ghastlyInc

Spells in the Dark (18+ for Dark and suggestive themes)

Sanjin Zoric

Name: Sanjin Zoric
Appearance:

Clothes and Mask

face

Age: 20

Personality: While not on the hunt one could be forgiven for thinking Sanjin a friendly and energetic individual, if a bit dull. He a social little pup and is a frequent face among the tavern dwelling sort, enjoying tall tales of other hunters or brawling amongst them with a wide eyed amusement only matched by a child.

However, on the hunt is where his true nature is revealed. The aimless energy seen at home focuses to a razor sharp feralness, often devolving to the man dropping to all fours and snarling at the ground or sniffing at the air. Once he gets like this, there is very little that can persuade him to stop until his prey (be it beast or witch) is grasped firmly in his jaws, bleeding and mewling for a mercy that is unlikely to come.

History: Sanjin was born into a hunter clan known colloquially as 'The Pack'. However, 'clan' is somewhat of a misnomer. The Pack is a loose collection of hunters (both families and individuals) who are share a characteristic feral ferocity during the hunt. They are often simple hunters, openly disdainful of new technologies and following simple tactics. The most famous of which being their persistent hunting strategy, where in they drive a witch from their hiding place with a large team then follow them (sometimes for days on end) until they either die from exhaustion and exposure or finally tire enough to be beaten to death by the group.

Like many children raised in The Pack, Sanjin was raised communally and did not know who his birth parents were. Not that he cared in the slightest, he had many mothers and fathers to learn from and they spared no expense putting him and his broodmates through the ringer. Spending months at a time in the deep woods with few supplies beyond what they could track or gather was a norm, and frequent beatings by older Pack members even more so. So all in all, a rather happy childhood if he said so himself, even if an outsider might disagree.

When he was fifteen he was finally allowed to join the hunting parties. Not for witches, of course. The Pack was simple, but they were not stupid enough to let an untested hunter chase after such dangerous prey. Instead he followed hunters too old for witch hunts on expiditions for more mundane beast, hunted at the behest of local villagers in exchange for meat and coin. The scale and danger of the beast gradually increased over the next five years until eventually he was allowed to take a mask, the symbol of his right to participate in witch hunts within the clan. Now on the eve of his first hunt, the young pup is fit to burst with excitement.

Signature Weapon: A heavy silver plated club with spikes of iron.

Things they look for in a partner: Sanjin is a man of simple needs. Affectionate contact is a good start, though this may only make you a mate rather than a partner. He would like a person who can cook or make tools, as they can be invaluable members to The Pack's nomadic lifestyle. Try and take his somewhat simple nature in good stride, dont try to 'civilize' him and you are likely to get along fairly well with him. Do be prepared though, that feralness is rumored to come out in more than just hunts...

Pets/Familiars: Don't need a pet when you ARE the pet....wait no that came out wrong.
Experience: Novice.

Usoa

Appearance:

Age: 65 appears to be mid 20s.

Name: Usoa

Personality: Usoa is...aloof, even by witch standards. There is an uncomfortable awkwardness that hangs in the air in any room she enters, so she is rather under practiced in the art of conversation. While not much of a talker, she is as close as Castle Bloodrose has to a 'doctor', and as such is somewhat of a caring figure in the coven. Those currently under her examination enjoy a considerable degree of protection while recovering, unless someone whats to incur a legendary anger that bubbles beneath her normally calm demeanor. She seems to have an aversion to clothing, but will not explain why (only adoring what little is needed to constitute 'appropriate')

History: Usoa was born to an elder Witch that formerly lived in Castle Bloodrose, having stalked out to the Glow Wood for several months to construct her 'magnum opus'. That is the claim anyway, as all that anyone in Castle Bloodrose know is that she arrived at their gates 92 years ago, alone and fully formed as she is now.

She took very little time to...assert herself in the castle, destroying every shred of her mothers work with no real explanation other than 'its no longer needed'. Examinations by other witches showed that, despite appearances, she did not have any connection to an alien power or entity which helped calm things considerably.

She has lived a relatively quiet life since then, only making brief stops outside of the Castle when absolutely necessary.

Special Power: Progenitor Coil- The basis for Usoa's healing arts. Several long tentacles sprouting from various points in her body which claw and worm their way inside of wounds and detach themselves, dissolving and closing the gaps in which they've embedded themselves. They are strong enough to support her full weight (she often uses them in lieu of walking) and are somewhat useful in a fight.

At any given point she can have a maximum of eight tentacles protruding from her body. If the limbs are cut off or detached for healing, she can regenerate up to five quickly over the span of three seconds. Once these five quick regens have been used, she must rest for two days (rebuilding the of reserves of proteins and fats needed) before she can quickly regenerate again. These tentacles can extend to their full length of about five feet from her body.

Things they look for in a partner: Having spent most of her life in Castle Bloodrose, Usoa has no love for the male form. It is simply dull to her and then thing between their legs looks silly. Still, her appearance is a bit disturbing to most of her fellow residence so someone who can look past that is a welcomed change. And if they dont mind not having pain killing drugs running through their system while she 'heals' them that is...a sufficient boon.

Pets/Familiars: No. Just No. That's how problems like this start in the first place.
Rank: Novice.

Spells in the Dark (18+ for Dark and suggestive themes)

Sanjin Zoric

Name: Sanjin Zoric
Appearance:

Clothes and Mask

face

Age: 20

Personality: While not on the hunt one could be forgiven for thinking Sanjin a friendly and energetic individual, if a bit dull. He a social little pup and is a frequent face among the tavern dwelling sort, enjoying tall tales of other hunters or brawling amongst them with a wide eyed amusement only matched by a child.

However, on the hunt is where his true nature is revealed. The aimless energy seen at home focuses to a razor sharp feralness, often devolving to the man dropping to all fours and snarling at the ground or sniffing at the air. Once he gets like this, there is very little that can persuade him to stop until his prey (be it beast or witch) is grasped firmly in his jaws, bleeding and mewling for a mercy that is unlikely to come.

History: Sanjin was born into a hunter clan known colloquially as 'The Pack'. However, 'clan' is somewhat of a misnomer. The Pack is a loose collection of hunters (both families and individuals) who are share a characteristic feral ferocity during the hunt. They are often simple hunters, openly disdainful of new technologies and following simple tactics. The most famous of which being their persistent hunting strategy, where in they drive a witch from their hiding place with a large team then follow them (sometimes for days on end) until they either die from exhaustion and exposure or finally tire enough to be beaten to death by the group.

Like many children raised in The Pack, Sanjin was raised communally and did not know who his birth parents were. Not that he cared in the slightest, he had many mothers and fathers to learn from and they spared no expense putting him and his broodmates through the ringer. Spending months at a time in the deep woods with few supplies beyond what they could track or gather was a norm, and frequent beatings by older Pack members even more so. So all in all, a rather happy childhood if he said so himself, even if an outsider might disagree.

When he was fifteen he was finally allowed to join the hunting parties. Not for witches, of course. The Pack was simple, but they were not stupid enough to let an untested hunter chase after such dangerous prey. Instead he followed hunters too old for witch hunts on expiditions for more mundane beast, hunted at the behest of local villagers in exchange for meat and coin. The scale and danger of the beast gradually increased over the next five years until eventually he was allowed to take a mask, the symbol of his right to participate in witch hunts within the clan. Now on the eve of his first hunt, the young pup is fit to burst with excitement.

Signature Weapon: A heavy silver plated club with spikes of iron.

Things they look for in a partner: Sanjin is a man of simple needs. Affectionate contact is a good start, though this may only make you a mate rather than a partner. He would like a person who can cook or make tools, as they can be invaluable members to The Pack's nomadic lifestyle. Try and take his somewhat simple nature in good stride, dont try to 'civilize' him and you are likely to get along fairly well with him. Do be prepared though, that feralness is rumored to come out in more than just hunts...

Pets/Familiars: Don't need a pet when you ARE the pet....wait no that came out wrong.
Experience: Novice.

Usoa

Appearance:

Age: 65 appears to be mid 20s.

Name: Usoa

Personality: Usoa is...aloof, even by witch standards. There is an uncomfortable awkwardness that hangs in the air in any room she enters, so she is rather under practiced in the art of conversation. While not much of a talker, she is as close as Castle Bloodrose has to a 'doctor', and as such is somewhat of a caring figure in the coven. Those currently under her examination enjoy a considerable degree of protection while recovering, unless someone whats to incur a legendary anger that bubbles beneath her normally calm demeanor. She seems to have an aversion to clothing, but will not explain why (only adoring what little is needed to constitute 'appropriate')

History: Usoa was born to an elder Witch that formerly lived in Castle Bloodrose, having stalked out to the Glow Wood for several months to construct her 'magnum opus'. That is the claim anyway, as all that anyone in Castle Bloodrose know is that she arrived at their gates 92 years ago, alone and fully formed as she is now.

She took very little time to...assert herself in the castle, destroying every shred of her mothers work with no real explanation other than 'its no longer needed'. Examinations by other witches showed that, despite appearances, she did not have any connection to an alien power or entity which helped calm things considerably.

She has lived a relatively quiet life since then, only making brief stops outside of the Castle when absolutely necessary.

Special Power: Progenitor Coil- The basis for Usoa's healing arts. Several long tentacles sprouting from various points in her body which claw and worm their way inside of wounds and detach themselves, dissolving and closing the gaps in which they've embedded themselves. They are strong enough to support her full weight (she often uses them in lieu of walking) and are somewhat useful in a fight.

At any given point she can have a maximum of eight tentacles protruding from her body. If the limbs are cut off or detached for healing, she can regenerate up to five quickly over the span of three seconds. Once these five quick regens have been used, she must rest for two days (rebuilding the of reserves of proteins and fats needed) before she can quickly regenerate again. These tentacles can extend to their full length of about five feet from her body.

Things they look for in a partner: Having spent most of her life in Castle Bloodrose, Usoa has no love for the male form. It is simply dull to her and then thing between their legs looks silly. Still, her appearance is a bit disturbing to most of her fellow residence so someone who can look past that is a welcomed change. And if they dont mind not having pain killing drugs running through their system while she 'heals' them that is...a sufficient boon.

Pets/Familiars: No. Just No. That's how problems like this start in the first place.
Rank: Novice.

Sanjin Zoric

Name: Sanjin Zoric
Appearance:

Clothes and Mask

face

Age: 20

Personality: While not on the hunt one could be forgiven for thinking Sanjin a friendly and energetic individual, if a bit dull. He a social little pup and is a frequent face among the tavern dwelling sort, enjoying tall tales of other hunters or brawling amongst them with a wide eyed amusement only matched by a child.

However, on the hunt is where his true nature is revealed. The aimless energy seen at home focuses to a razor sharp feralness, often devolving to the man dropping to all fours and snarling at the ground or sniffing at the air. Once he gets like this, there is very little that can persuade him to stop until his prey (be it beast or witch) is grasped firmly in his jaws, bleeding and mewling for a mercy that is unlikely to come.

History: Sanjin was born into a hunter clan known colloquially as 'The Pack'. However, 'clan' is somewhat of a misnomer. The Pack is a loose collection of hunters (both families and individuals) who are share a characteristic feral ferocity during the hunt. They are often simple hunters, openly disdainful of new technologies and following simple tactics. The most famous of which being their persistent hunting strategy, where in they drive a witch from their hiding place with a large team then follow them (sometimes for days on end) until they either die from exhaustion and exposure or finally tire enough to be beaten to death by the group.

Like many children raised in The Pack, Sanjin was raised communally and did not know who his birth parents were. Not that he cared in the slightest, he had many mothers and fathers to learn from and they spared no expense putting him and his broodmates through the ringer. Spending months at a time in the deep woods with few supplies beyond what they could track or gather was a norm, and frequent beatings by older Pack members even more so. So all in all, a rather happy childhood if he said so himself, even if an outsider might disagree.

When he was fifteen he was finally allowed to join the hunting parties. Not for witches, of course. The Pack was simple, but they were not stupid enough to let an untested hunter chase after such dangerous prey. Instead he followed hunters too old for witch hunts on expiditions for more mundane beast, hunted at the behest of local villagers in exchange for meat and coin. The scale and danger of the beast gradually increased over the next five years until eventually he was allowed to take a mask, the symbol of his right to participate in witch hunts within the clan. Now on the eve of his first hunt, the young pup is fit to burst with excitement.

Signature Weapon: A heavy silver plated club with spikes of iron.

Things they look for in a partner: Sanjin is a man of simple needs. Affectionate contact is a good start, though this may only make you a mate rather than a partner. He would like a person who can cook or make tools, as they can be invaluable members to The Pack's nomadic lifestyle. Try and take his somewhat simple nature in good stride, dont try to 'civilize' him and you are likely to get along fairly well with him. Do be prepared though, that feralness is rumored to come out in more than just hunts...

Pets/Familiars: Don't need a pet when you ARE the pet....wait no that came out wrong.
Experience: Novice.

Returning to Fairyland [High Casual]

Identification

[insert theme song here]

Name: Dominic Ekhart

Age: 24

Gender: Male

D.O.B: March 2, 1991

Appearance:

Personality: Dominic is considered aloof, cold, and tyrannically analytical to most, if not all, of his coworkers. As an actuary with a major medical research company, he is fantastically uninterested in things like the potential life saving value of a project or how long a person has dedicated themselves to its research. His only concern is the potential liability and financial risks of a project and if it will make a return in the next five to ten years, and projects (and presumably people) have lived and died under the brunt of his assessments.

However, it would be wrong to assume he does this purely out of a sense of malice or greed. Quite the opposite in fact. He loathes to shut down projects with great potential, but without a reasonable justification to keep them alive the company will just be burning their investors money on every pipe dream that sounds nice. No investment capital means no more research, which means more people die anyway. Someone has to be the bad guy and unfortunately he fits the role perfectly.

Despite not being particularly thrilled with the position of resident stick int he mud, he takes his job seriously. Often working himself to the point of exhaustion combing through discovery reports and risk assessments to find some way of keeping whatever new project that has entered his sights afloat for just a little longer. He'd probably have more friends (and maybe fear him a little less) at work if people knew this. Honestly, keeping busy has become both a state of being and a defensive mechanism, as he has essentially isolated himself to the point of not knowing really HOW to socialize anymore without mentally preparing to destroy every iota of a persons hope.

tl;dr: Intelligent and result oriented, with a preference to understand all the risks before moving forward. Emotionally distant from most people due to being responsible for shattering their dreams on the daily (Well...quarterly really). Highly developed sense of long term gain and works towards the best possible outcome for everyone, and will happily alienate himself in doing so.

Biography: Dominic's father was a high profile civil attorney who had immigrated from Germany in his youth. Moving to <insert name of small town> was as much a business decision as it was anything else. Being based in a small rural town tended to put clients at ease and the cities er...'rustic' charms lent an air of trustworthiness to his dad. As a result, Dominic saw little of his father for most of his childhood, he and his stay at home mother seeing the man maybe once or twice a month.

And frankly, he hated it. He hated his fathers practice for stealing time he and his dad could have spent together and he hated feeling like he had to just accept it. Being something of a late comer to the Fairytale gang, he filled the role of badguy, mostly to work out these frustrations in play as children often do. As he got older though and the games stopped he slowly began to learn WHY his dad worked as hard as he did.

For a large part of his dads life, his family had been flat broke. The man had worked himself to the bone to get through law school and now worked himself to the bone to make sure his child and wife would never have to. Sacrificing that time he and Dominic could have shared hurt him just as much as it had Dominic, but doing things that hurt you to make things better is just how things are sometime.

Dominic took the lesson to heart and vowed not to waste his dads efforts, becoming laser focused on taking advantage of every opportunity that sacrifice had offered. He focused heavily on his studies early into junior high, spending less and less time with the small circle of friends he had gathered in the small town. By Highschool, he was more a name attached to a face than anything else. When he graduated Summa Cum Laude of their year he was met with a resounding 'oh..yeah. makes sense.' from most of the other kids, which struck him as a little funny at the time.

College was a similar story, albiet with far fewer people to grow distant from. He blitzed through the program, attending through the summers to shave off a year and a half from his Bachelor's in Economics and joining the Society of Actuaries at 21. In the last three years he has worked...and little else.

Hero Card

[insert hero theme hero]

Name of you Hero: Peirowaagh (peer-oh-waag)

Race: Greater Tree Demon

Class: Warrior

Alignment: Neutral Evil

Appearance:

General apperance

Closer Look at His Face

While age has certainly made Peirowagh's appearance...a little more mundane, he is still a strange sight to behold. His horns still curve behind the skull that makes up his head, though his formally immense stature is now relegated to being very tall. Still, he can hardly complain about being 6'5''.

His skin is the harder aspect to get used to. The bark like texture surrounding his body moves and shifts oddly, having no real feeling to it save in the extremities. Like his body is covered in a thick rubber suit with foam plates glued to its exterior.

Hero Personality: Peirowaagh thirsts for power and control over whatever he deems 'his' dominion, which largely consisted of anywhere with a tree. He is ancient and old, and values his ways of doing things before anything else leading to an impressive stubborn streak. He will ruthlessly allow whatever underlings he has die under his care if it means he is one step closer to gaining the object of his desire.

Weapon: Flameberge greatsword.

Abilities/Spells:
Tree Stride: After a minute of concentration, Peirowaagh is able to transport himself and any number of creatures he can see through two trees as if they were a portal. These trees can be any distance apart though he MUST know a destination tree's approximate location for it to work.
Shape Earth and Stone: Casting his magic into the ground, Peirowaagh can move large amounts of dirt and rock at will. He likes to apply this power in combat by crushing enemies between slabs of rock or burying them alive. The latter of which is more for insult than effectiveness however. Very useful for making fortified positions or making paths.
Grove Lord Peirowaagh: Being a tree demon, Peirowaagh holds some dominion over plant life. He is able to cause it to grow rapidly at will or command it to ensare or hassle his enemies. He can use this ability to heal himself or other flora of wounds with some speed, though it has no such affect on non-plant based creatures. Just as well, its a little slower than most healing magic made for meat sacks.

Non Combat Skills: Peirowaagh has an innate knowledge of naturally occurring wellsprings of magic (ancient groves, mystic rivers and the like) and how they can be used. He is also well versed in herbology and botany.

Combat Skills:
With his bark like hide and natural desire filled ferocity, Peirowaagh is a true beserker in battle. Barreling through opponents with his greatsword and sheer weight. There is skill to his technique, but it is vastly overshadowed by the intensity of the tree demon's might. Those that meet him in combat have the option of fleeing, being torn asunder, or (on the rare occasion you may prove useful to him) allowed to live as his servants.

Hero Lore: Long before the age of man, elf, and others there was the age of Alapachia, a time of lush and immense flora and primitive beasts of grand scale. The was filled to bursting with life and all things were in balance. At least...thats how a young Peirowaagh saw things.

Magic, in any sort of refined form, had yet to enter the world. All that was magic was the primal elemental life energies that clung to the world's inhabitants or hidden away places. Peirowaagh was one such inhabitant, a young sappling nestled comfortably in a (then) small grove.

He was the only tree amongst them that held the spark of magic and he was held in some reverence because of this. However, they were still only trees. While they held ancient wisdom and a consciousness inaccessible to beasts (or so they thought), mobility is sadly not a tool at their disposal.

So there the Lord sat, he and his grove flourishing in the rich sunlight of the world. Their roots stretched deep and they felt the rich soils power, it sustained them. Taught them. And when the time came, it consumed them in return. A mind numbingly simple existence to those of flesh, perhaps. But Peirowaagh found it enjoyable and, perhaps more importantly, peaceful.

Then the walking beasts came. Primitive and grunting at one another inarticulately. They clawed at his kind with tooth and fang with predatory glee. They stripped the skin from his kind with stones and later, gleaming brown metal. A few revered their kind, but less than there should have been.

At first, he and his court of trees ignored the creatures. They were just animals after all, albeit annoying as they broke branches away from them. They were only a real threat to the smallest of saplings, and even then only just barely. However, as the centuries turned, the beasts became more clever.

The brown metal gave way to silver, which dug deeper into his kind as well as theirs. And a few were begining to take awkward steps towards understanding magic. Hundreds of his brothers and sisters were felled by the beasts now calling themselves 'man', by axe to be mutilated into their tools or by fire for their enslaved plants.

After a mellinia, Peirowaagh made his presence known to a beast of long ear named Kiliki-nin in a thunderous bellow that shook the grove.
((gonna call it there for the night. will come back to this later))
Battle Theme: [the theme that plays as you vanquish your enemies]

((tis a work in progress, but here is what I have so far.))

Dawne | A Japanese School Life RP

@Euphonium Thanks for the feedback, its much appreciated! I reduced the image by 30%, which is hopefully enough. Didn't realize the font meme was broken as I guess the image was still in cache on my computer, so I've moved it to an image host for the moment.

As for the overlap: I fully understand. I had looked at @LordVoldemort's character but it somehow it completely fell out of my mind while writing my CS up. I'm willing to rework the background from an injury to something else (say performance anxiety or his temper causing him to get a ban?). This goes doubly so if the player in question feels like I might be robbing their character of a fun element to explore.

The only thing I want to preserve is the dream of going to the Olympics in 2020 in Karate. If only because its both culturally important and an extremely rare opportunity for practitioners (Karate is weirdly not a normal Olympic event.)

Dawne | A Japanese School Life RP

Kunimitsu Shun

“They're reading glasses shit-heel.”

Overview

---

_Name

Kunimitsu Shun

_Age

15

_{Birthday: October 12,2003
Gender}

Male

_Orientation

Heterosexual

_{Social Class}

Middle Class

_{Defining Hobby}

Competition Karate-A year ago, Shun was a pretty serious competitor in the Cadet 63 Kg Kumite scene. Good enough that there was a possibility that he could have attended the 17th Asia Cadet, Junior and U-21 Championship. However, an accident outside of training left him unable to compete and he's all but abandoned the sport.

_Occupation

Unemployed.

Characterization

---

_{Physical Description}

Despite how bad its been, the last year has been pretty good for Shun growth wise. At 184 Cm and 75 Kg he cuts and intimidating figure, at times perhaps looking a little older than most kids his age. A strict training and diet regiment keeps in impressive physical condition, though he'd admit this is more out of habit than anything else.

His hair is never brushed, a loose mop of brown that remains (mostly) tangle free by sheer force of will and frequent haircuts alone. He isn't much for high fashion, so outside of school his wardrobe largely consists of jeans, T-shirts, or the occasional nice sweater when some sense of formality is required.

_{Personality Traits}

Shun is a deeply frustrated person at the moment, which unfortunately makes him deeply frustrating to be around. He is abrasive, blunt, and casually disrespectful to pretty much anything with a pulse, but students who are particularly successful in sports clubs are lightening rods for this behavior. He is somewhat more neutral to those who prefer less physically active hobbies, though can still be prone to rude or dismissive comments.

Despite his roughness, you'd be hard pressed to find someone more personally disciplined than him. If Shun decides something is to be done, it gets done even if he has to work himself to death to do it. Failure of any sort terrifies Shun, not that he would ever admit this. He is the first in line to beat himself up over any little mistake, sometimes he's the ONLY person in that line. And while an actual apology is never going to happen, if Shun feels he owes you something you're getting paid back in spades. And god help you if you feel like he doesn't owe you anything.

He recently discovered he is a fan of quote 'nerdy crap' like role playing games and fantasy novels. Particularly anything with a hard boiled detective type or characters of similar disposition. He would sooner die in a house fire than freely admit this to anyone.

_{Likes & Dislikes}

Likes

• Dogs
• Detective Movies
• Table Top RPGs (Favoring Monk-like Classes...of course.)
• Competitive Martial Arts
• Flower Arrangement
• Spicy Food
• Mathematics

Disikes
• Sweet Food
• Quitting
• Stairs
• Himself
• Pretty much every able bodied person in this room.

_{Home Life}

Shun spent a great deal of his early life living in small crapped apartments with his mother, Kunimitsu Ai. To put it indelicately, Ai had been a party girl when she was a teenager and Shun was an unplanned wake up call. As such, Shun really has no clue who his biological father is and isn't about to ask for a list of suspects.

Ai worked hard to give Shun as stable a life as she could manage, working whatever menial job she could get her hands on. The downside being that Shun spent much of his time out of school at a local dojo that a friend of his mother's worked at. At first, his attendance was really nothing more than glorified free babysitting, the Kancho Ito Daichi being too soft hearted not to give Ai a break. The fact that new students would be absolutely befuddled by the sight of a toddler haphazardly attempting to mimic their teachers kata was also a plus.

But, by the time he was ten Shun was more or less a full fledged student and was technically proficient enough to keep up with students three time his age. But, being ten, he really couldn't spar with most of the other students who...you know. Actually WERE three times his age, and thus much stronger. So when Daichi suggested he try a local youth competition, Shun jumped at the chance.

Shun wishes he could say he dominated, but that would be a lie. He came 30th out of the whole showing, but the sheer joy he felt from sparring with someone on equal footing lit a fire in him. Training before had been a silly past time while he waited for his mom to pick him up after work, now it was just...more.

The next two years saw more competitions, Shun steadily raising in the rankings each time until he was placing in the top three consistently. Sure, it was the youth league and all, but it was the center of his universe and for four or five times a year he felt truly alive!

It was around this time his mother met his eventual step father, Tosaka Yoshi. Tosaka was a marginally successful pediatrician who sometimes donated his time volunteering as onsite medical services for various sporting competitions, mostly as an excuse to watch his daughter's, Yuki, track events. His wife had passed away early in Yuki's life and the two families rather happily winning each other over. Yuki in particular being rather happy to have a little brother to dote on, even if she was only two years older. Not that Shun would complain, being a little starved for familial affection since his mom worked all the time. Shun was barely thirteen when the two finally decided to marry, though truthfully it was far more a formality than anything else.

The next year was without a singular doubt the happiest year of Shun's life. They moved into a modest home which quickly became a monument to the kids various sporting accomplishments, the greatest of which being Yuki getting offered a chance to participate in a scouting camp for the 2020 Olympic games! A fact she would tease her little brother about to no small degree.

There was zero down in Shun's mind Yuki would eventually make the cut and join Japan's Track team (50m Sprint if he was forced to take a guess) and he was NOT about to be the only kid in the family not to go. So Shun knuckled down on his training like never before, aiming to represent Japan in the 67kg Kumite division come hell or high water.

Motivated by sibling pettiness, Shun began a winning streak like nothing he'd managed before. Any JKF (Japan Karate Federation) Event he could attend, he did, and he tore through it like a hurricane. The only thing holding him back was his mom's requirement he keep his grades up to compete. But a few sleepless nights of studying and make up tests were a small price to pay.

Then the whole world went to shit and he got injured. While leaving a tournament a poorly maintained concrete step gave way underneath him and sent him tumbling down a few steps before his leg cracked against the hand rail. The terror of what happened hit long before the pain ever have.

Leg injuries are a death sentence to any athlete, Period. And while Shun wasn't exactly a medical professional, he knew a bad break when he saw one.

He doesn't remember what happened next, but the next time he was conscious of his surroundings he was in the hospital. After a brief but intense panic attack, he managed to get his step-dad to explain what had happened and immediately felt infinitely worse. The bone was shattered a few inches above the ankle, the doctor calling it a comminuted fracture and suggesting and ORIF. Essentially, they'd screwed, bolted and hammered what remained of his tibia into something vaguely resembling what it was before. When Shun finally managed to ask how long it would take before they could remove all the things they put in him he received no answer.

The next few months crushed what little optimism remained in Shun after that, the young man able to do very little beyond attend school and do his physical therapy. His mood soured from being immobile for so long; the gentle teasing of his step sister or the general goofiness of Yoshi doing little to help and sometimes wearing his patience thin, though tempers rarely rose too high. He mostly just tried to avoid them and his mom; their attempts at pretending things were still the same growing increasingly irritating and their concern just making him feel helpless. During this time, he filled what hours he could with browsing whatever he could on the internet. Fantasy series (especially bad ones) seemed to work the best to keep his mind off of things, he even joined a text based role play site for a while but was banned for poor behavior.

When it finally came off eight months later though, Shun finally broke. His range of motion in his left ankle wasn't even a tenth of what it used to be. He could walk and run just fine, but as it stood he'd be lucky to break the top ten at even the most amateur of tournaments. The helplessness he had felt over the last few months finally boiling over into a bitter fury.

Arguments became a weekly event in the Tosaka-Kunimitsu house hold shortly there after, eventually evolving into almost daily events. Yuki got the worst of it, the two siblings being barely able to exchange more then three words with screaming themselves hoarse. After four months of this, a consensus was reached. Shun wasn't going to get better, not here in Tokyo anyway. So they could all be miserable together and get through this as a family, or Shun could leave.

Surprising no one, the three had Shun's bags packed and a taxi ready for him by the time he got home from school that day. He stopped only to get an explanation of where he was going before leaving, not needing to be convinced that he'd be better off anywhere else.

Shun currently lives with his step uncle and aunt, both of whom are spared from his ire by virtue of the trio doing everything in their power to avoid each other. His mom, step father and step-sister all live in Tokyo. This arrangement is mostly an experiment by his parents to see if getting some distance from his home town (and, more pressingly, his sister flourishing track career) will mellow out his anger issues. Neither side is particularly optimistic about the results will be.

_{Personal Motivation}

He wants to compete at the Olympic level in martial arts. Failing that, he wants ANYTHING that could fill that void in his life. He isn't sure if he wants to be able to be with his family again, there is a lot of anger and resentment on both sides there. Some of it undeserved, a lot of it not if you ask him. But...it would be nice just to be calm around them again.

Miscellaneous

---

_{Relationships}

None. That is probably for the best.

_{Belongings & Inventory}

He keeps his smart phone and wallet on him and little else. His uncle lets him use his old bike to get around town. He keeps a laptop at ‘home’ that is filled with pirated PDFs for tabletop games and write ups for character ideas in those systems. Never find these things if you value your life.

_{Other Information}

While his vision is mostly fine, Shun does need his glasses for reading text and seeing far distances at full clarity.

When it is very cold outside, the fixtures in Shun's leg feel uncomfortable and cause him to limp slightly.

For those who carefully observe Shun, they will notice that every Wednesday he makes a point to have salty or fatty junk foods. This is his diet's cheat day.

All right. Grumpy former Karate champ is done. Please let me know if there are any concerns or suggestions you guys have to improve on the CS.

Dawne | A Japanese School Life RP

Hey all, don't suppose you've room for one more male character? I've got an idea for a former competition Karate student who would just love to come in and break a leg. Probably his own. Again!

Star Wars - The Old Republic: Legacy

Kaili Brand

Name: Kaili Brand
Age: 17
Class: Jedi Service Corps Technician (Specialization: Star ship maintenance and repair)
Home Planet: Naboo
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Appearance: At five foot two and one hundred and twenty seven pounds there is no escaping that Kaili is...small. Rail thin and all limbs, even the most diminutive races would be hard pressed to call the youth intimidating. Years of spending most of his waking hours tinkering or meditating in the temple have left his skin chalky white, sans for the occasional grease stain smearing his face. A mop of long black hair shades over icy blue eyes, which are normally cast firmly down towards the floor.

In terms of clothes, as he no longer holds any hope for passing his trials, Kaili tends to avoid the more traditional garb of the Jedi. In place of lose fitting earthen toned robes are plain blue coveralls, stained brown to black in places and fraying near his ankles and sleeves wrapped tightly around his waist as a makeshift belt, and a plain black shirt covered by a flight jacket that is perhaps a size or four to big on the techie. A small thin blue crystal hangs around his neck at all times, the last piece of a lightsaber he had.

History: There is shockingly little Kaili remembers of Naboo. The name itself lends itself to the musky stench of swamp water, rotting vegetation, and the taste of spiced meats that warmed the lungs as you breathed out. But beyond these vague sensory memories, there is nothing. He is sure he has parents, though what their names are or were they lived (if they still lived at all) he has never bothered to learn. Being a youngling at his temple was...really the only thing he COULD remember.

His time as an initiate was little to write to the masters about. He progressed slowly but surely, as most do. His mind at first clumsily flailing at the force, bumping into the ocean of energy that surrounded him like a belly flopping beast of burden in a kiddy pool. But by thirteen he could dip into its vast waters as gracefully and easily, the once churning briny seemingly endless depth of...everything now settling comfortably like an ankle deep stream in all directions.

Frankly, it was an almost idyllic setting to grow up in, though he did occasionally get into small amounts of trouble. Particularly when he would hack the hologame board to receive holovids that were, and quote, “Absolutely not appropriate even if you WERE NOT Jedi Youglings”. But a certain amount of mischief was probably expected from any growing boy, force sensitive or not.

He was excited when he had the opportunity to take his trail and become a Padawan. To excited, as it turned out. He stumbled over the questions of philosophy, and his saber work was sporadic at its best. The number of things the poor masters who were forced to correct would have been embarrassing, if not for the fact they had done so as gently as possible and with an ever encouraging soft grin.

Master Farr Noncoma was the first to suggest the JSC Repair Wing to the aspiring Jedi, a temporary solution he had assured at the time. It was supposed to help him find his focus, and further let the boys enthusiasm for tinkering grow (that it would reduce the considerable amount of holo-game boards they would need to replace was also brought up, albeit teasingly).

And to be entirely fair to the aged Rodian, the two years Kaili spent there had helped. He was less easily distracted, matured from the excitable youngling to a still excitable (if somewhat more restrained) proper initiate. One who could break apart and fix a star ship engine in under six hours with an eagerness that would shame most veteran mechanics, sure, but a proper initiate none the less.

The second attempt at his trails had started infinitely smoother. Questions about the Jedi code and its application flowed easily, well practiced by the months spent reciting them in the crapped maintenance ducts of Republic vessels. Lightsaber demonstration went well, though with the small hiccup as he stumbled the first few steps, shyly explaining the training saber was far lighter than the Hydrospanner he had been using. Noncoma had laughed at that far harder than she probably should have.

Were things went wildly off the rails was the practical exam. It was the one thing that he had not failed in his first attempt, even if that was only due to him not making it that far the first time. Noncoma assured him he would do well, though even he could feel the faint twinge of nervousness the elder Jedi had.

It was supposed to be an easy job, and for a real Jedi Padawan, it probably would have been. His masters had received a call of a hostage situation, and Kaili was meant to act in tandem with the local peace keeping force’s negotiator to help defuse the situation, with a saber as an added measure of safety should the worse come. An ex-mechanic at a local Speeder shop had apparently become to strung out on his spice and had been fired. After a few weeks, he’d returned to the shop with blaster in tow, taking his replacement as hostage.

Kaili wishes he could remember what their initial reactions were as he slowly stepped into the garage, his nose filling with the relaxing mixed scents of coolant and oil. If he had to wager, the Ex-mechanic, a Bothan he would later learn was named R’yo, was probably mixed between drug addled confusion and panic as the situation and its severity began to dawn on his now slowly clearing mind. The Twi’lek, Rey’Lan, was probably just between panic and more panic. Being held at blaster point and your only hope being a magic toddler and his deputized babysitter kind of did that, even to the most level headed of people.

The four of them talked for hours, the negotiator handling the official questions with Kaili stepping in with his own small ones, typically ones related to their work or technical issues he’d faced himself. R’yo seemed to cling to those questions like an anchor, the familiar technobabble rolling off his tongue and calming his nerves as his brain slowly cleared itself. Rey’lan would even occasionally give a biting, if polite, quip of her own whenever Kaili or R’yo would suggest a fix or patch job that they were CLEARLY over complicating.

By the time the negotiator whispered to him that the strike team was in position to secure R’yo, Kaili had learned more about the two mechanics than he thought possible. R’yo had been married once, before the spice had taken that too. Rey’lan had a son his age, Kol’th, who she swore had a girlfriend he refused to talk about. The negotiator had suggested she have her husband talk to the boy about that to which R’yo laughed that would never work before becoming darkly quiet. Kaili had been forced to change the subject very quickly after that.

But the strike team...it was too much. He could feel the force screaming at him to tell the negotiator to back away. R’yo was as beautiful, panicked, kind and furious as the Twi’lek in his choke hold. Kaili could feel the man’s fog lift, and he only needed a few more hours to clear it away. But he said nothing, nodding softly at his negotiator as he turned to the Bothan.

R’yo had taken the request to letting Rey’lan go so easily, an arm sliding away from her neck with a jagged arc before limply resting at his side. A soft weary half sob escaping him as the Twi’lek rushed past Kaili, the Bothans final defeated words of ‘ok’ ringing in the initiates ears sounding far louder than it should have had any right to be.

Then the roof exploded.

R’yo had jerked his blaster pistol up, only barely visible as the duracrete mist of the former roof engulfed him. Kaili’s lightsaber had hit his palm before he even had the consciousness of mind to summon it. The muffled ‘pew’ of fire, a sound that Kaili once found to be laughable, rung through the air with sickening weight; undercut by the hiss of his lightsaber’s magnetic field slapping against the clumsily placed shot and returning it.

The Force muted itself around Kaili. The negotiators words a hushed distant whisper that only registered physically as he stared a R’yo. Very much dead. Very much dead because HE had failed to think for even the tenth of a second it had taken. He had struck him in the neck, the wound a through and through, glaring a black and ember red charred eye at Kaili.

Explaining the situation to his masters had hurt. They said nothing as he recounted the evening slowly, pausing as wave after wave of regret and anger at himself crashed through him. He did not need to read their minds to know he had failed, R’yo had told him that already.

Master Nomcoma had welcomed him back to the JSC three days after that, her voice low and as warm as she could manage. Kaili ignored it, setting to work almost immediately to begin his punishment. The Masters never said it was, Noncoma even assuring him it was not when they reached their agreement, but Kaili wished they would just admit it was.

Recovering from that night had taken almost a year of near continuous work. Kaili would wager he’d fixed thousands of ships in that time, though he could name none of them. His lightsaber had not survived the first month, Kaili having bashing the wretched thing with a hydrospanner until it bent and snapped. He saved the crystal, but flung the rest into the nearest incinerator and stared into the open flames until he managed to calm himself enough to return to his room.

Others in the JSC tried to help, but he would always shut them out whenever they came to close. Burying his thoughts deep in his mind and erecting walls around it until they stopped noticing. It..It was better this way. His work calmed his mind and, so long as he avoided Noncoma like so much blaster fire, no one attempted to know him.

Two months ago she had asked if he wish to take the trials again, offhandedly. Two months of not seeing the Rodian was probably the harshest no she’d ever been given, but Kaili was pretty sure she would get over it. There is no emotion, after all.

Personality:
Kaili is timid and, at the best of times, wholly unsure of himself. Any situation which does not fall well within his mastery of quote 'technological distractions’ is met with an awkward stuttering attempt to excuse himself to find someone more qualified. This is meekness is especially strong when dealing with any sort of high stress negotiation, as its a palpable reminder of his failure during his second initiates trial. He would argue that this is not out of fear (rather stubbornly in fact), though after many many discussions with fellow Jedi(...well, ACTUAL Jedi and himself to be more clear) he had resigned himself to simply throwing as many mental barriers around his emotions as he could at all times. If only to avoid a conversation that he knew would only serve to distract and frustrate everyone involved.

However, all of this goes out of the window once the boy gets a hold of some sort of technical problem. There is no greater joy to him than fiddling with a long abandoned hyperdrive until it finally sputters to life, and no amount of meditation could replace the calming peace brought to him as he skims through line upon line of computer code. Technology just...spoke to him, sometimes literally, if he were in such a mood to allow The Force to flow through him more fully (rare, but it happened at times). If he were in an exceptional mood, he became a neigh unstoppable force of repair. Tools would flit to hands faster and more comfortably than any lightsaber could hope to and broken parts would be replaced with substitutions that only made sense to him many days after they’d been implemented. If a knights place is at the front lines protecting innocent people from bulwarks of darkness, and a consular place was mediating calmly among a thousand contrasting voices, then Kaili’s place was bent over Inertial Dampener system trying to divine which of a billion wires was responsible for a short circuit. ...He just wished it wasn’t some days.

_________________
Equipment:
M296 Heavy Blaster Pistol, Custom: A relic of a blaster if there ever was one. But it has been a pet project for Kaili for the better part of a year. The internals had to be stripped almost entirely, replaced with newer variants or custom parts he tooled himself. The barrel had been rusted through and it took him almost four months to finally hunt down the old design documents to make a new one. He wish he had more time to work on the firing mechanisms a little more though...its rate of fire was a few shots too slow compared to its more modern brothers. Still, its the only tool Kaili really trusts himself with in a fight these days.

Tool Bag: A small back pack filled with various tools and small replacement parts for both his blaster and various star ship systems. Nothing of particular worth in here, unless you fancy several dozen feet of wire with more guages than there ought to be.

Skills:

Force Concealment: While largely putting his force training out of his mind, Kaili does have some mild proficiency in force concealment, able to shield his emotions and surface thoughts from the passive gaze of most fellow Jedi. Any deep scrutiny will probably be able to strip away these defenses, but for what he uses them for they are sufficient.

Lightsaber Proficiency: While its been nearly two years since he's even picked up a lightsaber, Kaili does occasionally find himself mentally running through the sequences of Soresu and Niman. This is more mental exercise however, and even the most generous of masters would be hesitate to call him a ‘novice’.

Starship Maintenance and Repair: If it flys, he can fix it. If it cant fly, he can MAKE it fly. Let it not be said the JSC Starship Devision were not good at their jobs.
____________
Misc:
Heyo, know the application window has already closed but I felt sort of inspired by the stuff you all have put up. Decided to play around with an idea and it eventually turned into a CS. Ya’ll feel free to use this kid as a background character or group NPC if you want. Given his backstory and the amount of Jedi in the group, makes a small amount of sense a member of their Service group would show up. Also something potentially fun for the dark side players if they wish to corrupt someone through their fear.

On a lore note: I always found the JSC to be kind of a intensely fascinating element of the Jedi Order lore. While much of what we see of it (what little there is) paints this sub-sect of Jedi in a very positive light, I can easily see it having an intensely negative connotation for initiates who failed their trials (possibly even seeing it as a ‘punishment’ for failure or weakness). I imagine it takes a great deal of guidance from older JSC members and Jedi involved in its day to day operations for a youngling recently assigned to it to see the greater importance of these auxiliary groups.

Also, please feel free to correct me if the JSC is not established at this point in the canon. I am pretty sure it is, from my cursory rereading of Wookiepedia, but I could always be wrong.

I, the Demon King, Will Summon My Own Damned Heroes!

Naji

”That seems unfair...” Naji pouted as Ash cast her gaze to the goblin corpse pile, obviously offended at the accusation of his clearly refined tastes. ”Eyes are nutrition and flavor dense. Second only to tongues.” He added from his perch atop Ash, but pushed it no further. If they ever got out of here, he’d have to get together some ingredients and see if he could replicate his mothers fish stew. If good old fashioned experiance had not taught these people the value of good meat, then being lured in with roasted fish in gravy with potatoes and other mixed veggies would.

A lull of silence fell over the group as they headed towards Ash’s camp, Naji silently taking the time to figure out how to navigate the menu. Firstly putting two points into iron gullet and putting the rest into Minor heal 1. With that out of the way, he tried to pull up any sort of options menu, somewhat hoping to find anything that could be called a language setting before giving up with a grumble.

The camp smelt of ash (the noun, not the pronoun he thought with a small chuckle) and faintly of Ash (Now the pronoun, not the noun)’s own lizardy....musk for lack of a better word. He hops off of Ash’s back with a dainty huff as the lizard settled into the small circle of dirt that comprised her sleeping quarters. He couldn’t stop himself from looking over the coals of the dying fire, sniffing experimentally at them. Acrid, woody, and the faint hue of burnt mold or lichen hit his nose. No good for hookahs, he noted almost automatically though he wasn’t sure why he even bothered checking. The likelyhood of anyone HAVING coconuts down here was slim enough that the idea of anyone burning their husks should have just been assumed to be impossible. Still, the smell of warmed over carbon drifting through the air was strangely comforting. All they needed now was the wafting tones of mint, mixed fruits, and cardamom and this cave would smell just like home.

Ash’s order for him to keep an eye on Colchian stirred him from his musings, causing him to pull back from the embers and back into the unreality of the cave-dream. ”Ah...uh...Sure.” He says, standing quickly before approaching the other lizard calmly. Col wouldn’t try anything with Ash around and, frankly, Naji wasn’t particularly worried if he did anyway. ”Hey buddy..” He says softly, tip toeing his way to the lizards face, hand out stretched to pet the scaled ball of muscle. ”You did good today pal. Whose is a good lizard?” He offers quietly, using a voice one might reserve for a small dog. Naji had no real idea how smart these lizards were generally, but he seemed a great deal less smart than Ash. So maybe the affectionate approach would be a good idea.

I, the Demon King, Will Summon My Own Damned Heroes!

Naji

Your battles and experiences have culminated into new power! You are now Level 2! You gain Skill Points to distribute as you please!

Unspent Skill Points:
5

Current Skills:
Shield I (1.3)
Minor Heal I (1.4)
Lesser Flight I (1.1)
Barter I (1.0)
<UNUSABLE SKILLS>
Scribe (0.1)
Charisma (0.2)
Intimidate (0.1)
Iron Gullet (0.8)
Dextrous (0.1)
Taboo (0.4)
Monster Analysis (0.2)
Magic Analysis (0.1)
Throw Item (0.1)

System:Naji

”I could do with a rest...” Naji says, flitting over to Ash and landing comfortably on her back, careful to avoid landing on the sack covering her. There was probably nothing of interest in terms of loot on the slimes body and, frankly, he was not about to go slushing through its remains even if there WAS. ”Hmm...Anyone have an idea what Iron gullet does?” He asks, since it was the closet thing to a new skill he could afford. Taboo also looked interesting, though it was similarly light on details of what function it may serve if any.

There if a brief pause. ”Also what gullet means...Second language and all.” He rumbles from his perch atop Ash’s back. ”Reading all of this in English is really uncomfortable for me. Don’t suppose anyone has found an options menu with language settings?” He asks looking at the group. ”...unless all of you are American or something. Which would explain the english.” He adds, if for no other reason than to make a little small talk with his new friends while there was lull in the supposedly life threatening situation.