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@ERode From what I remember, there are certain people that can tell that someone has a Crest, though that ability is very very rare. There are no Crest detectors, but one can tell that one has a Crest because of their extreme aptitude or strength in certain areas
I think he's good, toss him in the char tab
I believe we're having @ERode and @Zombehs along too
Posted le girl. I might make another character to give us more of a cast.

If your characters were accepted before, just dump em in the character tab
Reserved just in case.

A long time ago, when Musentia was nothing more than a fledgling realm, darkness threatened to encompass the world. This darkness took the form of wretched, demonic beasts that preyed on the flesh of men. The people of Musentia struggled to fight against these monsters for many years, but they lost more and more ground every time man and beast clashed. These people fervently prayed to their deity, Yhirel. For many years, He remained silent as the beasts continued to ravage Musentia. ​

Just when the shadows were about to engulf the rest of humanity, Yhirel presented himself to ten individuals whose hearts rang with desperation to help their kind. He bestowed upon them divine weapons that would aid them in their onslaught against the monsters. But even then, victory would not come easily to these heroes.​

When the heroes reached the source of the monsters, a vicious creature known as Azaral, they engaged in battle for six days. It was on the seventh day that the ten Divine Heroes were able to slay Azaral and finally bring peace to Musentia. The Days of Ruin were finally over.​

The Divine Heroes eventually went their own ways, staking claims to territories all over the realm. With time, there would be conflicts and tension between the three nations of Musentia, as expected. But the Divine Heroes’ bloodlines ran true through history, and their weapons were either passed down from generation to generation or hidden away from the eye of man. ​

But this story is not one of the past. This story is one of the present, where a new generation thrives for a place in this world. While the Irinduil Monastery maintains its religious influence over Musentia, it is also known for its prestigious Officers Academy. The royalty and nobility of the three nations of Musentia send their heirs to the Officers Academy in order for them to learn the art of warfare and make sure they are ready to succeed the previous generation. Even commoners are able to attend if they have the coin or are spurred by sponsors. The Officers Academy is divided into two academic houses, the Scarlet Foxes and the Ivory Serpents. ​

Our story will focus on the Scarlet Foxes. Our characters will strive to hone their skills, achieve their goals, pass their tests, forge relationships with other students, and compete with the Ivory Serpents in tournaments. For now, the students have little to worry about, but their bright futures can change at any moment...​



Information about the three nations can be found in Tharae's Guide to Musentia.



The people of Musentia worship a single deity, Yhirel. The Church of Yhirel is composed of many devout followers who believe that they are to be granted a peaceful, fulfilling afterlife if they are to follow his word. The Church also revere three Saints-- Saint Baranbe, Saint Lileth, and Saint Tharae --who were said to have spread Yhirel's word in ancient times. In the Irinduil Monastery, both students and faculty are expected to stick to Yhirel's teachings, for they believe that the deceased can achieve a peaceful afterlife (called Elysium) if they adhere to his word. If someone is accused of going against Yhirel's teachings or is witnessed committing a transgression against the church, the archbishop has every right to punish them as he sees fit.

Azaral is considered the demonic opposite of Yhirel. A cursed dreadwyrm that wished to consume all of the world, its presence spurred the apparition of beasts that almost destroyed Musentia. The Ten Divine Heroes, headed by Marlon, were able to slay Azaral. Despite its death, its said that those who turn their backs on Yhirel and let their hearts become black with malice spend an eternity suffering in Azaral's realm, which is deemed the Abyss.



Those who have Crests have the blood of the Ten Divine Heroes flowing through their veins. In Musentia, Crests are desirable to have, as they are the bonafide symbol of status. A person who has a Crest, whether a Major or Minor one, have certain aptitudes for fighting, the arts, or so forth. However, those of noble blood do not always have Crests; sometimes, the presence of Crests can skip generations or appear in one sibling and not the other. Lords and ladies of Houses are often interested in marrying their children off to Crest bearers in order to increase the presence of Crests in their bloodline.


Located on a plateau, the Irinduil Monastery was built roughly five hundred and fifty years ago. It is perched on a mountaintop from which one can see the three nations of Musentia. At its base lies forest lands and a bustling town that bears a lake and hot springs. Students and faculty are free to visit the town as they so wish. The Irinduil Monastery is divided into specific areas, which are listed below.








​​



The Divine Calendar is used all over Musentia. There are twelve months, and each of them bear between twenty-eight and thirty-one days. It is currently the 28th of the Traveler Moon, Divine Year 781.
















Please note that this is a 18+, high-casual/semi-advanced roleplay. While I don't expect novels for posts, I would like for you to please take your time creating your characters and writing your posts. We all make mistakes, and that's fine, but if your post gives me a headache to read, then that'll be an issue. ​

Do not ghost us. If you need to step away from the RP, please let me know. ​

I will listen to people's suggestions and ideas for plot development and etc. However, my final decision is law. ​

Please read the OOC. There is a ton of information that is already set in stone.​

While we do have a handful of people, I don't want you guys to constantly pump out posts. Thus, we will be running on a semi-cyclic posting schedule. This means you should try to wait for a couple of people to post first before typing another post. If the person we're waiting for doesn't post in a week or so, then we may move on. ​

Not all characters are going to have Crests or be nobility.

Characters must be 15-19 years of age at the start of the RP. This rule does not apply unless you are making a professor or some sort of older NPC.

Fill out all portions of the character sheet, please. Also, please follow the format of the character sheet, though you may color it however you so wish!

I am a fun-loving person. I love it when we talk about things and make fun of characters, create ships, theories, and relationships. Don't hesitate to reach out to me for anything you need! ​

Have fun~





MENTIONS: Everyone

The mystrel woman was not interested in much deliberation. Neve winced as their prisoner’s life was cut short in a haze of crimson. Swallowing roughly, she glanced away from the man’s shuddering form in an attempt to ignore the post-mortem tremors that wracked his body. No matter how many times she had witnessed death before, there was simply no getting used to it. The smell of blood, tarnished steel, and burning gunpowder was still fresh in the air, though all she could focus on was the sour stench of excrement that wafted from the corpse at her feet. Bile rose into her throat as she watched scarlet gather into a thick pool upon the verdurous sheen of the malachite.

A hand set itself on her shoulder, earning its owner a flinch of surprise. Neve cast her gaze over at Galahad and tightened her lips. ”Right.”

The rest of them were quick to follow Leifur. Armored cadavers lined the corridors, each of them bearing the viridescent hue of Edrite soldiers or the black colors of the strange men’s mail. Neve took in the sight as she kept to the center of their group, her eyes wide as platters. Her knuckles burned white around the base of her staff. Rivers of blood marred the brilliant floors with their sanguine chroma as they gathered into stagnant, foul smelling lakes along the hem of the walls. Nevertheless, no one said anything as they winded around the labyrinth of hallways. Even if she did want to say something, she was sure that all she could muster out was silence.

Slowly but surely, the clamor of battle once again swelled in the air, its rhythm matching the violent thrumming of her heart. Leifur had guided them down a long, cherry-wood stairwell whose walls were painted a golden yellow. They reached the bottom and pushed through another hallway and a set of heavy doors– and it was there, in the royal garden’s courtyard, that they came face-to-face with another skirmish. Many enemy soldiers littered the cobblestone grounds, frozen stiff in the face of death, as heavily-armored Edrite knights effortlessly weaved around the rain of gunfire. Their emerald platemail rippled under the moonlight as they struck down their foes with the ferocity of a lightning strike. Many of their enemies were felled under the brutal blows and bulletfire of their gunblades and greatswords. By the time Neve and the rest stepped out from behind the door, their numbers already dwindled.

A keen ripple of movement from the middle of the throng caught her attention. Neve’s eyes widened when she saw a young man with sunset-golden hair tied back in an entourage of azure ribbons. Clad in sapphire armor, the lord of Edren raised his lance to the center of his body as he ran through his opponent without a hint of hesitation or fear. The king is fighting? she thought in alarm, Shouldn’t he be somewhere safe?

Now wasn’t a good time to think. Their arrival had drawn the attention of enemy combatants who had refused to succumb to the Edrites’ onslaught. In a fraction of an instant, a cluster of soldiers to their left raised their rifles towards them. For a moment, Neve thought it was their turn to be riddled with holes. A grimace pulled over her lips as she raised her staff and began to channel another shielding spell– but it was too late. Matron above–

Etro must have heard her plea. Another group had splintered off from the assembly of knights and cut through the remnants of soldiers with their gunblades. Blood splattered to the ground as their blades cut through their armor like butter and rent the flesh underneath. There were cries of shock and moans of pain as the helmed men crashed to the ground– and within moments they bled out and lay still. Then, there was nothing but silence.

Neve stared at their saviors. They had turned to face them as they lowered their bloodied weapons. They bore not the emerald sheen of Edrite knights, but typical garb that hailed from elsewhere but there. Team Unicorn members, she realized, recognizing their leader, a tall blond man with a stern face. She offered him a smile, but all she received in return was a toothy scowl.

Frowning, she dipped her head in gratitude either way. ”Thank you for your help.”

”About time you lot showed up.” He bared his teeth at her. ”Make yourself useful, healer. Tend to the wounded.”

His words were like knives that pierced through her robes. Neve averted her eyes to the Edrite knights who had clustered around their liege as they attended to him. Leonhart appeared unharmed as he ducked his head towards his men in quiet conversation. Her eyes dropped to their armor. Though they had been prone to the storm of bullets, the platemail had held up well against their enemies; she only spotted a few dents and scuffs that had marred their armor. From what she could see, no one was injured.

”I don’t believe I’m–”

A flash of steel. All of a sudden, Neve found herself face-to-face with the tip of the man’s gunblade.

”Are you slow or just stupid?” he spat, ”Do you have any idea what we’ve just been through? While you were up there dreaming the night away, we were fighting for our lives. Now do as I say, girl!”


MENTIONS: Everyone

The hallway thrummed with the clamor of battle; gunfire roared and echoed down the corridor alongside the ripple of naked steel and magic that ignited the air. Smoke from a fire spell flooded the hallway and she blinked to dispel the stinging sensation that flooded her eyes. She rubbed her palm into her right eye as she stepped into the hallway beside the companions in the room, nodding her head at Arton when she saw that everyone that she was boarded with was indeed safe. Her staff had come in handy, after all. She released a hefty sigh as she turned her eyes deeper into the corridor. Their battle was over for the time being… at least where they were at. A heft sigh spilled from her lips as she glanced over at Galahad at his statement. From what it seemed, he couldn’t have gotten any closer to the truth.

A sharp voice caught her attention. Neve saw the miqo’te swordswoman threaten one of the Valheimian soldiers that was sprawled on the ground. His hand was clenched around his shoulder, which appeared to have been pulled backwards and wrenched out of its socket. Before she knew it, she found herself walking over to the duo with a frown on her lips.

”I have nothing to say to you, savage!” The armored man spat out his words as if they were poison on his tongue.

His rancor was enough to make her flinch. Neve’s eyes drifted over Izayoi’s long blade and its unforgiving edge that was blemished with blood. She bit the inside of her cheek and reached out to set a hand on her forearm. ”He won’t say anything.” she warned. Humans were fickle things– if he spoke with such hatred towards them, then there was no way that he was going to cooperate. Yet, the way that Izayoi looked at the man writhing in pain, anger, and fear was enough to dissuade the fiercest beast from baring its fangs.

Hmmmm, looks interesting.

EDIT: Was thinking maybe a Kinjo thief or mercenary from Diomenne.
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