'Ello. Here's the CS. God I hate this coding.
I understand it may be difficult to write a character without an OOC, but all the races are fairly stereotypical forgotten realms/D&D/TES-esque. Elves are shorter and faster, dwarves are short muscular and grouchy, and orcs are greenish and ugly.
Name
Shadowgale
Aesoroth Doucard (Discarded)
Age
63
Physique
5'6" and 173 lbs.
Appearance
(Looks. If you'd rather use a pic, feel free. Stick it up above your name(s), then delete this section)
Aesoroth is a dark elf, and therefore is short and slender, even among elven standards. However, years fighting alongside hearty warriors forced the elf to grow in ways most elves of his kind do not. Aesoroth is both a slight bit taller and heavier than most of his underground race, making him stocky and well built, giving him girth that elves just do not have naturally. True to dark elven genetics, Aesoroth is black skinned, although the paleness of undeath has drained that healthy ebony to a pastel gray. His once scarlet eyes have gone orange, the pupils slightly grayed and lightly reflective. Again, like every dark elf, Aesoroth has white, waist length hair, usually pulled into a tight ponytail that accentuates his widows peak and his angular features, made moreso by the slightly emaciated look all vampires share, no matter how well fed. A very light scar runs over his left eye, where Vormatz' spear was just barely stopped by Aesoroth's mask.
Race
Dark Elf (Vampire)
Approach to Life
(Who are you?)
In Life, Aesoroth is a solitary individual, driven to loneliness by his curse and his own desires for revenge. Calm and calculating, cold and rational, Aesoroth is an assassin in mind and skillset, though in heart and war a hero, a paladin in unholy guise. While he will never accept any praise or thanks, and scoffs at the rumors and stories of himself, he will always find himself where he is needed most, as his complex fate dictates for him. Unable to resist a true challenge, and even more so when undead are involved, hateful against the evil, and of anything unholy or unnautral. Aesoroth is a man willing to give chances and forgiveness, so a fellow dead man could convince him of pure intentions, but Aesoroth is no fool and would still keep his guard against the lifeless. While most vampires naturally resort to Atheism, Aesoroth is a devout follower of Valkar, and will often be found in a church or the fork of a road; head lowered in meditation before starting yet another hunt, regardless of what that hunt may be for…
Approach to War
(How do you fight?)
In War, Aesoroth does not move like any other mortal, or even any immortal. Excessively strong and fast for one of his breed, Aesoroth is extremely mobile and capable of dealing major damage. As a monk, Aesoroth fights with nothing more than his body (and his collapsible shortbow when the situation calls for it). However, since he wears a breastplate with matching boots and gauntlets, and a full-head metal mask, he fights more like a juggernaut, a siege engine, a high speed war machine that never stops moving and never stops destroying. As an expert in several barehanded war arts from many different parts of the world, a master of improvisation, and a genius at persistence, Aesoroth makes for the everyman, at least combatwise, capable of holding one defensible spot against many, or scouting ahead and destroying what he can alone silently, or as a rear guard, giving his wounded, less deathly gifted allies time to retreat. Aesoroth is a self-sufficient killing machine, capable of working alone or with others.
Biography
(Please note that I will describe each and every section of Niverin in detail. You don't know where I'm talking about yet in this Biography, but you will soon. If you absolutely need a snippet of info to write your character, such as the name of a land or a noble, PM me.)
The man known as Aesoroth, dark elf raised among mercenaries, has become a legend in the outlands of the world, infamous among bandits and other scum as the Outlaw Hunter. But first, his childhood:
It was late at night, one winter in the frozen wastes of Bjordred, when a wandering barbarian ran across a black elf child. Most barbarians would have butchered the foul thing on sight, but this one was an old one, much wiser to how things worked. Put an orc child in a village of kindly farmers and let them raise it, and that orc would be a kindly farmer himself one day. The old nomad had seen it happen. But his tribe would kill the baby should he return with it, and probably be executed along with it for… soiling his gloves with its filth, or something. So he took it to the mercenaries in blue, wandering the plains at the dragon’s behest against the increasing frost giant attacks against the big canyon town.
The grumpy but kind old leader of the mercenaries, Lucas Montoya, did take the baby in, in trade for a deer to take back to the tribe, and that was the start of it all. As soon as the boy could talk, he was taught to read. As soon as he could read, he was taught to speak, read, and write in three other languages. As soon as he learned those, he was dogpiled weekly under books on dozens of different fighting styles, stories of war and tactics, and manuals on the finer points of combat and ranger hood. From day one he was groomed to be the perfect scout.
When he turned nine, he was given training weapons to learn with. He excelled at the fist and shortbow, but for some reason just could not figure out other weapons. But the cunning old bounty hunter that Lucas was saw the potential for something amazing with that combination, so he left it as is and drilled the boy day in and day out, throwing him in armor almost too heavy for him to move in, adding to the weight as the child gained the power to move unburdened with the weight laid upon him.
Finally, when he turned sixteen, Lucas put him in an iron breastplate, with matching greaves and boots, and the power and control gained from the weight training combined beautifully with the natural speed, skill and intelligence of his race to create an armored monk, on par physically with any warrior ten years his senior. The patience and experience would come with time, but for the time being, Lucas had deemed him worthy of war. And to war he went, seeing another six years of happiness and chaos with the Phoenix, writing his story in blood across Niverin.
Raised and trained among hardy and strong humans, Aesoroth grew to be stockier than his brethren, although he was no taller than elves of his ilk. That mattered little though, for Aesoroth grew powerful in the chaos of war, his muscles growing almost too large for his frame to hold, and he was on par with any human or dwarf when it came to sheer power. Aesoroth flourished amongst the Sapphire Phoenix, but it wasn’t always meant to be.
One day, Aesoroth grew weary of traveling around Niverin with them. He wanted to go see the rest of the world. So he bade the mercenaries farewell, and traveled south to Ivmir, a massive forest buried in an enormous series of canyons. From there, he went further south, and eventually turned east, where little happened until he arrived in Xing, many thousands of miles across land and sea from Niverin. He was about sixty when this happened.
He settled down, found a fiancé, and plied his trade as a caravan guard for the higher wealth merchants. Things went well, until Vormatz Li’arme arrived, his insane general in tow. Aesoroth was once part of the Sapphire Phoenix, who had always taken the time and effort to poke Vormatz in the eye as hard as they could. Aesoroth had been the one to jab hardest, so Vormatz remembered him best.
After being victims to a glorious rampage that decimated a quarter of the capitol city, Aesoroth and his wounded fiancé escaped the vampire and his lich, and with her dying strength, his magically gifted love sent him as far as she could across the miles, back to the rest of the Phoenix.
She was off, and he ended up fifty feet above the ground in the Crimson Crags, the coastal region of Gerhard, eighty miles north of the nearest Niver border. But Aesoroth, after years of traveling the outlands and surviving on next to nothing, ran. For an hour and a half he ran, and then he ran some more, ending up right on the border of the city of Araden. After a quick night to clean up, eat, and rest, Aesoroth hitched on with what was left of the Sapphire Phoenix, who had been nipped at quite badly by Kalanthas as Vormatz hunted for Aesoroth. Godric Montoya, grandson of Lucas, commander of the Phoenix, had been raised on stories of Aesoroth’s skill. Godric named him captain, thrilled to have such a stalwart ally next him during this war.
Finally, the fabled destruction of the Phoenix came. Aesoroth was holed up in the Jerall Bastion, an old fort repurposed to be an inn in the lonely mountain pass, but still used for military purposes when necessary. Vormatz and Kalanthas had finally decided to make a big move on the Phoenix, and they had maneuvered their enemies to two opposite ends of Niverin. Kalanthas razed the Phoenix to the ground in Jenovah, and vaporized the ashes so this bird would not be reborn.
Meanwhile, Aesoroth had Vormatz and an undead dragon to deal with. Naharaz, a major problem in Jerall and the Reach, had thrown in with Vormatz, and was awarded with lichdom, and the power and immortality it offered. Aesoroth managed to slay the dragon, and trade a massive wound with Vormatz the forced the end of the fight. Aesoroth received a spear through the diaprahm, and Vormatz had his neck snapped. Kalanthas recalled Vormatz to their den then to regenerate and regroup, and Aesoroth was found by the region’s dwarves, who had come to finish clearing the undead from their mountains. For a month Aesoroth was subject to the slow, steady healing process of the dwarven clerics (who are famous for their common inability to magic). Once he was cleared to leave, however, he sought his companions.
Thirty (including him) had survived. Out of two hundred and fifty people, the clan had been decimated to thirty. Aesoroth, as the last leader, was given commander status. It felt like an insult to keep the name, so they donned the mottled black/grey cloaks of the Nightcloaks, and dedicated themselves to hunting the undead.
However, despite the dwarf’s best efforts, Aesoroth could not be saved from vampirism, and he turned within a year. During the later legs of the disease, Aesoroth was interred at the Snowfell Royal Infirmary, taken care of by Gardon and Avernia and the best healers they could get. Unfortunately there was, and still isn’t, a cure for undeath, and Aesoroth fell into the darkness. However, against several thousand to one odds, unlike most vampires (obviously), Aesoroth was able to cope with the dual shocks of death and undeath, and kept his heart and mind.
The Nightcloaks left Winterwall then, funded and armed by Gardon and Avernia, and bolstered with information that their top-notch scryers had gleaned. Vormatz was in Jenovah again, and it was time for vengeance. And it was time to fight death with death.
Aesoroth and Vormatz (and Kalanthas) clashed again in one of the many abandoned settlements dotting the sand-scoured landscape, while the other eight remaining nightcloaks (it had been a very harsh two years) fought off the army Kalanthas had been resurrecting, including another damned dragon.
The remaining Phoenix members fell that day, but Aesoroth had bested Vormatz, and if were it not for the ever present threat of Kalanthas, insane archmage of excessive power, Aesoroth would have returned Vormatz to the grave, at dawn of the first day of spring, two years ago.
Upon his failure, Aesoroth returned to Winterwall, and accepted a secret knighthood from Gardon and Avernia, all the rights and respect, none of the fame and glory, and was dubbed Shadowgale, in honor of the recently murdered Samira Shadowgale (longtime close friend of Aesoroth), Empress of Jenovah. Since Samira was murdered by Vormatz, it seemed only fitting.
By his new lieges, Aesoroth was ordered this, his primary objective and code, “Be who you already are.” It was vague and riddle like, but Aesoroth understood it perfectly. He was a champion against the undead already, and that’s all Gardon, Avernia and Samira wanted. A controlled inferno used to fight other fires. Aesoroth departed for the Lineve Province the next day, and hasn’t been heard from by anyone since. But for the three years he’s been gone, rumors flew nationwide of destroyed necromancer dens, slaughtered bandits and highwaymen, and ever more piles of undead, destroyed and tossed aside by one extremely efficient hunter.
Rumor last had him back in the Lineve Province…
Skills
(List five to ten good useful ones, Elder Scrolls style. These will dictate what the hell you’re good at. And no, I’m not using actual TES skills. This does not include any combat ability, that’s all in approach to combat. This is for outside of the arts of warfare. Also, the more you have, the more mediocre you are in each to keep a healthy balance. If you have five, you’re an expert four, and damn good at one. So on, so forth, up to reasonably decent at ten skills. These can be anything, from fletching to alchemy to diplomacy, anything that could be useful for this RP. Get it? Got it? Good.)
Smithing - Aesoroth is a fair hand at repairing his own armor and weapons while out on the road. It isn’t perfect, and it looks patchy when he does, but it gets its job done until someone better can do it.
Survival Skills - Aesoroth is a master at hunting, foraging, and surviving with nothing but what’s on his person for weeks at a time. It is almost impossible for Aesoroth to be lost, as long as there is even the slightest hint of something familiar. Self Sufficiency was the absolute first thing Aesoroth was ever taught, once the bare minimum basics were out of the way, and Aesoroth has never forgotten his lessons, and he has never stopped getting better.
Tracking - With his training, constant usage, and the way the intelligent undead “feel” the world, Aesoroth is a master tracker/bounty hunter, able to read the lightest tracks and smell the lightest drop of blood or sweat from yards away, and able to move with precise, perfected stealth, moving like a spider and skittering ever closer to his pray. Sometimes the thrill of a particularly fun hunt can get to him and cause him to jump the crossbow, but he rarely every makes a more major mistake when it comes to finding what he needs.
Information Gathering - Aesoroth has a reasonable skill in diplomacy (which he prefers), or a brutal, frightful presence as a vampire through intimidation (which he abhors). His pride as a warrior, and his insistence to be treated as no less than an equal by anyone or anything, leads him to seem arrogant at times, and this does not usually work his way, but his well-bred etiquette, quiet nature and reasonable disposition (sometimes) counterbalances that.
Movement - Aesoroth, naturally fast and only faster in undeath, moves on all fours when necessary to cover short bursts of ground quickly, and is capable of insane and daring feats of acrobatics and athletics. And with the almost untiring nature of undeath, Aesoroth can cover immense amounts of ground in little amounts of time.
Stealth - Again, dark elf natural stealth ability, intense stealth training, and vampiric affinity for staying hidden have made Aesoroth an expert at what he does. Aesoroth is very rarely seen unless he wants to be, and never, ever heard, even with his heavy plated boots and other heavy armor.
Weaponry
(How do you deal death to your foe?)
Aesoroth’s armor and body is his weapon, and the gnomish foldable shortbow he carries provides backup and ranged odd-thinning. Like his armor, Aesoroth’s bow is dwarven crafted and elven enchanted, and designed by the gnomish engineers to fold and unfold as needed, able to collapse a third of it's normal length without having to be unstrung or otherwise dismantled in any way. To go with his bow, Aesoroth carries fifteen dwarven arrows in a quiver strapped to his left thigh.
Armor
(What protects your character from harm?)
Aesoroth wears a set of very dark, dull steel armor that includes the breastplate, small cauldrons, gauntlets and boots. Over his head he wears a completely featureless (side from the skull-like shape) mask (aside from two eyeholes, one of which is badly gouged but still intact. His armor is dwarven crafted and thick, but enchanted by elves for lightness and incredible durability. The toe plates, shine plates, and knuckles all have small pointed rivets to further add to Aesoroth’s destructive combat ability. The backs of both of his hands, on the gauntlets, are professionally etched with the emblem of the sapphire phoenix. All of his armor is lined with black wolf fur.
The mask, however, is quite a magical piece. When it is off his face, it appears to be nothing more than flat wooden mask, petrified and slightly creepy. However, when pressed to his flesh, the magic illusion dies, and the adamantine starts forming itself around his entire head to create a one piece, full skull helm. This mask does not interfere with his senses, breathing (if he needed to), or his speech.
Under his metal armor, Aesoroth wears thick studded leather, mottled black and various dark shades of gray, true to the Nightcloak style. This includes a rather wide, open hood made of super light, thin, and flexible leather. Other than that, a fur lined, black and gray woolen cloak tops the whole ensemble off.
Gear
(What do you carry with you?)
Aesoroth carries various mementos of the past, all light and easy to travel with. The black ribbon around his left wrist, beaten and scarred but still alive, is one. The silver ribbon woven into a small braid in his hair is another. There's also the prayer beads wrapped around the wrist of his left gauntlet. There are a dozen more, but those are the most obvious.
Among less nostalgic things on his person is a simple silver hold symbol to his god Valkar, the God of Travels and Journeys, and an obsidian bottle strapped to his know know as the Blood Font. The Blood Font is an uncommon but not unheard necromantic artifact. The purpose of this bottle is to provide an eternal source of blood, for magic circles and whatnot. Aesoroth uses it to drink, instead of feasting on the mortals he fights for.
Other than that, just standard adventuring gear, minus what a vampire doesn't need, such as food and water.
Other
(Anything else you want to write about, that I didn't have a proper category for. If unused, delete this section from your final character sheet)