh eyes that seem to spin wildly at every single stimuli offered to them. On top of his heavy build he wears a variety of checkered shirts that he carries along with him and raggedy jeans, whose many cuts and tears are equal to the amount their owner possesses on his face. He stands at just below six feet in height. Along with this, he carries around a relatively new, albeit quite worn, backpack that stores numerous objects of importance, including a gas mask and a flashlight.

Age
Mid-sixties.

Weapon
Along with his signature steel-toed boots that are capable of incapacitating others with a mere well-placed kick, Adrian tends to carry around whatever he can find scavenging in his expansive backpack, such as kitchen knives and a rusted hatchet.

Skills
Carpentry, brute strength, proficiency with a blade.

Positive Personality Traits
- Light eater.
- Outdoorsman.
- Thick-skinned.

Negative Personality Traits
- Short-tempered.
- Light drinker.
- Stubborn.

Background
Adrian hails from a relatively typical suburb just outside of the Rust Belt, where he volunteered as a sherif when he wasn't enjoying the spoils of a Midwestern retirement. He had served as medic in the Gulf conflict as a twenty-something following his enrollment in some backwater practitioner's school and, upon coming home, worked at a clinic as a general doctor. By the time he'd reached forty, he was a father to two and a recent divorcee, what with having a disloyal wife and all. Following his kids' enrollment and subsequent finishing of college, he moved from the generic East Coast city he'd spent the majority of his life westward, eventually settling in the aforementioned village. As of the outbreak, he's living alone, with his wife and kids being somewhere out east.

Kingdoms of Crypso ~ Low Fantasy, World Builder, NRP

Nation
Southern Malvine (Southern Archipelago)

Government
Republic
- Bonus
Universal Suffrage (Decreased Unrest)
- Penalty
Laissez-Faire (Decreased Income)

Ruler
Chancellor Pastiss Soldar II

Trait
Progressive

Prominent Terrain
River Valleys
Secondary Terrain
Forest

Prominent Race
Satyrs (Diplomacy Bonus)
Secondary Race(s)
Humans, Cynocephalusi (Combat Bonus, Diplomacy Penalty)

Biographies
A distinct satyr culture emerged in what is now the southernmost extremes of the Thangian Empire, millions of years ago. Within a matter of decades, human tribes from neighboring savannas moved into the region, bringing agriculture, pottery and the working of soft metals. At some point prior to the founding of the Irodein Empire, Cynocepahlusi and similar peoples crossed into these fertile coastlines from both the west and east, supplanting the aforementioned humanoid inhabitants. Around the same time, voyagers from nearby islands established trading posts and settlements. When the now-defunct Satyr Kingdom gained control of the area a couple thousand years ago as a result of the Great Race War, the Cynocepahlusi communities resisted the kingdom's rule from its fortresses in the west until these comparatively primitive tribes were at last suppressed within a matter of months.

As the kingdom declined, several human populations arrived from the north once again to what were now war-torn remnants of a once thriving cradle of life. There they settled on a series of islands not far from the coast, annexed whatever few Cynocepahlusi colonies remained, and overran the rest of the region. They in turn were supplanted by rebel satyrs, who after a period left the area only to succumb to the nearby deserts' extreme weather. As the Great Cataclysm neared, the Satyr Kingdom had been completely dismantled and its king sacrificed himself to the Cynocepahlusi; but the subsequent monarchy was weak and divided, plagued by decades of unrest. When Sanfure forces invaded, the only serious resistance was centered on a small fortress of a couple hundred exiles. Within two decades, the Sanfures overran the entirety of the satyrs' homeland. Within a matter of months, the planet's entire satyr and Cynocepahlusi populations had escaped to the nearby archipelago now known as Southern Malvine.

Born into the aftermath of a dynasty characterized by tragedy and madness dating back to the Satyr Kingdom, the human Patiss Soldar II is undoubtedly Southern Malvine's most contempt leader in years. Following his father's stroke and the subsequent assassination attempts on his original heir Hastifet, whose reform methods were brutal and came at the cost of personal liberties and freedoms, Patiss has vowed to return the nation to a time of stability and tranquility, as evidenced by his recent interest in promoting patronage of the arts and construction projects.