Jamesyco

Operation Eclipse

Looks interesting.

Welcome to Vradia

Torsten

---

Two blue hues laid upon Dorian, watching as he entered, and he just stared at what was on the table, shifting his hands over each other in his lap for a moment. Moving a hand through his beard for a moment, his eyes lowered to his hand as a small stick went through and fell upon the ground. "So we are meant to end another problem before it begins... I assume something happened because, for the most part, we should all have some form of knowledge about these happenings as well. We have been with our mentors for some time and working closely with them; now that they are together and their pupils have met... we should have a compilation of knowledge over what we are going against... what our task is already, but... I assume you will give us the bindings of that knowledge to solve before we are sent out into the world again."

A resting flat line across his lips showed a bit of his mood, but it turned into a smile, "So, my question is... is this a test, or has our lives prior been the test? To see if everything we have done before this moment is worthy, to send us out to complete some trial, to investigate another arm of conspiracy while our predecessors continue down their own rabbit hole. If so, where do we start?"

The thick fur/hair that coated his head was brushed aside a bit, and at one point in time, he might have been considered regal, but now he looked as if he had lived in the woods forever. He likely smelled like the woods, pines, and sage, and the last of that burning incense came from him. He closed his blue hues as he just contemplated he would be vocal; he has been vocal, but at that moment, once his eyes closed. He looked like a serene statue in death, still as can be as he waited for Sir Dorian to continue with what they were meant to do.

Welcome to Vradia

Torsten

---

"Be not alarmed, young magician; I am only in jest." the prominent figure muttered out, looking at the others, "But it looks as if we have a diverse cast in the greater game of life."

His hands lifted to slowly move from person to person, leaving the hand momentarily before moving to the next. " Trails of life have met in one spot, with commonality in the loss. Fate has brought us together under the guise of our host. We shall learn his wishes soon, but let us first calm this one down for now."

His hand slowly moved to the tiny woman before him as she was at his side, patting her head gently as he moved past poor Dorothea, "She likely has not left her studies in some time and is new to the world. It will be toughest for her, but..."

Torsten's eyes moved to lock onto the woman with red hair. His face went almost to like stone, and in a much more severe and lower tone, "I heard some of your words before I entered... my hearing is much better than my eyesight Lady Faline, there are many young here, most of those here are inexperienced. By your shock at the mouse lady's appearance in our presence, you may be as well... But, we are here together now... We are here for a reason, and we will likely have many trials and tribulations in front of us. Our fates are here tied together; I hope that what is in front of us is something we can survive."

The man's face brightened as he slowly made his way to any form of the seat, and likely the largest form of a comfortable seat in the room, sitting himself down with a thump. "But while we wait, we should enjoy ourselves and get to know each other, and again, calm down the poor mage; she looks like she is going to have a heart attack, and while I can save her from that fate, I don't think you all can carry me to wherever we are going."

Welcome to Vradia

Sorry, I just got back from a conference, I will post shortly.

Welcome to Vradia

Yaaaaaaaaaaa

Welcome to Vradia

Torsten

---

From the edge of the town, a lumbering jingling man covered in thick furs and with several sticks sticking out of his clothing moved into town. He traveled with one arm outstretched, holding a dimly lit censor lit his way with the smell of incense. His other hand was slowly picking various small branches and sticks from his outer clothing, tossing them aside or snapping them in slight frustration as he made his way through the streets. He disliked it, it was to that point where it was bulging with people, and too many people smelled of filth, of disease.

He lifted the censor to his face and stared at the light momentarily as the thick smoke just bellowed around his uplifted arm, some of which coated his face until his arm lowered back in front of him, and it swang. He kept moving and pulling plant life from himself until he got to a thin cord of thorns that had wrapped around his arm, and he tossed it away as quickly as he ripped it off, not caring about which way it went or where it landed.

A deep groaning yawn came from underneath a cloth hood which still had smoke seeping from its open edges as he had spotted someone who looked far too out of place to be in this filthy place; he was much slower than the graceful woman, but he figured that she was headed in the same direction as him. When he turned a corner, he saw her enter a doorway, and thus the search for where he had to go was slowly ending.

Torsten stared at the bar door and showed a thick hide over his body and a dirty greying hood over his head in the better lighting around it. He raddled with each step, metal raddling against metal; he was covered in a patchwork of armor, chainmail under his thick fur, and plate covering his chest and around his waist and legs. Cloth and fur covered almost all of it, but it was more or less just another layer over it, new things keeping the raddling to a minimum. He opened the door and moved into the building seeing the denizens of the bar and finding that there were several places inside the bar.

Smoke poured around him as he forwarded his movement following the misplaced individual, and slowly moving a small bar on the censor as it closed its light to the world, he shifted the fur forward some to open up access to a belt that had an old metal helmet, and he hooked the censor just beside it.

Striding, no, lumbering like a walking rack of silverware through as he likely annoyed several on his way through to the tender of the bar as he slowly pulled a coin out from his cloth and placed it down. It was a darkly colored coin, tarnished a bit, but it had a silvery winged helm over a shield.

"I am here," the large man said as he slid it across the table. The man across met the woods priest's gaze, and a silent understanding was reached between the two men.

With that, the lumbering man was allowed back, entering the room; he expected the one who had entered before him to move further. But he just looked down at the woman and stood still, looking up at what the hood was aimed at; he looked at the other two, then back down. A finger rose and tapped the woman's shoulder. Blue eyes bore into the back of her hood, the smell of incense and rolling off the man, and a twig falling from his beard.

"I do not wish to be rude." the man said in a deep tone. "But... standing in doorways is not always..." There was another short pause in the man's speech, " the proper, thing to do."

Welcome to Vradia

Torsten

Torsten Valherren

---

---

Basic Info

---

Age: 28

Race: Human

Class: Paladin/Fighter

Weapons:
Bow
&
Bastard Sword

Detailed Appearance:
6'2
220 lbs
Brown hair
Blue Eyes
Average controlled muscle growth, more natural muscle, but just size and bulk entirely. He is more similar to a traditional muscle man than a bodybuilder in his build, like a lumberjack. Typically is seen sprouting a thick beard, a long hair; it is typically kept well in order. More monastic long than scraggly, straightened typically, or weaved.

Bio History:

At a young age, the noble family Valherren had several sons, but in all reality, had use for one and a fallback in case the eldest died. Sadly, he was the youngest son. His elder cousin, a priest in the eastern parts of the plains, took him in. For the most part, the order he was a part of was monastic and healthy, a station between the forest and the capital city; he could experience and learn a lot from those who traveled the lands.

Growing up in the monastic lifestyle, but with his noble heritage, he did well with donations funding a more fanciful lifestyle there in the monastery. Able to treat both themselves and those who came. He grew into a lifestyle of general luxury and necessity to do something with his time. He found himself being chastised and forced to do manual labor away from the roles he typically enjoyed, and when he continued his work, was when a group of holy warriors passed through around the age of nineteen or so. Within, he found his mentor, a holy knight named Kal, who took the sizeable young man as his squire and underling.

Torsten and his mentor Kal would continue to travel the western fringes of the forest, and the eastern plains, keeping local wildlife populations in check, how to become a master at arms, and most importantly, how to heal and earn his favor to use abilities to heal. But he continued his active lifestyle: traveling, socializing, fighting, healing, and praying. He was not one to settle much for long and was thankful that the warriors he was with did not stay in any place too long. But with time, he became quite the squire and quite the huntsman, finding a bond with faith and nature, bringing the two together.

But over time, the group of warriors was drawn apart, and slowly the group he was with grew smaller and smaller; Kal and Toresten were with six other Holy knights when a small riot broke out, and they were separated. He likely would have been killed if he had not fallen into a quickly moving river.

When he came to, a lot from the village had washed down river to the embankment. He took a sword he found that likely was from one of the warrior bands, a thick stringed bow and quiver, and whatever else he could take before heading out once again in hopes of finding his mentor and traveling by temples, churches, and monasteries, and doing small odd jobs such as repair, cooking, or basic labor depending on their needs.

Likes:

• A general fondness for nature
• Alcoholic beverages, primarily beers and whiskies.
• A high-quality lifestyle, comfortable arrangements, and higher-quality foods.
• Hunting
• Runic inscriptions (not that he can read most of them)

Dislikes:

• Monotony
• Solitude
• Being frugal
• Going without alcohol and meats
• Things he cannot read well that doesn't look 'exciting.'

Skills and Abilities:

Abilities:

• Master at Arms - Regardless of what kind of weapon he holds, he has basic knowledge of how to use it effectively. Suppose it is a martial weapon, such as a spear, sword, bow, or any form of militant weapon. He typically knows how to use it decently.
• Healing Hand - His body regenerates quickly, and because of this, he can take the wounds of others onto his body several times past what most people would call fatal, but due to his size, and sound constitution, he can heal others from even the brink of death.
• Faith's Weapon - The weapon or ammunition (in terms of bow/crossbow/flintlock/ranged) can be imbued with the divine sentencing of god. It burns those who have been judged against.

What are the drawbacks of those abilities?

• Master at Arms - He does not see much point in using things that are not weapons and thus doesn't know much about brawling with his hands or using general items/staff as weapons. If anything, they are defensive measures until an actual weapon can be found.
• Healing Hand - While it heals others, it gives pain to him. It is an extreme case or triage situation where this should be used, for when it is done; he will need to rest for a long while. He will be hurt, in pain, and likely near death in extreme cases, and will be out of any fight for up to several days until his body's natural and unnatural healing can take effect to bring him to a functional state.
• Faith's Weapon - Honestly, this one is hard; it's more or less a catch-22; this is just a good ability because it helps in many ways. It is a helping hand, but it's limited in its uses; you can't chuck a bunch of holy objects in hopes of smiting someone, it has to be thoughtful in its use and used only when needed, or else it may just be lost ever.

Skills:

• Medicine - being a man of faith and charity, his gift to those in the world is the tender hands of health. Being able to heal, medicate, and treat those needing medical assistance.
• Athletics - Being a stout man, he is typically able to do most things out of sheer brute force. Cutting trees, carrying supplies, and in tandem with his skills as a basic carpenter and mason, he could do repair work on most forms of buildings. It also has been used in recreational sports, such as dwarf tossing and arm wrestling.
• Survival - he knows how to cook, he knows how to clean an animal, he knows how to build shelters. He has a plethora of knowledge regarding survival, from patching up wounds to foraging. Living off the land is his life skill, even when on the move.

Theme

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=muwAyNgqDiE&list=PL7dqoyDEFCSplm9WmmESNOostfpbIEWrU&index=4

Welcome to Vradia

Torsten Valherren

---

---

Basic Info

---

Age: 28

Race: Human

Class: Paladin/Fighter

Weapons:
Bow
&
Bastard Sword

Detailed Appearance:
6'2
220 lbs
Brown hair
Blue Eyes
Average controlled muscle growth, more natural muscle, but just size and bulk entirely. He is more similar to a traditional muscle man than a bodybuilder in his build, like a lumberjack. Typically is seen sprouting a thick beard, a long hair; it is typically kept well in order. More monastic long than scraggly, straightened typically, or weaved.

Bio History:

At a young age, the noble family Valherren had several sons, but in all reality, had use for one and a fallback in case the eldest died. Sadly, he was the youngest son. His elder cousin, a priest in the eastern parts of the plains, took him in. For the most part, the order he was a part of was monastic and healthy, a station between the forest and the capital city; he could experience and learn a lot from those who traveled the lands.

Growing up in the monastic lifestyle, but with his noble heritage, he did well with donations funding a more fanciful lifestyle there in the monastery. Able to treat both themselves and those who came. He grew into a lifestyle of general luxury and necessity to do something with his time. He found himself being chastised and forced to do manual labor away from the roles he typically enjoyed, and when he continued his work, was when a group of holy warriors passed through around the age of nineteen or so. Within, he found his mentor, a holy knight named Kal, who took the sizeable young man as his squire and underling.

Torsten and his mentor Kal would continue to travel the western fringes of the forest, and the eastern plains, keeping local wildlife populations in check, how to become a master at arms, and most importantly, how to heal and earn his favor to use abilities to heal. But he continued his active lifestyle: traveling, socializing, fighting, healing, and praying. He was not one to settle much for long and was thankful that the warriors he was with did not stay in any place too long. But with time, he became quite the squire and quite the huntsman, finding a bond with faith and nature, bringing the two together.

But over time, the group of warriors was drawn apart, and slowly the group he was with grew smaller and smaller; Kal and Toresten were with six other Holy knights when a small riot broke out, and they were separated. He likely would have been killed if he had not fallen into a quickly moving river.

When he came to, a lot from the village had washed down river to the embankment. He took a sword he found that likely was from one of the warrior bands, a thick stringed bow and quiver, and whatever else he could take before heading out once again in hopes of finding his mentor and traveling by temples, churches, and monasteries, and doing small odd jobs such as repair, cooking, or basic labor depending on their needs.

Likes:

• A general fondness for nature
• Alcoholic beverages, primarily beers and whiskies.
• A high-quality lifestyle, comfortable arrangements, and higher-quality foods.
• Hunting
• Runic inscriptions (not that he can read most of them)

Dislikes:

• Monotony
• Solitude
• Being frugal
• Going without alcohol and meats
• Things he cannot read well that doesn't look 'exciting.'

Skills and Abilities:

Abilities:

• Master at Arms - Regardless of what kind of weapon he holds, he has basic knowledge of how to use it effectively. Suppose it is a martial weapon, such as a spear, sword, bow, or any form of militant weapon. He typically knows how to use it decently.
• Healing Hand - His body regenerates quickly, and because of this, he can take the wounds of others onto his body several times past what most people would call fatal, but due to his size, and sound constitution, he can heal others from even the brink of death.
• Faith's Weapon - The weapon or ammunition (in terms of bow/crossbow/flintlock/ranged) can be imbued with the divine sentencing of god. It burns those who have been judged against.

What are the drawbacks of those abilities?

• Master at Arms - He does not see much point in using things that are not weapons and thus doesn't know much about brawling with his hands or using general items/staff as weapons. If anything, they are defensive measures until an actual weapon can be found.
• Healing Hand - While it heals others, it gives pain to him. It is an extreme case or triage situation where this should be used, for when it is done; he will need to rest for a long while. He will be hurt, in pain, and likely near death in extreme cases, and will be out of any fight for up to several days until his body's natural and unnatural healing can take effect to bring him to a functional state.
• Faith's Weapon - Honestly, this one is hard; it's more or less a catch-22; this is just a good ability because it helps in many ways. It is a helping hand, but it's limited in its uses; you can't chuck a bunch of holy objects in hopes of smiting someone, it has to be thoughtful in its use and used only when needed, or else it may just be lost ever.

Skills:

• Medicine - being a man of faith and charity, his gift to those in the world is the tender hands of health. Being able to heal, medicate, and treat those needing medical assistance.
• Athletics - Being a stout man, he is typically able to do most things out of sheer brute force. Cutting trees, carrying supplies, and in tandem with his skills as a basic carpenter and mason, he could do repair work on most forms of buildings. It also has been used in recreational sports, such as dwarf tossing and arm wrestling.
• Survival - he knows how to cook, he knows how to clean an animal, he knows how to build shelters. He has a plethora of knowledge regarding survival, from patching up wounds to foraging. Living off the land is his life skill, even when on the move.

Extra Information:

Any other information that you feel is needed should be put here. Do they have a pet? Maybe they have a familiar? Are they allergic to anything?

Welcome to Vradia

Still looking for people? @WhiteAngel25

From Ashes We Rise: The Galaxy At Large

Belivahnn

Part Four

Johannas stared up at darkness; there was only darkness as he created it. He had created and combined the beauty of nature with that of stone masonry and rustic carpentry. He had originally made a fortress of white stone, domes atop each tower, rows of trees atop each thick wall digging deep into the earthworks within. It made a structurally ecological and stable structure; the roots of those trees made the walls thick, tall, and strong. But he stood in the center of the main citadel, staring up into the darkness as the stone had turned black. There were stains of white on the walls in the shapes of three men; he paid them no mind. He had done what he had done when he learned his adopted mother had passed away. He did feel sorry for them; his action had killed the three men, and it was out of grief at the news. I heard crying from one of the portals into the large room, but he did not mind it. It was a woman who was in the wrong place at the wrong time, burned likely from head to toe from his sudden outburst of emotion.

When others entered the room, he was on the floor scrubbing away with his tunic, the beautiful blues, and whites soiled by black soot, it was smeared everywhere on him, and he scrubbed the stone until it cracked under his perfect hands. He was beautiful, even in sadness, with soft, delicate skin that looked like a marble statue in motion. His hair flowed in locks around him; the lighter blonde and brown strands turned black in ash.

A man, old and frail, entered with a bucket, and beautiful robes collecting the deathly black ash in his trail as he moved to his adopted son's side. Instead of a tunic, it was thick cloth, the two started side by side. The elderly man waved the others off, leaving the two alone with only the scrubbing sounds to break the silence. It was like this for hours; while the old man moved around and cleaned, the perfect giant continued to get darker and darker with the ashes of his sadness.

"You have worked hard to control it. You have grown and turned into a handsome man. An angel of peace, of life, your fires warm the city. You have become a beacon of hope and of light. You have spread your wings and become the angel that stares above us. You are like the child of fire my son. Though the gods have faded, they gave us a son made of fire. Fire feeds the earth, the earth feeds the plants, they feed the animals, the animals feed us, and we give fire to the earth. You are the incantation of the beginning of life; you were born in flame. Your mother, I, and your first guard. She took you from your steel and flame cradle, raised you, and now... It is your time to continue, your sons, Watchers, your crusaders of old. Continue that tradition of honor you already have with this fortress. You bring balance to everything you touch, but it is your time... Your mother and I... we grew old, she is gone, and soon enough, I will be as well... While you have killed so many, you have forgotten about time. It does not affect you, you still look young. It's been almost a half century, you still look twenty... your brothers and sisters look the age I did when you started the city. All of us, even the sons of a god are naive in our own ways. While I taught you many things, I forgot to teach you the basics of life, you have lived as an immortal, as we all have. Unlike your sisters, and brothers who lived lives, who created families and reputations away from their crafts. You grew in your work, I forgot to show you how to live. How to go things besides be a warrior, a craftsman, a general. You became an artist of reality rather than one of romantics, and in that I have failed you."

The man continued to scrub, harder and harder, the black soot-coated tunic having streaks of marble dust across it's tearing fabric. He stopped, and rested back on his knees, holding the cloth in one hand, his chest covered in running lines of sweat in soot.

"Father, you did not fail to teach me that... you haven't failed; while states craft is complicated, I enjoy it. Some minds cause me to rethink my thoughts, but that is rare. Death is something I know is inevitable, but I wish I had lived my life with you both differently, instead of holding court in the foundation of a city, holding it in a room full of those close to me. Now around me, all I see are those of penitence, the souls of my army that lost everything, including themselves, to a war I held across this world. They wear the hoods of shame, masks of their sins, and mutilate themselves to atone beneath. They are my most disciplined guard in terms of protecting the innocents of the city. But they are fanatical, they see me as this god you call me, I am just a man."

The elder shook his head, and smiled, "The blind priest was a fine teacher for a man who never learned to read or write. He was simple, and while you took his words, you took the meaning of his teachings to heart, drawing others to that thought. You became a god when you first breathed the air of your realm but confirmed it when you took his teachings. I suspect he was a prophet, a witch, but he was a man of good faith, good company, and honor. I trusted his judgment, and so did you. It leads this world to prosperity and beauty. Our homes and walls are farms; our fields hold pastures full of creatures. If we were under siege today, we could outlive everyone outside it, and our walls would be undamaged even after centuries of attack and torture. The stone of their weapons would be the next tower on the horizon with your skills. But, that is not the point, you let go... and while I.. while we have been all telling you to control it, you should have listened to your mother, and let it go. Let it be wings... let it be apart of you, not just a hindrance, but a tool."

---

He stood over a casket in which two bodies were embraced. Shortly after they had left the citadel, his father, too collapsed and passed away soon after. He held his father for hours, and everyone knew who it was as fire encased the two both. He stood there like a statue when he saw his parents in one last embrace. He was dressed for war, an honor guard at his sides as he stood like a statue guarding the bodies as people moved by to pay their respects. His siblings were in front of him in rows, their children in front of them. Sorrowful music played from somewhere in the marble city, somber and sad the walls echoed through each chamber and a nearby street. He had the acoustics done for a musician friend of his, a bright young conductor, Elbus Krone, he had known for twelve years; he suspected this last orchestral piece would be his last in the rise of current events.

And hour after hour passed, thousands of people moved through, but the last was the hoods of the penitent soldiers, a line of men in peaked caps of greens, reds, whites, and blacks came forward. A crown of thorns, a missing mouth, no man's sin was the same between them, and each had a single distinction upon their body or head. Each moved forward, and as the last one came through, his guard moved for their respects, his siblings, their children, and himself. He turned and lifted a thick stone slab, normally, this took twenty strong men, but it was simple and easy for him. He sealed his parents' tomb and slowly began to pull on two chains to lower them down into their final resting place. He chose the place he found them; well, they found him. He felt something else nearby when constructing, but he chose not to explore; he chose this place in their honor. He chose it for their love, he wanted his memories to be in one place, and it would be in his beloved city, with his parents. Two stories above him were his quarters, his offices, and where he spent his evenings looking over the city of white and green. He had planned for this moment, he just wished it never happened. But in that moment, he decided to let go, and he did.

He did not expect the wings, the last gift his mother gave him, wings of the eternal fire, an expression heard so many times before; now, he has embraced it as a gift from his mother. Perhaps, he thought, it would not be her last. It was an expression, one that balanced control and emotion. He, for once, controlled his flame.