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48,802 | 1,313 | 36 | 1,612 | 745 | P-J was just taking in everything going on around him when Rich approached him. P-J knew Rich through his friendship with Rayne and P-J thought he was all-right, but he didn't know enough about him to classify him as a close friend. Still though all indications were that Rich was an all-right guy and Rayne had good taste in his friendships, so P-J was cool with Rich.
P-J smiled back and said, "Hey there Rich nice to see ya." P-J raised his bottle and took a swig. P-J put his bottle back down on the bar and said. "It seems like Dai wasn't exactly ready for all of this, and that Rayne invited a few more than he was supposed to. All that being said though it'll be all-right I think the key is to just take it as it comes." He took another drink and said, "I saw you brought your SG with you looking forward to hearing you during the summer. I'm a Springsteen fan when it comes to music. Seen him four times even got to be in the front row once."
P-J looked back at Dai and said to Rich, "We gotta help keep our host on an even keel. Right now the poor guy looks like he's gonna have a nervous breakdown if you look at him wrong. Can't say I blame him though the majority of people here he wouldn't know if they were wearing name-tags and had their resumes with them. Now he's playing host to them." P-J shook his head and said, "It's gonna be an interesting time until we all get used to one another. Not to mention who knows who may hook up with whom as the summer goes on."
P-J nodded and said, "Okay I think Dai could use some lightening of his load." P-J walked over to the desk grabbed a sheet of paper and wrote on it. He walked back over to the bar and motioned to Dai who was on the phone. He held up the note that read, "Is there anything I can do to help you out?" | Name: Peter Jason McCabe (Goes by P-J)
Age: 19
Height: 6' 2"
Weight: 220
Sex: Male
Gender: Male
Orientation: Hetero
HandedNess (dominance): Right
Appearance Also has a scar on his left hand.
General Personality: P-J is sizable and is going to the University of Pittsburgh on a football scholarship, but don't let that fool you. He is an easy going guy who likes hanging out with his friends and enjoys having a good laugh. P-J doesn't believe in using his size to intimidate others and likes helping others. P-J has a sarcastic wit and at times doesn't know when to turn it off. If he goes over the line with it he will be the first to apologize for it and do what he can to have someone forgive him. However do not EVER mistake P-J's kindness for weakness, and if you ever do cross him or hurt one of his friends P-J is not above hurting you. |
48,803 | 1,313 | 37 | 275 | 114 | Diana was visibly surprised, but this gave way to a small smile as he continued his conversation on the phone; which consisted largely of quiet 'yeses' or 'noes' and the occasional elaboration, nothing particularly interesting. Moving over to the bar he took the note from P-J, and using a blue pen he'd found by the phones base scribbled something hurriedly before turning the note back toward his guest with a shrug.
With that settled, Dai turned, leaning lightly against the counters edge with his back to everyone, and continued his conversation, and he brought a hand up to the back of his head, fiddling only lightly with his hair in distracted thought, while he tapped his foot loosely to the song playing on the radio. | Name: Diana "Dai/Dye" Monroe
Age: 19
Height: 5'11
Weight: 120ibs
Sex: Male
Gender: Cis Male
Orientation: Homosexual
Handedness: Right
Appearance:
He's very thin, and relatively tall with spindly arms and legs, but everything about him is gentle, save for his thick-framed glasses. He wears primarily baggy sweaters in soft colours and tight-fitting skinny jeans with his black shoes.
General Personality: He's relatively quiet and mild mannered, though often quite sarcastic and dark humored. Overall, people tend to gravitate toward him because he's honest, kind and incredibly loyal. |
48,804 | 1,313 | 38 | 2,344 | 303 | Yeah, I feel kinda guilty to be honest. Rich said to P-J about Dai's situation. "Like, I know if a bunch of people showed up at my place that I didn't know I'd be pretty freaked out, but yeah like you said, sometimes you just have to go with the flow." Rich smiled at P-J when he started discussing music. "Yeah, I brought it along for a bit of practice and if anyone wanted to hear a bit. When I'm with my band we usually play upbeat surf and grungy type stuff, but when I'm solo I'll still play a bit of that stuff, but I'll usually play more mellow stuff like J Mascis, or Mac DeMarco, or Elliot Smith. But hey, if you wanna hear some Springsteen I think I could play some of his stuff." He said with a grin.
When Dai walked in looking panicked, Rich decided he should help out somehow. Though the only things he knew how to cook were macaroni, instant ramen, and toast so he wouldn't be of much help on the cooking front. When P-J got his note returned from Dai, Rich read it from behind him before asking "Are you going to need any help with that? Or should I try to find something else to help with?" It didn't really seem like it was all that much to carry, but Rich didn't really want to seem like too much of a dead weight, and he did feel bad for just barging in with a dubious invitation, even if he wasn't the only person to do so. | Name: Richard "Rich" Masters
Age: 19
Height: 5'9"
Weight: 135
Sex: Male
Gender: Male Identifying
Orientation: Homosexual
Handedness: Right
Appearance: A bit lanky as he is underweight for his age. He's almost never seen without sunglasses on and he's usually wearing some kind of band or media related t-shirt.
General Personality: Layed back and relaxed mostly. What a lot of people would describe as having the personality of a stoner, even if he does not do any drugs. It's not like he could afford a drug habit anyway, being a music major doesn't really facilitate a lot of steady income.
---
Hope this is alright and I didn't leave anything out. |
48,805 | 1,313 | 39 | 1,612 | 745 | P-J looked over the note and heard Rich's offer to help. P-J looked at him and said, "Yeah those stairs look kinda tricky. I won't say no to an offer. Let's get to it,"
As P-J started to go get the luggage he said, "I grew up in a family with 10 of us in the house, so this ain't too bad. In terms of cooking Mom's a school teacher and Dad's a Police Detective, so one thing my parents made sure we knew how to was cook because we didn't always know when they'd be home. Some nights it fell to us to fix the dinner." P-J nodded and said with a note of pride," I whip a a pretty mean homemade Spaghetti Sauce. Well except for the time about 3 years ago I forgot to brown the Italian Sausage all the way through and gave just about everyone food poisoning." P-J shook his head and said the note of pride was gone, "My father threatened to throw me into jail, and with him that is never an idle threat either. Although my 3rd oldest sister had a Trig midterm the next day, so she wasn't too upset with me." He shrugged his shoulders and said, "The rest of the family well it happened in February, and it wasn't until Easter when everyone started talking to me again. Mainly because Father Moore had an Easter message about forgiveness."
When P-J heard Rich mention Springsteen that made P-J smile. He said, "Cool deal! He's my guy all the way. Seen him four times and my dad even got me his autograph. Dad was still a beat cop doing traffic one night, and he came speeding through town. Dad pulled him over and realized who it was, so my dad said for an autograph to me he'd let him off with a warning. The rest is history."
P-J grabbed one of the bags and said, "Let's get to it," With that P-J began moving to the upstairs and to the room. | Name: Peter Jason McCabe (Goes by P-J)
Age: 19
Height: 6' 2"
Weight: 220
Sex: Male
Gender: Male
Orientation: Hetero
HandedNess (dominance): Right
Appearance Also has a scar on his left hand.
General Personality: P-J is sizable and is going to the University of Pittsburgh on a football scholarship, but don't let that fool you. He is an easy going guy who likes hanging out with his friends and enjoys having a good laugh. P-J doesn't believe in using his size to intimidate others and likes helping others. P-J has a sarcastic wit and at times doesn't know when to turn it off. If he goes over the line with it he will be the first to apologize for it and do what he can to have someone forgive him. However do not EVER mistake P-J's kindness for weakness, and if you ever do cross him or hurt one of his friends P-J is not above hurting you. |
48,806 | 1,313 | 40 | 2,068 | 425 | Rayne chuckled at Dai’s question. Rayne had many skills and almost all of them were useless. Cooking sadly was not one of them. His meals usually consisted of delivered pizza, instant noodles and microwave soup. It had been a few weeks since he had a proper meal. Living on your own with no homemaking skills whatsoever got tedious after a while. He stood there for a minute, contemplating whether instant noodles were a good dietary staple, before he heard the sound of Dai talking into the phone. The conversation seemed jolted and somewhat lacking from this end. It wasn’t long before Rayne got bored of standing in silence, so he turned to Raven and smiled.
“So what brings you to this neck of the woods?” He asked as he made his way to a chair and sat down, sliding until he was barely sitting on it. “I was invited by Faith and figured ‘Well why not?” He said as he glanced around the room. He saw P-J and Rich going to get the luggage near the door.
“You guys are already doing good work. I would help, but I wouldn’t want to steal your thunder” He said with a little smirk. He leaned back in his chair and relaxed a bit. If they asked him to help, he would, but he would probably get in the way. He isn’t the strongest guy, so carrying things isn’t exactly his cup of tea. | Name: Rayne Maxwell
Age: 18
Height: 5’7
Weight: 115ibs
Sex: Male
Gender: Male
Orientation: A bit of this and a bit of that. (Bisexual)
HandedNess (dominance): Right
Appearance (description &/or image): Rayne is a fairly skinny guy with long arms and legs. Favourite clothes include jeans and long sleeved shirts when it’s cold, and a normal shirt and still jeans when it’s hot.
General Personality (description): In a word, eccentric would be the most fitting for Rayne. He is fun loving and very active, always running around and playing. He is always smiling, doing his best to lighten the mood, even if he is sad or depressed. When asked as a kid ‘What is the one thing you want the most?’ His answer was ‘I want everyone in the world to smile’. This is the motto he lives by every day, doing his best to be happy with his friends. (Side note, he is rather flirtatious with almost everyone he meets) |
48,807 | 1,313 | 41 | 2,372 | 285 | I like cats. Wouldn't mind sharing a nap or two with the little guy, Kevin smiled back at Calliope, kicking his feet up and propping them up on the table. He stretched his hands over his head, releasing the tension of his sore shoulders before rerolling up the sleeves of his dark-blue shirt. He rested his head gently on the bulky cushion of the couch, allowing for his frame to be swallowed by the luxurious sofa. Tilting his head slightly, Kevin faced and grinned at the young girl situated on her side of the territory to his left.
"You don't snore, do you?" Kevin teased, letting out a laugh. Taking the cap off of his head, the boy ran his slender fingers through his dark hair, which was usually straight and styled, but became flat and unruly due to hat hair, massaging out the clumps of twisted roots that pulled at his scalp. He gave a small, polite yawn, tilting his body so that his mouth wasn't visible to the girl adjacent to him, before capping the baseball hat back on. Kevin glanced over his shoulders and couldn't help but smile at the liveliness of the setting. It seemed another guest had arrive, a young girl with flowing black hair, adding another number to their diverse and spontaneous group.
But because it seemed like the newcomer was occupied by Rayne, Eleanor, and the gratuitous host himself, Kevin decided it was best to introduce himself later. He'd have the whole Summer, after all. Turning back to his 'room-mate', Kevin dropped his feet to the floor and leaned forward, propping his elbows on his thighs and resting his chin against clasped hands. The young man eyed her gently, his dark eyes warm and analytical.
"Huh. Never seen you wearing your hair like that before," Kevin said, tilting his head and pursed his lips in curiosity. His eyes followed the golden wisps of her long hair, admiring at the soft glow produced by it's reflection of the interior ambiance. The only times the two ever spoken to each other were at the base of a looming rock wall, with Callie's hair being bundled up or tied in a non-distracting way as she preps to climb, like all of the other women that were a part of their climbing group. In fact, he had never seen any other side to her besides her athletic portrait. The two didn't consider each other as close friends despite their congruent activity, and thus, only ever talked to each other out of politeness, having not seen each other any where else but. However, here she was now, among a group of strangers alike, just a few feet away from him. It was quite weird, albeit refreshing, to see her in a state other than competitive. Small world indeed. Kevin smiled as he could hear the optimism burst forth from Rayne as he engaged with the group behind him. | Name: Kevin Sinnet
Age: 19
Height: 5'9
Weight: 135 lbs
Sex: Male
Gender: Male
Orientation: Heterosexual
HandedNess: Left
Appearance: A slender, young man with a slightly toned build due to the many physical activities he used to participate in years prior from entering uni. His frame, although thin, can be described as lithe but sturdy. His hair is of medium length, stark under normal lighting conditions but glows a soft golden-brown if presented under the radiance of the sun. The tone of his skin is slightly tan, just a step or two darker than fair. His eyes are pools of chocolate; dark and piercing but warm and comforting. The most defining characteristic about Kevin Sinnet is his smile - slightly crooked, but in a charming, unique manner.
General Personality: Charismatic and sociable, Kevin is an optimistic individual who's not afraid to speak his mind. He's well mannered and understanding, as his public self seems to radiate a certain charm. He tends to get along easily with people, as he puts himself out there and is usually the first one to introduce himself. He's the type of person that accepts everyone equally as he is not a person that judges. Kevin Sinnet's cheerful personality is not over the top, but rather refreshing and genuine. As a private individual, however, Kevin Sinnet is selfish and stubborn. Everything has to be his way, though he hides these hidden desires pretty well. If angered to the point where these values may become vulnerable, he usually becomes silent, distant, and aloof. Light, gentle, respectable and understanding are keywords to describing his refreshing character.
Boom! Here's mine. Can't wait to see all of yours. I'm excited for all of the mingling, drama, and fun. :) |
48,808 | 1,313 | 42 | 1,375 | 153 | 'This is going to be a crowded summer..' Eleanor giggled as she spoke to herself, touching the huge bruise on her forehead, luckily covered by her hair and not as visible. Not wanting to join in on any of the conversations she began to carry her bag to the stairway. 'I think I'm sharing' She thought to herself before she reached the bottom of the stairs.
"Excuse me.. uh P-J and Rich?" She repeated those names from the young man that once flirted with Diana, although she had absoloutley no idea which was which.
"Could you lift my bag upstairs? I know if I try I will end up with more bruises on me.." She awkwardly chuckled, being half serious. Ellie felt slightly more chilled around all of these people, they all seemed genuine and kind. As if she could actually make a few more friends this summer.
She walked over to the fridge and grabbed a water bottle, as she closed the fridge with a swing of her hips she was already unscrewing the bottle and taking a sip,now that she though about it, she was kinda hungry. She'd only had an apple today because she was in too much of a rush to actually take a minute and listen to her stomach rumbling.
'I hope Diana is on the phone to a pizza company' she pondered, putting her bottle down on the side spilling a bit due to her mind concentrating on the thought of fast food and all things unhealthy. Both her parents being health freaks since she was a child making her do workouts every night, and only eating what she needed, since she was invited she's always been thinking about unhealthy food and alcohol. | Name: Eleanor/Ellie Dove
Age: 17 (just turned last week)
Height: 5"5
Weight: 116lb
Sex:Female
Gender: Female
Orientation: Hetero/experimental
HandedNess (dominance): Right
Appearance (description &/or image): lots of images (i got carried away shiina is too pretty)
General Personality (description): If you do not know her Eleanor is a quiet girl-not shy just quiet. She will speak her mind but not in the strongest fashions and always has something to say but she will keep it under her breath. The first impression of Eleanor is a pushover girl considering her scholarship in art and speaking a different language (french). However once you get to know her she is quirky, confident, excited, hyper and down right annoying, Although she seems calm at all times.She enjoys winding people up and being sarcastic. |
48,809 | 1,313 | 43 | 2,344 | 303 | Rich went with P-J to the entrance way, seeing only one bag there he got a little disappointed. Though everyone called him a slacker back on campus, he did genuinely want to help even a little bit here, but it seemed he would get the dead weight label yet again. He decided to still stick around in order to see if P-J would need any help anyway.
He listened intently to P-J telling his story. The first thing that struck him was the amount of siblings that he had. "Your family is huge. I've only got a sister, Kathrin. She's really smart, and wicked on bass." He said with a small chuckle. He then heard the part about jailtime and ostracism and felt bad for him. "Are you serious? I don't think anyone would be that harsh over some food poisoning. Like I get it, food poisoning is bad and stuff, but, like, I don't think it really warrants jailtime or 1-2 months of the silent treatment. I dunno, just seems like an honest mistake to me."
Though Rich laughed when P-J brought up Springsteen. "I gotta say, if I pulled over Springsteen I'd let him off with a warning too, doesn't seem like the kind of guy you'd want mad at you."
It was then that Rich saw a woman he had not yet seen, though she seemed to know his name. She was asking if he could carry her stuff and he finally knew that this was when he could get away from the slacker label at least for a little bit. "Sure, no worries." He said with a grin as he walked down the stairs and picked it up. It was a little heavy, but nothing he couldn't get through. And of course it was probably only heavy for him because he didn't really work out at all or anything. To most other people it probably wouldn't faze them in the slightest. He walked back up to P-J and continued up the stairs. | Name: Richard "Rich" Masters
Age: 19
Height: 5'9"
Weight: 135
Sex: Male
Gender: Male Identifying
Orientation: Homosexual
Handedness: Right
Appearance: A bit lanky as he is underweight for his age. He's almost never seen without sunglasses on and he's usually wearing some kind of band or media related t-shirt.
General Personality: Layed back and relaxed mostly. What a lot of people would describe as having the personality of a stoner, even if he does not do any drugs. It's not like he could afford a drug habit anyway, being a music major doesn't really facilitate a lot of steady income.
---
Hope this is alright and I didn't leave anything out. |
48,810 | 1,313 | 44 | 2,686 | 365 | Raven was busy looking around and getting nostalgic over the place before she realized that two guys she didn't get introduced to yet, carried her luggage upstairs. Since she didn't even know their names, she was a bit reluctant to say thank you, being the closed off person that she was. A mumbled thank you was the only thing she could muster. The state of hunger got her body feeling weak and she walked over to the bar and took a seat one of the chairs. | Age: 17
Height: 5'5
Weight: 105lbs
Gender: Female
Orientation: Heterosexual
Handedness: Right hand is dominant but she is able to write with her left hand slowly
Appearance: Long black hair, hazel brown eyes, petite
General Personality:
-Might seem mean and closed off at first but starts to open up and become more friendly after getting to know her
-Blunt and can be harsh with words.
-Cares deep inside.
-Neat freak. Makes sure every corner of the house is clean and spotless.
-Mischievous with a wicked sense of humor |
48,811 | 1,313 | 45 | 275 | 114 | Sighing audibly, albeit to himself, Dai turned as he ended the call and very nearly dropped the phone, a bit surprised by Ravens appearance. He fumbled with it for a few seconds and then managed a small, embarrassed smile before stepping back and setting it on its stand. "Given the short notice, apparently we're having pizza." He offered a shrug in explanation, it wasn't the most elegant first meal to start the summer... but perhaps, with the group as a whole in mind, he thought it was appropriate.
Diana turned and started toward the door at the edge of the small kitchen, but even as he approached it he started worrying despite his previous state of mind. Getting up what courage he had, knowing all the while he was being very silly, he moved toward the door and opened it ever so slightly before sighing and closing it again; "Ray would you mind helping me get them from the freezer?" They'd known each other for quite awhile, and as in most friendships, overtime secrets are told, and one of his was that he was terribly afraid of being alone. Even if only for a minute or two in a storage room. | Name: Diana "Dai/Dye" Monroe
Age: 19
Height: 5'11
Weight: 120ibs
Sex: Male
Gender: Cis Male
Orientation: Homosexual
Handedness: Right
Appearance:
He's very thin, and relatively tall with spindly arms and legs, but everything about him is gentle, save for his thick-framed glasses. He wears primarily baggy sweaters in soft colours and tight-fitting skinny jeans with his black shoes.
General Personality: He's relatively quiet and mild mannered, though often quite sarcastic and dark humored. Overall, people tend to gravitate toward him because he's honest, kind and incredibly loyal. |
48,812 | 1,313 | 46 | 1,375 | 153 | Eleanor's head jerked as she heard the sentence "we're having pizza" Diana didn't have as much as the excitement in his voice as Ellie would, if she where to say that phrase.
"PIZZA!" she said unconsciously with a huge grin on her face, as she realised how open she was being she quickly calmed down and took a sip from her wanted bottle,
"Yeah sure pizza sounds good." she spoke in a calm, relaxing tone.
"Do you want me to help cook it?" she said fast, her mouth watering at the thought.
"like.. y'know get extra cheese out the fridge?" she was talking way to much and she knew it.
She stood up, not expecting an answer and walked towards a window, it was evening and the sun was just setting, she watched it fall behind the earth, not to be seen again until next morning. After the sun set she looked outside at the scenery. 'A lake?' she questioned herself, 'I didn't bring a swimming costume.. should I go out and buy one? Can we swim in it?'. | Name: Eleanor/Ellie Dove
Age: 17 (just turned last week)
Height: 5"5
Weight: 116lb
Sex:Female
Gender: Female
Orientation: Hetero/experimental
HandedNess (dominance): Right
Appearance (description &/or image): lots of images (i got carried away shiina is too pretty)
General Personality (description): If you do not know her Eleanor is a quiet girl-not shy just quiet. She will speak her mind but not in the strongest fashions and always has something to say but she will keep it under her breath. The first impression of Eleanor is a pushover girl considering her scholarship in art and speaking a different language (french). However once you get to know her she is quirky, confident, excited, hyper and down right annoying, Although she seems calm at all times.She enjoys winding people up and being sarcastic. |
48,813 | 1,313 | 47 | 2,686 | 365 | I'm fine with any food.. I just want it now.. She groaned weakly as her stomach started grumbling again. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the table, not really caring about her poise anymore. She was way too hungry to care.
She listened to Eleanor as she talked about the lake and not having brought any swimwear. She wanted to tell her that she brought an extra pair and she could have it since they were both the same size but she was too weak and tired to speak up. She took a mental note to tell her later. | Age: 17
Height: 5'5
Weight: 105lbs
Gender: Female
Orientation: Heterosexual
Handedness: Right hand is dominant but she is able to write with her left hand slowly
Appearance: Long black hair, hazel brown eyes, petite
General Personality:
-Might seem mean and closed off at first but starts to open up and become more friendly after getting to know her
-Blunt and can be harsh with words.
-Cares deep inside.
-Neat freak. Makes sure every corner of the house is clean and spotless.
-Mischievous with a wicked sense of humor |
48,814 | 1,313 | 48 | 2,068 | 425 | Rayne let out a loud yawn as he leaned back. The long trip had tired him out to the point he could fall asleep at any moment. Now that the rush of meetings was over, the sleep deprivation had finally set in. He felt his eyes close and his mind drift off into its own world. He was about to fall off his chair when he was snapped back to life by an all familiar, but very welcomed word.
“Uuhwhazaboutpizza?” He mumbled in a sleepy haze as he looked around and wiped his eyes. Apparently he hadn’t been spaced out for long, but it was enough time for him to have appreciated the feeling of sleep. His stomach grumbled as he finally realised what was going on. He tried to hold back his laughs at Eleanor’s reaction, but let out a little giggle as he listened to her.
“Yea, pizza sounds awesome right now” He said as he rubbed the back of his head. He went to stand up and tripped, not realising his legs had fallen asleep. He caught himself on the bar and straightened up before shaking his legs out to try and wake them up.
“Legs are asleep” He said with a nervous smile as he laughed and leaned against the bar. “Think I will just stand here for a while.” He said, as he tried to hide his embarrassment. He was noticeably blushing, but he tried to draw attention away from it by laughing. | Name: Rayne Maxwell
Age: 18
Height: 5’7
Weight: 115ibs
Sex: Male
Gender: Male
Orientation: A bit of this and a bit of that. (Bisexual)
HandedNess (dominance): Right
Appearance (description &/or image): Rayne is a fairly skinny guy with long arms and legs. Favourite clothes include jeans and long sleeved shirts when it’s cold, and a normal shirt and still jeans when it’s hot.
General Personality (description): In a word, eccentric would be the most fitting for Rayne. He is fun loving and very active, always running around and playing. He is always smiling, doing his best to lighten the mood, even if he is sad or depressed. When asked as a kid ‘What is the one thing you want the most?’ His answer was ‘I want everyone in the world to smile’. This is the motto he lives by every day, doing his best to be happy with his friends. (Side note, he is rather flirtatious with almost everyone he meets) |
48,815 | 1,313 | 49 | 2,686 | 365 | Raven was still resting her head on the bar, complaining internally about her hunger. She jerked upward in surprise at the sudden movement of the bar and the chair became unbalanced, causing it to move backward in a slow motion. Her heart stopped for a second until she held on the bar to stop herself from falling down. "Whoa." She said breathily. She took a deep breath to calm down her rapid heartbeat and she went down the chair, now too paranoid to sit on it. "Oh it's just you." She said nonchalantly as she realized that Rayne was the one who caused the movement. She placed a palm on her face and sighed. | Age: 17
Height: 5'5
Weight: 105lbs
Gender: Female
Orientation: Heterosexual
Handedness: Right hand is dominant but she is able to write with her left hand slowly
Appearance: Long black hair, hazel brown eyes, petite
General Personality:
-Might seem mean and closed off at first but starts to open up and become more friendly after getting to know her
-Blunt and can be harsh with words.
-Cares deep inside.
-Neat freak. Makes sure every corner of the house is clean and spotless.
-Mischievous with a wicked sense of humor |
48,816 | 1,313 | 50 | 275 | 114 | Realizing Raven hadn't heard him, Dai stifled a defeated sigh and pushed the door open without further complaint. Slipping inside he fumbled aimlessly for a few seconds before he managed to find the switch in the dark, it was relatively cold, at least compared to the rest of the cabin, but it was even colder still as he entered the freezer room and flicked on another light absentmindedly. He was tired, unreasonably so, maybe from all the stress of recent... events, but also at least partially because there was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind, despite how he tried to repress it, that someone was in the room watching him through this brief process. Diana tried to keep his back to the wall as often as he could manage, pulling down four pizzas (two cheese and two vegetable) from the shelving, and making his way back out toward the kitchen.
He moved quickly, struggling just slightly as he balanced the boxed pizzas and tried to backtrack, switching off lights and closing/ opening doors. "Uh, I hope you don't mind, I don't eat meat... but I did ask Lau- someone to bring some up tomorrow... heh." | Name: Diana "Dai/Dye" Monroe
Age: 19
Height: 5'11
Weight: 120ibs
Sex: Male
Gender: Cis Male
Orientation: Homosexual
Handedness: Right
Appearance:
He's very thin, and relatively tall with spindly arms and legs, but everything about him is gentle, save for his thick-framed glasses. He wears primarily baggy sweaters in soft colours and tight-fitting skinny jeans with his black shoes.
General Personality: He's relatively quiet and mild mannered, though often quite sarcastic and dark humored. Overall, people tend to gravitate toward him because he's honest, kind and incredibly loyal. |
48,817 | 1,313 | 51 | 2,068 | 425 | Rayne looked over to the black haired girl and laughed. He was a bit clumsier than most people and had a habit of making a fool of himself.
“Sorry about that” He said with a smile, noticing her almost fall. It was then that a big smile formed on his face. He had always had a quick wit and when a snappy reply came to mind he couldn’t help but blurt it out. “Although I didn’t think you would fall for me that quickly” He said as he glanced away, trying to hide the ridiculous look that appeared every time he managed to be witty. It was then that Dai re-entered with pizza boxes.
“Yay! Pizza!” Rayne said, changing the subject as the feeling finally returning his legs. He listened as Dai spoke about not eating meat and smiled as jokes came to his head. This was their first meeting though, so he decided he could keep them in mind for later use.
“Doesn’t bother me” He said as he moved over and checked out the pizza boxes. “I will literally eat anything right now.” He said with a smile as he glanced at Dai. Right as Rayne was planning to make another joke, his stomach let out a loud grumble. His confidence immediately disappeared as he blushed a little and stepped back.
“Hehe, I am pretty hungry” He said as his rubbed his head and smiled. | Name: Rayne Maxwell
Age: 18
Height: 5’7
Weight: 115ibs
Sex: Male
Gender: Male
Orientation: A bit of this and a bit of that. (Bisexual)
HandedNess (dominance): Right
Appearance (description &/or image): Rayne is a fairly skinny guy with long arms and legs. Favourite clothes include jeans and long sleeved shirts when it’s cold, and a normal shirt and still jeans when it’s hot.
General Personality (description): In a word, eccentric would be the most fitting for Rayne. He is fun loving and very active, always running around and playing. He is always smiling, doing his best to lighten the mood, even if he is sad or depressed. When asked as a kid ‘What is the one thing you want the most?’ His answer was ‘I want everyone in the world to smile’. This is the motto he lives by every day, doing his best to be happy with his friends. (Side note, he is rather flirtatious with almost everyone he meets) |
48,818 | 1,313 | 52 | 2,686 | 365 | Raven gave him a glare that pretty much said you wish. Dai entered the room and she perked up at the sight of the pizza boxes.She moved over to him and helped him carry two of the pizza boxes to the kitchen counter, ignoring Rayne in the process as she was so engrossed in the sight of food. " I call dibs on the cheese pizza." She said as she placed down the pizza boxes, hoping that one of them would be cheese flavored. | Age: 17
Height: 5'5
Weight: 105lbs
Gender: Female
Orientation: Heterosexual
Handedness: Right hand is dominant but she is able to write with her left hand slowly
Appearance: Long black hair, hazel brown eyes, petite
General Personality:
-Might seem mean and closed off at first but starts to open up and become more friendly after getting to know her
-Blunt and can be harsh with words.
-Cares deep inside.
-Neat freak. Makes sure every corner of the house is clean and spotless.
-Mischievous with a wicked sense of humor |
48,819 | 1,313 | 53 | 1,612 | 745 | As P-J set the bag down he looked at Rich and said, "Well I gotta give Springsteen credit though he was really cool about it when he got pulled over according to my dad. When my dad suggested the deal the first thing he asked was 'are you gonna get in trouble for this? Because if you are I'll take the ticket, and I'll still give you the autograph'." P-J shook his head said with a smile, "Dad still doesn't like his music, but he is a fan of Mr. Springsteen as a person." P-J shrugged his shoulders and said, "My dad is a kind of a complex guy, and he carries a gun and knows how to hide a body. So most times we just nod and politely smile when we're dealing with him. Although when the chips are down there is no one else on this planet I'd rather have in my corner then him."
P-J then smelled the unmistakable aroma of pizza floating through the cabin. He looked at Rich and said, "I do believe the food has arrived. Let's get to it."
P-J made his way back to the main floor and when he heard what the options were he nodded and said, "Sounds good to me, but first need to do something." P-J walked over to the cabinets, pulled out the plates, and he set them next to the pizzas. He said, "I'll take care of the dishes since I got them out. I know we got a dishwasher but I'm used to doing this sort of thing. Just leave 'em in the sink and I'll get 'em loaded up."
P-J then bowed his head for a moment, and then crossed himself. Once he was done he said, "Okay let's do this I say we should let Dai go first." | Name: Peter Jason McCabe (Goes by P-J)
Age: 19
Height: 6' 2"
Weight: 220
Sex: Male
Gender: Male
Orientation: Hetero
HandedNess (dominance): Right
Appearance Also has a scar on his left hand.
General Personality: P-J is sizable and is going to the University of Pittsburgh on a football scholarship, but don't let that fool you. He is an easy going guy who likes hanging out with his friends and enjoys having a good laugh. P-J doesn't believe in using his size to intimidate others and likes helping others. P-J has a sarcastic wit and at times doesn't know when to turn it off. If he goes over the line with it he will be the first to apologize for it and do what he can to have someone forgive him. However do not EVER mistake P-J's kindness for weakness, and if you ever do cross him or hurt one of his friends P-J is not above hurting you. |
48,820 | 1,313 | 54 | 275 | 114 | Diana only managed a small, uncomfortable smile toward Rayne as he stepped past them, being careful to avoid knocking into anyone, as he was constantly aware that despite his thin frame he was rather tall and awkward. "I'm sure there'll be enough Ray-" he blinked for a second, pausing as Raven took the boxes from him as he stood there in silence glancing between both Rayne and Raven. "-ven." He finally completed, though the delay hadn't occurred at all in his own mind. He shrugged meekly having realized he'd need a different name for each of them and then took to the counter, refiling through a small drawer before coming up with a pizza cutter which he set aside, and two pans. The work was relatively simple, and he didn't bother with the pizza boxes left on the edge of the counter, discarded and nearly out of thought.
Quite a bit of time passed, between opening the boxes and removing wrappings, setting the pizzas themselves to their pans and preheating the oven before actually cooking them (thankfully all at the same time given an especially large stove). Even more time passed of course and a quiet buzzer sounded, in this time the two little Rays (of sunshine, and perhaps something darker) had retaken their places on stools, opposite to Diana himself who rested his elbows on the counter-top and balanced himself somewhat comfortably to converse with them about nothing in particular.
As the buzzer sounded, he blinked distractedly, losing his train of thought, and turned to get the pizzas out, while slipping on a pair of generic red oven-mitts. It took him a moment, and copious amounts of previous experience to get the four safely to the counter itself. He said in a quiet but still audible voice, no different from his usual tone save for his apparent weariness; "Cheese or Vegetable heh...." and he quickly cut each into pieces with a knowing precision after removing the mitts. He took a slice for himself and shrugged inwardly, leaning again against the counter though he remained upright, and hoping the two were now well distracted, took an awkward bite of his own slice.
That's when he very nearly choked. Quite suddenly the larger boy named P-J came rushing into the kitchen, startling Diana momentarily so that he had to stifle a sudden choking cough, accompanied by a lot of rapid blinking for a few seconds. The other boy hurried past him and while saying something, mostly to himself, reached up onto one of the nearby shelves, and brought down ten or so of the heavy dishes at once with ease. Listening closer past his own initial response, Dai could only look down at his feet and mutter in disagreement at the suggestion of washing the dishes by hand, as he knew well enough that it was not nearly as effective, and was somewhat repulsed by the knowledge that they would be left unsanitized.
"-let Dai go first."
"Oh erm, I've already had a slice myself... I know Ray-" he gestured to the two vaguely, "already knew what they wanted." | Name: Diana "Dai/Dye" Monroe
Age: 19
Height: 5'11
Weight: 120ibs
Sex: Male
Gender: Cis Male
Orientation: Homosexual
Handedness: Right
Appearance:
He's very thin, and relatively tall with spindly arms and legs, but everything about him is gentle, save for his thick-framed glasses. He wears primarily baggy sweaters in soft colours and tight-fitting skinny jeans with his black shoes.
General Personality: He's relatively quiet and mild mannered, though often quite sarcastic and dark humored. Overall, people tend to gravitate toward him because he's honest, kind and incredibly loyal. |
48,821 | 1,313 | 55 | 2,068 | 425 | Rayne had taken his seat back at the stool, humming and waiting excitedly for the food that would be coming soon. He chatted happily, still excited to be out of his messy apartment for the whole summer. He would have to clean it when he got back, but he decided to forget about that until he had to deal with it. As the pizzas cooked away, their smell began to make its way around the house. It would be an understatement to say that they sent his appetite into overdrive. He had to stop himself from drooling in anticipation. The buzzer was startling, and Rayne jumped a little, being freed from his food trance. He watched closely as Dai cut the pizza up, ready to grab a piece at any moment. He almost didn’t notice P-J enter, but the much taller figure caught his attention. He started to grab dishes and even offered to clean them up before they had even been used.
“You really are a hard worker” Rayne said with a smile. P-J was just that type of guy, faithful and hardworking. He watched as Dai gestured towards them, generalising with a ‘Ray’. He couldn’t help but giggle a little as he reached out and grabbed a piece of the cheese pizza.
“Think I will start with some cheese” He said with a grin as he took a big bite of the slice, getting a bit of sauce on the side of his mouth. He wiped it off before letting out a satisfied sigh. “I looove pizza” He said before taking another bite, smiling the whole time. | Name: Rayne Maxwell
Age: 18
Height: 5’7
Weight: 115ibs
Sex: Male
Gender: Male
Orientation: A bit of this and a bit of that. (Bisexual)
HandedNess (dominance): Right
Appearance (description &/or image): Rayne is a fairly skinny guy with long arms and legs. Favourite clothes include jeans and long sleeved shirts when it’s cold, and a normal shirt and still jeans when it’s hot.
General Personality (description): In a word, eccentric would be the most fitting for Rayne. He is fun loving and very active, always running around and playing. He is always smiling, doing his best to lighten the mood, even if he is sad or depressed. When asked as a kid ‘What is the one thing you want the most?’ His answer was ‘I want everyone in the world to smile’. This is the motto he lives by every day, doing his best to be happy with his friends. (Side note, he is rather flirtatious with almost everyone he meets) |
48,822 | 1,313 | 56 | 2,344 | 303 | Rich followed P-J down the stairs, he as well could smell the aroma of pizza. It was now he realized how hungry he really was, yes he had eaten a few candy bars in the car on the way up to the cabin, but that is in no way sustenance for a man like himself, a man needs real food in order to remain fit and grow strong, or so his grandmother told him. Rich walked into the kitchen where everyone seemed to be gathering. When he entered he did a little wave to no one in particular and went over to where Rayne was sitting. "Hey" Rich said as he leaned against the counter, again mostly just to clear the air around him. He was a little disappointed to not see any form of meat on the pizzas, however it was still pizza so he didn't think it would be bad in any way, unless there was pineapple on it. He picked up a slice of vegetable, deciding it would be the less bland of the two and he started to eat. He let out a lengthy and content "Mmm" noise as if to signify both that he enjoyed the food, and to let everyone know that he hadn't eaten any real food all day. | Name: Richard "Rich" Masters
Age: 19
Height: 5'9"
Weight: 135
Sex: Male
Gender: Male Identifying
Orientation: Homosexual
Handedness: Right
Appearance: A bit lanky as he is underweight for his age. He's almost never seen without sunglasses on and he's usually wearing some kind of band or media related t-shirt.
General Personality: Layed back and relaxed mostly. What a lot of people would describe as having the personality of a stoner, even if he does not do any drugs. It's not like he could afford a drug habit anyway, being a music major doesn't really facilitate a lot of steady income.
---
Hope this is alright and I didn't leave anything out. |
48,823 | 1,313 | 57 | 1,612 | 745 | P-J heard Rayne's compliment and said with a smile, "Thanks, just trying to do what I can to help out. I owe it all to my parents." P-J shook his head and with "sadness" said, "It still breaks my heart that they stayed there on Krypton." He looked back at Rayne shot a quick wink with another smile.
P-J noticed that Dai looked somewhat uncomfortable when he offered to take care of the dishes. He walked over and said, "Hey I'm just trying to help out. Don't worry though I said I would load the dishes in the dishwasher. That's all. Unless you want me to just leave well enough alone. Which case I can do that too."
With that P-J walked over and got himself a slice of the veggie pizza and said, "Now if this tastes half as good as it smells this is gonna be one great slice." P-J fixed himself a soda and saw that there were seats on the back deck. He decided that was the perfect place to watch the sunset and enjoy a great slice of pizza. P-J ,made his way outside sat on one of the rocking chairs, put his feet up on the railing, and began to enjoy the view and his pizza. | Name: Peter Jason McCabe (Goes by P-J)
Age: 19
Height: 6' 2"
Weight: 220
Sex: Male
Gender: Male
Orientation: Hetero
HandedNess (dominance): Right
Appearance Also has a scar on his left hand.
General Personality: P-J is sizable and is going to the University of Pittsburgh on a football scholarship, but don't let that fool you. He is an easy going guy who likes hanging out with his friends and enjoys having a good laugh. P-J doesn't believe in using his size to intimidate others and likes helping others. P-J has a sarcastic wit and at times doesn't know when to turn it off. If he goes over the line with it he will be the first to apologize for it and do what he can to have someone forgive him. However do not EVER mistake P-J's kindness for weakness, and if you ever do cross him or hurt one of his friends P-J is not above hurting you. |
48,824 | 1,313 | 58 | 2,686 | 365 | Raven was sitting down on one of the stools next to Rayne as she watched Dai pacing around the kitchen as he cooked the pizza. She felt a wave of relief wash over her when she heard the buzzer of the oven, signifying that it was already cooked. She attentively watched Dai as he opened the oven and took the pizza out.
Her mouth watered as the tasty smell of cheese filled her nose. When Dai started cutting up the pizza into slices, she jumped down the stool and quickly made her way to the sink to wash her hands. She didn't waste time wiping her hands with a towel and instead shook her hands in the air to get rid of the droplets of water. She went back and took a seat on the stool she previously sat on which was across Dai's and reached for a slice of pizza that had alot of cheese on it.
The sense of satisfaction she felt from taking the first bite was overwhelming and her stomach grumbled again. She quickly finished the slice of pizza and didn't hesitate to go for a second one. She was too engrossed in the food that she wasn't listening or paying attention to anyone in the room. | Age: 17
Height: 5'5
Weight: 105lbs
Gender: Female
Orientation: Heterosexual
Handedness: Right hand is dominant but she is able to write with her left hand slowly
Appearance: Long black hair, hazel brown eyes, petite
General Personality:
-Might seem mean and closed off at first but starts to open up and become more friendly after getting to know her
-Blunt and can be harsh with words.
-Cares deep inside.
-Neat freak. Makes sure every corner of the house is clean and spotless.
-Mischievous with a wicked sense of humor |
48,825 | 1,314 | 0 | 1,533 | 1,707 | “Hello and welcome.” The smartly dressed German man addressed the recruits who sat around the long oak table in the modern boardroom. “My name is Alexander Biermann, I head the SND - the Supernatural Division of the Bureau.” He took a look around the room, then continued. “Contrary to what the name suggests, we typically solve cases that are too complex for other police agencies to handle.
“You will notice laptop computers in front of you along with a briefcase. Inside you will find a belt, a collection of five mobile phones - switched off - a watch and an assortment of other standard issue gadgets, courtesy of the engineering department here in the Bureau’s New York offices. I will allow Mr. Osamu to explain their function and other uses. For now, I'll ask for your attention to be directed to the screen.” A screen electronically lowered itself from the roof, behind him. “I'd like to begin the investigation as soon as possible.”
When the screen had finally clicked into position, Biermann tapped a button on a remote he possessed and a screen faded on. Everyone should have recognized the LIVE logo - the Tree the word LIVE in the background. "I trust that you've all heard of LIVE, the multinational rival to the Red Cross..." He glanced around, waiting for questions and when none came he continued. "Recently..." He pressed another button and the screen changed. There were about thirty photographs, some were portraits while others were zoomed-in family photos and an assortment of others. They were arranged on the screen in a large square shape.
"In the past five months these people all went missing, they were all found within a few days... All of them had committed suicide by hanging themselves. Some with families were found sooner. While others had weeks or months go by before someone found them..." Glancing to the forensic photographer in the room, "By that time their bodies were nearly or entirely decayed." He took another glance around the room of new agents before continuing, "They all had two things in common... They were all journalists in some respect and they all spoke out against LIVE in some capacity. What do you make of that?
"If you've any deductive skills, and you do, then you'd say that they were killed by LIVE or some associate, but how could they cause a suicide? We have reviewed security footage from around their residence and have confirmed that no one forced their suicides."
He was sure that they could come up with something, he looked at Garret Foster, the lead investigator of this team, "Any thoughts Mr. Foster? I'd be very interested in what all of you have to say about this case... I have my own suspicions, but I would like to hear your preliminary analysis first. And I'd like to hear your thoughts before Mr. Osamu arrives... That should be in about ten minutes." He sat down, in one of the cushion-laden chairs and waited for one of the team members to speak up. | Name: Garrett Foster
Appearance:
Age: 32
Sex: Male
Strengths and Weaknesses:
Photographic memory: Can remember names, places, and events in extreme clarity.
Persuasive
Easily irritated if outsmarted by an opponent
Coratin V (will be explained throughout the RP; what it is, and what its effects are)
Brief Biography: Notable for his charisma and an extreme knack for discovering clues hidden to most people, Garrett is one the foremost detectives in international crime. Due to his nature, he has connections with the underworld, and has his own small information brokering ring that travels the globe, trading cash and intel for information on the whereabouts of criminals. Due to his connections, though, he has used his skills to protect his more valuable informants from the eyes of other world detective organizations.
Special Skills: (Rated on scale of 1-10)
Global information network. Able to bargain for info on criminals that the regular detective force is unable to obtain.
Crack shot with a Dan Wesson .357 revolver (8/10)
Able to use charm to sweeten a deal in his favor (7/10)
Point assignment:
10 points are available to you. Each category must have at least 1 and a max of 10.
Strength: 2
Dexterity: 3
Intelligence:3
Fortitude: 2 |
48,826 | 1,314 | 1 | 218 | 293 | It had been busy morning for Lucie, a 30 minute treadmill run then yoga to stretch out, filling breakfast and her ultimate indulgence - coffee, the only difference to her usual routine was her location. Lucie flew in to The Big Apple late last night and the Upper Eastside hotel the S.D.B booked for her was a nice change from the usual $70 a night motels she was accustomed to when she travelled for work and she was going to take advantage of it. Why the hell not she just came off twelve days of ON-CALL duty and she damn well earned all the little perks the hotel provided.
But as always business first.
Lucie shifted in her oversized leather Chesterfield styled chair the sharp suited German accented gentleman introduced himself.
Lucie hoped one of the other patrons in the room would speak first but after a few minutes her Irish accent cut through the silence thickly "That's a rather large call....LIVE's endorsement figures are in the hundreds of thousands of dollars and they have enough high profile representatives that I doubt that a few disgruntled opinions would have that much of an effect" She paused as she felt the eyes of the gentleman in the room fall on her giving her the feeling like she spoke out of turn. Lucie stood, straightening her steel grey tweed skirt suit as she took a few steps towards the mosaic of photographs on the screen and continued "Statistically speaking suicides are the tenth leading cause of death in this country and thirty-five percent of those are caused by asphyxiation" she stood arms crossed studying each person in the patchwork "and just over one percent of those are found to be a homicide...." She emphasised on the last statistic. Lucie was no detective but over her career she had photographed many suicides for various law enforcement agencies but she only had two cases to be reviewed as homicide.
Lucie tucked a lock of turquoise hair behind her ear and turned directly to Mr Biermann "Who was the most recent victim?" | Removed |
48,827 | 1,315 | 0 | 972 | 961 | The tavern called “The blue lute” does not accept goblins as guests. Baxxink knew this and had fastened his false facial hair well before he'd pushed open the door. The tavern itself was rather unimaginative, as wayside taverns goes. Made all in wood, it looked as if it hadn't been properly looked after for many years. Inside was one big room for eating, drinking and dancing. A raised platform in the farthest end where a lonely harp player plink-plonked out a tune, some empty space between him and the two rows of tables. Each table was round and made by thick wood, looking heavy. Around every table were a couple of stools, three or four at most of them. There were some visitors in there already, huddled around the tables with pints of beer or plates of food in front of them. None of them were of much interest to Baxxink yet.
On the closest wall was a door, and by the smell of it only two things could be on the other side, a mound of trash or the kitchen. A fat human in his fourties, dressed in a stained apron came into the big room as he heard the outer door open. His fat mouth opened to speak, but Baxxink cut him off.
“Hello govenor! A round of pints for me and my mates, eh?” He said. | Name: Baxxink Hagglepocket.
Title/Nickname: Often known as “That bastard who stole my money”, but it’s a bit long for a nickname.
Age: 36.
Gender: Male.
Race: Goblin.
Profession: Thief.
Trope/Archetype: The sneaky guy
Equipment:
Clothes - for wearing.
Dagger - for stabbing.
Short bow + quiver of arrows - for long distance stabbing.
Fake beard - (special item) for camouflage.
Background: Baxxink was born into a goblin community like most goblins, and like most goblin communities it was violently destroyed by a troupe of adventurers that passed by looking for treasure. As one of few survivors Baxxink had to use his natural gifts of stealth and agility to fill his stomach and set out on the path he’s been on until now.
Pros:
Stealthy - can move silently and stick to the shadows very well.
Quick and agile - clawed fingers (and toes), low weight, long limbs and a greater range of movement compared to humans means that Baxxink has a lot of options for movement.
Cunning - not clever, smart or intelligent, Baxxink’s mind is focused on finding and exploiting weaknesses.
Cons:
Soft - doesn’t wear a lot of padding, things will hurt.
Hated race - have you ever heard someone say “Oh, please come in mister Goblin, how nice to meet you, would you like some pie?” Didn’t think so.
Remember, no magic - goblins are magically retarded.
Other: Things will go missing around Baxxink.
Goblins are by far the most unimportant so called “threat” to the kingdom that I could ever imagine. They are far beneath humans on all accounts and to even classify them as sentient is an insult to the higher species.
Mentally they are easier to compare with rats than humans. No intelligence, most can’t read or write and their language capabilities are almost zero if you don’t count the screeching noises they make when they’re hungry.
Physically they can be compared to a child. Standing fully erect they may reach a grown man somewhere between the navel and chest, but with not even half of the girth. Indeed one has many times wondered if they are not only skin and bone. Their limbs are elongated as are their ears and noses and their skin is green much like orchs. Their fingers and toes end in claws, but much like the goblins themselves these are small and insignificant, their only use seems to be in aiding the goblin when climbing.
Wild goblins gather in communities, either out in the wilderness or inside ruins and other abandoned structures. They gather valuable (revise) items which is why groups of adventurous people willingly keep the goblin count down.
The goblin society is hundreds, if not thousands of years behind our own, they have only barely mastered the art of farming, no craftsmanship to speak of and no written language.
Even the goblins that have managed to sneak into our cities prefer to live in the sewers like rats, which is why most larger cities have elimination crews that goes below once a month to clear them out.
How are they a threat?
As mentioned, they really are not. Not to the civilised world at least.
Their fragile bodies cannot stand up to punishment or exert great force. They don’t wear armour and tend to prefer smaller weapons like daggers instead of more capable weaponry.
Indeed, the only area where they surpass humanity lies in their animalistic instincts and movements, they are quick and can squeeze through a hole as tiny as their head. But as long as they are cornered or trapped even a group of goblins should not be a threat to human soldiers.
Goblins are really only a threat to unprepared travellers and small farming communities that are based too far from the outposts. As soon as armed and trained people are around the goblins are no longer a threat.
Beards:
Goblins are incapable of growing beards, which makes it odd that we tend to find false beards made of straw, fur or actual stolen facial hair around their communities. Perhaps it has some form of ritual importance.
According to my researchers many of the beards are well worn, like they’ve been used almost daily for some time, yet no one has ever seen a goblin wearing one of these fur masks. Perhaps they wear them to make fun of dwarves. |
48,828 | 1,315 | 1 | 821 | 1,017 | The man's belly was hanging over his stretched girdle, almost touching the goblin's head as he was approached by the owner of the tavern. A big finger, its upper side partly covered by a fairly dense amount of skin hair, was directed at Baxxink. "Can you even drink a single beer ? I hope your companions compensate for your nonexistant size." The man chuckled, then got back to his place behind the counter and started to prepare the beverages.
Vekyzz seemed to be the perfect match for this tavern: His equipment just looked as run-down and patched together as the building, yet the man wearing it was beyond any doubt impressive. The way he tried to get in however was not: The demon's horn scraped along the upper part of the doorframe and so did his arms and shoulders on the sides of it. Gritting his teeth, he slammed the door closed with a certain degree of annoyance in his movements. Vekyzz signaled towards the fat man just saying "Beer please, fast!" and grabbed the first chair available. He didn't spend much time on inspecting how sturdy it was. | Name: Vekyzz
Title/Nickname: -
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Race: He's an Oiosyyiathaom, that is... a demon. The expression is not used for the class of demons in general, but for a very special subset of them. The knowledge about how to summon them is commonly assumed to be lost, though this could very well only be the result of it being a very dangerous and difficult process that very rarely is executed.
The realm they come from is named Qu'Nor. The term is the human transcription of what it is called in their own tongue. Little is known about it because the inverse process of getting a human there and letting him return alive is even more difficult. Those very few who managed to do this weren't very fond of openly sharing the knowledge gained. It can be assumed that the majority of what common mages know about it has its origin in torture chambers that have seen members of Vekyzz' race. It is said that there exist a multitude of creatures, not only demons, but the Oiosyyiathaoms being the dominating race. Not all of them are flat-out hostile to everything and everyone, but most are however. Vekyzz is a tad in the middle: Not willing to kill on sight, but easy to push into a decent rage that can become quite violent.
This raises the question: Why would anyone be interested in summoning such a creature ? The standard answer would be 'because he can', but there are other reasons. One of his kind, once succesfully forced into submission, would be a formidable asset for both personal protection and boosting one's ego: The average individual stands well above a large human male and usually weighs at least twice as much. They feature a very dense skeletal frame and pick up large amounts of similar muscle even with hardly any training at all. There is some inherent magic in them, but they can't purposefully control it. It virtually 'leaks' out of them as raw energy. It is assumed that this phenomenon is not natural and only appears in the foreign environment they are torn into when summoned. In fact, some of his kind have been subjected to experiments trying to artificially trigger and harvest it. The outcomes were rather mixed: While it turned out to be possible to release large amounts of magical power, the price in terms of killed test subjects that needed to be replaced by performing new summonings outweighed this benefit.
It is not known how many individuals are currently present in the world, but it is fair to assume that their number is very, very small. Their lifespan is dramatically reduced by the leakage effect and is estimated at no more than 50 years if not sent back in time. However, as long as their inner pool doesn't run out and they are sufficiently supplied, bodily degradation is virtually unknown to them.Appearance: As an individual he is an imposing figure: The man stands about 7 feet 2 inches tall (excluding the horns) and is packed with dense, voluminous muscles. The Big Guy
Profession: He doesn't really have one. He's basically become a survivalist capable of living off the wild land. He still seldomly accepts more or less shady jobs, but more for fun than out of necessity.
Background: Vekyzz has never experienced the freedom of having parents that keep you nourished and well-kept during your childhood. He hasn't even experienced the luxury of never having to switch the world one's living in, allowing as much time as possible to adapt. He was thrown into this realm by a mage craving for power, but the first thing that happened is another case of the scientist-runs-an-experiment-without-preparation-for-the-case-it-yields-exactly-the-outcome-he's-hoping-for trope. The summoner doesn't live anymore, killed in an instantaneous act of outrage. Unfortunately, Vekyzz thereby has also slain his only hope of returning - or at least the only one he knows about. Being doomed to continue living the life that had just started to exist, the demon started roaming the land.
Equipment:What would he be without his trusty, colossal, vintage looking sword ? Technically it isn't even really a sword, but merely an outstanding piece of mechanical butchery consisting of a thick piece of sheet metal that was ground to have a sharp edge on one side while the other was bolted to a large handle. It's purely makeshift.An equally impressive collection of... one might be tempted to say 'garbage', but let's just call it an armor consisting of pieces of leather, fur and cloth stacked upon another and combined and held together with chains. It covers most of his body.A cheap, but complete set of 'civil' clothing.
Pros:
+ Very strong and tough. He's capable of moving and lifting things an ordinary human couldn't dream of.
+ Rather intelligent, though not outstandingly.
Cons:
- His appearance. When people see him, prices go up, and when he leaves, they go down again as if by magic. He's really not far from being an outcast and scorn can be achieved by a wide variety of methods.
- He's lean and wouldn't consider himself particularly tall or heavy. By human standards however he is a crushing, walking tower and thereby prone to more or less embarrassing accidents. Furniture, badly maintained buildings and the like aren't exactly designed for him.- He's inexperienced with this world and the habits, traditions and reasoning of its inhabitants. The negative impact of this has considerable lessened since his 'arrival', but is still noticeable.
Other: - |
48,829 | 1,315 | 2 | 1,270 | 2,337 | Gregory looked up at the behemoth with two parts of surprise: One was because anyone chose to join the half orc at the table. The second was that the one who sat with him was actually taller than him by nearly a foot sitting with those horns on his head; and three times as wide in the shoulders. The tusked once smiled broadly and gestured to the already taken seat as he now had company befoe nodding to the small furred one who offered a round. "Fortune favors us all, one buying rounds and a titan with a kings thirst. Come, small one, join us!"
" 'Ere now, mind the wood ya big galoot!" Came the warning wail of a well worn woman as she slapped a rag at him futilely. She was clearly the waitress and most likely the cooks wife, although she looked like the cooks grandmother but tried to dress like the cooks daughter. All in all not a pleasing image unless you have very specific tastes or very low standards. The chair screeched in protest to the callous treatment which became a crackling groan of effort to support the mass. Even black walnut has its limits. | Name:
Gegory Greyrose
Title/Nickname:
Lord
Age:
24
Gender:
Male
Race:
half-Orc
Profession:
Wealthy lord looking for experience rather than riches
Trope/Archetype:
Often mistaken for a necromancer, he is actually the charmer.
Appearance:
6'6" and 150 lbs, he is a willowy thing compared to most.
Equipment:
After being cut-off, the only thing he was allowed to take with him is a scepter fitted with dragons teeth which he uses to focus his magic for greater power. Otherwise he has his fine quality clothing and the horse he rode in on sidesaddle.
Background:
Being a half-orc in a human land is difficult to say the least, being the bastard son of a noble is even harder. His mother was Lady Greyrose, former knight of the silver wheel order. His father was an orc warrior who fought alongside her order to stem back a giant invasion. One night of far too much vidali (onion wine) to drink she had a moment of weakness and nine months later her son was born.
He was an ugly baby and lady greyrose was reluctant to nurse him with those tusks of his already in his mouth when he was born, not unlike a wild boar. As much as she might blame his orc father, in truth, the real darkness comes from the greyrose family line.
Lord Archibald Grey, Grgory's great grandfather, was given his title for his services to the crown in the great war of his time against a vampire coven from the black forest. He had suffered a bite to his leg in that time and was doing all he could to keep the change at bay. He drank only holy water and prayed in the church for three months before he changed. During that time, he fell into passion with a nun in the church and married her properly before he became a monster. Their wedding night, lady grey's father, Gregorio was conceived and Lord Grey turned to ash with the morning light.
That undead bloodline would manifest itself many years later as the boy was surrounded by strange happenings, things falling from shelves and an unnatural amount of dead animals on the property. Lady greyrose sent for specialists of arcane and divine to see if they were besieged by ghosts or the like; what they came back with is that Gregory was a sorcerer, a type of mage that did not study dusty old tomes but drew on his own natural arcane talents. Not being something he could be taught, it made the random happenings even more stressful as he came into his own over the years.
In order to keep his mother happy, he tried to focus on making her happy, magically. His powers focused on manifesting charms and enchantments. As well intended as it was, when Lady grey discovered his magical focus could lead to the speculation that he could manipulate her into doing his bidding, she chose to exile him for one year so that he could adventure to gain real experience far away from her.
Pros:
Placating: he is silver tongue into telling people what they want to hear even without magic,
Magic: Focused on enchantment and charm spells (friendship, sleep, flaming weapon)
Undead heritage: Being the great grandson of a vampire, his magic can effect undead as well (usually undead are either too mindless or caught up in their own ordeals to be a valid target)
Cons:
Sycophant: He is a bit submissive to help others, lacking self-confidence even with his powerful will to manifest magic. The easeist way to break him is to make him question himself and others.
Squishy: Most mages are glass cannons, fragile yet devastating, but he is more like a fireworks display with his most harmful spells causing an enemy to fall fast asleep in the middle of combat for someone else to finish off. |
48,830 | 1,315 | 3 | 972 | 961 | As the chair creaked louder and louder the sheer volume of it eventually not only rivalled, but dwarfed that of the lonely harp player. Enraged, the musician put his instrument down and called out across the tavern.
"Hey! Lardarse! Go easy on the scenery, willya? I'm trying to create art over here!"
The operation had gone smooth until that time. The innkeeper hadn't seen through Baxxink's disguise and his companions had settled in nicely, not even the demon had had much trouble getting in, although Baxxink reckoned that it had something to do with his size. Looking around the big room, he took stock of the other guests. The usual drunkards that frequents taverns, a merchant or two, but not of the wealthy kind. If he was going to pay for the drink he needed money. Fast.
The barmaid was a possible solution, she should know where some money were kept, but he'd have to subdue her for it, and he'd rather not.
He got up from the table he shared with his two comrades, and excused himself as he had some call of nature to attend to. He left the big room by the back door and was greeted by a lonely tree that smelled a lot more like urine than pine. He turned and looked up at the tavern. The rooms that guests could stay in were usually on the upper floor, he counted four windows up there.
His plan was simple, climb the piss-tree, jump to the roof, find a window if an occupied room and sneak in, there should be something of value. | Name: Baxxink Hagglepocket.
Title/Nickname: Often known as “That bastard who stole my money”, but it’s a bit long for a nickname.
Age: 36.
Gender: Male.
Race: Goblin.
Profession: Thief.
Trope/Archetype: The sneaky guy
Equipment:
Clothes - for wearing.
Dagger - for stabbing.
Short bow + quiver of arrows - for long distance stabbing.
Fake beard - (special item) for camouflage.
Background: Baxxink was born into a goblin community like most goblins, and like most goblin communities it was violently destroyed by a troupe of adventurers that passed by looking for treasure. As one of few survivors Baxxink had to use his natural gifts of stealth and agility to fill his stomach and set out on the path he’s been on until now.
Pros:
Stealthy - can move silently and stick to the shadows very well.
Quick and agile - clawed fingers (and toes), low weight, long limbs and a greater range of movement compared to humans means that Baxxink has a lot of options for movement.
Cunning - not clever, smart or intelligent, Baxxink’s mind is focused on finding and exploiting weaknesses.
Cons:
Soft - doesn’t wear a lot of padding, things will hurt.
Hated race - have you ever heard someone say “Oh, please come in mister Goblin, how nice to meet you, would you like some pie?” Didn’t think so.
Remember, no magic - goblins are magically retarded.
Other: Things will go missing around Baxxink.
Goblins are by far the most unimportant so called “threat” to the kingdom that I could ever imagine. They are far beneath humans on all accounts and to even classify them as sentient is an insult to the higher species.
Mentally they are easier to compare with rats than humans. No intelligence, most can’t read or write and their language capabilities are almost zero if you don’t count the screeching noises they make when they’re hungry.
Physically they can be compared to a child. Standing fully erect they may reach a grown man somewhere between the navel and chest, but with not even half of the girth. Indeed one has many times wondered if they are not only skin and bone. Their limbs are elongated as are their ears and noses and their skin is green much like orchs. Their fingers and toes end in claws, but much like the goblins themselves these are small and insignificant, their only use seems to be in aiding the goblin when climbing.
Wild goblins gather in communities, either out in the wilderness or inside ruins and other abandoned structures. They gather valuable (revise) items which is why groups of adventurous people willingly keep the goblin count down.
The goblin society is hundreds, if not thousands of years behind our own, they have only barely mastered the art of farming, no craftsmanship to speak of and no written language.
Even the goblins that have managed to sneak into our cities prefer to live in the sewers like rats, which is why most larger cities have elimination crews that goes below once a month to clear them out.
How are they a threat?
As mentioned, they really are not. Not to the civilised world at least.
Their fragile bodies cannot stand up to punishment or exert great force. They don’t wear armour and tend to prefer smaller weapons like daggers instead of more capable weaponry.
Indeed, the only area where they surpass humanity lies in their animalistic instincts and movements, they are quick and can squeeze through a hole as tiny as their head. But as long as they are cornered or trapped even a group of goblins should not be a threat to human soldiers.
Goblins are really only a threat to unprepared travellers and small farming communities that are based too far from the outposts. As soon as armed and trained people are around the goblins are no longer a threat.
Beards:
Goblins are incapable of growing beards, which makes it odd that we tend to find false beards made of straw, fur or actual stolen facial hair around their communities. Perhaps it has some form of ritual importance.
According to my researchers many of the beards are well worn, like they’ve been used almost daily for some time, yet no one has ever seen a goblin wearing one of these fur masks. Perhaps they wear them to make fun of dwarves. |
48,831 | 1,315 | 4 | 821 | 1,017 | Of course one could climb any tree as long as one had the proper ratio between one's own physical power and one's weight, which in Baxxink's case clearly was true. However also clearly true was that every tree you climbed usually left some traces of its bark behind on you as your feet and hands dug into it. In the case of the piss tree, well... these traces were well infused with the stench of pee and other disgusting things as well. The jump onto the roof was successful and there was an open window - who'd suspect that someone would climb the piss tree in the first place ?. There were voices heard behind the closed door, indicating that two people were talking in front of it in the hallway. The room's current owner or was it just a coincidence ? Who could know, but whoever had rented this higher class room had to have some assets. Several not super-precious, but still rather valuable items like a richly decorated pen, sheets of high quality parchment and the key to a coach that was standing down somewhere near the tavern waited for the intruder if he was daring enough.
Vekyzz noted that the chair seemed to be pretty much at the brink of its limits, but he didn't care much as long as the thing would hold. What did disturb him however was being called a 'galoot'. And before he had even finished hatching a proper plan of retaliation against a single target, this petty excuse of a real musician added itself to the queue! Vekyzz' decided that 'lard arse' requested higher priority than 'galoot'.
His hand slammed onto the table and was retracted slowly with some deliberate pressure applied to its claws so there would be superficial scratches left behind. Then, the man got up again. His glimming eyes were focused on the lonely harp player and with the pace of a zombie, but with much, much more straightforwardness and determination, the latter one was approached. Vekyzz didn't plan on destroying the harp, but merely... confiscating it for a while. Vekyzz didn't say a word as he came closer and closer, opening and closing his palms slowly as if he wanted to chop some flesh with them. | Name: Vekyzz
Title/Nickname: -
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Race: He's an Oiosyyiathaom, that is... a demon. The expression is not used for the class of demons in general, but for a very special subset of them. The knowledge about how to summon them is commonly assumed to be lost, though this could very well only be the result of it being a very dangerous and difficult process that very rarely is executed.
The realm they come from is named Qu'Nor. The term is the human transcription of what it is called in their own tongue. Little is known about it because the inverse process of getting a human there and letting him return alive is even more difficult. Those very few who managed to do this weren't very fond of openly sharing the knowledge gained. It can be assumed that the majority of what common mages know about it has its origin in torture chambers that have seen members of Vekyzz' race. It is said that there exist a multitude of creatures, not only demons, but the Oiosyyiathaoms being the dominating race. Not all of them are flat-out hostile to everything and everyone, but most are however. Vekyzz is a tad in the middle: Not willing to kill on sight, but easy to push into a decent rage that can become quite violent.
This raises the question: Why would anyone be interested in summoning such a creature ? The standard answer would be 'because he can', but there are other reasons. One of his kind, once succesfully forced into submission, would be a formidable asset for both personal protection and boosting one's ego: The average individual stands well above a large human male and usually weighs at least twice as much. They feature a very dense skeletal frame and pick up large amounts of similar muscle even with hardly any training at all. There is some inherent magic in them, but they can't purposefully control it. It virtually 'leaks' out of them as raw energy. It is assumed that this phenomenon is not natural and only appears in the foreign environment they are torn into when summoned. In fact, some of his kind have been subjected to experiments trying to artificially trigger and harvest it. The outcomes were rather mixed: While it turned out to be possible to release large amounts of magical power, the price in terms of killed test subjects that needed to be replaced by performing new summonings outweighed this benefit.
It is not known how many individuals are currently present in the world, but it is fair to assume that their number is very, very small. Their lifespan is dramatically reduced by the leakage effect and is estimated at no more than 50 years if not sent back in time. However, as long as their inner pool doesn't run out and they are sufficiently supplied, bodily degradation is virtually unknown to them.Appearance: As an individual he is an imposing figure: The man stands about 7 feet 2 inches tall (excluding the horns) and is packed with dense, voluminous muscles. The Big Guy
Profession: He doesn't really have one. He's basically become a survivalist capable of living off the wild land. He still seldomly accepts more or less shady jobs, but more for fun than out of necessity.
Background: Vekyzz has never experienced the freedom of having parents that keep you nourished and well-kept during your childhood. He hasn't even experienced the luxury of never having to switch the world one's living in, allowing as much time as possible to adapt. He was thrown into this realm by a mage craving for power, but the first thing that happened is another case of the scientist-runs-an-experiment-without-preparation-for-the-case-it-yields-exactly-the-outcome-he's-hoping-for trope. The summoner doesn't live anymore, killed in an instantaneous act of outrage. Unfortunately, Vekyzz thereby has also slain his only hope of returning - or at least the only one he knows about. Being doomed to continue living the life that had just started to exist, the demon started roaming the land.
Equipment:What would he be without his trusty, colossal, vintage looking sword ? Technically it isn't even really a sword, but merely an outstanding piece of mechanical butchery consisting of a thick piece of sheet metal that was ground to have a sharp edge on one side while the other was bolted to a large handle. It's purely makeshift.An equally impressive collection of... one might be tempted to say 'garbage', but let's just call it an armor consisting of pieces of leather, fur and cloth stacked upon another and combined and held together with chains. It covers most of his body.A cheap, but complete set of 'civil' clothing.
Pros:
+ Very strong and tough. He's capable of moving and lifting things an ordinary human couldn't dream of.
+ Rather intelligent, though not outstandingly.
Cons:
- His appearance. When people see him, prices go up, and when he leaves, they go down again as if by magic. He's really not far from being an outcast and scorn can be achieved by a wide variety of methods.
- He's lean and wouldn't consider himself particularly tall or heavy. By human standards however he is a crushing, walking tower and thereby prone to more or less embarrassing accidents. Furniture, badly maintained buildings and the like aren't exactly designed for him.- He's inexperienced with this world and the habits, traditions and reasoning of its inhabitants. The negative impact of this has considerable lessened since his 'arrival', but is still noticeable.
Other: - |
48,832 | 1,315 | 5 | 1,270 | 2,337 | The poor chair seemed to faint once the monstrosity arose with great theatrics, crumpling to kindling under its own legs. Avoiding reprisal, the wench took a step back and pivoted around a patron with the grace of repetition rather than lightly footed as she put come distance from a backhands reach. The minstrel, however, found himself fast in place as the behemoth made a babies 'grabby hands' motion and held out his arm behind him to protect his treasured lively hood in some futile form of keep-away. "Back, beast!" The words were as weak and hollow sounding as they felt as terror gripped the harpist's heart.
Just as quick as they came, they left again. Leaving the orc rather confused as to the wherewithal of the situation. For the moment he smiled as a drink was brought to him but he put his hand upon the tray to stop her. "If you don not mind, I am forbidden from drink. I'll take the generosity in the rounds worth, pour one less tankard and bring me the coppers, if you please." It was a simple lie, but being cut off from his finances means he needed to get every coin he could into his purse.
Looking around, His orcish eyes peered up to the balcony where two stood at the end of the hall before the door with a heated debate. One wore a navy cloak and the other was covered in furs. They seemed to be passing a satchel back and forth as if neither wanted it, nor did they want any other to have it either. Finally, the taller of the two spoke a dwarven word and went to throw open his door into the higher class room. | Name:
Gegory Greyrose
Title/Nickname:
Lord
Age:
24
Gender:
Male
Race:
half-Orc
Profession:
Wealthy lord looking for experience rather than riches
Trope/Archetype:
Often mistaken for a necromancer, he is actually the charmer.
Appearance:
6'6" and 150 lbs, he is a willowy thing compared to most.
Equipment:
After being cut-off, the only thing he was allowed to take with him is a scepter fitted with dragons teeth which he uses to focus his magic for greater power. Otherwise he has his fine quality clothing and the horse he rode in on sidesaddle.
Background:
Being a half-orc in a human land is difficult to say the least, being the bastard son of a noble is even harder. His mother was Lady Greyrose, former knight of the silver wheel order. His father was an orc warrior who fought alongside her order to stem back a giant invasion. One night of far too much vidali (onion wine) to drink she had a moment of weakness and nine months later her son was born.
He was an ugly baby and lady greyrose was reluctant to nurse him with those tusks of his already in his mouth when he was born, not unlike a wild boar. As much as she might blame his orc father, in truth, the real darkness comes from the greyrose family line.
Lord Archibald Grey, Grgory's great grandfather, was given his title for his services to the crown in the great war of his time against a vampire coven from the black forest. He had suffered a bite to his leg in that time and was doing all he could to keep the change at bay. He drank only holy water and prayed in the church for three months before he changed. During that time, he fell into passion with a nun in the church and married her properly before he became a monster. Their wedding night, lady grey's father, Gregorio was conceived and Lord Grey turned to ash with the morning light.
That undead bloodline would manifest itself many years later as the boy was surrounded by strange happenings, things falling from shelves and an unnatural amount of dead animals on the property. Lady greyrose sent for specialists of arcane and divine to see if they were besieged by ghosts or the like; what they came back with is that Gregory was a sorcerer, a type of mage that did not study dusty old tomes but drew on his own natural arcane talents. Not being something he could be taught, it made the random happenings even more stressful as he came into his own over the years.
In order to keep his mother happy, he tried to focus on making her happy, magically. His powers focused on manifesting charms and enchantments. As well intended as it was, when Lady grey discovered his magical focus could lead to the speculation that he could manipulate her into doing his bidding, she chose to exile him for one year so that he could adventure to gain real experience far away from her.
Pros:
Placating: he is silver tongue into telling people what they want to hear even without magic,
Magic: Focused on enchantment and charm spells (friendship, sleep, flaming weapon)
Undead heritage: Being the great grandson of a vampire, his magic can effect undead as well (usually undead are either too mindless or caught up in their own ordeals to be a valid target)
Cons:
Sycophant: He is a bit submissive to help others, lacking self-confidence even with his powerful will to manifest magic. The easeist way to break him is to make him question himself and others.
Squishy: Most mages are glass cannons, fragile yet devastating, but he is more like a fireworks display with his most harmful spells causing an enemy to fall fast asleep in the middle of combat for someone else to finish off. |
48,833 | 1,315 | 6 | 972 | 961 | The two men argued audibly and drew the attention of not just the orc, but almost everyone else in the room that wasn't too drunk to open their eyes. the satchel they passed between them looked heavy and full, but its contents were a mystery. When the bigger of them suddenly burst out in dwarfish his companion did the same, unloading a string of sharp noises and heavy consonants in the direction of his comrade. The big guy turned toward the door to leave, pressed the handle down and without further ceremony walked straight into the solid wood of the barrier. Locked. "Key, ye daft bastard!" He yelled at his friend, who enraged threw the satchel out into the air.
"I ain't got no key, ya baboon, ye got i' yerself!"
The satchel soared through the air with all the grace of an eagle, paralysed from the neck down and n serious need of a shit. By some miraculous coincidence it flew straight toward the orc and with the amazing reflexes of someone who hadn't been dead for hundreds of years he opened his hands and caught it almost silently.
Almost.
The faint "tink" of one coin hitting another escaped.
All eyes were on the satchel.
Baxxink decided to take the chance, he should be swift enough. The pen was pocketed almost before his feet hit the floor, the key came second. He looked at the parchment for a second but left it. Too big, only worth something in good condition and even then only to the right kind of buyer who'd love to get away cheaply. Something heavy slammed against the door and Baxxink instantly abandoned any thought of searching the room further. He swung out of the room like a piss-stained swan and crouched down on the other side. He hadn't gotten any money, which was what he'd been after, he'd have to trade the pen somewhere... The key. Maybe there were some money stored in the coach.
Baxxink made his way down the tree swiftly, down was the easy part after all. He didn't enjoy rubbing himself against the piss-coloured bark of it, but figured that he could order up a bath and wash his clothes at the same time if he only found some money. He rounded the inn and came up the the spot where coaches were held. There were a lot of them, various sizes and shapes for various amounts of wealthy occupants. Baxxink looked at the key again, but there was no way of determining which coach it belonged to. HE'd have to try them all one by one and hope that the coachmen didn't find him suspicious. | Name: Baxxink Hagglepocket.
Title/Nickname: Often known as “That bastard who stole my money”, but it’s a bit long for a nickname.
Age: 36.
Gender: Male.
Race: Goblin.
Profession: Thief.
Trope/Archetype: The sneaky guy
Equipment:
Clothes - for wearing.
Dagger - for stabbing.
Short bow + quiver of arrows - for long distance stabbing.
Fake beard - (special item) for camouflage.
Background: Baxxink was born into a goblin community like most goblins, and like most goblin communities it was violently destroyed by a troupe of adventurers that passed by looking for treasure. As one of few survivors Baxxink had to use his natural gifts of stealth and agility to fill his stomach and set out on the path he’s been on until now.
Pros:
Stealthy - can move silently and stick to the shadows very well.
Quick and agile - clawed fingers (and toes), low weight, long limbs and a greater range of movement compared to humans means that Baxxink has a lot of options for movement.
Cunning - not clever, smart or intelligent, Baxxink’s mind is focused on finding and exploiting weaknesses.
Cons:
Soft - doesn’t wear a lot of padding, things will hurt.
Hated race - have you ever heard someone say “Oh, please come in mister Goblin, how nice to meet you, would you like some pie?” Didn’t think so.
Remember, no magic - goblins are magically retarded.
Other: Things will go missing around Baxxink.
Goblins are by far the most unimportant so called “threat” to the kingdom that I could ever imagine. They are far beneath humans on all accounts and to even classify them as sentient is an insult to the higher species.
Mentally they are easier to compare with rats than humans. No intelligence, most can’t read or write and their language capabilities are almost zero if you don’t count the screeching noises they make when they’re hungry.
Physically they can be compared to a child. Standing fully erect they may reach a grown man somewhere between the navel and chest, but with not even half of the girth. Indeed one has many times wondered if they are not only skin and bone. Their limbs are elongated as are their ears and noses and their skin is green much like orchs. Their fingers and toes end in claws, but much like the goblins themselves these are small and insignificant, their only use seems to be in aiding the goblin when climbing.
Wild goblins gather in communities, either out in the wilderness or inside ruins and other abandoned structures. They gather valuable (revise) items which is why groups of adventurous people willingly keep the goblin count down.
The goblin society is hundreds, if not thousands of years behind our own, they have only barely mastered the art of farming, no craftsmanship to speak of and no written language.
Even the goblins that have managed to sneak into our cities prefer to live in the sewers like rats, which is why most larger cities have elimination crews that goes below once a month to clear them out.
How are they a threat?
As mentioned, they really are not. Not to the civilised world at least.
Their fragile bodies cannot stand up to punishment or exert great force. They don’t wear armour and tend to prefer smaller weapons like daggers instead of more capable weaponry.
Indeed, the only area where they surpass humanity lies in their animalistic instincts and movements, they are quick and can squeeze through a hole as tiny as their head. But as long as they are cornered or trapped even a group of goblins should not be a threat to human soldiers.
Goblins are really only a threat to unprepared travellers and small farming communities that are based too far from the outposts. As soon as armed and trained people are around the goblins are no longer a threat.
Beards:
Goblins are incapable of growing beards, which makes it odd that we tend to find false beards made of straw, fur or actual stolen facial hair around their communities. Perhaps it has some form of ritual importance.
According to my researchers many of the beards are well worn, like they’ve been used almost daily for some time, yet no one has ever seen a goblin wearing one of these fur masks. Perhaps they wear them to make fun of dwarves. |
48,834 | 1,315 | 7 | 821 | 1,017 | Taking a primitive mathematical-theoretical approach, one could state that the probability density of encountering the correct lock was a flat line across the number of coaches already tried. The chance of the last coach to be the right one was equal to the chance of the first or the middle one to be it. However, this statistic did not consider some more subtle factors, one of them being the wannabe-thief being a tad nervous, hasty and thereby not very gentle or even precise with the key-lock-pairing. There were hardly any coachmen (who wanted to wait outside when there was a tavern ?), but after almost a dozen of hard bounces, jams and rubbing against more or less badly lubricated cylinders, the damn key just broke. It did not necessarily mean that the plan had to be abandoned. There were other ways to get in: Break the thin glass, for example. Or take that large iron rod that was leaning against the back outer wall of the tavern and use it as a makeshift crowbar. Or take that other coach that still had two horses hitched up to it and just drive it away. It would be the goblin's own decision if he wanted to leave for greed without his friends or not.
Vekyzz sticked to his slow approach. His shadow more and more started to encompass the harp player, and since he was so tall, he knew that he very soon was in reach of him. The demon didn't care much about the other persons currently present. There was something going on on the upper level, but the first to deal with still was Mr. 'Lard Arse'. He'd soon see why Vekyzz was so freaking large and heavy!
As if he weighed almost nothing, the musician was grabbed at the collar of his shirt and lifted off the ground at the very end of Vekyzz' outstretched left arm. With his biceps bulging beneath his dark skin, the demon pulled the man towards him, holding him high enough so they could stare into each other's eyes. "Now... what do you say ? Shall me make a few tests of strength to see who of us is more worth his weight ?" Speaking this, Vekyzz allowed for his large teeth to be clearly seen. | Name: Vekyzz
Title/Nickname: -
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Race: He's an Oiosyyiathaom, that is... a demon. The expression is not used for the class of demons in general, but for a very special subset of them. The knowledge about how to summon them is commonly assumed to be lost, though this could very well only be the result of it being a very dangerous and difficult process that very rarely is executed.
The realm they come from is named Qu'Nor. The term is the human transcription of what it is called in their own tongue. Little is known about it because the inverse process of getting a human there and letting him return alive is even more difficult. Those very few who managed to do this weren't very fond of openly sharing the knowledge gained. It can be assumed that the majority of what common mages know about it has its origin in torture chambers that have seen members of Vekyzz' race. It is said that there exist a multitude of creatures, not only demons, but the Oiosyyiathaoms being the dominating race. Not all of them are flat-out hostile to everything and everyone, but most are however. Vekyzz is a tad in the middle: Not willing to kill on sight, but easy to push into a decent rage that can become quite violent.
This raises the question: Why would anyone be interested in summoning such a creature ? The standard answer would be 'because he can', but there are other reasons. One of his kind, once succesfully forced into submission, would be a formidable asset for both personal protection and boosting one's ego: The average individual stands well above a large human male and usually weighs at least twice as much. They feature a very dense skeletal frame and pick up large amounts of similar muscle even with hardly any training at all. There is some inherent magic in them, but they can't purposefully control it. It virtually 'leaks' out of them as raw energy. It is assumed that this phenomenon is not natural and only appears in the foreign environment they are torn into when summoned. In fact, some of his kind have been subjected to experiments trying to artificially trigger and harvest it. The outcomes were rather mixed: While it turned out to be possible to release large amounts of magical power, the price in terms of killed test subjects that needed to be replaced by performing new summonings outweighed this benefit.
It is not known how many individuals are currently present in the world, but it is fair to assume that their number is very, very small. Their lifespan is dramatically reduced by the leakage effect and is estimated at no more than 50 years if not sent back in time. However, as long as their inner pool doesn't run out and they are sufficiently supplied, bodily degradation is virtually unknown to them.Appearance: As an individual he is an imposing figure: The man stands about 7 feet 2 inches tall (excluding the horns) and is packed with dense, voluminous muscles. The Big Guy
Profession: He doesn't really have one. He's basically become a survivalist capable of living off the wild land. He still seldomly accepts more or less shady jobs, but more for fun than out of necessity.
Background: Vekyzz has never experienced the freedom of having parents that keep you nourished and well-kept during your childhood. He hasn't even experienced the luxury of never having to switch the world one's living in, allowing as much time as possible to adapt. He was thrown into this realm by a mage craving for power, but the first thing that happened is another case of the scientist-runs-an-experiment-without-preparation-for-the-case-it-yields-exactly-the-outcome-he's-hoping-for trope. The summoner doesn't live anymore, killed in an instantaneous act of outrage. Unfortunately, Vekyzz thereby has also slain his only hope of returning - or at least the only one he knows about. Being doomed to continue living the life that had just started to exist, the demon started roaming the land.
Equipment:What would he be without his trusty, colossal, vintage looking sword ? Technically it isn't even really a sword, but merely an outstanding piece of mechanical butchery consisting of a thick piece of sheet metal that was ground to have a sharp edge on one side while the other was bolted to a large handle. It's purely makeshift.An equally impressive collection of... one might be tempted to say 'garbage', but let's just call it an armor consisting of pieces of leather, fur and cloth stacked upon another and combined and held together with chains. It covers most of his body.A cheap, but complete set of 'civil' clothing.
Pros:
+ Very strong and tough. He's capable of moving and lifting things an ordinary human couldn't dream of.
+ Rather intelligent, though not outstandingly.
Cons:
- His appearance. When people see him, prices go up, and when he leaves, they go down again as if by magic. He's really not far from being an outcast and scorn can be achieved by a wide variety of methods.
- He's lean and wouldn't consider himself particularly tall or heavy. By human standards however he is a crushing, walking tower and thereby prone to more or less embarrassing accidents. Furniture, badly maintained buildings and the like aren't exactly designed for him.- He's inexperienced with this world and the habits, traditions and reasoning of its inhabitants. The negative impact of this has considerable lessened since his 'arrival', but is still noticeable.
Other: - |
48,835 | 1,315 | 8 | 972 | 961 | The musician, eyes bulging, breathing heavy, sweat literally dripping, said nothing at all. The terror of what stood before him had overloaded his brain, he hadn't counted on anything like this to happen and he genuinely feared for his life.
Suddenly something hit Vekyzz in the back. the sudden spray of wood of varying sizes and shapes, as well as the painful imprint the object had made told the demon that it was one of the tavern's many chairs of dubious standard, this one had obviously seen better days. As Vekyzz turned his eyes on the room in order to figure out who needed a swift punch to the groin the most he caught the end of something bright blue as if wafted through the rapidly closing door. The rest of the room was filled with people too stunned to move, some perhaps thinking that they'd be safe if they just stayed perfectly still.
Outside, the goblin known as Baxxink did his best to look inside all the coaches. He was too short for some, and had to stand on his toes or jump to get even the faintest of looks. Sure, he could climb them like nothing, but his clawed hands and feet tended to leave some scuff marks and that was not the mark of a good thief. The key had broke, and some unlucky bugger would have to get a locksmith before he could get in his coach again, Baxxink only hoped that the guy was very comfortable inside the tavern still.
The coachmen had been careful to remove any baggage from the roof and back of the coaches, the only place he'd find anything of value would be inside the locked compartments. He got up on the back end of one and looked inside. While there was no visible luggage, the seats in the coaches often opened up to allow people to stash stuff down there. The coach he'd chosen looked like it belonged to someone rich enough to stash some money in there, but still not rich enough to set a trap. That is a very specific kind of rich.
Baxxink drew his right arm back, curled his hand into a fist, aimed for the centre of the glass sheet and thought about it.
Glass is hard, brittle, but harder that the average fist. Breaking the glass like that, if even possible by a weak goblin, would hurt like hell and probably scar him for life and drain his blood. He jumped down and looked around, all he needed was something harder than glass, a stone, a good branch, a turtle... Something he could use and then throw away... | Name: Baxxink Hagglepocket.
Title/Nickname: Often known as “That bastard who stole my money”, but it’s a bit long for a nickname.
Age: 36.
Gender: Male.
Race: Goblin.
Profession: Thief.
Trope/Archetype: The sneaky guy
Equipment:
Clothes - for wearing.
Dagger - for stabbing.
Short bow + quiver of arrows - for long distance stabbing.
Fake beard - (special item) for camouflage.
Background: Baxxink was born into a goblin community like most goblins, and like most goblin communities it was violently destroyed by a troupe of adventurers that passed by looking for treasure. As one of few survivors Baxxink had to use his natural gifts of stealth and agility to fill his stomach and set out on the path he’s been on until now.
Pros:
Stealthy - can move silently and stick to the shadows very well.
Quick and agile - clawed fingers (and toes), low weight, long limbs and a greater range of movement compared to humans means that Baxxink has a lot of options for movement.
Cunning - not clever, smart or intelligent, Baxxink’s mind is focused on finding and exploiting weaknesses.
Cons:
Soft - doesn’t wear a lot of padding, things will hurt.
Hated race - have you ever heard someone say “Oh, please come in mister Goblin, how nice to meet you, would you like some pie?” Didn’t think so.
Remember, no magic - goblins are magically retarded.
Other: Things will go missing around Baxxink.
Goblins are by far the most unimportant so called “threat” to the kingdom that I could ever imagine. They are far beneath humans on all accounts and to even classify them as sentient is an insult to the higher species.
Mentally they are easier to compare with rats than humans. No intelligence, most can’t read or write and their language capabilities are almost zero if you don’t count the screeching noises they make when they’re hungry.
Physically they can be compared to a child. Standing fully erect they may reach a grown man somewhere between the navel and chest, but with not even half of the girth. Indeed one has many times wondered if they are not only skin and bone. Their limbs are elongated as are their ears and noses and their skin is green much like orchs. Their fingers and toes end in claws, but much like the goblins themselves these are small and insignificant, their only use seems to be in aiding the goblin when climbing.
Wild goblins gather in communities, either out in the wilderness or inside ruins and other abandoned structures. They gather valuable (revise) items which is why groups of adventurous people willingly keep the goblin count down.
The goblin society is hundreds, if not thousands of years behind our own, they have only barely mastered the art of farming, no craftsmanship to speak of and no written language.
Even the goblins that have managed to sneak into our cities prefer to live in the sewers like rats, which is why most larger cities have elimination crews that goes below once a month to clear them out.
How are they a threat?
As mentioned, they really are not. Not to the civilised world at least.
Their fragile bodies cannot stand up to punishment or exert great force. They don’t wear armour and tend to prefer smaller weapons like daggers instead of more capable weaponry.
Indeed, the only area where they surpass humanity lies in their animalistic instincts and movements, they are quick and can squeeze through a hole as tiny as their head. But as long as they are cornered or trapped even a group of goblins should not be a threat to human soldiers.
Goblins are really only a threat to unprepared travellers and small farming communities that are based too far from the outposts. As soon as armed and trained people are around the goblins are no longer a threat.
Beards:
Goblins are incapable of growing beards, which makes it odd that we tend to find false beards made of straw, fur or actual stolen facial hair around their communities. Perhaps it has some form of ritual importance.
According to my researchers many of the beards are well worn, like they’ve been used almost daily for some time, yet no one has ever seen a goblin wearing one of these fur masks. Perhaps they wear them to make fun of dwarves. |
48,836 | 1,315 | 9 | 821 | 1,017 | Stones were the most obvious option. In fact, right from where Baxxink was standing up to several miles away, the object was nothing but ubiquitous. The road leading to the tavern was reinforced with gravel pressed into the softer ground by years of people stepping and vehicles driving on it. The problem was that these were small stones. Very comfortable to grab for a small goblin's hand, but also not very powerful and even less protective. Turtles ? Well... the comedy option was nowhere to be seen. A branch however was available - broken off from the piss tree which could be seen from where Baxxink was. The plant was dying slowly, its life being pissed off by so much piss. But maybe the goblin would remember about a more clever option ? Glass could be selectively weakened by deeply scratching it. This was a job even a bit of the small road pebble would be sufficient for. Maybe a part of the glass could be removed with less brutality (and thereby noise) required than with the brute force method.
Speaking of brute force - Vekyzz was busy remembering what he was damn good at. The musician was slammed back onto the ground harder than gravity alone would have done it. The demon's eyes seemed to burn - and so did the wound the impact had left on his back in the metaphorical sense. It was littered with splinters and would require a bit of attention if one didn't want to risk it becoming even uglier. Right now this wasn't the time for such things however. The demon turned around completely infuriated, the door he had seen the bright blue thing going through fixed in the middle of his view.
With great anger, Vekyzz slammed a table which happened to block his straightforward way out of the same. He kicked the door open and once again, fast progress was hindered by him not fitting through it. Once he was outside, he yelled: "Which bastard did this ? Come here at once!" Yet apparently he wasn't expecting the coward to show up. Vekyzz stepped further away from the door towards the area where the coaches and horses were waiting. It was there that he expected the person in question to seek refuge because of the many obstacles and possibilities to make a quick escape. Unintentionally his path lead him almost directly towards Baxxink, but the rageful creature didn't have the goblin on its list of suspects. Vekyzz had already decided to leave and therefore he was heading for a saddled horse near the coach. The demon didn't care about its owner - he just wanted to get away from here. | Name: Vekyzz
Title/Nickname: -
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Race: He's an Oiosyyiathaom, that is... a demon. The expression is not used for the class of demons in general, but for a very special subset of them. The knowledge about how to summon them is commonly assumed to be lost, though this could very well only be the result of it being a very dangerous and difficult process that very rarely is executed.
The realm they come from is named Qu'Nor. The term is the human transcription of what it is called in their own tongue. Little is known about it because the inverse process of getting a human there and letting him return alive is even more difficult. Those very few who managed to do this weren't very fond of openly sharing the knowledge gained. It can be assumed that the majority of what common mages know about it has its origin in torture chambers that have seen members of Vekyzz' race. It is said that there exist a multitude of creatures, not only demons, but the Oiosyyiathaoms being the dominating race. Not all of them are flat-out hostile to everything and everyone, but most are however. Vekyzz is a tad in the middle: Not willing to kill on sight, but easy to push into a decent rage that can become quite violent.
This raises the question: Why would anyone be interested in summoning such a creature ? The standard answer would be 'because he can', but there are other reasons. One of his kind, once succesfully forced into submission, would be a formidable asset for both personal protection and boosting one's ego: The average individual stands well above a large human male and usually weighs at least twice as much. They feature a very dense skeletal frame and pick up large amounts of similar muscle even with hardly any training at all. There is some inherent magic in them, but they can't purposefully control it. It virtually 'leaks' out of them as raw energy. It is assumed that this phenomenon is not natural and only appears in the foreign environment they are torn into when summoned. In fact, some of his kind have been subjected to experiments trying to artificially trigger and harvest it. The outcomes were rather mixed: While it turned out to be possible to release large amounts of magical power, the price in terms of killed test subjects that needed to be replaced by performing new summonings outweighed this benefit.
It is not known how many individuals are currently present in the world, but it is fair to assume that their number is very, very small. Their lifespan is dramatically reduced by the leakage effect and is estimated at no more than 50 years if not sent back in time. However, as long as their inner pool doesn't run out and they are sufficiently supplied, bodily degradation is virtually unknown to them.Appearance: As an individual he is an imposing figure: The man stands about 7 feet 2 inches tall (excluding the horns) and is packed with dense, voluminous muscles. The Big Guy
Profession: He doesn't really have one. He's basically become a survivalist capable of living off the wild land. He still seldomly accepts more or less shady jobs, but more for fun than out of necessity.
Background: Vekyzz has never experienced the freedom of having parents that keep you nourished and well-kept during your childhood. He hasn't even experienced the luxury of never having to switch the world one's living in, allowing as much time as possible to adapt. He was thrown into this realm by a mage craving for power, but the first thing that happened is another case of the scientist-runs-an-experiment-without-preparation-for-the-case-it-yields-exactly-the-outcome-he's-hoping-for trope. The summoner doesn't live anymore, killed in an instantaneous act of outrage. Unfortunately, Vekyzz thereby has also slain his only hope of returning - or at least the only one he knows about. Being doomed to continue living the life that had just started to exist, the demon started roaming the land.
Equipment:What would he be without his trusty, colossal, vintage looking sword ? Technically it isn't even really a sword, but merely an outstanding piece of mechanical butchery consisting of a thick piece of sheet metal that was ground to have a sharp edge on one side while the other was bolted to a large handle. It's purely makeshift.An equally impressive collection of... one might be tempted to say 'garbage', but let's just call it an armor consisting of pieces of leather, fur and cloth stacked upon another and combined and held together with chains. It covers most of his body.A cheap, but complete set of 'civil' clothing.
Pros:
+ Very strong and tough. He's capable of moving and lifting things an ordinary human couldn't dream of.
+ Rather intelligent, though not outstandingly.
Cons:
- His appearance. When people see him, prices go up, and when he leaves, they go down again as if by magic. He's really not far from being an outcast and scorn can be achieved by a wide variety of methods.
- He's lean and wouldn't consider himself particularly tall or heavy. By human standards however he is a crushing, walking tower and thereby prone to more or less embarrassing accidents. Furniture, badly maintained buildings and the like aren't exactly designed for him.- He's inexperienced with this world and the habits, traditions and reasoning of its inhabitants. The negative impact of this has considerable lessened since his 'arrival', but is still noticeable.
Other: - |
48,837 | 1,315 | 10 | 972 | 961 | The horseman, somehow oblivious to the adventures of Baxxink, was frozen in place, much like the musician inside the tavern. He only went limp when Vekyzz tugged him out of the saddle, and folded himself into a neat pile of human on the ground.
The horse on the other hand would have none of that. As soon as it felt its rider leave the saddle it started to whine and tried to get away. As the demon grabbed the reins to hold the beast still the damn thing panicked and shot of like a lightning bolt down the road, leaving a puzzled vekyzz with a slight burning sensation in his hand. As the horse ran for its life past the far wall of the tavern something bright blue shot out of the shadows, got on top of the horse and rode away at break-neck speed.
Baxxink on the other hand, had grown tired of looking for proper glass-smashing tools and had settled on the urine-coated branch from the infamous tree behind the tavern. He swung the yellowish-brown thing high above his head and smashed the window into a million pieces just as a horse went into full gallop just a few coaches over. While the beast did not cover the sound of the glass, it was likely to draw the attention of anyone nearby, lucky.
The goblin crawled through the hole without too much hassle and started to rummage around in there as soon as he could. As the passenger compartment was fairly small it didn't take him long. While he looked over his findings something moved outside the window and the demon Vekyzz became clearly visible, he obviously had no intention of staying at the tavern any more. Getting out of the coach as quickly as he could, he immediately jumped into the coachman's seat of the next one over and started to shout and wave his arms to get the attention of his companion. | Name: Baxxink Hagglepocket.
Title/Nickname: Often known as “That bastard who stole my money”, but it’s a bit long for a nickname.
Age: 36.
Gender: Male.
Race: Goblin.
Profession: Thief.
Trope/Archetype: The sneaky guy
Equipment:
Clothes - for wearing.
Dagger - for stabbing.
Short bow + quiver of arrows - for long distance stabbing.
Fake beard - (special item) for camouflage.
Background: Baxxink was born into a goblin community like most goblins, and like most goblin communities it was violently destroyed by a troupe of adventurers that passed by looking for treasure. As one of few survivors Baxxink had to use his natural gifts of stealth and agility to fill his stomach and set out on the path he’s been on until now.
Pros:
Stealthy - can move silently and stick to the shadows very well.
Quick and agile - clawed fingers (and toes), low weight, long limbs and a greater range of movement compared to humans means that Baxxink has a lot of options for movement.
Cunning - not clever, smart or intelligent, Baxxink’s mind is focused on finding and exploiting weaknesses.
Cons:
Soft - doesn’t wear a lot of padding, things will hurt.
Hated race - have you ever heard someone say “Oh, please come in mister Goblin, how nice to meet you, would you like some pie?” Didn’t think so.
Remember, no magic - goblins are magically retarded.
Other: Things will go missing around Baxxink.
Goblins are by far the most unimportant so called “threat” to the kingdom that I could ever imagine. They are far beneath humans on all accounts and to even classify them as sentient is an insult to the higher species.
Mentally they are easier to compare with rats than humans. No intelligence, most can’t read or write and their language capabilities are almost zero if you don’t count the screeching noises they make when they’re hungry.
Physically they can be compared to a child. Standing fully erect they may reach a grown man somewhere between the navel and chest, but with not even half of the girth. Indeed one has many times wondered if they are not only skin and bone. Their limbs are elongated as are their ears and noses and their skin is green much like orchs. Their fingers and toes end in claws, but much like the goblins themselves these are small and insignificant, their only use seems to be in aiding the goblin when climbing.
Wild goblins gather in communities, either out in the wilderness or inside ruins and other abandoned structures. They gather valuable (revise) items which is why groups of adventurous people willingly keep the goblin count down.
The goblin society is hundreds, if not thousands of years behind our own, they have only barely mastered the art of farming, no craftsmanship to speak of and no written language.
Even the goblins that have managed to sneak into our cities prefer to live in the sewers like rats, which is why most larger cities have elimination crews that goes below once a month to clear them out.
How are they a threat?
As mentioned, they really are not. Not to the civilised world at least.
Their fragile bodies cannot stand up to punishment or exert great force. They don’t wear armour and tend to prefer smaller weapons like daggers instead of more capable weaponry.
Indeed, the only area where they surpass humanity lies in their animalistic instincts and movements, they are quick and can squeeze through a hole as tiny as their head. But as long as they are cornered or trapped even a group of goblins should not be a threat to human soldiers.
Goblins are really only a threat to unprepared travellers and small farming communities that are based too far from the outposts. As soon as armed and trained people are around the goblins are no longer a threat.
Beards:
Goblins are incapable of growing beards, which makes it odd that we tend to find false beards made of straw, fur or actual stolen facial hair around their communities. Perhaps it has some form of ritual importance.
According to my researchers many of the beards are well worn, like they’ve been used almost daily for some time, yet no one has ever seen a goblin wearing one of these fur masks. Perhaps they wear them to make fun of dwarves. |
48,838 | 1,315 | 11 | 821 | 1,017 | Vekyzz looked at his hand and looked back up to see the animal run away at blazing speed. Then he focused in on his hand again just to recognize how bruised it had become in these fractions of a second. And then he looked back up to check for the horse again, but only to see the blue... whatever it was... again. Then the human he had just smashed to the ground put himself back into action by presenting Vekyzz the most sneering grin the demon had seen in weeks. He wasn't amused at all.
Wasn't somebody waving at him ? Grumbling and baring his teeth, Vekyzz stepped away from the man without looking back. He had to concentrate in order to locate the loud (and somewhat annoying) noise in the middle of the mess this 'parking area' was. Only a considerable number of seconds later Baxxink finally came into the demon's view and he adjusted his course.
"What's this ? A nutshell ? Couldn't you have picked something even smaller ?" Vekyzz volleyed his personal criticism towards the small goblin. The problem was that using a certain tone or wording too often could lead to others becoming resistant against it. This held true especially for friends - and such they were at least. The coach developed a massive list when Vekyzz placed himself next to the goblin. The demon was emitting a significant amount of warmth despite the fact that he'd hardly engaged physically. "I suggest we go." Of course this wasn't their couch, or was it ? | Name: Vekyzz
Title/Nickname: -
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Race: He's an Oiosyyiathaom, that is... a demon. The expression is not used for the class of demons in general, but for a very special subset of them. The knowledge about how to summon them is commonly assumed to be lost, though this could very well only be the result of it being a very dangerous and difficult process that very rarely is executed.
The realm they come from is named Qu'Nor. The term is the human transcription of what it is called in their own tongue. Little is known about it because the inverse process of getting a human there and letting him return alive is even more difficult. Those very few who managed to do this weren't very fond of openly sharing the knowledge gained. It can be assumed that the majority of what common mages know about it has its origin in torture chambers that have seen members of Vekyzz' race. It is said that there exist a multitude of creatures, not only demons, but the Oiosyyiathaoms being the dominating race. Not all of them are flat-out hostile to everything and everyone, but most are however. Vekyzz is a tad in the middle: Not willing to kill on sight, but easy to push into a decent rage that can become quite violent.
This raises the question: Why would anyone be interested in summoning such a creature ? The standard answer would be 'because he can', but there are other reasons. One of his kind, once succesfully forced into submission, would be a formidable asset for both personal protection and boosting one's ego: The average individual stands well above a large human male and usually weighs at least twice as much. They feature a very dense skeletal frame and pick up large amounts of similar muscle even with hardly any training at all. There is some inherent magic in them, but they can't purposefully control it. It virtually 'leaks' out of them as raw energy. It is assumed that this phenomenon is not natural and only appears in the foreign environment they are torn into when summoned. In fact, some of his kind have been subjected to experiments trying to artificially trigger and harvest it. The outcomes were rather mixed: While it turned out to be possible to release large amounts of magical power, the price in terms of killed test subjects that needed to be replaced by performing new summonings outweighed this benefit.
It is not known how many individuals are currently present in the world, but it is fair to assume that their number is very, very small. Their lifespan is dramatically reduced by the leakage effect and is estimated at no more than 50 years if not sent back in time. However, as long as their inner pool doesn't run out and they are sufficiently supplied, bodily degradation is virtually unknown to them.Appearance: As an individual he is an imposing figure: The man stands about 7 feet 2 inches tall (excluding the horns) and is packed with dense, voluminous muscles. The Big Guy
Profession: He doesn't really have one. He's basically become a survivalist capable of living off the wild land. He still seldomly accepts more or less shady jobs, but more for fun than out of necessity.
Background: Vekyzz has never experienced the freedom of having parents that keep you nourished and well-kept during your childhood. He hasn't even experienced the luxury of never having to switch the world one's living in, allowing as much time as possible to adapt. He was thrown into this realm by a mage craving for power, but the first thing that happened is another case of the scientist-runs-an-experiment-without-preparation-for-the-case-it-yields-exactly-the-outcome-he's-hoping-for trope. The summoner doesn't live anymore, killed in an instantaneous act of outrage. Unfortunately, Vekyzz thereby has also slain his only hope of returning - or at least the only one he knows about. Being doomed to continue living the life that had just started to exist, the demon started roaming the land.
Equipment:What would he be without his trusty, colossal, vintage looking sword ? Technically it isn't even really a sword, but merely an outstanding piece of mechanical butchery consisting of a thick piece of sheet metal that was ground to have a sharp edge on one side while the other was bolted to a large handle. It's purely makeshift.An equally impressive collection of... one might be tempted to say 'garbage', but let's just call it an armor consisting of pieces of leather, fur and cloth stacked upon another and combined and held together with chains. It covers most of his body.A cheap, but complete set of 'civil' clothing.
Pros:
+ Very strong and tough. He's capable of moving and lifting things an ordinary human couldn't dream of.
+ Rather intelligent, though not outstandingly.
Cons:
- His appearance. When people see him, prices go up, and when he leaves, they go down again as if by magic. He's really not far from being an outcast and scorn can be achieved by a wide variety of methods.
- He's lean and wouldn't consider himself particularly tall or heavy. By human standards however he is a crushing, walking tower and thereby prone to more or less embarrassing accidents. Furniture, badly maintained buildings and the like aren't exactly designed for him.- He's inexperienced with this world and the habits, traditions and reasoning of its inhabitants. The negative impact of this has considerable lessened since his 'arrival', but is still noticeable.
Other: - |
48,839 | 1,315 | 12 | 972 | 961 | What are you talking about? It's huge, my whole family could live in this one! The goblin exclaimed and kicked the horse in front of him hard in the backside. The drowsy beast sprang into action immediately and brought the two unexpected adventurers and the coach with it. Only when they started to go fast did the goblin realise that he had no idea about how to steer a coach and promptly handed the reins over to his larger-than-average friend just as the coachmen got out of the tavern with their crossbows. A few bolts wizzed past or struck the coach, but neither of the two or the horse was hit. One of them, a fellow with a large moustache ran after the coach for a short while before giving up.
Baxxink, not being used to the kind of speed that made his eyes dry out and stomach sink into his trousers, held on for dear life as the demon tugged and pulled at the seemingly tiny leather strips that connected the horse to the coach. Every now and then he risked a look over his shoulder just to make sure they weren't followed. After all, the other coaches were just as ready to go as this one had been, and the guys piloting them were used to travelling faster than sound.
Before long the sound of hooves on packed dirt could be heard and as Baxxink turned to look he could clearly see half a dozen humans on horseback. Apparently they'd disconnected the beasts from their burdens to make them go even faster, lunatics.
"They're behind us! What are we going to do?" He shouted as loudly as he could, but feared that the air that held his words were well behind their pursuers when it reached the air that had held Vekyzz ears. To make sure that his bulky companion knew about the pursuers he instead rammed a sharp clawed finger into the demon's side, which would surely make him turn to check in a gentlemanly manner so that Baxxink could point out the danger. | Name: Baxxink Hagglepocket.
Title/Nickname: Often known as “That bastard who stole my money”, but it’s a bit long for a nickname.
Age: 36.
Gender: Male.
Race: Goblin.
Profession: Thief.
Trope/Archetype: The sneaky guy
Equipment:
Clothes - for wearing.
Dagger - for stabbing.
Short bow + quiver of arrows - for long distance stabbing.
Fake beard - (special item) for camouflage.
Background: Baxxink was born into a goblin community like most goblins, and like most goblin communities it was violently destroyed by a troupe of adventurers that passed by looking for treasure. As one of few survivors Baxxink had to use his natural gifts of stealth and agility to fill his stomach and set out on the path he’s been on until now.
Pros:
Stealthy - can move silently and stick to the shadows very well.
Quick and agile - clawed fingers (and toes), low weight, long limbs and a greater range of movement compared to humans means that Baxxink has a lot of options for movement.
Cunning - not clever, smart or intelligent, Baxxink’s mind is focused on finding and exploiting weaknesses.
Cons:
Soft - doesn’t wear a lot of padding, things will hurt.
Hated race - have you ever heard someone say “Oh, please come in mister Goblin, how nice to meet you, would you like some pie?” Didn’t think so.
Remember, no magic - goblins are magically retarded.
Other: Things will go missing around Baxxink.
Goblins are by far the most unimportant so called “threat” to the kingdom that I could ever imagine. They are far beneath humans on all accounts and to even classify them as sentient is an insult to the higher species.
Mentally they are easier to compare with rats than humans. No intelligence, most can’t read or write and their language capabilities are almost zero if you don’t count the screeching noises they make when they’re hungry.
Physically they can be compared to a child. Standing fully erect they may reach a grown man somewhere between the navel and chest, but with not even half of the girth. Indeed one has many times wondered if they are not only skin and bone. Their limbs are elongated as are their ears and noses and their skin is green much like orchs. Their fingers and toes end in claws, but much like the goblins themselves these are small and insignificant, their only use seems to be in aiding the goblin when climbing.
Wild goblins gather in communities, either out in the wilderness or inside ruins and other abandoned structures. They gather valuable (revise) items which is why groups of adventurous people willingly keep the goblin count down.
The goblin society is hundreds, if not thousands of years behind our own, they have only barely mastered the art of farming, no craftsmanship to speak of and no written language.
Even the goblins that have managed to sneak into our cities prefer to live in the sewers like rats, which is why most larger cities have elimination crews that goes below once a month to clear them out.
How are they a threat?
As mentioned, they really are not. Not to the civilised world at least.
Their fragile bodies cannot stand up to punishment or exert great force. They don’t wear armour and tend to prefer smaller weapons like daggers instead of more capable weaponry.
Indeed, the only area where they surpass humanity lies in their animalistic instincts and movements, they are quick and can squeeze through a hole as tiny as their head. But as long as they are cornered or trapped even a group of goblins should not be a threat to human soldiers.
Goblins are really only a threat to unprepared travellers and small farming communities that are based too far from the outposts. As soon as armed and trained people are around the goblins are no longer a threat.
Beards:
Goblins are incapable of growing beards, which makes it odd that we tend to find false beards made of straw, fur or actual stolen facial hair around their communities. Perhaps it has some form of ritual importance.
According to my researchers many of the beards are well worn, like they’ve been used almost daily for some time, yet no one has ever seen a goblin wearing one of these fur masks. Perhaps they wear them to make fun of dwarves. |
48,840 | 1,315 | 13 | 821 | 1,017 | Huge ? You call this thing huge ? This is a bloody, rotten nutshell! Vekyzz snatched the reins out of Baxxink's tiny hands presenting them to him. Well... the demon knew how not to avoid any imperfection in the road's surface. The demon apparently really was much more interesting in optimizing the straightness of their path than in saving them and the coach from any shocks.
Then there was a sudden pain in the demon's flank. Did one of bolts penetrate the coach's wall and hit him ? Then his head wouldn't be safe either despite the fact that he was ducking so hard that only his horns were reaching above the roof... A glance downwards and he discovered the truth. That... greddy, little... useless goblin! Vekyzz bared his teeth and reached for Baxxink's wrist in one rapid movement. It stopped to be visible beneath the demon's fingers and he certainly was applying a vice grip from hell. "You..." was the only word he forced out between his lips, his voice trembling with only halfway suppressed anger.
Before being able to finally decide and crush the bone in his hand though, their pursuers managed to draw Vekyzz' attention. They were in trouble. Huge trouble. Two against many was a situation that could become critical very quickly and hopefully he didn't need to tell this to his companion.
"Jump onto the horse and leave some space for me! I'll disconnect this heap of junk so we can go faster!" | Name: Vekyzz
Title/Nickname: -
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Race: He's an Oiosyyiathaom, that is... a demon. The expression is not used for the class of demons in general, but for a very special subset of them. The knowledge about how to summon them is commonly assumed to be lost, though this could very well only be the result of it being a very dangerous and difficult process that very rarely is executed.
The realm they come from is named Qu'Nor. The term is the human transcription of what it is called in their own tongue. Little is known about it because the inverse process of getting a human there and letting him return alive is even more difficult. Those very few who managed to do this weren't very fond of openly sharing the knowledge gained. It can be assumed that the majority of what common mages know about it has its origin in torture chambers that have seen members of Vekyzz' race. It is said that there exist a multitude of creatures, not only demons, but the Oiosyyiathaoms being the dominating race. Not all of them are flat-out hostile to everything and everyone, but most are however. Vekyzz is a tad in the middle: Not willing to kill on sight, but easy to push into a decent rage that can become quite violent.
This raises the question: Why would anyone be interested in summoning such a creature ? The standard answer would be 'because he can', but there are other reasons. One of his kind, once succesfully forced into submission, would be a formidable asset for both personal protection and boosting one's ego: The average individual stands well above a large human male and usually weighs at least twice as much. They feature a very dense skeletal frame and pick up large amounts of similar muscle even with hardly any training at all. There is some inherent magic in them, but they can't purposefully control it. It virtually 'leaks' out of them as raw energy. It is assumed that this phenomenon is not natural and only appears in the foreign environment they are torn into when summoned. In fact, some of his kind have been subjected to experiments trying to artificially trigger and harvest it. The outcomes were rather mixed: While it turned out to be possible to release large amounts of magical power, the price in terms of killed test subjects that needed to be replaced by performing new summonings outweighed this benefit.
It is not known how many individuals are currently present in the world, but it is fair to assume that their number is very, very small. Their lifespan is dramatically reduced by the leakage effect and is estimated at no more than 50 years if not sent back in time. However, as long as their inner pool doesn't run out and they are sufficiently supplied, bodily degradation is virtually unknown to them.Appearance: As an individual he is an imposing figure: The man stands about 7 feet 2 inches tall (excluding the horns) and is packed with dense, voluminous muscles. The Big Guy
Profession: He doesn't really have one. He's basically become a survivalist capable of living off the wild land. He still seldomly accepts more or less shady jobs, but more for fun than out of necessity.
Background: Vekyzz has never experienced the freedom of having parents that keep you nourished and well-kept during your childhood. He hasn't even experienced the luxury of never having to switch the world one's living in, allowing as much time as possible to adapt. He was thrown into this realm by a mage craving for power, but the first thing that happened is another case of the scientist-runs-an-experiment-without-preparation-for-the-case-it-yields-exactly-the-outcome-he's-hoping-for trope. The summoner doesn't live anymore, killed in an instantaneous act of outrage. Unfortunately, Vekyzz thereby has also slain his only hope of returning - or at least the only one he knows about. Being doomed to continue living the life that had just started to exist, the demon started roaming the land.
Equipment:What would he be without his trusty, colossal, vintage looking sword ? Technically it isn't even really a sword, but merely an outstanding piece of mechanical butchery consisting of a thick piece of sheet metal that was ground to have a sharp edge on one side while the other was bolted to a large handle. It's purely makeshift.An equally impressive collection of... one might be tempted to say 'garbage', but let's just call it an armor consisting of pieces of leather, fur and cloth stacked upon another and combined and held together with chains. It covers most of his body.A cheap, but complete set of 'civil' clothing.
Pros:
+ Very strong and tough. He's capable of moving and lifting things an ordinary human couldn't dream of.
+ Rather intelligent, though not outstandingly.
Cons:
- His appearance. When people see him, prices go up, and when he leaves, they go down again as if by magic. He's really not far from being an outcast and scorn can be achieved by a wide variety of methods.
- He's lean and wouldn't consider himself particularly tall or heavy. By human standards however he is a crushing, walking tower and thereby prone to more or less embarrassing accidents. Furniture, badly maintained buildings and the like aren't exactly designed for him.- He's inexperienced with this world and the habits, traditions and reasoning of its inhabitants. The negative impact of this has considerable lessened since his 'arrival', but is still noticeable.
Other: - |
48,841 | 1,316 | 0 | 532 | 638 | Benjamin Graham normally rose from his bed as the sun set. His trade started when many others locked their doors, thinking themselves safe. Today however was different, he needed something important from the city. So he left the dingy blinds in his cottage open so that the light of day would stream into his face. Benjamin opened his dull eyes with a hiss. They had once been a colorful hazel, but his many years and long hours working at night had reduced them to a filmy brown. He got out of bed, his body creaking and popping with every motion. Once he got up and moving the pain of age would go away... mostly. He went to make a futile attempt to comb his hair. In his youth it had been raven black. Now it was a greasy, unkempt gray. Benjamin gave In but did manage to get the grave dirt from last night out of his hair.
He looked for something to wear, but realize that all his old normal clothes were for a younger man. Benjamin grunted, perhaps it was for the best. He threw on his Grave Keeper uniform. Knee length boots of a waterproof make, dull gray trousers, a warm forrest green button up shirt, a cloak starting at the shoulder and ending at the waist, finally a wide brimmed hat. The uniform was designed to keep off the rain, provide warmth, protection, and scare off unsavory sorts.
Dressed, Benjamin stepped out of his cottage and into one of his charges, the inner city cemetery. He was bound for a dusty old street in the Bracken district. The cemetery was located in the Wilted Rose district, a bit of a walk. As he went down the street he got to see the terrified reaction of the people of Ashtyn. Young children hid behind their mothers, priests prayed once he passed, beggars abandoned their squats, and people crossed the street to be away from the his terrible presence. Benjamin was used to it, he paid them no heed.
Many rumours were told about 'Old Ben'. That he only ate grave dirt and coffin worms. That he knew when and how you were gonna die. And that he was a 150 years old. Never ask a young man your age! He was only 114. Most of that other stuff was only rumor, he was only a man, granted a stubborn one. He had done his job for nearly a century, and he could feel in his bones his time was running out.
Throughout the years, Ben had seen many colleges and apprentices cut down, dying premature, grisly deaths. You never know, maybe this next batch was lucky. Benjamin was woken, from his nocturnal rest the day before by the old lady who ran the Grave Keeper office. She told him that a young man and woman had just signed up for Grave Keeping. That brought the total of Grave Keepers in the city to three. Counting himself.
He reached the office. A dusty, filthy building, that hadn't seen a lick of paint in years. Ben sighed and walked in, ignored the office lady yelling at him to collect his pay, and into the small sitting room. He cleared his voice, and in a grating voice that isn't used to being used, asks the people sitting there, "So, you are the two who ruined their lives." | Name:Benjamin Graham
Age:114
Appearance: Benjamin is a mostly silent, bitter man. His voice is raw and gravaly from lack of use. Thus hair is a long filthy unkempt gray. His eyes are a filmy half blind brown. He would stand at 5' 8'' if he stood up straight, yet with his slouch he is closer to 5' 5'' He almost perpetually wears his GraveKeeper uniform. Knee length boots of a waterproof make, dull gray trousers, a warm forrest green button up shirt, a cloak starting at the shoulder and ending at the waist, finally a wide brimmed hat. The uniform was designed to keep of the rain, provide warmth, protection, and scare of unsavory sorts.
Gender: Male
Backstory: Benjamin Graham has worked as a Ashtyn Grave Keeper for nearly 95 years stubbornly refusing to retire or die until he is certain that his charge will remain safe after his death. In his youth he was a wild man, squandering his families fortune on drink, women, fine clothes, but most often cards and games of chance. He found himself deeply in debt as he had wasted the wealth his dead family left him. Benjamin was left with a choice, rot in prison for the rest of his days, or become a Grave Keeper as Ashtyn had been left without one for nearly 3 years. Despite long he ago paying away his debts, Ben buried himself in his work devoting his entire life to keeping the graveyards safe, and the dead at rest.
He is unofficially recognized as the head Grave Keeper of Ashytyn and takes it upon himself to train the new Grave Keepers. He has no life outside of Grave keeping, and is only seen outside his cemetery cottage while working, or buying supplies.
Equipment: Grave Keeper uniform, well worn and older than most Grave Keepers careers.
Shovel kept razor sharp and ready. A pike like blade is on the butt end of the handle.
A rail splitting axe, for the dangerous undead.
A satchel filled with trinkets and mementos to help the peaceful dead find the life, includes coins, tinker toys, a silver mirror, a holy book, paper and pen for writing messages, and a match book.
A belt with many flasks and bottles tied to it. Some are potions and concoctions necessary for his trade, others are medicine for his age and health, and one or two are simply alcohol.
Other: Thinks helping the benign dead pass on to be the most enjoyable part of the job. Hasn't collected his pay in over 12 years, it's all waiting for him at the office, and when he purchases something they just collect it from there. |
48,842 | 1,316 | 1 | 2,543 | 175 | Hogarth had been waiting in the sitting room the entire day, occasionally giving the girl near him a few stray curious looks. He really, really didn't want to be late. Not that he minded the waiting, the old decrepit structure had quite the pleasant atmosphere, or so he thought anyway, and his overwhelming enthusiasm kept him occupied and unaware of most of his surroundings. His wildest dreams would, perhaps, come true any moment now. The only downside of this waiting was that approximately three hours of constant grinning had left his face in great pain. Not that he cared, anyway. He adjusted his bandolier for the thousandth time, made sure his all his vials were in their proper place, for the hundredth time, and ran his fingers across one of his axes, which he had unsheathed, and whirled it in his hand, for gods know how many times. Practice paid off.
Even though not formally trained, the young man, among his countless hours of isolated studying, had come across a good number of arms manuals, and with constant repetition had managed to grasp more than the basics, eventually becoming quite the user of the throwing axe. Having no instructor to guide him, however, most weapons, especially the heavy ones, remained far beyond his grasp. But, as he told himelf over and over in one of his nigh-unstoppable inner monologues, practice made perfect, and he was absolutely determined to master the famous Grave Keeper shovel, even if it meant to he had to face a hundred malefactors.
A sound broke Hogarth's daydreaming. Could it be? It was none other than the famous Old Ben speaking. Here, in the flesh. Quickly he sprang to his feet and, clicking the heels of his massive boots together, gave the man a military salute, and afterwards stood in attention. But his discipline was short lived. In an instant, he returned to his usual slouch and brought his hands together, twiddling his thumbs in nervousness and stared at the old man, still wearing that wide eyed smile, in complete silence. | Name: Hogarth Nethayr
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Appearance: Hogarth is a cheerful, wiry young man, dressed exclusively in black. He looks nearly emaciated, and stands about two meters tall, despite his slouchy, s-shaped posture. His choice of attire, however, slightly hides his thin frame. Namely, he is never seen wearing anything other than thick, ankle length coats, knee high steel reinforced leather boots and light plate gauntlets. A large hat with a sown-in strap is commonly seen atop his head. Hogarth is rather thin in the face, and posesses a snow-white complexion. His features are sharp and slightly sunken while his hair reaches just below his shoulders. Lastly, the most common expression his face takes is that of a wide eyed, teeth clenched grin.
Backstory:
Hogarth's early years have been utterly uneventful, if somewhat dull. Born to a family of simple merchants, he has never experienced the ravages of poverty, nor the comforts of wealth. Being interested in scholarly matters from an early age, his father eagerly supplied the young boy with any tomes he could procure, eventually creating an impressive library. The more the boy grew and read, however, the more he developed an interest in the macabre and morbid. In fact, the only thing slighty unconventional about Hogarth's life was Hogarth himself.
Even though the boy was joyful and well-mannered, he would, occasionally isolate himself from his peers and family, and would lock himself in the house's cramped reading quarters for hours on end. He'd fill these quarters with notes upon notes on increasingly disturbing subjects, casually adorning them with sketches depicting death's heads, wights, and other ghoulish creatures. Other times, he'd sink into mirth filled monologues regarding unpleasant matters, most common being the dead, both walking and not. When he was finally of age, it came to no one's surprise when he cheerfully proclaimed that he was joining the Grave Keepers. Now, he is most commonly seen wandering about the outer graveyard with a smile on his face, even when off duty.
Other:
Equipment:
Bandolier: A tanned leather bandolier consisting of a torso and belt part helps Hogarth store numerous vials of potions and his weapons.
Axes: Hogarth is not the best when it comes to handling meelee weapons, with the exception of his two small throwing axes, used to quickly incapacitate hostile undead, or humans.
Stake thrower: A medium to short range repeater crossbow customized by Hogarth, it is small enough to be fired from one hand if the need arises. |
48,843 | 1,316 | 2 | 2,653 | 1,901 | Nova sat back in her seat silently, awaiting the arrival of the infamous Grave Keeper Ben. It was a name she had heard many times as a kid, a name to be feared... A name to be respected. He was the most skilled at his job, though I guess the only measure of that was how many others he had managed to out last. The girl woman had to stifle a bit of laughter, her private joke twisting her hidden features into a crooked smile. Even so, Nova found herself tugging at the front fold of her cloak's hood, making sure that her expression could not be seen. After all, she was practically signing her own life away into the service of the dead. Not the most glamourous of jobs, but one couldn't say that it was at all boring. She had heard the stories and her father had been one of them, so it wasn't as if she was signing up with absolutely no idea of what lay before her.
Glancing over at the man sitting beside her, Nova didn't know what to make of the guy. His face, mostly his grin, screamed live bait however the equipment he carried hinted otherwise. She figured she would hold off on passing judgement until she saw him at work, after all who was she to judge? Nova dressed lightly, literally so as all of her clothes were chosen specifically not to weigh her down... except for her feet, but one could never be too careful to protect that which stands closest to half the enemy.
Yelling from the attending woman alerted her to the presence of the man the pair had been waiting for for quite some time. Again, the man beside her surprised her by nearly jumping out of his seat. Nova took her time standing, grasping her beloved weapon in her right hand before slowly turning to face the mysterious Ben. She had seen him once before, but it had been dark then... Seeing him in the light was just a as frightening to her now as it had been when she caught sight of him as a child. Smirking to herself, Nova took the initiative to fill the silence left behind after the man's comment.
"Somehow I doubt I'll miss it all that much." Nova said, reaching her left hand up to pull down her hood. Locking eyes on the man, she glanced at him quizzically as if confused by something. "My father spoke rather fondly of you Mr. Graham. I sincerely hope you last long enough for me to find out why." | Name:
Nova Blake
Age:
21
Gender:
Female
Appearance:
With most of her height being in her legs, Nova stands at an average height of 5'10". For obvious reasons she keeps herself toned and combat-ready, however she naturally retains a meatier curve especially in her hip and thigh areas. She has long blonde hair that reaches to the small of her back if she kept it down, but for the most part she keeps the bulk tied back in a bun or ponytail. Not caring much for her outward appearances, Nova can be found wearing the same thing in public that she would wear when working: All black and rather menacing. This include light-weight and form fitting cloth material that more often than not has tears from previous fights, and a hooded cloak that covers her face when drawn. The only thing metallic she wears are a pair of boots, which makes her approach just as intimidating as her glare. In addition to a rather dark choice in color pallet, Nova's night shifts have led to her having a rather pale complexion that somewhat resembled the creatures she's sworn to fight.
Backstory:
Nova's very existence is considered a bit of an "embarrassment" to the image of the City Guard. The son of one of their prominent members fell in love and eloped with a witch by the name of Salahyna. Planning to take advantage of this situation, the witch began plotting a robbery of the cemetery hidden beneath the city with her coven. These plans changed however when she found herself pregnant with Nova. Double crossing her partners in crime, Salahyna begged for asylum and protection but before her lover could explain the situation to his father, the man was murdered by her former comrades. Blowing the wistle on her abilities, Salahyna had to go into hiding from both the city's soldiers and her angry pursuers until Nova was born. Seeing no other choice, Salahyna left her newborn child in the care of a family who had been struggling to have a child. Leaving in a hurry, Salahyna gifted but a single necklace and a name to the girl before departing, never to be seen or heard from again.
Growing up with her foster family, Nova's only clue to her past was the odd necklace her mother gave her. Despite its creepy nature, Nova still wore it every day to stay close to a life she had never know. Her foster family wasn't rich by any means, but they got by somehow, maintaining their long-lived traditions as Grave Keepers. Having no son of their own, her foster father raised her as if she had been a boy, training her in preparation for a job that no one wanted. Like many a Grave Keeper her foster father eventually passed away in an attack leaving Nova to take his place to support her foster mother, whose health had been declining over the years. Ever since Nova started actually going into town to get groceries and medicine for her foster mother, she's found herself facing the ridicule of actual City Guardsmen despite having no idea why.
Equipment:
Necklace: She always wears her mother's necklace despite how creepy it is. She'll hide it when in public but doesn't bother when working. The green gem set in the design will start to glow if Nova is near the effects of magic, specifically a Necromancer's work. The brighter the light, the closer the source.
Weapons: Nova is partial to a long scythe, feeling it sets the mood better for her line of work. That and it scares the hell out of the living. She also keeps a dagger sheathed in her right boot.
City Required: A shovel kept in perfect shape (cause what come's up must eventually return to its grave...) and the standard uniform (that she'll wear like once in her life).
Other:
Fastened around her waist is a satchel that she houses sweets in. She has a bit of an addiction to candies of all types.
She's a work in progress at the moment, got asked to stay a little longer than usual while babysitting. Possibly thinking about making another character as well too, but we'll see after she's complete.
EDIT: Ready for Review. |
48,844 | 1,316 | 3 | 532 | 638 | Funny, I was just about to say the same thing. Ben told the woman. He then looked towards the man standing at attention, he started sizing the two of them up. While the woman seemed confident, the man seemed... eager. This set him at unease. In his job reckless courage was just as dangerous as utter cowardliness.
He said to the man "Sit down. We have a lot to discuss." not waiting for an answer he took the seat from across them, leaned forward and took a deep sniff of the air. The two of them smelled clean, and like some sort of soap, normally when he met people wanting the job, they smelt worst than the dead. Normally only poor desperate folk wanted the job. He continued,"You must be Nova, and you must be the Nethayr boy." Ben said pointing at each of them in turn. "I'll tell you this, I cannot deny you taking this job. I can't fire you. Yet I am your boss, if you don't follow my rules I will throw you out of the graveyards of Ashtyn, before you wind up underneath them. Before we go further I need to know. Why do you want to be a Grave Keeper?" Ben clasps his hands together waiting for them to reply. | Name:Benjamin Graham
Age:114
Appearance: Benjamin is a mostly silent, bitter man. His voice is raw and gravaly from lack of use. Thus hair is a long filthy unkempt gray. His eyes are a filmy half blind brown. He would stand at 5' 8'' if he stood up straight, yet with his slouch he is closer to 5' 5'' He almost perpetually wears his GraveKeeper uniform. Knee length boots of a waterproof make, dull gray trousers, a warm forrest green button up shirt, a cloak starting at the shoulder and ending at the waist, finally a wide brimmed hat. The uniform was designed to keep of the rain, provide warmth, protection, and scare of unsavory sorts.
Gender: Male
Backstory: Benjamin Graham has worked as a Ashtyn Grave Keeper for nearly 95 years stubbornly refusing to retire or die until he is certain that his charge will remain safe after his death. In his youth he was a wild man, squandering his families fortune on drink, women, fine clothes, but most often cards and games of chance. He found himself deeply in debt as he had wasted the wealth his dead family left him. Benjamin was left with a choice, rot in prison for the rest of his days, or become a Grave Keeper as Ashtyn had been left without one for nearly 3 years. Despite long he ago paying away his debts, Ben buried himself in his work devoting his entire life to keeping the graveyards safe, and the dead at rest.
He is unofficially recognized as the head Grave Keeper of Ashytyn and takes it upon himself to train the new Grave Keepers. He has no life outside of Grave keeping, and is only seen outside his cemetery cottage while working, or buying supplies.
Equipment: Grave Keeper uniform, well worn and older than most Grave Keepers careers.
Shovel kept razor sharp and ready. A pike like blade is on the butt end of the handle.
A rail splitting axe, for the dangerous undead.
A satchel filled with trinkets and mementos to help the peaceful dead find the life, includes coins, tinker toys, a silver mirror, a holy book, paper and pen for writing messages, and a match book.
A belt with many flasks and bottles tied to it. Some are potions and concoctions necessary for his trade, others are medicine for his age and health, and one or two are simply alcohol.
Other: Thinks helping the benign dead pass on to be the most enjoyable part of the job. Hasn't collected his pay in over 12 years, it's all waiting for him at the office, and when he purchases something they just collect it from there. |
48,845 | 1,316 | 4 | 2,653 | 1,901 | Nova reseated herself with a smirk before returning to a more serious expression, listening carefully to the man's every word. She thought it all made sense, considering he was the eldest Grave Keeper the job had ever known... But he was also the only official one the city had, so it was obvious that they needed the bodies badly. What she had not expected was an explanation of their reasonings. She hadn't given it much thought really, having always just known that she would end up there eventually. Absently her hand reached up to her neckline where her neclace lay hidden behind the cloth of her cloak. Taking advantage from the momentary silence of the guy next to her, Nova took it upon herself to answer first.
"All my life I have been told that my life is of borrowed time, time given to me by Thomas and his wife when they took me in. I owe them a life debt and I intend on repaying it in full." She stated, crossing her arms as she leaned back in her seat. Nova had been telling the truth about her intentions to join the ranks of the rave Keepers, however she had to admit it wasn't the full reason. Recently she had been asking more and more questions about her origins... Questions that could only be answered by the dead, or worse yet, those who raised them. She knew that the job would be dangerous, willing to putting her life in the greatest peril it had ever been in her entire life, but she wasn't about to let herself get picked off before she had a chance to find out the truth of her past. "I can't think of a better way to honor the man than to follow in his footsteps, after all I am a Blake. It's in my upbringing." | Name:
Nova Blake
Age:
21
Gender:
Female
Appearance:
With most of her height being in her legs, Nova stands at an average height of 5'10". For obvious reasons she keeps herself toned and combat-ready, however she naturally retains a meatier curve especially in her hip and thigh areas. She has long blonde hair that reaches to the small of her back if she kept it down, but for the most part she keeps the bulk tied back in a bun or ponytail. Not caring much for her outward appearances, Nova can be found wearing the same thing in public that she would wear when working: All black and rather menacing. This include light-weight and form fitting cloth material that more often than not has tears from previous fights, and a hooded cloak that covers her face when drawn. The only thing metallic she wears are a pair of boots, which makes her approach just as intimidating as her glare. In addition to a rather dark choice in color pallet, Nova's night shifts have led to her having a rather pale complexion that somewhat resembled the creatures she's sworn to fight.
Backstory:
Nova's very existence is considered a bit of an "embarrassment" to the image of the City Guard. The son of one of their prominent members fell in love and eloped with a witch by the name of Salahyna. Planning to take advantage of this situation, the witch began plotting a robbery of the cemetery hidden beneath the city with her coven. These plans changed however when she found herself pregnant with Nova. Double crossing her partners in crime, Salahyna begged for asylum and protection but before her lover could explain the situation to his father, the man was murdered by her former comrades. Blowing the wistle on her abilities, Salahyna had to go into hiding from both the city's soldiers and her angry pursuers until Nova was born. Seeing no other choice, Salahyna left her newborn child in the care of a family who had been struggling to have a child. Leaving in a hurry, Salahyna gifted but a single necklace and a name to the girl before departing, never to be seen or heard from again.
Growing up with her foster family, Nova's only clue to her past was the odd necklace her mother gave her. Despite its creepy nature, Nova still wore it every day to stay close to a life she had never know. Her foster family wasn't rich by any means, but they got by somehow, maintaining their long-lived traditions as Grave Keepers. Having no son of their own, her foster father raised her as if she had been a boy, training her in preparation for a job that no one wanted. Like many a Grave Keeper her foster father eventually passed away in an attack leaving Nova to take his place to support her foster mother, whose health had been declining over the years. Ever since Nova started actually going into town to get groceries and medicine for her foster mother, she's found herself facing the ridicule of actual City Guardsmen despite having no idea why.
Equipment:
Necklace: She always wears her mother's necklace despite how creepy it is. She'll hide it when in public but doesn't bother when working. The green gem set in the design will start to glow if Nova is near the effects of magic, specifically a Necromancer's work. The brighter the light, the closer the source.
Weapons: Nova is partial to a long scythe, feeling it sets the mood better for her line of work. That and it scares the hell out of the living. She also keeps a dagger sheathed in her right boot.
City Required: A shovel kept in perfect shape (cause what come's up must eventually return to its grave...) and the standard uniform (that she'll wear like once in her life).
Other:
Fastened around her waist is a satchel that she houses sweets in. She has a bit of an addiction to candies of all types.
She's a work in progress at the moment, got asked to stay a little longer than usual while babysitting. Possibly thinking about making another character as well too, but we'll see after she's complete.
EDIT: Ready for Review. |
48,846 | 1,316 | 5 | 2,543 | 175 | Hogarth listened to Nova's answer intently after turning towards Old Ben and nodding positively at the sound of his surname. Borrowed time, life debts, and most importantly, some form of adoption? It all sounded so very quaint and almost made him feel bad for not having motives as deep, or a similar story of his own to share. His excitement had certainly doubled, though, knowing that he'd work beside such colorful and varied individuals. Only when the girl was done speaking, however, did he realize that he, too, had to answer Ben's question. His speech put Hogarth in the mood for sure, although in such an emotionally overwhelming moment, he found it harder to form coherent sentences. Not that his reasons for joining were complex enough to need a detailed description, though. After a few moments of blankly staring, first at Nova, then back at Ben, his grin reverted into a small, honest smirk as he lowered his head, staring at the floor. He shuffled on his seat, and, rubbing the back of his neck he proclaimed, with a voice that somehow managed to be both smooth and shrill.
"I just really like the dead and whatnot." | Name: Hogarth Nethayr
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Appearance: Hogarth is a cheerful, wiry young man, dressed exclusively in black. He looks nearly emaciated, and stands about two meters tall, despite his slouchy, s-shaped posture. His choice of attire, however, slightly hides his thin frame. Namely, he is never seen wearing anything other than thick, ankle length coats, knee high steel reinforced leather boots and light plate gauntlets. A large hat with a sown-in strap is commonly seen atop his head. Hogarth is rather thin in the face, and posesses a snow-white complexion. His features are sharp and slightly sunken while his hair reaches just below his shoulders. Lastly, the most common expression his face takes is that of a wide eyed, teeth clenched grin.
Backstory:
Hogarth's early years have been utterly uneventful, if somewhat dull. Born to a family of simple merchants, he has never experienced the ravages of poverty, nor the comforts of wealth. Being interested in scholarly matters from an early age, his father eagerly supplied the young boy with any tomes he could procure, eventually creating an impressive library. The more the boy grew and read, however, the more he developed an interest in the macabre and morbid. In fact, the only thing slighty unconventional about Hogarth's life was Hogarth himself.
Even though the boy was joyful and well-mannered, he would, occasionally isolate himself from his peers and family, and would lock himself in the house's cramped reading quarters for hours on end. He'd fill these quarters with notes upon notes on increasingly disturbing subjects, casually adorning them with sketches depicting death's heads, wights, and other ghoulish creatures. Other times, he'd sink into mirth filled monologues regarding unpleasant matters, most common being the dead, both walking and not. When he was finally of age, it came to no one's surprise when he cheerfully proclaimed that he was joining the Grave Keepers. Now, he is most commonly seen wandering about the outer graveyard with a smile on his face, even when off duty.
Other:
Equipment:
Bandolier: A tanned leather bandolier consisting of a torso and belt part helps Hogarth store numerous vials of potions and his weapons.
Axes: Hogarth is not the best when it comes to handling meelee weapons, with the exception of his two small throwing axes, used to quickly incapacitate hostile undead, or humans.
Stake thrower: A medium to short range repeater crossbow customized by Hogarth, it is small enough to be fired from one hand if the need arises. |
48,847 | 1,316 | 6 | 532 | 638 | Ben listened to both of their explanations, raising an eyebrow at the second. "I can tell you now son, that had better be true. You'll be seeing plenty of them. And as for you..." Ben said turning first from Hogarth to Nova, "Thomas was a good Grave Keeper, and rarer still a good man. Starting out I'd work harder at staying alive then emulating him. Honor is for the strong and the dead. Remember that." With more cricks and protests from his joints Benjamin stood up before standing up.
"Still, most of the folks who come in here have no idea how to answer that question. I suppose it's as good a sign as any that you two could. Alright you two follow me!" With that Ben started towards the door telling the office lady to keep the doors unlocked through the night.
Not waiting to see if they were following, Benjamin walked out into the late evening of Ashtyn. | Name:Benjamin Graham
Age:114
Appearance: Benjamin is a mostly silent, bitter man. His voice is raw and gravaly from lack of use. Thus hair is a long filthy unkempt gray. His eyes are a filmy half blind brown. He would stand at 5' 8'' if he stood up straight, yet with his slouch he is closer to 5' 5'' He almost perpetually wears his GraveKeeper uniform. Knee length boots of a waterproof make, dull gray trousers, a warm forrest green button up shirt, a cloak starting at the shoulder and ending at the waist, finally a wide brimmed hat. The uniform was designed to keep of the rain, provide warmth, protection, and scare of unsavory sorts.
Gender: Male
Backstory: Benjamin Graham has worked as a Ashtyn Grave Keeper for nearly 95 years stubbornly refusing to retire or die until he is certain that his charge will remain safe after his death. In his youth he was a wild man, squandering his families fortune on drink, women, fine clothes, but most often cards and games of chance. He found himself deeply in debt as he had wasted the wealth his dead family left him. Benjamin was left with a choice, rot in prison for the rest of his days, or become a Grave Keeper as Ashtyn had been left without one for nearly 3 years. Despite long he ago paying away his debts, Ben buried himself in his work devoting his entire life to keeping the graveyards safe, and the dead at rest.
He is unofficially recognized as the head Grave Keeper of Ashytyn and takes it upon himself to train the new Grave Keepers. He has no life outside of Grave keeping, and is only seen outside his cemetery cottage while working, or buying supplies.
Equipment: Grave Keeper uniform, well worn and older than most Grave Keepers careers.
Shovel kept razor sharp and ready. A pike like blade is on the butt end of the handle.
A rail splitting axe, for the dangerous undead.
A satchel filled with trinkets and mementos to help the peaceful dead find the life, includes coins, tinker toys, a silver mirror, a holy book, paper and pen for writing messages, and a match book.
A belt with many flasks and bottles tied to it. Some are potions and concoctions necessary for his trade, others are medicine for his age and health, and one or two are simply alcohol.
Other: Thinks helping the benign dead pass on to be the most enjoyable part of the job. Hasn't collected his pay in over 12 years, it's all waiting for him at the office, and when he purchases something they just collect it from there. |
48,848 | 1,316 | 7 | 2,543 | 175 | Hogarth remained wide-eyed and in awe up until Ben left the building before practically launching himself off his seat. Taking large, almost dance-like steps, he quickly strode towards the door, humming some upbeat song. As he was picking up speed and about to leave the waiting room, he froze and turned around. Old Ben certainly didn't have time to spare for a couple of new recruits, but the young man found it quite impolite to leave without waiting for his colleague. He leaned by the waiting room's door and, looking at the seated Nova, attempted to strike up a conversation.
"You seem to have quite the story. I'm Hogarth, glad we'll be working together."
He crossed his arms, preparing to offer a handshake and follow her.
"Come on now." He said lightheartedly, with a smile on his face. "Old Ben's waiting... Probably." He let loose a small chuckle. | Name: Hogarth Nethayr
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Appearance: Hogarth is a cheerful, wiry young man, dressed exclusively in black. He looks nearly emaciated, and stands about two meters tall, despite his slouchy, s-shaped posture. His choice of attire, however, slightly hides his thin frame. Namely, he is never seen wearing anything other than thick, ankle length coats, knee high steel reinforced leather boots and light plate gauntlets. A large hat with a sown-in strap is commonly seen atop his head. Hogarth is rather thin in the face, and posesses a snow-white complexion. His features are sharp and slightly sunken while his hair reaches just below his shoulders. Lastly, the most common expression his face takes is that of a wide eyed, teeth clenched grin.
Backstory:
Hogarth's early years have been utterly uneventful, if somewhat dull. Born to a family of simple merchants, he has never experienced the ravages of poverty, nor the comforts of wealth. Being interested in scholarly matters from an early age, his father eagerly supplied the young boy with any tomes he could procure, eventually creating an impressive library. The more the boy grew and read, however, the more he developed an interest in the macabre and morbid. In fact, the only thing slighty unconventional about Hogarth's life was Hogarth himself.
Even though the boy was joyful and well-mannered, he would, occasionally isolate himself from his peers and family, and would lock himself in the house's cramped reading quarters for hours on end. He'd fill these quarters with notes upon notes on increasingly disturbing subjects, casually adorning them with sketches depicting death's heads, wights, and other ghoulish creatures. Other times, he'd sink into mirth filled monologues regarding unpleasant matters, most common being the dead, both walking and not. When he was finally of age, it came to no one's surprise when he cheerfully proclaimed that he was joining the Grave Keepers. Now, he is most commonly seen wandering about the outer graveyard with a smile on his face, even when off duty.
Other:
Equipment:
Bandolier: A tanned leather bandolier consisting of a torso and belt part helps Hogarth store numerous vials of potions and his weapons.
Axes: Hogarth is not the best when it comes to handling meelee weapons, with the exception of his two small throwing axes, used to quickly incapacitate hostile undead, or humans.
Stake thrower: A medium to short range repeater crossbow customized by Hogarth, it is small enough to be fired from one hand if the need arises. |
48,849 | 1,316 | 8 | 2,653 | 1,901 | Understood sir. Nova smirked, already aware that her first priority was making it through the night. No story her father told her was going to prepare her for the real thing; she had made her peace with that long ago. That in mind, she was quite eager to test her limits against that which literally goes bump in the night. She took her time standing as Ben rose and left the room, her male counterpart quick to leave his seat but hesitant to leave the room without her. With a raised eyebrow Nova walked toward the door, pausing to shake the man's hand.
"Nova... And only time will tell how true that statement is." The young woman smiled with a small chuckle, revealing the jesting nature behind her words. Moving forward, Nova stepped out into the fading light of evening eyes immediately locking on to Ben's form steadily moving away from them. "Old Ben, as you call him, doesn't wait for much let alone him new rookies. Better hurry up before we get left behind." She bounded forward a few paces, her long legs allowing her to catch up rather easily as Nova fell into step behind the guy. | Name:
Nova Blake
Age:
21
Gender:
Female
Appearance:
With most of her height being in her legs, Nova stands at an average height of 5'10". For obvious reasons she keeps herself toned and combat-ready, however she naturally retains a meatier curve especially in her hip and thigh areas. She has long blonde hair that reaches to the small of her back if she kept it down, but for the most part she keeps the bulk tied back in a bun or ponytail. Not caring much for her outward appearances, Nova can be found wearing the same thing in public that she would wear when working: All black and rather menacing. This include light-weight and form fitting cloth material that more often than not has tears from previous fights, and a hooded cloak that covers her face when drawn. The only thing metallic she wears are a pair of boots, which makes her approach just as intimidating as her glare. In addition to a rather dark choice in color pallet, Nova's night shifts have led to her having a rather pale complexion that somewhat resembled the creatures she's sworn to fight.
Backstory:
Nova's very existence is considered a bit of an "embarrassment" to the image of the City Guard. The son of one of their prominent members fell in love and eloped with a witch by the name of Salahyna. Planning to take advantage of this situation, the witch began plotting a robbery of the cemetery hidden beneath the city with her coven. These plans changed however when she found herself pregnant with Nova. Double crossing her partners in crime, Salahyna begged for asylum and protection but before her lover could explain the situation to his father, the man was murdered by her former comrades. Blowing the wistle on her abilities, Salahyna had to go into hiding from both the city's soldiers and her angry pursuers until Nova was born. Seeing no other choice, Salahyna left her newborn child in the care of a family who had been struggling to have a child. Leaving in a hurry, Salahyna gifted but a single necklace and a name to the girl before departing, never to be seen or heard from again.
Growing up with her foster family, Nova's only clue to her past was the odd necklace her mother gave her. Despite its creepy nature, Nova still wore it every day to stay close to a life she had never know. Her foster family wasn't rich by any means, but they got by somehow, maintaining their long-lived traditions as Grave Keepers. Having no son of their own, her foster father raised her as if she had been a boy, training her in preparation for a job that no one wanted. Like many a Grave Keeper her foster father eventually passed away in an attack leaving Nova to take his place to support her foster mother, whose health had been declining over the years. Ever since Nova started actually going into town to get groceries and medicine for her foster mother, she's found herself facing the ridicule of actual City Guardsmen despite having no idea why.
Equipment:
Necklace: She always wears her mother's necklace despite how creepy it is. She'll hide it when in public but doesn't bother when working. The green gem set in the design will start to glow if Nova is near the effects of magic, specifically a Necromancer's work. The brighter the light, the closer the source.
Weapons: Nova is partial to a long scythe, feeling it sets the mood better for her line of work. That and it scares the hell out of the living. She also keeps a dagger sheathed in her right boot.
City Required: A shovel kept in perfect shape (cause what come's up must eventually return to its grave...) and the standard uniform (that she'll wear like once in her life).
Other:
Fastened around her waist is a satchel that she houses sweets in. She has a bit of an addiction to candies of all types.
She's a work in progress at the moment, got asked to stay a little longer than usual while babysitting. Possibly thinking about making another character as well too, but we'll see after she's complete.
EDIT: Ready for Review. |
48,850 | 1,316 | 9 | 532 | 638 | Benjamin waited for the two of them to catch up. Once they left the office he set off talking as he lead them through the streets. "We have to hurry, were we're going it's much harder to get in the dark." he said simply leading them out of the slums and into a simple middle class neighbourhood. He stopped abruptly at a house at the end of the street. "You are standing outside the most frequently haunted house in all of Ashtyn. To my knowledge it has been visited by no less then 46 ghosts throughout the years."
The house in question was really quite unassuming. It was a simple two story building, that despite the appearance of being uninhabited was in well shape. It's paint was peeling in many places and the yard was overgrown, yet the windows weren't boarded up and all the glass was in the frame. "If you two are going to become Grave Keepers, I need to know if you have the talents for the trade. Most folk can sense a ghost, but only the gifted can truly feel them, hear them, and guide them. I need to see how well you two can do that, and if you can follow simple directions. You need to last till midnight in there, without me holding your hand. If that is too much for you leave now. Otherwise follow me inside for instruction." And with that Ben took the stone steps one at a time opening the door, and entered the most haunted house in Ashtyn. | Name:Benjamin Graham
Age:114
Appearance: Benjamin is a mostly silent, bitter man. His voice is raw and gravaly from lack of use. Thus hair is a long filthy unkempt gray. His eyes are a filmy half blind brown. He would stand at 5' 8'' if he stood up straight, yet with his slouch he is closer to 5' 5'' He almost perpetually wears his GraveKeeper uniform. Knee length boots of a waterproof make, dull gray trousers, a warm forrest green button up shirt, a cloak starting at the shoulder and ending at the waist, finally a wide brimmed hat. The uniform was designed to keep of the rain, provide warmth, protection, and scare of unsavory sorts.
Gender: Male
Backstory: Benjamin Graham has worked as a Ashtyn Grave Keeper for nearly 95 years stubbornly refusing to retire or die until he is certain that his charge will remain safe after his death. In his youth he was a wild man, squandering his families fortune on drink, women, fine clothes, but most often cards and games of chance. He found himself deeply in debt as he had wasted the wealth his dead family left him. Benjamin was left with a choice, rot in prison for the rest of his days, or become a Grave Keeper as Ashtyn had been left without one for nearly 3 years. Despite long he ago paying away his debts, Ben buried himself in his work devoting his entire life to keeping the graveyards safe, and the dead at rest.
He is unofficially recognized as the head Grave Keeper of Ashytyn and takes it upon himself to train the new Grave Keepers. He has no life outside of Grave keeping, and is only seen outside his cemetery cottage while working, or buying supplies.
Equipment: Grave Keeper uniform, well worn and older than most Grave Keepers careers.
Shovel kept razor sharp and ready. A pike like blade is on the butt end of the handle.
A rail splitting axe, for the dangerous undead.
A satchel filled with trinkets and mementos to help the peaceful dead find the life, includes coins, tinker toys, a silver mirror, a holy book, paper and pen for writing messages, and a match book.
A belt with many flasks and bottles tied to it. Some are potions and concoctions necessary for his trade, others are medicine for his age and health, and one or two are simply alcohol.
Other: Thinks helping the benign dead pass on to be the most enjoyable part of the job. Hasn't collected his pay in over 12 years, it's all waiting for him at the office, and when he purchases something they just collect it from there. |
48,851 | 1,316 | 10 | 2,653 | 1,901 | Nova stood at the foot of the stone steps, gazing up at the building. It was one of those places people went out of their way to avoid. Various rumors and legends floated around the ciy about this house, but one thing everyone could agree on was that th eplace was definitely haunted. One story said that on nights where the mooon is full and the veil is thin, hordes of ghosts inhabit the building, wandering aimlessly, crying out forever lost. The sight of the place sent a shiver down her spine causing her grip on her weapon to tighten significantly. Inhaling slowly, Nova bounded up the steps two at a time until she had reached the door of the house and entered after Benjamin.
The inside wasn't much different from the outside, obviously old and a little run down but it lacked the feeling of abandonment. It was a curious thing that made Nova wonder if someone visited the place regularly to make sure the place stood standing, and what reason they would have for such a task. Shaking her head Nova scanned the inside of the room, her free hand hovering over where her amulet lay hidden for comfort. "Only until midnight? What do you want us to do?" She questioned, feeling the task too easy thus far. Simply lasting the night wouldn't be a real test of their skills, if Ben wanted to know what they were capable of or how compatible with the job they were he would need to make it a lot more challenging than a drunk man's dare. Nova wasn't pleased to have to spend the night in that particular house, but she wasn't about to let her new mentor short-change her and her teammate because they were newbs. | Name:
Nova Blake
Age:
21
Gender:
Female
Appearance:
With most of her height being in her legs, Nova stands at an average height of 5'10". For obvious reasons she keeps herself toned and combat-ready, however she naturally retains a meatier curve especially in her hip and thigh areas. She has long blonde hair that reaches to the small of her back if she kept it down, but for the most part she keeps the bulk tied back in a bun or ponytail. Not caring much for her outward appearances, Nova can be found wearing the same thing in public that she would wear when working: All black and rather menacing. This include light-weight and form fitting cloth material that more often than not has tears from previous fights, and a hooded cloak that covers her face when drawn. The only thing metallic she wears are a pair of boots, which makes her approach just as intimidating as her glare. In addition to a rather dark choice in color pallet, Nova's night shifts have led to her having a rather pale complexion that somewhat resembled the creatures she's sworn to fight.
Backstory:
Nova's very existence is considered a bit of an "embarrassment" to the image of the City Guard. The son of one of their prominent members fell in love and eloped with a witch by the name of Salahyna. Planning to take advantage of this situation, the witch began plotting a robbery of the cemetery hidden beneath the city with her coven. These plans changed however when she found herself pregnant with Nova. Double crossing her partners in crime, Salahyna begged for asylum and protection but before her lover could explain the situation to his father, the man was murdered by her former comrades. Blowing the wistle on her abilities, Salahyna had to go into hiding from both the city's soldiers and her angry pursuers until Nova was born. Seeing no other choice, Salahyna left her newborn child in the care of a family who had been struggling to have a child. Leaving in a hurry, Salahyna gifted but a single necklace and a name to the girl before departing, never to be seen or heard from again.
Growing up with her foster family, Nova's only clue to her past was the odd necklace her mother gave her. Despite its creepy nature, Nova still wore it every day to stay close to a life she had never know. Her foster family wasn't rich by any means, but they got by somehow, maintaining their long-lived traditions as Grave Keepers. Having no son of their own, her foster father raised her as if she had been a boy, training her in preparation for a job that no one wanted. Like many a Grave Keeper her foster father eventually passed away in an attack leaving Nova to take his place to support her foster mother, whose health had been declining over the years. Ever since Nova started actually going into town to get groceries and medicine for her foster mother, she's found herself facing the ridicule of actual City Guardsmen despite having no idea why.
Equipment:
Necklace: She always wears her mother's necklace despite how creepy it is. She'll hide it when in public but doesn't bother when working. The green gem set in the design will start to glow if Nova is near the effects of magic, specifically a Necromancer's work. The brighter the light, the closer the source.
Weapons: Nova is partial to a long scythe, feeling it sets the mood better for her line of work. That and it scares the hell out of the living. She also keeps a dagger sheathed in her right boot.
City Required: A shovel kept in perfect shape (cause what come's up must eventually return to its grave...) and the standard uniform (that she'll wear like once in her life).
Other:
Fastened around her waist is a satchel that she houses sweets in. She has a bit of an addiction to candies of all types.
She's a work in progress at the moment, got asked to stay a little longer than usual while babysitting. Possibly thinking about making another character as well too, but we'll see after she's complete.
EDIT: Ready for Review. |
48,852 | 1,316 | 11 | 2,543 | 175 | Fourty s- How many?! Oh, my! Spouted Hogarth in disbelief, eyeing the slightly decrepit building's facade up and down. He tried to keep his feet on the ground when it came to hauntings and his job as a Grave Keeper, as he knew that the restless dead were not at all something common to be seen, most alleged sightings being tall tales and ordinary events viewed through the lens of an overactive imagination. But, if the legend himself stated such a thing to be true, then his judgement can surely be trusted. He was excited beyond thought, but quickly, a heavy cloud of doubt fell over him. "Gifted", said Old Ben. He had studied occult lore for as long as he remembered, hell, he was practically raised by it. Yet, a "gift" is not something that comes neither with study, nor good will. What if he were unable to see them at all?
He shook his head, as if to cast such thoughts away. Leave the present to the present, and the future to itself, he thought. There was no room nor use for such ridiculous moping. He was about to enter the single most haunted site of Ashtyn. That unto itself was a grand experience. He retrieved a vial from his bandolier, and, uncorking it with his teeth, poured its' contents onto the blade of his handaxe. He placed the vial back, puffed his chest and followed Nova. The moment he stepped into the old house, his face once again lit up. | Name: Hogarth Nethayr
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Appearance: Hogarth is a cheerful, wiry young man, dressed exclusively in black. He looks nearly emaciated, and stands about two meters tall, despite his slouchy, s-shaped posture. His choice of attire, however, slightly hides his thin frame. Namely, he is never seen wearing anything other than thick, ankle length coats, knee high steel reinforced leather boots and light plate gauntlets. A large hat with a sown-in strap is commonly seen atop his head. Hogarth is rather thin in the face, and posesses a snow-white complexion. His features are sharp and slightly sunken while his hair reaches just below his shoulders. Lastly, the most common expression his face takes is that of a wide eyed, teeth clenched grin.
Backstory:
Hogarth's early years have been utterly uneventful, if somewhat dull. Born to a family of simple merchants, he has never experienced the ravages of poverty, nor the comforts of wealth. Being interested in scholarly matters from an early age, his father eagerly supplied the young boy with any tomes he could procure, eventually creating an impressive library. The more the boy grew and read, however, the more he developed an interest in the macabre and morbid. In fact, the only thing slighty unconventional about Hogarth's life was Hogarth himself.
Even though the boy was joyful and well-mannered, he would, occasionally isolate himself from his peers and family, and would lock himself in the house's cramped reading quarters for hours on end. He'd fill these quarters with notes upon notes on increasingly disturbing subjects, casually adorning them with sketches depicting death's heads, wights, and other ghoulish creatures. Other times, he'd sink into mirth filled monologues regarding unpleasant matters, most common being the dead, both walking and not. When he was finally of age, it came to no one's surprise when he cheerfully proclaimed that he was joining the Grave Keepers. Now, he is most commonly seen wandering about the outer graveyard with a smile on his face, even when off duty.
Other:
Equipment:
Bandolier: A tanned leather bandolier consisting of a torso and belt part helps Hogarth store numerous vials of potions and his weapons.
Axes: Hogarth is not the best when it comes to handling meelee weapons, with the exception of his two small throwing axes, used to quickly incapacitate hostile undead, or humans.
Stake thrower: A medium to short range repeater crossbow customized by Hogarth, it is small enough to be fired from one hand if the need arises. |
48,853 | 1,316 | 12 | 532 | 638 | Ben didn't miss the annoyance in Nova's voice and the apprehension in Hogarth's. He ignored them for a moment lost in memories, both bitter sweet and painful. In his youth he tried to make it here more often and set the buildings inhabitants at ease. Yet he hadn't been here in over 9 years, he was silent as he reached out and tried to feel them. The ghosts weren't active yet and he doubted the other two would feel them yet. Finally he answered them, "What you two need to do is follow my directions I need to know you can do that. This area draws in the least dangerous form of undead, the lost and confused ghosts. Chances are most of them won't know their even dead. I want you to feel them tonight. Leave them be and just practice sensing them, if your capable you'll know what I mean when they come. If you do good we may have more work to do. Before it gets dark and I have to leave I have a few rules you must follow. 1 stay together, 2 there is a grand piano and a pair of white gloves upstairs do not touch either! 3 your here to observe don't talk to the ghosts, if they get violent fight back or leave. 4, and this is the most important, no matter what you hear don't go into the cellar! Any questions?" | Name:Benjamin Graham
Age:114
Appearance: Benjamin is a mostly silent, bitter man. His voice is raw and gravaly from lack of use. Thus hair is a long filthy unkempt gray. His eyes are a filmy half blind brown. He would stand at 5' 8'' if he stood up straight, yet with his slouch he is closer to 5' 5'' He almost perpetually wears his GraveKeeper uniform. Knee length boots of a waterproof make, dull gray trousers, a warm forrest green button up shirt, a cloak starting at the shoulder and ending at the waist, finally a wide brimmed hat. The uniform was designed to keep of the rain, provide warmth, protection, and scare of unsavory sorts.
Gender: Male
Backstory: Benjamin Graham has worked as a Ashtyn Grave Keeper for nearly 95 years stubbornly refusing to retire or die until he is certain that his charge will remain safe after his death. In his youth he was a wild man, squandering his families fortune on drink, women, fine clothes, but most often cards and games of chance. He found himself deeply in debt as he had wasted the wealth his dead family left him. Benjamin was left with a choice, rot in prison for the rest of his days, or become a Grave Keeper as Ashtyn had been left without one for nearly 3 years. Despite long he ago paying away his debts, Ben buried himself in his work devoting his entire life to keeping the graveyards safe, and the dead at rest.
He is unofficially recognized as the head Grave Keeper of Ashytyn and takes it upon himself to train the new Grave Keepers. He has no life outside of Grave keeping, and is only seen outside his cemetery cottage while working, or buying supplies.
Equipment: Grave Keeper uniform, well worn and older than most Grave Keepers careers.
Shovel kept razor sharp and ready. A pike like blade is on the butt end of the handle.
A rail splitting axe, for the dangerous undead.
A satchel filled with trinkets and mementos to help the peaceful dead find the life, includes coins, tinker toys, a silver mirror, a holy book, paper and pen for writing messages, and a match book.
A belt with many flasks and bottles tied to it. Some are potions and concoctions necessary for his trade, others are medicine for his age and health, and one or two are simply alcohol.
Other: Thinks helping the benign dead pass on to be the most enjoyable part of the job. Hasn't collected his pay in over 12 years, it's all waiting for him at the office, and when he purchases something they just collect it from there. |
48,854 | 1,316 | 13 | 2,653 | 1,901 | Crossing her arms, Nova sighed with resignation. If tonight was supposed to be a test of their patience, she wasn't doing too well thus far. The presence of death always made her a little anxious, not that she feared them per say, but there was something familiar about the way it felt. Like a thick blanket of fog that she could reach out and grab with her own two hands, just the thought of it sent shivers down her spine.
"And what exactly do you expect we'll hear coming from the cellar?" Pulling a sash from her belt, fastening each end to a designated hook on her weapon shaft. Slipping it over her head, Nova shifted the familiar weight of her scythe to her back so that her hands might be free for the evening. If all they were doing was sensing the spirits within the house, she wasn't going to need her weapon for that... In fact she was sure she would end up offending someone with it and causing unnecessary trouble for her new teammate. With a shake of her head, Nova lifted her right hand and waved it dismissively. "On second thought, I don't want to know. It'll be more interesting this way."
Stuffing her hands in her pockets, Nova began wandering about the entry way to give Hogarth some time to ask any questions of his own before she tapped his shoulder. "Come on, I think we should have a look around the place before it gets too much darker. Get familiar with space and all that, you know?" | Name:
Nova Blake
Age:
21
Gender:
Female
Appearance:
With most of her height being in her legs, Nova stands at an average height of 5'10". For obvious reasons she keeps herself toned and combat-ready, however she naturally retains a meatier curve especially in her hip and thigh areas. She has long blonde hair that reaches to the small of her back if she kept it down, but for the most part she keeps the bulk tied back in a bun or ponytail. Not caring much for her outward appearances, Nova can be found wearing the same thing in public that she would wear when working: All black and rather menacing. This include light-weight and form fitting cloth material that more often than not has tears from previous fights, and a hooded cloak that covers her face when drawn. The only thing metallic she wears are a pair of boots, which makes her approach just as intimidating as her glare. In addition to a rather dark choice in color pallet, Nova's night shifts have led to her having a rather pale complexion that somewhat resembled the creatures she's sworn to fight.
Backstory:
Nova's very existence is considered a bit of an "embarrassment" to the image of the City Guard. The son of one of their prominent members fell in love and eloped with a witch by the name of Salahyna. Planning to take advantage of this situation, the witch began plotting a robbery of the cemetery hidden beneath the city with her coven. These plans changed however when she found herself pregnant with Nova. Double crossing her partners in crime, Salahyna begged for asylum and protection but before her lover could explain the situation to his father, the man was murdered by her former comrades. Blowing the wistle on her abilities, Salahyna had to go into hiding from both the city's soldiers and her angry pursuers until Nova was born. Seeing no other choice, Salahyna left her newborn child in the care of a family who had been struggling to have a child. Leaving in a hurry, Salahyna gifted but a single necklace and a name to the girl before departing, never to be seen or heard from again.
Growing up with her foster family, Nova's only clue to her past was the odd necklace her mother gave her. Despite its creepy nature, Nova still wore it every day to stay close to a life she had never know. Her foster family wasn't rich by any means, but they got by somehow, maintaining their long-lived traditions as Grave Keepers. Having no son of their own, her foster father raised her as if she had been a boy, training her in preparation for a job that no one wanted. Like many a Grave Keeper her foster father eventually passed away in an attack leaving Nova to take his place to support her foster mother, whose health had been declining over the years. Ever since Nova started actually going into town to get groceries and medicine for her foster mother, she's found herself facing the ridicule of actual City Guardsmen despite having no idea why.
Equipment:
Necklace: She always wears her mother's necklace despite how creepy it is. She'll hide it when in public but doesn't bother when working. The green gem set in the design will start to glow if Nova is near the effects of magic, specifically a Necromancer's work. The brighter the light, the closer the source.
Weapons: Nova is partial to a long scythe, feeling it sets the mood better for her line of work. That and it scares the hell out of the living. She also keeps a dagger sheathed in her right boot.
City Required: A shovel kept in perfect shape (cause what come's up must eventually return to its grave...) and the standard uniform (that she'll wear like once in her life).
Other:
Fastened around her waist is a satchel that she houses sweets in. She has a bit of an addiction to candies of all types.
She's a work in progress at the moment, got asked to stay a little longer than usual while babysitting. Possibly thinking about making another character as well too, but we'll see after she's complete.
EDIT: Ready for Review. |
48,855 | 1,316 | 14 | 2,543 | 175 | After hearing Old Ben's instructions, Hogarth was ecstatic. Haunted pianos, dark cellars, cobwebs, looming danger from beyond the grave. Still firmly gripping his handaxe, he raised a brow in curiosity at his comrade's question, and turned back to his boss once she distanced herself. "I must say, I too share miss Nova's curiosity. What exactly is tied to said instrument, and what may dwell within the cellar? Oh! Perhaps a poltergeist in the piano and a spirit host below us? At least that's my guess. Perhaps a Spectre? No, no. Most spirit hosts are, after all commonly located within-" He abruptly ceased talking and delivered a rather embarrassed grin, realizing he had almost began to ramble. He doubted if a display of knowledge, even though spontaneous would not be frowned upon. Shaking his head in an attempt to cast his mania aside, he cleared his throat before rephrasing. "So... Yes. What are we facing here? Oh- and, is distilled Graveroot extract a good choice for making my axe spirit-wounding? Or should I've used spider-moss instead?"
***
After hearing what Old Ben had to offer, Hogarth's additional barrage of questions was halted before it could even begin by a tap on the shoulder. Realizing he had much more work to do, and that Nova shouldn't be kept waiting anymore, he motioned goodbye to Old Ben with utmost solemnity and followed her, feeling a tad guilty. "Indeed. Good thinking. Pardon the long wait, I just tend to... Lose track of time occasionally." He let loose a small cough-like chuckle and momentarily averted his eyes elsewhere. "Uh, by the way, nifty scythe." | Name: Hogarth Nethayr
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Appearance: Hogarth is a cheerful, wiry young man, dressed exclusively in black. He looks nearly emaciated, and stands about two meters tall, despite his slouchy, s-shaped posture. His choice of attire, however, slightly hides his thin frame. Namely, he is never seen wearing anything other than thick, ankle length coats, knee high steel reinforced leather boots and light plate gauntlets. A large hat with a sown-in strap is commonly seen atop his head. Hogarth is rather thin in the face, and posesses a snow-white complexion. His features are sharp and slightly sunken while his hair reaches just below his shoulders. Lastly, the most common expression his face takes is that of a wide eyed, teeth clenched grin.
Backstory:
Hogarth's early years have been utterly uneventful, if somewhat dull. Born to a family of simple merchants, he has never experienced the ravages of poverty, nor the comforts of wealth. Being interested in scholarly matters from an early age, his father eagerly supplied the young boy with any tomes he could procure, eventually creating an impressive library. The more the boy grew and read, however, the more he developed an interest in the macabre and morbid. In fact, the only thing slighty unconventional about Hogarth's life was Hogarth himself.
Even though the boy was joyful and well-mannered, he would, occasionally isolate himself from his peers and family, and would lock himself in the house's cramped reading quarters for hours on end. He'd fill these quarters with notes upon notes on increasingly disturbing subjects, casually adorning them with sketches depicting death's heads, wights, and other ghoulish creatures. Other times, he'd sink into mirth filled monologues regarding unpleasant matters, most common being the dead, both walking and not. When he was finally of age, it came to no one's surprise when he cheerfully proclaimed that he was joining the Grave Keepers. Now, he is most commonly seen wandering about the outer graveyard with a smile on his face, even when off duty.
Other:
Equipment:
Bandolier: A tanned leather bandolier consisting of a torso and belt part helps Hogarth store numerous vials of potions and his weapons.
Axes: Hogarth is not the best when it comes to handling meelee weapons, with the exception of his two small throwing axes, used to quickly incapacitate hostile undead, or humans.
Stake thrower: A medium to short range repeater crossbow customized by Hogarth, it is small enough to be fired from one hand if the need arises. |
48,856 | 1,317 | 0 | 2,739 | 207 | Oksana
The Heavens, the most beautiful, and brilliant place in all the world. Nothing could compare to it’s majesty in the lands of Mortals, the brilliant white ivory that made up every column, and pedestal, the magnificent statues, and art that made up the décor in every room. The delicately placed gold inlays that streamed seamlessly across the domed ceiling to it’s very core where a large crystal filled a void in the ceiling filtering in beams of sunlight. This place was built beautifully, and every detail carefully crafted by the King himself, no detail went untouched, and though there was an air of foreboding, still this place shined like a star in a sea of darkness compared to what his children had made in the lands below. Set in the middle of the room was a single box, clear, shimmering, made of pure diamond, and inside was the body of the King, forever frozen in time by his beautiful coffin. Making a semi-circle around the tomb is series of thrones, each carved, and decorated for the God that would be assigned to it, several though would of course go empty as their owners were no longer alive. Meanwhile one large throne sat at the head, empty it would remain, several centers of power sealed into its frame, vibrating and waiting for someone to claim it.
The sky flashed outside for a moment, a single bolt of lightning streaking through a window, and across the chamber crashing against the smooth marble floor. A flash of light would have blinded anyone there before revealing Oksana to stand where the flash of lightning had once stood. Rather than her armor she wore a smooth robe of sheer silk, it clung to her body like damp cloth though it was light as air. Every outline of her body stood out in detail that could only be more revealing if she had gone naked. Turning to look around the council chambers, she saw that no one else had arrived, and gave a sigh. “Always late, even when the Keeper calls.” She muttered as she moved to her throne, one that literally was storm clouds floating in the air, with flashes of lighting appearing inside the dense, dark nimbus. She settled into the throne. A sharp rectangle of light suddenly cut its way through near the corner of the room.
From the rectangle of light steps a large dark skinned man, clad in gold armor, and carrying a staff with a eye upon the end. “I see you are the first to arrive as always Oksana. I have sent messages to the minds of all your siblings. All of them, and even your nieces and nephews.” Slowly the man walked towards the middle of the room, standing before the diamond coffin calloused hands stroking across the lid of the tomb. “You know, I used to be jealous that your father named all of you, but me.. I am simply Guardian, or the Guardian. Though I have grown old and understand that my purpose is greater than I realized at that time.” Giving a sigh a he began to shuffle towards the King’s throne, his age beginning to show more with every step. “We have maybe a few years… Before it all.. I suppose I should wait till the others arrive.” The Guardian waved his hand, and a smaller chair appeared next to the King’s throne, the Guardian taking his seat.
With pursed lips Oksana listened to the Guardian speak, of emotions that had never been expressed aloud before. “You were most precious to the King, Guardian. You are also precious to all of us.” She looked to her Father, staring at his corpse, his white hair long and brained down his chest. A single tear rolled down her cheek and dropped onto her robe. She then looked to the other thrones, they were empty for now, but soon most would be full. Only the major Gods had thrones though, those that were minor gods would be forced to stand, and listen, their words likely to be ignored by the rest of those attending. “I hope we can come to a peacable outcome…” Her eyes lifted wandering to the windows, remembering the rebellion as she looked at the thrones that would remain empty, remembering those who died. Her mind began to wander to her daughters, and Hilde, how she missed Hilde… Another tear rolled down her cheek.
Zadia
The lands of Eperus a hot, dry, empty place full of blood-shed, and anger. A large four armed feminine figure stood alone, blood soaking the sands beneath her feet as she stared at a rather large worm like creature half protruding from the sand. Zadia flexed slightly as she yanked her spear free from the creature’s head, eyes narrowing as she smiled a bit gleefully at the bloodshed. Today had been a good hunt, she thought to herself as she stepped onto the corpse. Her body glistened with a light sheen of sweat, her attire simple, bracers, shin guards, and the most insignificant covering on her breasts in the form of gold coins molded and fit to her body’s shape. This was more than was normal for the race that she was bred from, as they typically wore nothing at all.
As she soaked in her victory a voice suddenly sounded through her mind, the voice of the Guardian, speaking to her, to the one who was banished from all of the other God’s lands after she had warred against so many even after the rebellion. ’Come now daughter of War, daughter of Kovar. The time has come for you to join the other gods, to take your place among them. The time to choose a new King is upon us.’ For a long time Zadia could do nothing but stand there, staring off in the distance, her body tense.
“I see.” She said more to herself than anyone else.” Suddenly her legs flexed and she jumped into the air, her body sizzling away as she turned into a red ball of energy that shot up towards the sky. “Now is the time for me to take my place, to claim the throne for my father!” | Name: Zadia
Gender: Female
Appearance:
Personality:
Major Domain: None|Minor Goddess
Minor Domains: Amazons, Hate
Your Avatar:
143 feet in length, Zigrit is and imposing sight, her body pure muscle powerful and coiling. She has six arms and each of those arms carries a weapon forged for her size though crude in comparison to what someone much smaller would wield they are deadly nonetheless. She is capable of biting and inflicting a venom quite deadly, or simply spraying it from her fangs at those who she would face.
Stance: Zadia believes she is the true heir to the throne, as her father was Heir to the throne, so she would come next.
Loyalty During the Rebellion: She sided with her father War of course, there would be no other choice. She in that war killed Ahru’s daughter, and near the end was captured by Di’Myria who held her within a prison till her her father Kovar was killed.
Center of Power: None, Minor God
Relations:
Friends with Naqqash as they are both Orphans from the same side of the Rebellion
Hated by Ahru after killing Ahru’s daughter
Powers: She is extremely strong, capable of feats of strength four times that of an average god. She is capable of going into a state of rage where her skin becomes as tough as steel, and her need to destroy her enemies knows no bounds. She is also capable of instilling in her Amazons a fearlessness in battle making them all capable fighters who never give up.
Godly Equipment:
Spear of Kovar: Her Father’s spear it is a Gods Bane weapon made of pure bronze, and capable of punching through armor rather easily. It releases a powerful blast of energy capable of cracking most armor and obliterating the enemy wearing it if struck with a direct hit.
Axe of Ruin: The axe of Ruin is a terrible weapon to behold, whenever it strikes it leaves behind a trail of rust that begins to grow sapping armor of it’s endurance. This weapon used to be Zadia’s brother’s own axe.
Blade of Feth: It appears to be a normal sword, but that would be deceiving, whenever it cuts flesh it begins to sap the energy of whoever it had cut after so many it could leave someone extremely weak. This is a God’s Bane Weapon.
Shield of Kovar: Her father’s shield, its indestructible against anything to crash against it, even dragons fire.
Demi Gods: None yet
Name of your Land: Illiosis
Lands: Illiosis is a enormous wasteland of sand, and rock, filled with extremely poisonous cacti, and deadly creatures including, but not limited to enormous sandworms that dive in and out of the desert devouring whatever they come across. Packs of wild creatures known as Ushra by the Amazons look like feline reptiles, their teeth sharp, claws long and deadly. Any who might have gotten cut off from their group can quickly fall prey to these beasts. Hundreds of other creatures roam these lands all of them just as dangerous as the last in their own ways.
People: The Fushwari (Known to outsiders are Amazons) are powerfully muscled ten foot tall four armed women. There doesn’t seem to be any males among the, that being because they procreate rather oddly. One month out of the year is considered mating season where approximately half of the population will grow male genitalia as to impregnate the other half, wherein four months and each baby will be carried to term. They’re stronger than the average person easily capable of throw several hundreds pounds more than the Average human. Their skin is tougher as well, more akin to leather than that of actual human skin.
Culture: The Fushwari are a primitive culture, with dated ideas, but Zadia only insists on this as she believes it keeps them strong, and easier to control. They live in houses built into the side of cliff faces as to keep away from the sandworms. They believe firmly in war, and combat, that this will lead them to an afterlife where they will reside forever with the War God. They frequently hunt down their own when they worship any deities that are not Zadia, and brutally murder them. They also once a year have a sacrifice in which they kill one of their own for Zadia.
They believe strongly in combat, and so they have created a huge stone pit in which the sandworms cannot enter, it is here that they have Gladiatoral competitions, the Fushwari fighting each other, and other beasts to prove their strength. They also drag prisoners captured in raids to this place, to fight as well.
Technology: The Fushwari are very tribal, their weapons primitive, but strong made from the sands they us a lot of Glass weapons. Though they are glass they are as strong as steel with the way they are made. The Fushwari also use shields made from the local trees, though they are more scarce and only rewarded to the elite. They tend to not wear any armor, or any clothes at all really and would typically be found in such a way, unashamed of their nudity.
Capital: None
Beings: WIP |
48,857 | 1,317 | 1 | 906 | 30 | Ferrum
The heavy blows of his hammer against the heated metal currently in his care, the heavy striking with expert placement to shape the metal to his will, the Forge ringing with every impact, the sound almost musical to his ears, drowning out the hatred he felt for why he was making this weapon. Remaking would be a better wording, for this weapon was one he had crafted many centuries before, before the devastation of the rebellion of Kovar, a weapon he had shattered and damn near killed himself.
Vatra soared over his head, a wash of fresh, invigorating heat flowing over himd as he worked, his avatar soaring to take its perch atop the Forge itself. He smiled, his hands never stopping the work before them, he had spent nearly six months restoring this weapon, his mind running through the countless weapons forged through his hands in his life, fixed on the long spear, almost nagatina-style weapon, it was a deadly weapon, the scar on his chest was tantamount to that, and here he was remaking a weapon that could kill him, and others of his somewhat argumentative family. With a quiet sigh he pushed the cooling metal back into the forge, the blade had to be perfect again, the haft was completed, down to the engravings etched painstakingly with the same detail he had placed in it all those centuries before.
“Father,” came the soft voice of his daughter, Siani, stepping into his sanctum from the worlds of gods and mortals, none could enter without his permission, the temper of the Forge itself was not something to be taken lightly, and to trespass was a severe tempting of fate.
“What is it, daughter?” he said, pulling the metal from the Forge and placing it upon the anvil.
“The Guardian calls us, to choose a new King, all are summoned,” she said, keeping her distance from her father.
“Find your brother, I’ll meet you at the Mouth of the Forge,” he said, continuing to beat the metal into what his mind was picturing it to be.
It was a rare thing that would make Ferrum stop what he was making, and Siani knew in her heart, despite all the hate and death dealt in the war, the loss of the King, Ferrum’s own father, cut deep into him, piercing deeper than any blade could, a wound that no armor could prevent. He was focussing on something to keep the pain of it away, despite the side he choose during the Rebellion, he did love his father. The heavy blow was a little much, even she saw that bubbling of frustration in how tense his muscles became, the hissing of the metal telling her he thrust it back into the heat to correct it.
She left without another word, but Ferrum could feel the eyes of Vatra upon his back, the great fire bird was still perched above him, staring at him when he looked up at her. She stretched her wings and let him take in her full glory before settling again and looking up to the skies above. Ferrum smiled as he pulled the steel from his Forge, beating the imperfection out of it quickly and precisely, the ringing of the strikes becoming quick and almost musical as he worked, forgetting the world around him as he finished forging the metal to his will, leaning up some hours later with the finished piece in his grasp. He stepped over to the haft he had remade for it, the moment the base of the steel touched the haft he felt the almost shocking charge of the connection, of a weapon that knew it was to be whole again. He didn’t need to fix the pair together, the steel slid easily into the haft, the neck constricting suddenly to hold it in place, a wave of fire cascading over the blade and down the haft as the powers it once held were once more held into creation.
“Father! We must go!” called Siani from the great gate to the Forge, Krixis, her bearded brother standing at her side, a full two feet taller than his sibling.
“I know, was just finishing an old mistake,” said Ferrum, wrapping the weapon in a sheet of cloth bearing the sigil of his Forge and realm. He carried the weapon as though he revered it, passing it to Krixis as he reached them.
“Wyrm’s Tooth is a creature of pride, she won’t allow me to hold her completed form for long, not after the last time,” he said, seeing Krixis take the weapon carefully in his hands. The weapon was almost as tall as he was.
Ferrum turned and gripped his own weapon, God-Smiter, an immense war hammer crafted by his brother, Aesis, the weapon was perfectly balanced, a masterpiece created by one other than the God of the Forge, a fact that Ferrum readily accepted. With his weapon in hand, he lead his children to the mouth of the Valley of the Forge, an almost sullen silence between them as Siani wanted to hold the weapon as well.
“I’ll have something for you to carry in the future, daughter, but the fires within that weapon are beyond even your control, I do not wish to tempt fate with your life,” he said as he noticed the looks Siani gave her elder brother.
At the mouth to the Valley, overlooked by the fortifications of Corinth, as well as the two largest golems that Ferrum had ever crafted, was a small dais, raised from the stonework that led through the Valley, and with four large pillars set in a perfect square, the dais was Ferrum’s choice to leave his realm for another, it was an ancient design, before the Dwarfs had mastered the use of hammer and chisel, placed there by the King himself when Ferrum first began to forge his land and people from the wilds they had once been. He looked up to the sky as he placed the head of his God-Bane into the slot, twisting it and watching the fires of the Forge suddenly fill the slight gaps in the stonework, the great flames casting a swirl of sigils and ancient words. With an almost thunderclap of sound, the world around the trio changed.
No longer were they stood in Corantha, the great mountains surrounding them, the open sky above and the great golems watching over them. The stood in the King’s realm now, the beautiful architecture was something that even the God of the Forge was unable to equal on such a scale, Ferrum hefted his God-Bane to his shoulder, running his hand along the great columns as he passed them, stepping into the great hall, two people were already present, the ancient Guardian, and the enforcer of the Gods, a momentary feeling of hatred boiled within his heart, the humiliation of the punishment given to him for his part in the rebellion, and the loss of one of his closest brothers threatening his control of his fiery nature.
“Oksana, first as always I see,” he growled, a voice like granite, grounding from his chest as he stepped past his throne, the monster of shaped iron and stone, with no backrest, it was practically a large anvil, with arm rests of marble at the sides.
His children said nothing as they stepped to either side of the throne, Siani’s temper flaring almost beautifully to Ferrum’s eyes, while Krixis was as cold as metal, his expression giving nothing of the feelings he bore to the Goddess of the Storms. He stepped towards his sister, hammer still at his shoulder, inclining his head slowly before looking to the body of his father.
“Even in life he looked peaceful,” he said, sighing lightly. “You’d think he was just asleep,”
Turning away he stepped to his seat, placing his weapon across it, his silver hands untarnished by any sign he had worked a Forge at any point in time. He looked to the other empty thrones, his eyes settling on the War God's throne, Kovar would never take that throne again, it would remain empty until the sins of the father had passed from memory, but with this family, those sins would burn for a long time yet. | Name: Ferrum
Gender: Male
Appearance:
(Ignore the mechanical arm on his back though) Ferrum stands at the full 14’ height. His arms are the color of silver, with which he crafts the metals within the Forge.
Personality: Where once Ferrum’s temper was as easy to ignite as a fire was to consume dry grass, his commitment to the Forge had moulded his temper with patience, allowing him to work to perfecting his creation with little effort or frustration. And while some are able to break the wall of iron-will he has cast upon himself, he never allows it to come out in large amounts.
The disaster of the rebellion has changed him from seeking to improve his creations of war and death, instead, following the punishment meted out against him for his part in the forty years of battle has reinforced his desire to create things once more, his once fiery temper now embers within his heart.
Major Domain: The Forge
Minor Domain(s): Fire, Metal
Your Avatar:
Called Vatra, standing at 261 feet, and around 400 feet from wingtip to wingtip, Vatra burns near constantly, the flames only hurting those not being honest of their intent and deeds. Vatra is rarely away from Ferrum, and often aids him around his own forge, keeping the fires burning endlessly to provide just the right temperature to create wonders of peace, of weapons of war.
Stance: Ferrum honestly cares little for who sits on the throne as King anymore, and simply wishes to tend to his people and his forge. Because of this stance, he will provide weapons to those he feels are worth the effort, regardless of their views on the current political situation.
Loyalty During Rebellion: Ferrum unexpectedly sided with Kovar the War during the rebellion, won over by the praise given for his work on Kovar's God Bane. It was not unexpected that the two were friends of sorts, for Wars always needed weapons to fight them, the two domains overlapping and a kind of symbiotic relationship kept the two on more even terms than Ferrum ever felt towards their father.
Center of Power: Ferrum’s center of power is an simple iron ingot, one of the first he made with the Forge in his youth, it is always moved throughout the Forge, but regardless of where he puts it, or even if he places it in the largest pile of exact ingots, he knows where it is for the power of the Forge is within that unadorned ingot, the sigil of the Forge stamped into the bottom of it, as with any other ingot.
Relations:
Ki’ivara: Becoming something of a friend to the Goddess of Lust, Ferrum gifted her a palace unlike anything he had constructed in the past as an apology for deeds created in the midst of the rebellion, keeping the details and secrets of it between himself and the Goddess of Lust herself.
Aesis: Ferrum considers Aesis the closest thing to a brother he can with his sibling gods, finding a similar heart in the fury of the ocean’s master. The pair challenged one another to forge a weapon, and the greater shall be the victor. This challenge lasted a full week in length, with Ferrum’s creation of the Riptide trident, and Aesis’ forging of the God-Smiter.
Ahru: Ferrum finds Ahru’s constant meddling an enjoyable way to change the more methodical aspects of his life and work, although there are times when her antics draw his ire, and he knows she actively tries to pull this moments from him..
Di’Myria: During the rebellion, Ferrum had several engagements with Di’Myria, which leveled the lands of their battles, but neither could get that decisive victory over the other. With the rebellion dragging out, War redirected Ferrum to another front, leaving Di’Myria to the Murder God, Loshtar. At the rebellions end, and seeing just what he had allowed his fiery temper to blind him to, Ferrum apologised to the Time Goddess, and now the two regularly meet to discuss various things, with Ferrum learning patience most of all from their meetings.
Kilgarrah: Ferrum and Kilgarrah fought hard during the rebellion, with a somewhat pyrrhic victory landing in Ferrum’s hands after the destruction of one of Ferrum’s many vaults dotted throughout the mountains of Corantha, this battle saw to the breaking of Wyrm Tooth, and the entrapment of Kilgarrah towards the end of the rebellion. Ferrum has held onto the broken remains of Wyrm Tooth, wondering if the weapon would help fix the hatred born from the rebellion.
Powers: Temperature Control, Metal. While not capable of creating fire out of thin air, Ferrum can bring the temperature around him up to intense level, and also back down to near freezing levels, he uses this to aid in his forging, while crafting things with his hands has given him a deep affinity for whenever a metal touches his skin, capable of bending it to his will the longer he has touched it. With this affinity his skin naturally hardens against strikes, making him extremely durable, especially with weapons he created.
Godly Equipment:
Fate’s Anvil: The primary anvil in which Ferrum forges the God Banes, combined with the Destined Hammer it allows Ferrum to transfer the power of the God in question into their weapon or item of choice.
Destined Hammer: The Hammer is the key part to forging God Banes and their items. The Hammer must be held by the God in question to allow a transfer of power into their item, before Ferrum physically beats the item with the God’s power. This is not a long process, the Hammer required to be carried for maybe a full day before Ferrum retrieves it for his Forge.
God-Smiter: This immense Warhammer is Ferrum’s God-Bane, favouring the power of destruction it holds of the speed of smaller and more elegant weapons, it captures Ferrum’s strength easily, each blow capable of cracking open mountains. This is a God Bane.
Demi Gods:
Krixis was born to one of the few mortals to actually enter the Forge itself, his mother a lady of royalty and eager enough to bed the God of the Forge. Krixis rose to station as his affinity of metal became clear, moulding it in many ways and showing an ever increasing need to know more about how to craft and mould ever more complex patterns. He came to his father simply to learn of metalcraft, but after seeing the truth of the Forge, has stayed with his father, crafting his own smaller forge next to the Forge itself. His proudest creation were his Forgekin, at the moment they are lifeless suits of armor in marshalled ranks across his domain of his father’s mountain fortress.
Siani was the second child born to Ferrum, the mother an acolyte of his temple and during one of his few times walking with his people, Ferrum found himself attracted to this woman, while not exactly love, he felt deeply for her, and mourned her loss some years after the birth of Siani. Siani is the more unpredictable of his children, living to her affinity of fire, she can manifest flames from the thin air, and often her tempar is shown by this ability, she bears no weapon other than those she makes from her own flames. It was Siani who went to war with Ferrum during the rebellion, leaving Krixis to protect and govern the people of Corantha.
Name of Land: Corantha
Lands: The lands of Corantha are mostly mountains with forests surrounding the outer edges, and great rivers of fresh water pour down the mountains in large numbers. The lands teem with game and predators, few of which approach the larger mountains.
People: Corantha is mostly filled with settlements of Dwarfs, with the odd human settlement nestled somewhere in the forests along the main routes into and out of Corantha.
Culture: Corantha’s culture is one that is not its own, for their God does not impose his will on them, and instead teaches them the art of forge-work and metalcraft, allowing them to grow as they wish. This in turn has led many of the dwarf communities to focus on metalcraft and mining for the materials required to forge. The scattered human settlements primarily focus on food production, trading with the dwarfs for their metalcraft in exchange for their produce. The homes of the dwarfs, built into the mountains themselves are strong and built to last, while the human settlements are dotted around the foothills and forests, with only a couple of large, developed coastal towns.
Corantha’s armed forces are a mixed breed, with the dwarfs preferring to stay on the defensive, constructing fortifications and defences, while the humans provide the bulk and strength of the army with powerful, well-armored cores of heavy infantry, supported by wings of cavalry and lines of skirmishers.
Technology: Roman Era
Capital: Corinth, largest Dwarf city built before the Valley of the Forge, which leads directly to Ferrum’s forge. The city is built into the mountain, going deep and far, with masterfully crafted halls and walkways mapping the length of their work. The entrance to the city is lined with statues of dwarf warriors watching the road, and the entrance to the Valley has two large guardians crafted into the rockface.
Beings: The Mountains are home to many creatures, the largest of which are the cyclopean giants, which mainly stick to their caves, but on occasion venture close to the towns and cities in search of fresh food in the form of meat. While he does not interfere directly against them in roaming from their caves, Ferrum has made it clear they are not to enter the boundaries of the cities and towns, those foolish enough to remain outside the boundaries when a cyclopean giant nears are not his concern.
While not a being in a sense, the golems now dotting the length and breadth of Corantha have become a strong part of the everyday occurrences, with people giving praise to Ferrum and creating altars of a sort at their feet. These Golems were originally a pass time for Ferrum, during his century long punishment for his part in the rebellion, but became one of his more favoured creations. |
48,858 | 1,317 | 2 | 1,404 | 5,004 | The World-Drowner, Earthshaker, King Kraken
Drums of war pounded against the golden shoreline in the dead of night and the light of day. Light where no man could see, sound where no man could hear, life where no man could breath. In the west it swallowed all light, in the east it birthed anew. Never calmed, yet constantly still. Always moving, never the same. Constantly amending, remaining unchanged. No description could truly capture it's mysterious majesty, yet only a few words could express it's beauty.
Jack knew it would be a rough passage home. The sea was too placid for a sanguine moon. There was a storm a-brewing.
The boat began to roll from side to side and the temperature dipped all of a sudden. Dark clouds obscured the moon. They churned grimly in the night sky, as black as a witch’s Sabbath. The moon’s mercury flush was painted silver by the thunderheads, casting down shivers of light with a ghostly glow. Underneath the moon, the rain moved towards him like a wraith’s veil of sorrow. A winnowing wind fermented and sighed, rippling the surface of the corpse calm sea.
His boat heaved and tossed in the rising swell and he gripped the tiller with his naked fingers. He could just make out the figure of his wife standing on the shingled beach, lamp raised aloft to guide him home. Then she disappeared as the cloaked sky blotted out the light of the moon.
The rain-shroud passed by, spitting at him with its undead tears. It wrung his hobbit curls into a mop and soaked his jerkin through. The rain whipped down like crystal nails and streaky lightning emblazoned the sky. The sea swells rose and his beard time froze as the north wind blew and sped him to his doom. Lacerating rain stung his bare arms like ice burn and the sea throbbed grey with woe.
His boat bobbed like a cork upon the capacious sea and for the first time ever, he felt his own mortality. The brine hissed and sissed, lashing his face, and he felt a fever in his eyes. His little boat keeled and tilted like the death flop of a mackerel. The timber planks buckled and bulged, then screamed and shuddered, but the boat righted herself once more.
The bedlam of the sea caused a hectic in his blood, but he could swear that an old man’s, spectral face was fixed in the sky where the moon should be. It wore a mask of hatred and longing and it transfixed Jack utterly. He looked at it aghast, like a mooncalf would stare at the night sky. The old man’s eyes seemed to glare at the sea on his starboard side. Jack’s own eyes followed and slowly widened as he gazed down into a whirlpool opening and spinning beneath the boat. The words of his father came to him unbidden then: “There’s nothing worse than the dreadful curse lodged in a dead man’s eye.”
Jack became angry, trying to remember the rest of the advice. He knew it was important, but he couldn’t think with the tumult and the tempest.
Jack’s two hands gripped the tiller and refused to let go. His father’s words came back unbidden; “A true mariner never deserts a sinking ship.” He gripped on tighter. A mountainous wave rose up before him, blotting out the sky. The wind howled out his doom, the whirlpool span faster and whiter and the old man’s face leered down in triumph.
The boat rose with the swell, inclining upwards to its destruction. It was propelled up onto the lip and hovered there, a fly-speck on the cobwebbed lines of the wave. Time seemed suspended. The whirlpool gaped under him with dire-white jaws. It roiled and spun, inviting Jack in. Then the boat plummeted down into its milky depths, swallowed whole in a final, terrible, squeak of timber.
Hear, Aesis, ruler of the sea profound, whose liquid grasp begirds the solid ground; who, at the bottom of the stormy main, dark and deep-bosomed holdest they watery reign.
Aesis' boom laden laughter shook the very foundations of the world, the sea responding to his giddiness with roiling waves and incessant rain. He derived pleasure from the little things in his realm. Every sinking ship, every sailors scream, every crushing wave, every childish squeal of joy when the cool tide washes over thier little toes. For hundreds of years the sea king kept to himself, watching and indulging. The Rebellion had tired him, lulling him into a silent stupor, giving mortals rest from his raging waves.
Only death roused him from his nigh-slumber. Death wasn't kind. Aesis knew that. It snatched where it could, taking people who were far too young, far too good. It didn't pretend to care, it didn't pretend to distinguish. The hooded vale of death had hung over the world for a long time, always threatening. It had never touched Aesis quite so close. Death had ripped away a part of all his brethren, the part of him that was most loved. Now Aesis sat staring for hours, happiness soaking right into his bones. He closed his eyes and savoured the feeling, but never released his grip on the seemingly inconsequential piece of reality that now would decide his future. For the first time in forever his body and mind relaxed.
Father was dead.
He suddenly let out a boisterous laugh, rain falling in crazy chaotic drops, the gusting wind carrying them in wild vortices one moment and in diagonal sheets the next above the home of the King. Torrents of water traveled through and into the throne room, rushing waves that smashed and surrounded the room, keeping its inhabitants dry. A cyclone of waves turned and twisted in the massive throne of rainbow colored coral, a bubble of water surround it perpetually as Aesis body condensed and formed.
Aesis blue tinged muscular body settled into the throne, his white beard soaking in his makeshift pool. He regarded his shield-brother Ferrum, and his loving enemy, Oksana. A pristine white smile formming on his face upon seeing his sisters wet, tear stained face. "Are you crying sister?" he mused. "And you shield-brother, does sadness gnaw on your soul? This isn't a night for mourning." he jibbed, shaking his head as a piranha nipped at his fingers lovingly. | Name:
Aesis
Gender:
Male
Personality:
Just like there are two sides to every story, there are two sides to every being. Aesis' duality comes in the form of how the public perceives him and who he is on a personal level. Furthermore; Aesis, like many of those who consider themselves to be a divine, has three sides of themselves. Not truly three distinct personalities, nevertheless, he has three ways of looking at things: contemplative, direct, or dubious.
His emotional set consists of a phlegmatic disposition, generally unemotional and stolidly calm. Which usually leads to assumptions of a depressed, cynical god, but bitterness and hate has yet to taint his soul. He still has an optimistic view of the world, harbors idealistic dreams, and naively believes that other gods can be trusted. Aesis maintains no disillusion about the state the world is in, however. But it’s a testament to his integrity and nobility, how he has remained an honest and responsible being.
In combat, Aesis is: controlled, focused, steady, and conscientious of his surroundings. Every decision is made cautiously and pragmatically; he's vigilant in his efforts and never impulsive. He strives to apply the same manner of thinking to every facet of his immortal life. This is why he doesn't interfere in every dispute and is content with watching until needed.
When it comes to Aesis' ability to handle sudden changes and disagreement, his open-mind enables a high degree of adaptability. Because of that, he's able to be tolerant and forgiving of ignorance; whether he's willing to, differs from scenario-to-scenario. But to avoid any interactions outside of his guardianship, he projects a rough, cold exterior. He even goes as far as exiling himself, which further lends to the mysterious lone wolf persona he has adopted. This facade is obviously a guise however, as evident in his altruistic behavior. Once his icy shell has been broken, his warm nature will shine through and the courteous, cultured being with a unique sense of humor and charm will be revealed.
Major Domain:
Oceans/Seas
Minor Domains:
Water/Rivers/Rain/Streams/Lakes/Marine Life
Your Avatar:
A massive beast standing more than five-hundreds feet tall, it is the epitome of the seas unstoppable rage and destruction. Capable of traveling the world in mere seconds at speeds in which are unfathomable. Nothing can go on in his waters without him knowing, and it often preys on ships and sailors who enter his territory without paying tonnage.
Stance:
Chaotic Neutral; the kingship has little meaning to him, but since his natural order is being disturbed, he will and has lashed out.
Loyalty During the Rebellion:
War
Center of Power:
Pearls are smooth and white with a silky look, and silky feeling. They are milky white and lovely; and this is what describes his Center of Power. A massive pearl that is juxtaposed into his for head with pulses with the power of the ocean.
Relations:
TBA
Powers
The domain of the Sea is a tricky one to describe. It is both a loving and a cruel mistress; water is a giver of life to those who drink from it, growth to the plants it rains on, and certain death to those who fall between it's crushing waves.
Likewise, the sea may bring peace to those who swim in it's luxurious shores and a full belly to those who gather fish from it, but to drink too much sea-water is to embrace death for most mortals. At times the sea will provide, and at times it may rise up in a vengeful, inescapable tsunami and crash itself against shores or cities.
The sea is home to life too abundant and diverse to comprehend, but with this life comes danger. Sailors may bring home stories of monsters lurking in the depths; humongous, shadowy creatures stalking them for days before suddenly vanishing as they pulled towards the safety of the shore.
As the God of Oceans, Aesis embraces both sides of the sea. He has power over it's strong waves and it's playful shores. He breaths it's cool, soothing touch and the painful, fatal suffocation to those who fall too deep beneath it, and both are in his sphere of power. He embodies waters itself, and lords over it confidentially.
Godly Equipment:
A weapon that cuts with the destructive force of the ocean, Riptide is capable of ripping about the earth at a single swipe; commanding the oceans at its slightest movement. Standing at 9'0 feet, it is the god of the seas weapon of war.
Demi-Gods:
The first born of Aesis, and an Admiral of the Aesisian Fleet, Triton is the exemplary warrior that his father raised him to be. From birth, he has been trained to raid and kill, battle strategies and navigational patterns imprinted into his brain. As a child he was sent to work under the supervision of a raid ship captain who forced him to work his way up the ranks to where his his now. Triton is a warrior not to be challenged.
Aesis' second born who inherited his fathers pragmatic disposition and kindness. While his elder brother is a powerful warrior, Neptune is much more subtle, a tactical mastermind who has earned his place as Admiral next to his brothers through playing chess master.
The dimwitted warmonger of the family, Hapi inherited his father random and unpredictable rage. The seas destructive power incarnated, Hapi his straightforward to a fault and lacks the intelligence or foresight to form strategies, and simply wishes to pillage. Despite his lack of intellect, he happens to have sense of leadership, which justifies his rank of Admiral.
Delphin, the last born of Aesis, inherented her father cunning and otherworldly beauty. Despite his brother warmongering and non-stop campaigning, she has managed to fly under the radar of her siblings through manipulation and subduction to gain a foothold in her fathers army as the final Admiral.
Name of your Land:
The UnderSea
Lands:
The ocean was formed by the God of Seas as both a way to show their power and to serve as a catalyst of their divine will in this world. Waves are often seen rippling their way across the surface of the water, and below you'll find an infinite mass of blue (which will be filled with fish, eels, and sea life of all sorts imaginable).
Deeper down, the bottom is covered in a thick layer of sand and the occasional loose rock; no sunlight reaches this far into the depths, and as such most life that makes it's way here is strange and hardly pleasing to the eye. Only the most beloved creatures of Aesis have the power to survive so far from the hated surface.
Any god may enter these seas, but they should be aware that they are descending into the territory of Aesis.
But the UnderSea is Aesis' abode. When Aesis smashed himself into the barren crust of the world directly following it's creation, he shattered it with such power that a massive mark was left forever in the earth. It is the descends deeper than any crater, trench, or canyon. When it was filled with water by Aesis it became the lowest point of the ocean- at one point going as far down as 50,300 feet (or 15,331 meters). The length by longitude is roughly 9,400 miles (15,127 kilometers) and the width by latitude is 8,100 miles
As one descends, they fall more and more into the Ocean's dark realm. No god has a hold here, and as such there is no peace for trespassers. Even god's may find reason to fear this place, and only the most beloved of the World-Drowner are allowed to enter. It is rumored that here Aesis has built a massive palace from which to command his armies that will rise up from the sea and conquer the world.
The Sun does not cast light in the furthest depths of earths Scar, and as such it is home to some of the strangest life the world- and Aesis in particular- has to offer. The creatures who inhabit this realm are monstrosities of the most eldritch fashion, and must be explained in another place.
People:
Intelligent and malevolent entities of chaotic and peaceful creation that are a living embodiments of the oceans power. Commonly known as Mermen, they are collectively the greatest servants of Aesis and are potentially a worldly force. They are created at the whim of the seas turbulent power and act as an extension of his will. A Mermen's appearance and intrinsic character reflect the seas true nature, and very constantly due to mutations. This also affects it power and physical and or mental capabilities.
However, the sea is fickle and often bestow gifts of change without rhyme or reason. These gifts include mutations such as extra arms, tougher, coloured skin, larger fines, claws and fangs, often decided by the seas power and effect. But one intrinsic ability has been gifted them all; feet and lungs. With thier ability to walk onto land and breath air, raids on sea coasts regularly take place.
Mer are a highly emotional and surprising people. Although they can, at times, exhibit crushing logic and reason, they are primarily ruled by their emotions. This is especially true for Mer in large groups, as they telepathically sense each other's feelings and that, in turn, arouses similar feelings in them.
This means that thoughts in Mer society work almost like a virus. If a Merman is angry, and he goes home to his wife, she will telepathically pick up on that and become angry too (even if she does not know why). The wife may then go outside and meet a stranger, who will become angry from her anger, and he will go home and cause his family to be angry simply with his presence. Therefore, the emotion spreads like a disease until many, many people have been "infected" with anger, even if nothing valid technically happened to trigger that emotion, other than meeting someone already exhibiting it.
Culture:
Almost half of the Mer population live in the great city Deep Coral- the capital of the UnderSea. Mer in the city, like the fish in an ecosystem, all work for themselves while still benefiting the greater whole- often without noticing it.
The rest of the Mer live outside of the city, in small villages or, although somewhat rare, alone along the massive walls of the crater. Deep Coral is much to big and heavy to easily move around, but these smaller towns are often built on semi-buoyant submerged platforms that may be pulled by domesticated Giant Squid or sharks. A Mer will build the platform from a mix of coral, sand, biral (of course), and fish scales. Then they will build their home on top of it and have animals pull it to achieve locomotion. The reason they go through all this trouble to keep themselves mobile is simple: fish. They often follow schools of fish so that they have a constant supply of prey items, and some Mer have even rigged giant baited nets on the exterior of the homes, so that fish will get caught inside as the platform floats along, removing the need for hunting or even leaving the construct.
But Mer aren't to be mistaken for the peaceful type. Everything in the UnderSea has power that can be absorbed by the Mer and fish alike. Power is everything and if often tossed around to assert dominance. But the Mer's favorite past time is raiding; be it ships or coastal cities, they often s destroy and take whatever that want. Just as thier homes are built on sea creatures, so do they build their raid and siege engines, ships. Ships that are submersible and are built on the backs of sharks are the fear of every sailor, often signaling a raid. While on land they are viewed as monsters, pirates who make up a massive fleet and navy loyal to Aesis, Mer are quite intelligent and efficient while governed by the 12 Laws of the UnderSea:
-Law One: Lost
-Law Two: Lost
-Law Three: Oaths May Not Be Broken
Oaths sworn upon sea may not be broken unless both members agree mutually to break the oath. If an oath is broken, otherwise, then the fury of the land, sea, and sky will be cast upon them at the mercy of Aesis.
-Law Four: Lost
-Law Five: Gifts May Be Only Used for the Purpose Given
Gifts may only be used for the purpose they are given until that purpose is no longer suitable or needed, in which case, the gift can be used for a different purpose.
-Law Six: All Favors Must Be Repaid
Favors, gifts, and handouts will acquire debt and can be repaid in any way the giver desires unless the giver themselves waves away that right.
-Law Seven: Consuming the Nectar of the UnderSea Binds One to the UnderSea
If a human consumes the nectar of the UnderSea for it's nourishment or healing property they will be bound to the UnderSea . The bond can only be broken by the one who gives the nectar.
-Law Eight: If Two or More People Enter into a Conflict then the Winner will Gain Immunity if any Law is Broken
If two or more people enter into a conflict, the winner of the conflict is immune to any punishment if any Law of The UnderSea is broken.
-Law Nine: Iron is Banned from the UnderSea on the Pain of Death
Those found carrying iron in the UnderSea may be punished with death unless they are in occurrence with Law Eight.
-Law Ten: The Winner of a Conflict Will Gain the Loser's Power
If the Winner of a Conflict kills their opponent, then they gain the power that the opponent has.
-Law Eleven: The Winner of a Conflict Inherits the Loser's Property
If the Winner of a Conflict kills their opponents, then they gain and inherit the loser's property.
-Law Twelve: Magic Must Not Be Used to Alter the Events of Time
Upon the pain of death, magic may not be used to alter the events of time either in the past or future.
These Laws govern all Mer in all thier dealings, such as transferal of rank or civil squabbles.
Technology:
Late Egyptian/Mid Roman
Capital:
Deep Coral- a massive city in the deepest trench of the UnderSea where most of the Mer live in unity under the massive coral castle of thier god king; Aesis.
Beings:
Devourer Fish are one of the most well-known breeds of "sea monsters". They- along with StormHunters, Terrorfish, and Mighty Sharks- were created by Aesis to terrorize mortals who entered his domain.
Devourer Fish are close relatives to the Angler Fish, and have many of the same habits (including the unusual mating habits). Angler Fish have a natural "lantern" on their head, the light of which lures prey into their waiting jaws. Devourer Fish, on the other hand, have a similar natural lantern- the main difference being that Devourer Fish are imbued with a strong magical element. Their lanterns are able to create any illusion needed to pull in their prey; someone lost in the bottom of the ocean may see it as a light to lead them out, a sailor with a sinking boat will believe it's another ship coming to rescue them from a watery grave, a dying man sees it as a healing force of the gods, and so on. Devourer Fish are very dangerous in this manner, anything one desires they will imitate until you swim right into their grasp. It's far too late by the time the trap that's been set is discovered.
Like the Devourer Fish, StormHunters are closely tied to mystical forces, which they use for hunting their prey. Unlike the Devourer, StormHunters do not wait and lure their prey in. Instead, they actively hunt their prey at the absurd speed of ninety miles-per-hour (one-hundred-and-fifty KPH) by invoking the sea to push them faster, and they have been granted the powers to stir up the forces of water at will. They possess an extra organ molded on to the back of their brain, which forms a bond with the elemental forces of the world (particularly that of the ocean and air) and is used at will to spin the waters into a whirlpool, cause lightning to strike it's prey during a storm, or bring rain down from already cloudy skies.
It should also be said that they are normally among the most difficult creatures to slay (to kill one of these is to be hailed as a hero by many), and are several times worse during storms. StormHunters serve the purpose of guarding those parts of the ocean furthest from land. They are Aesis' last resort to terrify mortals, and they are generally considered to be the most fatal of his monsters, even more so than the ever-dreaded Mighty Shark. Only a select few brave men and fools approach them willingly.
Terrorfish are perhaps not as dangerous as a StormHunter, but they are nearly as terrifying. There is no magical elemental powers to these creatures, there is no cunning lure, there is simply brute strength.
Terrorfish swim at an average speed of thirty miles per hour (fifty KPH). They have no known mystical powers, but they do not need them. The lack of magic is easily made up for by an impeccable sense of vision above and below water, the strength to crush iron with their tentacles, an ability to smell prey from over almost a hundred miles away, and a merciless attitude. There is no room in their mind for anything more than eating and destroying, and they favor land-creators who enter the sea.
They were created with the express purpose of attacking sailors or deep-sea fishermen. Aesis desires people to enter the water, of course, but he does not want them to do so without certain knowledge of the dangers that may be waiting for them. He is, after all, an embodiment of the sea's bipolar force and rage.
All fear the Mighty Shark. They are in many ways identical to "Great White Sharks", with the obvious exception being that they can grow up to be several miles long. They feed their massive bodies by inhaling the water around them (as whales do), sucking in whole schools of fish, squid, eels and whatever or whoever is unfortunate enough to be near them. Like the Terrorfish, they have no mystical powers, but they do have a taste for human flesh and blood.
Leviathan are in many ways the dukes of the sea, capable of growing hundreds of miles long. Unlike Mighty Sharks, they simply chow down on thier prey with thier massive maws that can devour whales whole. Leviathans are the apex predators of the sea. |
48,859 | 1,317 | 3 | 465 | 6,811 | IlyonaGoddess of Sunlight
With a final swing of her scythe, the Sun Goddess sent the final soul, free of its vessel, towards the afterlife, to be judged by the God of Death. With the body falling to the ground, its bestial groans now silent, the Lady Reaper sighed. Such sorrow, dreadful work but such was her punishment for her sin of the Curse of Hallows. The irony of having to kill her own children as punishment for creating them always hung in the back of her heart but she did her duty, it was only just.
“Farewell my child, may death finally embrace thou and release thy curse.” Ilyona ran her hand through her locks, the light shimmering off of her hair. With a gentle touch, the deity’s hand hovered over the Soulset Scythe, it too glowed but it did not glow the ethereal gold which so much of her other belongings did but instead twas a deep amethyst with an unsettling chill; not even Ilyona’s innate sunlit warmth could not dispel the shivering edge.
“My Maiden,” Lady Malicia kneeled before the Herald of Dawn, her cadre of fellow hunters dressed in similar garb following the actions of the Life Hunter, “I do believe we hath cleared this locale.” Cloaked in black, many would have never believed such a sinister figure would be a champion of the sun, even if she did wield a pair of enflamed blades in the name of Ilyona.
“Thou art right I do believe, this hunt has ended. Thou hath done well.” Ilyona raised her hand, a glistening halo began to swirl around it. Within seconds an orb formed as she closed her fist before it exploded with a flick of her wrist.
“May the light cleanse the shadows by blessings most divine.” Lady Malicia and her hunters muttered in devout prayer as the sphere of light expanded with the softest tinkling of distant bells. Bursting into shimmering shards of sunlight upon completion, the area had been purified by the light of Ilyona’s blessings, the hunt was officially over, “Let us retire to Lindenhold, my children beckon for me once more.”
Focusing her mind, the goddess turned her scythe into a tuning rod into a staff, perhaps a mockery of her former staff, the Great Banner of Dawn. Infusing the purple wisps of the blade with golden misty fog, Ilyona slashed the air a head of her, cutting a portal to her throne room in Kharstav, using its great beacon of light to guide her.
With her loyal hunters, her feet transitioned from the soft dirt of the outside to the pure chiseled marble tiles outlined in fine gold on the floors of her royal keep. A stunning autorium it was, fit for a queenly mother with enough room for an audience to meet her. A few chosen hallows officials lumbered and mulled about, doing whatever they had to keep the Haven of Hallows running. A guard patrol of Spartans Solaris marched by in their polished amber armor and illuminous circular shields, taking a moment to kneel as their goddess walked out of her portal.
In the distance, golden bells danced in the high mountain winds that brought shinning warmth instead of the usual frigid peak winds of most mountains. Through great windows streamed in rays of sun, perfectly tuned by engineers and Sun Mages over years of tinkering to grant just the right amount of the eternal Lindenhold sun through to bring just enough light to illuminate the already illustrious hall without it being blinding. And in the center stood a great set of angelic plate armor covered by a pure white hooded tabard, streams of blue rays floated in the air behind it.
“My Maiden, welcome back.” Ilyona’s second demigod champion, Talvyrn the Dawn Guard, put his hand over his heart and nodded slightly, “How was thy cleansing harvest?”
“Fine as per usual, nothing of note; Lady Malicia and her huntsmen have done a fine job in assisting.” Ilyona smiled slightly and beckoned Talvyrn to resume a straight posture, “Doth ye have any news for me?”
“I do, one of the Guardians of Heavens hath delivered thou a summons to the Heavenly palace.”
“And they haven't sent one to me personally?”
“I am not sure but I would assume so.”
“Well, beast hunts are isolated, solitary activates, it could easily be that I forgot or never acknowledged it.”
With graceful strides, Ilyona walked over to one of the many fountains and looked at the reflection which stared back at her. As the spigot poured crystal waters unto itself, the goddess looked at herself in a moment of introspection. What sins she carried, it twas her undead children, born of a too kind and caring heart, which she thought was her greatest, but as of late it was the rebellion or more specifically, War. Not the act of conflict, but the God of War which she had struck down with her Soulset Scythe, spirit still lingering in its swirling void, unable to pass on due to its once holy, divine nature.
“My Maiden, perhaps we ought to depart.” Talvyrn appeared over the crouched shoulder of Ilyona, only just taller than the goddess.
“Yes… lets.” Channelling the light of the Ascention Beacon, a ray of pure blessed light that stretched from the heavens to the earth was caught in the goddess’ scythe-staff as a light blinded the Mother of Hallows and her two champions. Once again using her Beacon as a northern star, the three found themselves in the palace of the gods, next to the shinning throne of finely carved white stone with golden amber details, small figures reaching up towards a symbol of a sun with an infinite number of rays.
It seemed that three others had already arrived, two of the old rebels, oath sworn brothers in arms of the Gods of the Forge and the Seas, and then the sister goddess Oksana. “Greeting you three,” Ilyona nodded towards them all, “Glad to see two of you continuing on but what troubles you Oksana?” Radiating her normal gentle warmth, she approached the other goddess, hoping that Ferrum and Aesis did not hold her to how she was the one who dealt the deathblow to the God of War. | Name:
Ilyona (Ill-ee-own-ah), the Sun Goddess, Maiden of Dawn, Mother of Hallows, Lady Reaper
Gender:
Female
Personality:
Ilyona was once a bubbling girl with a heart open to the world, but it would be such that would cause her downfall from being the pure deity of the solar star. Legend has it that the endless cycle of death had constantly caused her pain since her earliest days and sought to if not remove it, at least alleviate and let people live just a bit longer. With determination, she dabbled in magics and powers she was not supposed to even be able to handle and ended up creating Hallows, undead beings with all the sentience of mortals but with an immortal lifespan. However, her magic was not perfect and through repeated death or extreme mental trauma, her creations could go "Feral", driven mad by their new cycle of undeath and suffering. As you would expect, this did not resonate well with many of the other gods, especially the Gods of Life and Death. As punishment, she would have to harvest the souls of the fallen and deliver them to the God of Death.
Since then, the goddess has lost a good deal of her bubbly nature and replaced by a more serious attitude. There's always a notion of personal repenting as even now her sin as there are some gods which still do not completely forgive her. However, even if she had created Hallows from a mistake, she acts as a motherly figure to them none the less, caring for them as they are her own creation. Much of her efforts is put into making a home for the often outcasted undead as well as protecting them from those who wish them harm or exploit them.
Major Domain:
Sun
Minor Domain:
Harvest & Shadows
Avatar:
Ilyona appears as a firebird phenix with glorious red and feathers, embers constantly falling in her wake and a dazzling brilliance that surrounds her. However, she only wears this facade when going beyond her own people as she prefers not to be in avatar form, but a shorter more human like form in that case.
Stance:
Ilyona is currently neutral on who she believes deserves the throne. Part of her wants the throne but she does not believe that she is qualified or even allowed to claim it due to her past actions.
Loyalty During Rebellion:
Ilyona was on the side of the king, being the one to slay the traitorous War god in the rebellion's waning hours. Its said that the god's spirit is still trapped in her scythe to this day.
Center of Power:
A small medallion known as the Sunlight Medal serves as Ilyona's Center of Power, its an intricately engraved and decorated golden pendant with bronze detailing and the shinning symbol of a sun on it, it is always kept on her person.
Relation:
- She harvests souls of the dead for the God of Death
- Once had the Minors of Light and Fire but was forced to give those away
- Defied both the Gods of Life and Death to create Hallows, unbound undead. (Perhaps this is why she harvests souls for the god of Death)
Powers:
Ilyona is capable of various light and fire based spells although they are greatly diminished compared to both the powers of the respective gods and her own power long ago; she can only summon blinding light, floating orbs of light and set fire to certain objects amongst few other things. She of course has the supernatural strength that all gods have, and regeneration powers allowing her to come grow limbs, and heal faster than normal.
Divine Arms:
- Soulset Scythe - The tool to which she reaps the life of those next to die, it is by far Ilyona's less popular weapon but it is her most effective weapon, absorbing the souls of the fallen to empower it, and is also a God Bane weapon. Its actually her former staff, now forever twisted with a ehteral blade but she can still cast some spells with it.
Demigod Champions:
The glorious knight of sunlight, Talvyrn represents everything saintly about his patron goddess, blessed with wings of light and plate armor fit for legends and a flaming sword, he is Ilyona's noble and honorable face who fights with undaunting courage and bravery.
For every light, there is a shadow and Malicia is Ilyona's shadow for she is the one who collects the death tithe for her patron when her patron cannot and hunt the beasts which dwell in the darkest recesses. With a pair of flaming swords, Malicia is the one to expunge the evils within the shadows and collect the due of the living.
Lindenhold
Lands:
High in the mountains of the North lays the haven of those living undead who flee from places which prosecutes them. At the base of the mountains are snowy swamps and frozen boreal forests, beautiful places but poor farming soils; however, Hallows don't really eat much so its of little concern to them. Winding roads and cliff face ramps, flanked by villages and settlements all along the path, lead up the toward the great peaks of the mountains that house impressive cities of white stone and grand citadels.
Constructed of brilliant masonry work, the aqueducts and roads of these cities are beautiful, cared for by the Hallows who view them as the property of Ilyona herself. It is through the Sun Goddess's blessings that their towns do not freeze in such high altitudes, ceiling mounted windows are as such a common feature in many buildings with some even having open villas. Epic arches, columns and bridges decorate and connect buildings and even the mountains themselves, all carved with great detail that clearly takes a great deal of time, something that the inhabitants of the Lindenhold Mountains have.
People:
Hallows, the creations and children of Ilyona, are the ones who live in the high mountains of Lindenhold, as close to the sun as possibile. Although many are human, Hallows refers to any once living sentinent creature that has died and since been brought back with a factured soul not bound to the will of anyone else. At one point, Hallows were raised by Ilyona herself but even she would have never expected the curse which will sometimes bring back those who have fallen to life once more. Being undead, Hallows in other lands are often scorn and hunted, but their immortal nature means that they cannot be killed and many go "feral" after they have died many times or suffer great mental trauma. Once Feral, Hallows can never turn back; it has become one of Ilyona's duty to hunt these Feral Hallows as penitence for creating them.
Whatever life these people may have lived in the past, its often wiped away by their new status as undead who bleed a pale milky white ichor. Their appearance can range from looking almost exactly like any normal member of their race to a rotting skeletal frame on dark green flesh. To combat the fact that they can go feral, many look to some great duty in unlife to keep them busy as well as pious prayer to their God Mother who can bless Hallows with light to return their appearance to "normal" once more after they have died or simply decayed. However, all of Ilyona's creations are destinte to turn feral one day meaning that they will be hunted down by their patron goddess and her servants but this is not seen as a terrible thing as many Hallows view it as a "true death" which they will finally be delivered to peace by their own Goddess.
Culture:
The Hallows are dedicated to the worship of Ilyona as she is the one who created them and one of the few gods who do not show indifference or disgust at them. She protects her creations and cares for them and in return it is the Hallows that support the sun. In addition, it is her blessings which can reverse their appearance back to more normal looking forms. Beyond the pious nature, there's also a focus on perfection and seeing unlife as an eternal journey to experience new things and perfect subjects. As such, master craftsmen from Lindenhold are without parallels and veteran soldiers are without rivals. Death is a tricky subject as some wish to die as soon as they can but cannot be killed by most normal means and their goddess will only end those who have turn Feral.
There's two main school of thoughts amongst the Hallows of Lindenhold, both stemming from the champions of Ilyona, Talvyrn and Lady Malicia. Talvyrn is associated with the "Dawn" school of thought and that to best serve is to be righteous and noble and faithful like knights, protecting and defending while also being reserved and more passive. Malicia's "Dusk" school of thought is much the opposite encouraging aggressive hunting of those who have fallen, speed and aggression is key and many subscribers are categorized by being energetic and opportunistic for it is the followers of the sun who must drive back the shadows by fighting in the shadows.
Technology & Atheistics:
Imperial Roman with a bit of Greek
Capital:
Kharstav - The Ascension Beacon
Of the settlements and locations of Lindenhold, Kharstav is without a doubt the most notable with a light that pierces the central pillar of the city, the Beacon. Its long said that it is this ray of eternal light which guides lost souls to the afterlife under normal circumstances, ironic as most of its inhabitants are those few whose souls have come back to them. With intricately carved bricks and sparkling gems and polished gold, bronze and brass, Kharstav lays claim to the most ornate city in the world with Ilyona making her throne room at the heart of the pillar.
No one knows if the beam comes from the sky and came down or was from the earth and shot up, but it is impossible to miss and a breathtaking sight from amongst snowy mountain peaks. Of course, the light also goes below the city and into the catacombs below where the hunters of the shadows reside, ever vigilant in their watch.
Beings:
Hallows of all races make their home although there are still a few other beings within the realm of Ilyona. Perhaps the most numerous and dangerous are the Feral Hallows and the Soul Beasts, beings fused of multiple souls and bodies that have become horrid amalgamations of all things unholy who came about as Ilyona's creation of the Hallows; her hunters rentlessly seek out these monsters lest they threaten anyone.
While only rumors exist of the following, its said that once a race of ogres lived in the mountains before the rise of Lindenhold but were purged to the last by the Goddess and her Knights and Hunters and their bodies have been buried in the mountains. |
48,860 | 1,317 | 4 | 62 | 2,653 | Naqqash
A familiar sound drifted through the twisted forest of Elkesis, a sound of labored breathing and heavy footfalls. A good creeped between the tress, deep in his own mind pondering the suffering of the world. He thought of those still in bondage he could not save, the wretched lost and alone in the world who payed him homage. He shed tears of blood for the souls he could not lead to his oasis in Elkesis. His footfalls were pain as he focused upon his own as well as others, the cruel spurs and spikes on his bones scratching and cutting his skin inside and out. The feeling of warped bones creaking and bending with stress as his head ached from the cruel helmet fused to it... and yet he walked. Through brambles and vines lined with thorns he stalked, seemingly unaware of their existence.
This was his land after all. No beast would dare harm their God, their caretaker, their creator. Elkesis thrived about him, spined warthogs scurried away from him to find other prey. The largest among them bowed their heads before turning, knowing it was they who must pay homage. He moaned quietly in pain and anguish, listening to the souls in pain in his ears who he only wished to relieve their suffering. Trees seemed to part before him and plants almost bowed to this king of thorns.
Eventualy he heard the sounds of one of his free folk bands in a clearing. They danced about a great fire, singing praise and rejoicing even in this desolate land. Children born here laughed and played, and the oldest among them told stories of their scars and of the great god of pain, of Naqqash who walked amongst them. the living god of the free folk. A smile found its place upon Naqqash as these souls sang to him, reveling in their strength and past their great pains they danced in his image. Through the trees he came, to a great many gasps from his people as they bowed to their god. He walked to a large felled tree, the free folk crowding around him in awe as their god towered before them. The sound of bones creaking and skin tearing could be heard as the pale skinned god sat heavily on the black wood, a sigh of pain escaping his lips. He looked to his people, gesturing for them to sit.
All did, ears and eyes open to their lord, their savior. He was not one to dissapoint. "A tale, good folk, of chains I bring and the lash that sits above. A great old man who withered beneath,and prayed to the stars above. Not for mercy no, for this there was no plea, but for the strngth in his arms and the love in his heart to spred to others like he. He said to sky 'Take not my scars away, for you see good sky it is them that I must thank for the strength in me.' Our scars only make us all the stronger, for without them we would be less. Never forget your scars good folk, for they will never leave.", it was then the call of the guardian rang in his head, and Naqqash sighed once more as he stood and bid his people goodbye. In a flash of the moon he had dissapeared, leaving only the wonderous eyes of his folk, and the story he'd left behind.
Naqqash arrived in the hall shortly after Ilyona. What a dichotomy it was, for the radiant sun to be followed by grotesque thorns of the lesser god. No longer did he moan in pain or anguish, for now it no longer mattered. He did not ponder suffering and so his strength prevailed, and no pain could be felt by him. He looked about the room to all who had arrived. Oksana, slayer of his father and the one who so vehemently oppsed the return of his center. Ferrum, a man who had stood by war in the rebellion but who Naqqash had met only briefly. Then there was Aesis, the braggart sea god who even now seemed to mock the death of his own father, Naqqash's granfather. He looked... odly peaceful for a dead king, Naqqash thought. Of course Ilyona stood not far from Naqqash, but he had hardly ever met the sun goddess, unsure what to think of her or the Guardian who sat at the head of the table next to the throne.
Naqqash quietly took his stance near thee end of the table, a bit behind his fathers old chair, where he could not sit... another slight for him to bear. He glanced only at Ferrum long wnough to give a nod of acknolwledgement, before finally speaking. His heavy voice carried well, but was strangely subdued nonetheless, "Hello. I am humbled to meet here once more, though the circumstance is... painful. Granfathers loss is another burden to bear, and so I shall bear it, as must we all." | Name: Naqqash
Gender: Male
Appearance
Naqqash was born a grotesque. Were he not a demigod he no doubt what have been born dead. His bones were warped and many fused together, great spiky growths ripped free of his skin and his skeleton was dotted with cruel bone spurs. His skin was rent and torn, tougher than leather by the time he reached adult hood. His face was so rictus and terrible his father had it hidden beneath a thick helm... through which the spines grew and eventually fused it to his skin like the rest of his armour. He stands at about 13 feet tall, and is well muscled despite his twisted form.
Personality: Naqqash is a serious God, he is slow to jest or joke as he believes such things can be distracting. However, despite what you'd expect, Naqqash is neither dowre nor depressed. Indeed, he carries himself with a poised since of hope and determination. He is never idle or lazy, intent on making his hopes and the hopes of his followers a reality. He lets not his pain stop or hinder him, turning it into his strength, a cross to bear turned into tool rather than a crutch or hindrance. He practices what he preaches, he accepts his suffering and moves on, keeping it from hurting him more than it absolutely must. So, while not jovial or seemingly happy, he is kind and understanding. He wishes ill will on very few, only the holders of the lash who do so without thought or remorse. His amiable nature gives way to endless determination when the need arises, stubbornness is a trait he keeps from his father.
Major Domain: None
Minor Domains: Pain and Loss
Your Avatar:
A massive three headed dog,large as many other avatars standing several hundred feet tall.
Stance: Naqqash is yet to declare an alleigance, too afraid of making the same mistake as his father and backing the wrong Gods. But, suffice to say he hopes to find a side to back that gets him his fathers Center of Power, an item he longs for an believes is his by birthright.
Loyalty During the Rebellion: Naqqash sided with his father, the God of Greed, who had sided with War. During the war Naqqash was his fathers principle warrior, being his only child. the Demi god was a talented warrior, said to be able to outlast any opponent in a fight. Some claimed he could not tire, and that no amount of pain could stop him. That his thick skin, dull reaction to pain and thick bones made him nearly un-beatable. While simply a myth made during war, he remained unbested until the very end. Once his father was slain by the Goddess of the storm Oksana, Naqqash immediately surrendered. It was no longer his fight.
After that he bent the knee to the King once more, his stake gone with his fathers death.
Center of Power: Naqqash has no center of power... his father did. But that is lost to him, or rather kept from him, by the King of the gods so he cannot become a full god. This is due to the fear of the King and Oksana that greed is untrustworthy inherently and would inevitable betray them again. Naqqash is convinced he would do no such thing, and deserves his fathers center.
Relations
-a good friend and spiritual son of Sekh, god of pestillence (Obscene)
-Under the suspicion of the Goddess of time, andd trying to prove himself to her and others (Kit kat)
-enemy of Oksana, slayer of his father and one of the primary people keeping his fathers Center of Power out of his hands
-Ahru is a friend and positive influence on Naqqash, who is often happy to see the trickster even when neing the subject of jokes and pranks
-
Powers
Naqqash is a dangerous combatant, though his grotesque form could suggest otherwise. Though slower than many other Gods, almost none can match his resilience. In fighting Naqqash relies on his strength and ability to take damage and keep fighting. Though taslented in his own right, the strength he has gained from his life of pain and hardship is his greatest tool. Rare is the fighter who has even a chance to outlast Naqqash.
Godly Equipment
Golden thorn: Naqqash's personal weapon, it is a fusion of his own old blade and his father's Gods-bane sword.
Fused armour: His armor has long since fused with his body, meaning unlike many others who wear armour he is far less slowed down by it. In addition, the armour is nearly impossible to seperate from his body.
Bone Spines: His body is covered in cruel, sharp protrusions that torment his form, and are extremely sharp and make fighting him up close exrtremely hazardous.
Demi Gods:
Naqqash's one and only child, his daughter Scylla is quite young compared to many other demigods having been sired and born shortly after the rebellion. She, like her father, was born a monstrosity though in quite a different way. She is composed of two bodies, one of a monstrous beast below, and her more human but still warped half placed atop its shoulders. Her face is rumoured to carry the marks of a beast as well. She dotes on her father, even taking a mask like his own to cover he face, and seeks to support him in all endeavours.
Name of your Land: The followers of Naqqash and indeed Naqqash himself have no lands, being the dispossessed and enslaved. His worshippers are the cults beneath the lash, the gatherings of slaves in the night and the grotesques in the gutters. Those who are lost, in pain, who see no end to their own suffering.
These are his worshippers. The young god has far less than others, but thhey are truly fanatical. His priests are the ones who whisper frantically in the night about hope, about freedom and prosperity. He likes it this way. To help the desperate and destitute, and give them hope when it seems there is none. The closest to a land he has are the wilds of Elkesis, a place of deep gnarled woods and disturbing beasts. The beasts and wilds like their creator are twisted and warped and in much pain. Some shoulder it like their master, others are cruel and ornery predators. Also in these woods are his only 'organized' churches. Escaped slaves and grotesque pilgrims dance amongst the trees, embracing their pain and celebrating it together.
It is their home, and Naqqash loves it this way.
Lands: The Wilds of Elkesis are like something out of a terrifying tale or painting. The trees are blackened and twisted, their trunks gnarled and made up of extremely tough wood. The branches have deep red leaves or no leaves at all, creating a desditute and dark look. The beasts are little better, often large and as disturbing in appearance they prowl the woods fighting eachother or seeking food and always in pain or with some other suffering. Massive hairless dogs with black and cracked skin and a mouth filled with rock like teeth seemingly placed happhazardly along their jaws. Long reptiles with wrinkled scales and pained expressions, beasts stranger still prowl the thick woods with dead foliage that seems to always grow.
Gnarled roots and vines seem to try and drag the inhabitants down... but still people live here. The free folk as they call themselves are all quite alike. All have suffered greatly in one way or another, and bear their scars happily. Former slaves and grotesques, shunned children and bastards, victims of abuse at the hands of loved ones or others, prisoners unjustly imprisoned and tortured. All have suffered in their own way, and live together now in the great cults of their lord. They walk through the wilds, often armed and armoured to survive, but exalting their freedom. At night they will build great pyres and dance about them, the scars of life apparent on their flesh in all their own unique ways. Sometimes one of the cults will be visited by their god, whi will join them in revelry, or tell great stories of his suffering, or even set them on a mission to bring more like themselves to this holy land.
Here all are free.
People: The people of Elkesis were by and large not born their. Most are runaways and wanderers, pilgrims and oasis seekers. They say in order to find his land as a mortal you must have experienced a great pain in their life, and that the gnawing ache will lead there as scars throb and even bleed as they get closer. They are from everywhere and it shows, sking colors of every range are seen and members of many different races find salvation here. And all kinds are welcome, for we all seek a place where we suffer no longer.
Culture: Nomadic, the people of Elkesis move where the food is in the wilds, unable to farm the top soil. But they do not do so with frowns, and complain very little. they are stoic and determined to survive in their new lives of freedom, free from thie old pains. All worship Naqqash here, for only his worshippers would ever stay in such a place, let alone find it.
Technology: The technology is largely primitive or mix and matched as the populace simply brings whatever they can with them to this oasis.
Capital: The closest thing to a capital is the great thicket. A massive patch of briars, thorns, and downed trees. Its said if you can get to the middle it is where Naqqash lives when he is not travelling.
Beings |
48,861 | 1,317 | 5 | 641 | 893 | Ahru sat in solitude, cross legged atop a stack of crates likely filled with the fruits of her people's labor. Below she watched her subjects dance, her subjects that did not know they were her subjects, reveling in the delights of their abundant harvest. Ahru assured they would have cause to celebrate. In her mind they were celebrating the death of her Father, even though they were none the wiser of the happenings in the Heavens. Her Cloak of Night was draped over her, rendering her imperceptible to all. Usually she would be there dancing among them, them none the wiser that their patron God was by their side, but despite herself she did not have an appetite for their party. A voice sounded beside her, "Mother, I know you are here."
The fox could smell her, she knew. He had snuck up on her unaware while she was caught in the throughs of her own thought, taking a seat next to the God of Mischief. She would be just as happy to ignore him until he went away, but she knew that he would not stop pestering her. She would not avoid the conversation that she had dreaded.
"Reynard, what is it that you want?" The God asked, irritation sneaking into her voice.
The fox sighed. "Why are you up here? Should you not be celebrating with them? After all, you went through all the trouble of arranging their party. Should you not be happy? I know that Grandfather's death is cause for celebration to you." Reynard spoke his piece, and Ahru was hopeful that this was all he had to say. Ahru sighed in return. "You are right, the old man's death is a joyous occasion... but it also represents... how do I say this... a lost opportunity. Are you happy? I asked you not to disturb me, so I hope that you have some greater reason to be here than to check up on me."
The fox merely chuckled; he was beginning to grate on her and he knew it. "Well, there is something else, mother. Várlil... you know you can not let him rampage forever. He must be stopped." Ahru shook her head in response, "I fail to see how the concerns of mortals are mine. Let Várlil the Vile do as he pleases, it is not my job to stop every rampaging human." The fox was quick to return, anger beginning to rise in his voice, "Mother, you cannot pretend forever. He is you son, as am I. He is a demigod and it is our responsibility to stop him. The people of Jarenhold recognize that he is no ordinary human, they will find cause to blame their Goddess for his creation soon enough. Moreover, you must forgive yourself for Ort-" Ahru cut him off.
"Do not speak that name to me, Kitsune. If you wish to stop Várlil then go, I give you heed to do as you wish. This conversation is far too serious for the God of Mischief, so I bid you to farewell." Ahru's anger was clear. The God of Mischief was not often angry, and it was not a pleasant sight when she was.
Reynard frowned. "Very well. I fear I cannot best him by myself and would ask for your assistance, but it is clear that I am not going to get it... there is one more thing, however." The Goddess's patience was wearing thin. "Speak quickly, then." The fox nodded, "I am sure that you will be called to the Heavens soon to sit upon the Council of Gods. You have no retinue to come with you, no servants or subjects that would follow, allow me to accompany you mother. The other Gods surely bring followers, it would please me greatly if you would allow bid me to come."
The Goddess looked over at the fox. She pulled off a part her cloak, leaving only her face visible. Her eyes burned with anger. "Is that what you had to tell me? Leave. At once." The fox nodded. He would still follow his mother's orders in spite of himself. Reynard allowed himself to fall to the ground, scampering off quickly into the crowd.
What an unbefitting display for a God such as I. Such seriousness is not like me. She knew in her heart that it was because of her own guilt that she allowed herself to show such anger; she would rather pretend she had no children at all.
The call to the Heavens came not long after. She was eager to see the old man dead, at the very least. Eager even more for the chance to dance upon his gravestone, but that would wait until her siblings were out of sight so as not to attract their ire. As suddenly as she had been in Alarah she was gone, appearing in the Heavens with great flourish, a retinue of brilliant blue butterflies appearing beside her, fluttering away into nothingness. She enjoyed making an entrance.
She looked across the room. Some of her siblings had already arrived. She called to each of them in turn "Ferrum! Aesis! Ilyona! It is good to see you. And... Oskana too, huh... what a... delight?" Her voice clearly soured as she noticed Oskana, but soon brightened again, "Naqqash! Nephew, what a treat to see you at our council." She strode over to the boy, meeting his eyes readily. Many would flinch at his grotesque appearance but she did not. She beckoned for him to lower himself to her level so she could whisper, "I am sure you will make a great God, nephew." The words of encouragement were low enough that the others could not hear. She had an uncharacteristic soft spot for the newly made God. She then wheeled around to face the diamond coffin that lay in the center of the room. "And how could I forget to say hello to the guest of honor?" She said to herself, low enough so that the others would only hear it as a mumble. She strode over to the coffin. To think, he is truly dead. What a fortuitous day today is. She thought to herself. She had to suppress her smile; she had done a good job of keeping her ire towards her father a secret from the others and she would not reveal it now, lest they turn on her.
She turned back around to face her throne, which was much smaller than the others in the room, made to match her mortal form. It was an intricately carved wooden chair displaying honed craftsmanship, but was simple in comparison to some of the others. | Gender: More often than not Ahru manifests as a female, although the benefits of shape changing for a legendary prankster such as herself are clear. Almost all traditional depictions reflect her preferred female form, however.
Appearance:
Ahru is an oddity among her fellow Gods. Despite most of them preferring their imposing immortal form Ahru instead appears as a mere mortal woman at almost all times. After all, it's easier to trick mortals when you look like them. Moreover as a mortal her Godly peers take her less seriously, which she quite honestly prefers. In her mortal form she stands far below other Gods, a mere 5'6". She is a lithe women, possessing a slender and quick frame. The girl is pale with a face alight with freckles. She is beautiful, as most Gods are, which proves to be an asset in her pranks. It's easier for her to manipulate someone attracted to her, after all. Ahru maintains an air of jolliness and informality, a guise that has long become effortless for her. She has a predisposition to mindlessly space out, playing with her hair or swinging her legs to and fro as she sits, giving the impression that she is carefree even in the most dire situations. She hasn't felt the need to call upon her godly form for some time and as such few Gods but those she favors greatly can claim to have seen it in person.
Personality: Ahru is undoubtedly the most carefree of the Gods. She cares not for their politics unless, of course, she has the opportunity to make things more 'interesting'. She is a being in constant search of a new distraction. She is fickle, rash, and most of all mischievous. She is known as the Trickster of the Gods for good reason. While her peers may be interested in establishing order in the world she is the source of chaos. She revels in disrupting the plans of her fellow Gods and inflicting her whims on the mortal world. One should not be mistaken, she is not 'evil' as one would traditionally define it, but is merely interested in creating situations that in turn interest her. Perhaps the most dangerous aspect of dealing with her is the fact that she is quick to change her mind, constantly acting on her first impulse. Of course she derives entertainment from far more baser activities as well- dancing, singing, anything that might sate her desire for a good time. Most of all she enjoys playing simple pranks on the Gods themselves- while creating chaos in the world may be fun the thought of Aesis sitting on a whoopie cushion greatly appeals to her as well. Despite her comical personality Ahru is deceptively shrewd and intelligent, traits that make her a natural deceiver. Her licentious attitude causes many to underestimate her, a mistake that has caused the downfall of many. If one can put up with Ahru's antics they may find a valuable albeit annoying friend, but many of her fellow immortals find her insufferable.
Major Domain: Ahru is the God of Mischief, holding dominion over tricks, pranks, and more sinister acts of deception.
Minor Domains: Fortune, Secrets
Avatar:
The Jabberwock stands at nearly 150 feet, smaller than most Godly avatars but making up for the disparity in agility and ferocity. The Jabberwock is a fearsome creature, imperceptibly fast with strength to boot. Despite its vicious appearance and aptitude for combat The Jabberwock reflects the disposition of Ahru: It has not interest in fighting. It will not attack unless it or Ahru is attacked. Instead it is content with playing games with mere mortals and, occasionally, the Gods if they are so interested. The Jabberwock is a master of all games, approaching humans with a promise: Those that can beat it in any game will receive whatever their heart desires, but those that lose will be cursed to die in a painful and premature fashion.
Stance: Ahru, of course, has absolutely no interest in ruling the Gods. That would be, by her estimation, incredibly boring. She does not strongly support anyone, preferring to keep her allegiance for whoever proves to be most interesting.
Loyalty During the Rebellion: Who needs to pick a side? Ahru is on every side and no side. She had no allegiance, instead going from one side to another to ensure things stayed as interesting as possible.
Center of Power: Most Gods objects of power are something that's important to them or something that represents their power. Ahru's center of power is a mouse. A live mouse. Her more serious siblings have admonished her for pestering the King of Gods to give her such an obviously terrible Center of Power. Her response? She did it because it was fun. Having a living Center of Power was just so much more interesting! Luckily her mouse, whom she has named Puck, has grown fond of her and is reluctant to make an escape attempt. Puck will try to find its way back to her if lost as well/ To be quite frank Ahru likes the mouse as well, and considers making her Center of Power her pet one of her better decisions.
Relations:
Aesis: Living on an island Ahru shares a border with Aesis, God of the Seas. Ahru revels in pranking the serious God, who gets some measure of amusement from her antics. She also knows that if she isn't on his good side he'd cause trouble for Jarenhold, which probably wouldn't be good for her.
Donavall: The former God of Family was good friend of Ahru's. Kovar, God of War, gave Ahru the ultimatum to kill Donavall or be destroyed. Ahru choose the former but regrets her actions and hates Kovar for making her murder her friend.
Di'Myria: The Goddess of Time and Ahru are like-minded, both out for their own amusement. They get along well and are close friends.
Ferrum: The God of the Forge is amused by Ahru's pranks, but Ahru constantly tries to go a little too far with him. She makes a game of trying to arouse his well hidden anger.
Ki'ivara: Ahru enjoys the company of the Goddess of Lust, one of the few Gods that like her antics. Ahru can appreciate someone who knows what they want, in addition to her other 'assets' as the personification of lust.
Lacetris: Ahru totally abuses the God of Darkness' good nature. She ropes him into her schemes constantly causing him to neglect his own duties.
Naqqash: Naqqash is the son of Prephistes, God of Greed. Ahru was good friends with Prephistes before his premature death, and her affection for him has inspired her to protect his son. She makes sure he's getting along well with the whole 'becoming a God' thing while in the process of playing one of her practical jokes on him.
Sekh: Sekh might not consider the God of Mischief a friend, but she considers him one. He is one of her favorite targets because she knows that he hates when she makes fun of him.
Xsar and Janin: Ahru forms a triumvirate of sorts with the God's of Alcohol and Madness. The share similar interests and are drink together often.
Killgarh: Ahru enjoys inflicting her mischief upon the God of Dragons, but he does not enjoy her japes. Additionally he is a close ally of Oskana and Ahru considers him a little too honorable.
Kovar: To put it lightly Ahru is glad that War is dead. Although she at first appreciated his rebellion since it made things a little bit more interesting she resents the Rebel's leader for making her kill Donavall, the God of Family. He's dead now so she doesn't worry about him too much, however...
Oskana: The Goddess of Storm represents order in the Sphere of the Gods- a natural enemy for the God of Mischief. She also killed Ahru's friend Greed during War's rebellion. Ahru greatly resents Oskana. Oskana in turn dislikes Ahru because of her actions during the war.
Zadia: Ahru harbors a deep hate for Zadia. The newly made God stuck her spear through Ahru's firstborn daughter Orthia during War's Rebellion, an act that Ahru will surely never forgive her for.
Powers: Ahru is a highly capable archer, said to never miss her mark. Being a trickster she is naturally very agile and hard to get a hold of. She has little skill in a melee to speak of, preferring to keep her distance and stay out of direct combat. Her greatest skill is that of guile, the ability to sneak and steal. Even without her Skeleton Key it is said that she can pick any non-magical lock. Ahru has the ability to peer into the mind of mortals and discover their darkest secrets; this ability does not work when used upon immortals. Despite her prowess in combat it is rare to see her in a battle; fighting simply does not match her definition of fun. Ahru's power lies truly in her ability to trick and deceive even the Gods. To this end while she is in mortal form she can change her shape at will, although is unable to exceed the size of her typical form.
Godly Equipment:
Sunstrike- Legend hold's that Ahru's bow, Sunstrike, has the power to pierce even the Sun, hence its name. She has yet to test this particular feature for fear of how she may alter existence as she knows it... and the wrath of Ilyona. However it is certain that an arrow shot from Sunstrike is very hard to stop, able to pierce shields, armor, and just about everything in the mortal world. Each arrow shot from the bow is rendered nigh unstoppable. Despite the great urge to wreak havoc with the weapon Ahru does demonstrate an uncharacteristic restraint with it, for fear that her peers will take it from her if she gets too eager. The bow is crafted from the light of the Moon itself, the limbs of the weapon having an ethereal quality, seemingly made of moonlight but nigh unbreakable. The string is taken from a lock of Ahru's own hair- not that of her mortal form, but of her godly form. It is a weapon greatly treasured by the trickster. It is a God's Bane weapon, although she has yet to try to claim an immortal life with it.
The Dagger That Does Not Cut- One of the most curious weapons in the God's arsenal is her dagger. As the name implies the dagger is incredibly dull and is unable to cut even the softest of cheese. Despite this it is completely unbreakable no matter how much force is applied to it. The dagger has another curious property: All who touch its blade are destined to misfortune. Their plans will fail, their loved ones will come to shun them, they will lose their wealth, and for the rest of their life, however long that may be, they will be shrouded by misfortune. She has yet to see how the dagger will affect a God, but it is not a God's Bane weapon, so it is unknown how much of the dagger's properties will work upon an immortal. Ahru suspects that while it is not able to kill a God it will give them a burst of bad fortune.
Skeleton Key- Ahru's greatest tool, a key that can open any lock. Its head has the design of a skull, but the rest of the key is ever changing to match the lock it will fit into. Only Ahru knows the secret to creating a lock that will not yield to the key, but she of course refuses to share this knowledge.
Cloak of Night- When one looks upon the cloak it seems to be night itself- the black canvas seemingly as dark as the night's sky filled with glowing points of light that look like stars. It is a beautifully crafted garment made from the wool of a winged black ram; a strange creature borne into the mortal world by Rieth himself. The cloak has the unusual ability of turning all who wear it completely invisible, undoubtedly a useful tool in the trickster's arsenal.
Ahru's Slippers- The unfortunate result of Ahru's own attempts at making a tool worthy of her pranks. These ill fitting slippers are ugly; a craftsman Ahru is not. There are made of the leather taken from a centaur and blessed with her own power. They are an ugly shade of brown and the shoe is improperly glued together, threatening constantly to come apart but never committing to self-destruction. They are uncomfortable on Ahru's feet but she finds herself wearing them often, perhaps because she feels some semblance of pride in their design, or, more likely, because of their extra-ordinary properties. Those who wear produce no sound from their feet. That is to say the sound of footsteps or that of falling are imperceptible to all but the wearer.
Demi Gods:
Várlil is Ahru's first born son, spawn of one of the few able to beat the Jabberwock in a game. Várlil is a murderer, raper, and committer of many more vile deeds in the mortal world- he is like his mother in the fact that he commits acts of chaos for his mere amusement, although he is far more evil. He encompasses the darker side of her mischief. Quite frankly Ahru would prefer to ignore him, never having need to call upon him, embarrassed by his crassness and violent tendencies. He has the supernatural strength that Ahru possesses alongside all gods and her great skill with the bow.
Reynard appears less a fox and more some creature of magic. Ahru is the father, not the mother, of Reynard. The result of one of her whims, an 'experiment' with her shape changing abilities, Ahru is content with pretending Reynard does not exist. If Várlil represents the dark of Ahru's domain then the fox represents the lighter side of the sphere of mischief. He is a playful prankster and well loved in the mortal world, more whimsy than malice. Much like his sibling Ahru does not call upon her spawn often, but Reynard is eager for the chance to appease his parent. Reynard has the agility of Ahru and the ability to turn into shadow at his whim.
Orthia was Ahru's first child, and the only one she had ever cared for. The stories go that Orthia's father was a man of Jarenhold that the Goddess of Mischief met not long after she was created. As a newly born God she was eager to explore her lands, and her whims led her into one of her subject's beds. Orthia was the result of their union, and Ahru was eager to dote on the newly made demigod. Orthia was a capable warrior and possessed the better qualities of her younger siblings- Reynard's agility and charisma and Várlil's skill with the bow and great strength. Most importantly she possessed Ahru's sense of humor and her lively spirit. When Ahru entered War's Rebellion her daughter was not far behind, following her as she ping ponged between the two sides. She was ultimately struck down by War's daughter Zadia in battle, an act that Ahru will never forgive the newly made God for. Ahru arrived at the battle too late, routing Zadia's army but losing her daughter. Ahru never forgave herself, withdrawing form her two sons soon after, leaving them to their own devices.
Name of your Land: Jarenhold (Pronounced Yar-en-hold)
Lands: Jarenhold is an island entrenched in an eternal autumn, a surprisingly beautiful land considering the character of its ruler. It is covered in autumnal forests alight with the colors of fall,: red, orange, and brown hues of leaves that are nigh constantly falling. Despite this the trees are never bare, seemingly growing leaves as fast as they lose them. Besides the woods of Jarenhold one can find rolling fields that are canvased by flowers. Jarenhold is a temperate island, never overly hot or cold but maintaining a pleasant sunny atmosphere. Near the coast the forest and fields give way to beaches covered in white sand. The flora and fauna of Jarenhold are not peculiar- they are what you would expect from the mortal realm, overall an idyllic land that does not match its ruler.
People: The people of Jarenhold are simple, ordinary humans. They are predispositioned to a pale white complexion and red hair, matching their God's chosen form.
Culture: Men of Jarenhold are simple and hardworking- the land is known for the farms that dot its fields, storied as the source of the finest ale and produce in the mortal world. As the fields turn into the coast farming towns become smattering of fishing villages. Although they are a people that value labor their God ensured that they know how to have a good time. The towns of Jarenhold are alight with parties after the workday that will last well into the evening. Perhaps one of the greatest oddities in Jarenhold is the fact that Ahru can be found regularly joining in her people's revelry and, of course, playing tricks on them. For them she is less a God and more a whimsical spirit- in fact many in her land would not recognize her as the God of Mischief, more accustomed to worshiping depictions of her unfavored immortal form. Jarenhold is a simple land of simple people, although one must ask, why does a God such as Ahru hold dominion over such a seemingly unfitting land? The answer is simple: It's more fun for her to inflict her brand of mischief on ordinary mortals. For her the land of Jarenhold is less her domain and more a playground for her to find her jollies.
Technology: The land of Jarenhold is best described as Medieval Era, although there is little technology to speak of besides that which may be applied to farming. That is to say that one might find water wheels and advanced farming techniques but innovations involving warfare and weaponcraft are much less commonplace, as Jarenhold's people are a peaceful breed.
Capital: Jarenhold's capital, Alarah, is perhaps only distinguished from the other villages in that it is slightly larger and more centrally located. The architecture of Alarah, much like the rest of Jarenhold, is simple and wooden, the most formidable building in the village being a longhall dedicated to worship of their God.
Beings: Jarenhold has a small population of Kitsune. They are ordinary foxes save for the capability to speak and an intellect matching a human. Their ideals fall more in line with that of Ahru's. They revel in inflicting her mischief upon the people of Jarenhold, and are disliked by their Human neighbors. The exception to this is Reynard, who is respected as Ahru's own offspring, a Half-Breed who possess the ability to walk on two legs as a Human would. He has become well liked by the people of Alarah, his particular brand of whimsy and fun injecting life into the town. |
48,862 | 1,317 | 6 | 1,256 | 158 | Di'Myria
Goddess of Time
“Well yes, aha… Chane, I believe you have me stumped.” The disguised god returned a laugh to the baker once more, he too continuing his work cheerfully.
As the baker began organize loaves of bread to be put into the oven, a knock came from the door. Before he could even turn around to greet whomever had entered, a much taller woman clad in armor stepped into the bakery. Chane quickly set down the loaves in his hand to greet the Demigod with a folding of his hands and a quick bow. “Madam Vespira, I didn't ex-”
“Pardon my informality but I'm afraid I might have to take Ospira with me outside of the city. I'll be sure to make sure my mother can make up for my rudeness and my taking your company.” The demigod was somewhat slouched over due to the height of the ceiling, as her gaze shifted to her disguised mother. She gave her mother a slight look of disappointment before turning to Chane.
The humble response of the baker was swift, somewhat of respect to one of the guardians of the city. “Of course. You don't have to, Ospira here was just helping me pass the time.” Chane looked over to Ospira with a bit of a questioning expression, then quickly speaking up, “You know Vespira?”
“Yes, pretty well actually. I mentioned I travel a lot, I often encounter her in Valas.” Ospira, as she was known to Chane and other people in the capital, stood up. Sword sheathed and slung over her shoulder, Ospira headed to the door. “Anyways, I'll be back, Chane. It'd be rude to keep a demigod waiting!” The goddess exclaimed cheerfully, before taking steps out of the door. Vespira followed closely behind, giving the baker a wave as the two exited the bakery.
“I'll have something for you ready next time!” Chane turned back to his bread, wondering how much adventure Ospira had left to share.
“You didn't have to pull me away, Ves.” Di’Myria looked up at the demigod, shaking her head ever so slightly. It was likely a bit of a far guess that this form actually was the Goddess of Time herself, though Ospira had a striking resemblance to Vespira.
“Yes, well, if leaving me to be late would be rude, how rude would it be being late to a family meeting?” The two of them were continuing their trek to the Sanctuary, which would give them enough time to talk.
“If they haven't changed that much within the past four hundred years, I think we might be some of the first to be there. Okay? Great! And besides, Ves, give it a break. We’re going to be stressed out for about a month for these meetings.” Ospira pulled her hair back before looking up to the skies. “Let me have my time away from my thoughts, is that alright child…?” The Goddess’s true emotion of mourning had slipped through the guise of Ospira, and her daughter noticed.
“Yes mother. Kiroas awaits us.” Vespira had enough respect for her mother not to criticize her in a moment like this, though internally had her distaste. Her mother’s timeliness had always been an issue, her mother’s constant amalgamation with the mortals… Though now that she was here, it was time for a bit of respect.
“Thank you. One your aunts always tries her best to remind me to take time off, and one of your uncles always comes to me for assistance in doing so. Now, we head to the Sanctuary, then to The Heavens.” With a quick flash into her own time-sphere, Di’Myria shifted into her proper goddess form, though instead of instantly returning back into real time, Di’Myria took a moment to breathe. She thought it suiting to take a moment to think before properly heading to the Sanctuary, although now she was stuck for a moment of a loop.
Her father and several of her siblings had always mentioned to her that taking too much time to think was what was going to end up killing her in the end. For the last half of her lifetime, she had been working on taking much, much more time to herself and enjoy her people. Thanks to most of her siblings, she had changed for the better, but now felt the strongest solemnity tied closely with her mourning. She could spare these strong emotions for when she was next to her father’s death bed.
Now was the time to continue on, as Di’Myria flashed back into real time. The Goddess continued her step, looking down to her daughter as the two of them continued their steps upward. The Sanctuary was about a quarter of the way up the path, though their home was up on the top of the path, yet not at the top of the mountain. Just high enough to overlook the interconnected cities.
“Are you alright, mother?” Vespira looked to Di’Myria’s eyes, which somewhat expressed a short bout of pain. She didn’t quite want to address the fact that she noticed her mother taking a slightly extended second to change appearances, though at this point it didn’t matter.
“Yes, I’m fine.” The rest of the walk was taken up quietly, as the two of them had only a handful of steps. Their pace had shifted from Myria matching her daughters to the opposite, Di’Myria then turning to her daughter as they stepped into the Sanctuary. The Sanctuary’s basic design was as of a very large marble gazebo with a relatively small floor clock in the center of the floor, with the words ‘In Tribute to our Goddess, Di’Myria’ engraved around the clock. This clock in particular had much smaller pillars but still worked perfectly fine, as was designed my Di’Myria.
Awaiting their arrival, Kiroas stood up on edge of the Sanctuary, gazing down into the cities below. “Mother, Sister, you’re late.” He turned towards the two of them, bowing his head as the sound of his armor’s movements was the only thing heard for the moment.
“Glad to see you in good shape, Kiroas.” Di’Myria acknowledged her son without acknowledging the lateness, pulling the necklace off of her neck. The several rings began to spin around each other, before Di’Myria closed her eyes for a few seconds.
“Somewhat, though you can’t blame me for Mother.” Vespira stood next to her brother as the two of them share an expression of both irritation and understanding. That is that they both understood each other, not Myria. As the air shifted slightly, the Clockwork Medallion started spinning, the three stepped to the center of the Sanctuary, Kiroas on her Right, Vespira on her Left. The large pillars holding up the roofing had a faint glow around them, with the breeze kicking up and a small sphere of distortion engulfing all of them.
The rings around the sphere disappeared promptly, with the sphere itself dispersing and leaving only the three in it’s place. Di’Myria prepared herself for the overwhelming formalities which approached her, knowing that this would be a solemn few days as things were sorted out between all of the gods. She took her steps forward as she glanced around at those who arrived. Other than siblings, she saw them as friends, allies. Of those present, she saw a constant punctuality, a sibling argument or two, a spell left unchecked, a dangerous inheritance, and a lighthearted joke. Distinct memories she kept close, something about all of her family. There were a few she would like to greet specifically, though after her dues are paid to her father.
Her two children stood at their respective sides of Di’Myria’s throne, which was marbled and with gold outlines, distinct pillar designs making the edges of the throne. On the top two corners were similar rings to the Medallion, though static as Di’Myria wasn’t sitting down. An oddity presented itself, on the foot of the throne was a clock which seemed to be both flat yet working perfectly fine, illustrating its own shadows on the flat surface.
Di’Myria stepped to the coffin, though waiting behind those who had shown up before her. She would have her turn. As she stood there, Myria muttered a quiet ‘thank you’ under her breath, then addressing the gods around her. “Good day to you all. I hope you all have been well.”
“Ferrum, brother, I think you and I should spare a minute or two during an intermission.” She looked one of the taller siblings, with a gentle nod of compassion sent to him, before she turned to Ahru. “Sister, pardon me if I might be less energetic for the time being, and I shall do the same for yoou.” A smile turned to her before Di’Myria stepped back from the coffin. Others will have their moments now, but Di’Myria would have her time given enough space. She only would need a few seconds, but she could easily turn that into half an hour. For now, Di'Myria shifted her gaze on the other chairs, seeing who would approach next, and giving those surrounding the coffin their time and space around it. | Name:
Di’Myria, Goddess of Time, Patron of Navigation, Maiden of the Oracle. Ospiria
Gender:
Female
Appearance:
Standing at a 12’2, Di’Myria prefers to keep the formal clothing which she has donned for quite a while. She prefers shades of blue, and always has her shawl on her person.
She does spend a lot of time in her mortal form, at about 5’6 without assistance of footwear. The gradient of her hair shifts to a solid color, and in this form she gives off the impression of being a traveler with a sword for defense and hunting.
Personality:
“Which would you prefer? Playful me or being spited by time itself. I personally think it’s a lot more fun this way, though I do have some sort of a reputation.”
Di’Myria could be seen as a bit immature for a Goddess at some points, though when you have as much time as she does to be all serious, some things get boring. Her most outward impression is that she attempts to take as much amusement as possible out of most scenarios, except for those of serious matters. In which, she often goes into her own sphere of thought as need be. She often spends time disguised as a mortal just to see how things are doing, and enjoys it quite so.
Generally, Di’Myria is benevolent, and attempts to have as close relations with the other gods and possible. Her intent has always been to keep order and do her best to create peace. She generally is one of trying to lighten up the mood, although when need be will push in authority. Her being serious is a bit of an odd sight though she does her best to enforce, but can easily flip the coin.
Major Domain:
Time
Minor Domains:
Oracles and Navigation
Avatar:
Resembling the Flying Felines in Magnus, De'Metus is a spectral looking feline who, spare for the glowing blue aura and claws, looks perfectly like a winged lion. Physically it's a bit smaller than an averaged sized avatar, however the glowing aura surrounding it makes it a lot more menacing and appear much larger than it is.
Stance:
“Not everyone can be trusted, especially after what’s happened in history.”
Despite her relaxed attitude toward most things, Myria doesn’t trust anybody else at the moment to take the throne properly, being cynical even among the gods. Her response and resolution to this would be to go and defend the throne and take power if needed.
Loyalty During the Rebellion:
“Many rulers have problem, even our king. An attempted coup like so was not the way to address it. I had my moments fighting in the war, but I proved myself in battle and we all are better off now then we were centuries ago.”
Center of Power:
Clockwork Medallion - A small three golden necklace with several spinning rings, Di'Myria keeps this on her neck at all times, and it seems to shrink when she's disguised as a mortal.
Relations:
Ahru - The two of them have always been pretty close due to their similar nature of self-entertainment and somewhat messing with their people.
Aesis - A bit of a cold shoulder experience after the war, the two of them were a lot closer before, though Di'Myria wishes for the closer relations to return.
Loshtar - Put simply, Di’Myria has had to prove her capability once in history. The death of Murder.
Powers:
In combat, Di’Myria primarily uses her powers as a utility rather than primary use. Most of her abilities have a slight temporal effect on Myterias Prima. Her power is a lot weaker when being used on other Gods, because they all are anchored to time heavier than mortals are.
Sphere of Thought -
Not a combat ability, though in the need of making a very important decision or having a conversation with a person or two, Myria can isolate herself and others in a short sphere of highly sped up time to think or talk. This is where Myria spends most of her deliberation time and can spend a minute for an exchange lasting an hour. This sphere can be broken and disrupted if used in combat.
Temporal Adjustment -
This sums up the general specifics of her powers, creating distortions in time which affect mortals and most things in time. When used against Gods, it’s effect is severely limited. She creates a few events in time to either slow down others or speed herself up. The first two make it so that she can react faster or use her weapons in better timing than without. When used against Gods, their anchor to time makes it so that there’s an equilibrium Myria has to meet between speed and duration. One half second burst of highly sped up time for her or several seconds of time slightly sped up or slowed down for her opponents. When used against mortals, the equilibrium has a much wider range and she can use her power to the highest extent.
Distortion Event -
Between a handful of points, Myria can flash herself back or forward in time a few seconds during combat events. In the world, it’s applications are far more wide, although rarely used. Myria sees no purpose in altering timeflow by sending things forward or backward in time by large gaps, though she uses this to send short prophetic messages about the weather or seasons to help better her people.
Godly Equipment:
Continuity Blade -
A dark metal broadsword, which when used in conjunction with Di’Myria’s abilities causes a bit of a repeated strike a half second afterwards. It creates an aura behind her blade which repeats the previous strike. This is a Gods Bane weapon. When used by a full-sized god, this sword’s guard extends and creates a glowing aura of a much larger blade, for proper use by said god.
Perfectionist Pendulum -
A small gilded pocketwatch and compass for navigation. The compass lines up with the stars and cardinal directions and is synced to time much more perfectly than The Great Clock of Prima using a small magical motor, fueled by Di’Myria’s power.
Timewinder’s Shawl -
Not quite a weapon or utility, but this shawl is imbued with protective energies. It also tends to glow when in combat, and if Di’Myria needs to make an entrance.
Demi Gods:
Kiroas -
Kiroas stands at 9'5, usually donning his custom armor of the MHC.
Far too serious for his mother, Kiroas is considered The Guardian of Myterias. Kiroas uses the fraction of Di’Myria’s power he inherited to repel borders from the slightly antagonistic packs of Winged Felines and enforce order throughout the land. He’s terribly stiff because of his mortal mother, Kirvan, trying to keep up expectations of him being a demigod and due to her family lineage. Kirivan herself was a member of the Prima Defense Army, which was mostly a volunteer army for times of invasion or defense though they were regarded as the keepers of the city. Kiroas is quite the perfectionist when it comes to combat and trying to keep up spirits of the people.
Vespira -
Vespira is a tad short at 7'11, though honestly doesn't mind too much.
The daughter of Di’Myria is substantially less a stick in the mud, though both have their dilemma with their mother. Vespira was more of the scholarly type for the most of her childhood and into her teen years for education. The city Vespira was brought up was a coastal city known for it’s technological advancements, bringing the science to the capital. Up until her teenage years, she had never actually known about her mother, being raised by her father. Somewhat adopted under the care of Kiroas at the end of her schooling, it was his idea to teach her in the art of swordfighting, and among her understanding of science, she is nearly a match for her brother. Vespira was gifted a much slower version of her mother’s Sphere of Thought.
Both of Di’Myria’s children share a handful of similar factors. Both are quite irritated with their mother and her escapades as a mortal, thinking that she’s somewhat been apathetic to the people, now knowing that it’s been the exact opposite. They both also haven’t seen the other side of the coin with Di’Myria, being born after the war. They also don’t seem to be able to trust her when she’s disguised, always lurking around her.
Both also have been gifted special blades by Di’Myria. As her people have questionable defenses for invasion, the two of them are somewhat responsible for assisting protecting the cities.
Name of your Land:
Myterias Magnus
Lands:
Myterias Magnus is a temperate land which about all of it is inhabitable. A large portion of the plains are occupied with farmland, and many cities are founded around large geographical masses. The Capital, Myterias Prima, or just Prima, is dead center in the territory, was initially built around a large mountain. All around the plains are various animals which are mostly left all alone, with people hunting the cattle and the grazing animals for food around the main cities. There are a few mystical locations around the land, including a few bioluminescent forests with purple and blue leaves, a lake surrounded entirely by mountains, and rolling forested hills which seem to be eternally in a state of autumn. Birds seem to avoid this area but flock to the Spirit Forests.
People:
The people of Myterias Magnus are mostly human with various exceptions. Most of those exceptions are treated with high respect, as most locals approach most with open minds.
Culture:
Most of the food in Myterias Magnus are agricultural based though nomadic cattle farmers do strive. There are some conflict with some of the farmers property, though they usually exchange cattle in exchange for grazing rights. Most people live within the groups of cities bunched together, staying away from the borders. Most nearby cities have an interconnected series of aqueducts, carefully yet seamlessly blended into most official buildings.
The people of Magnus are both of science and of culture. Most have a certain distaste for war and most forms of violence, only those in the MHC (Magnus Homeland Coalition, which acts as a defense force and a police, and whose armor resembles the Roman Legion minus the feathers) and the localized militaries have much taste for blood. Even then, they only choose to defend themselves in times of need, and historically have done a good job of doing so. They do have schools of practice for all of their training of warriors.
Both their scientific endeavours and their literature have been staples of their culture, their science being closely tied into spirituality and worship for their goddess. Being guided by the Patron of Navigation makes quite a few stories. They take pride in their architectural advancements and their stories of times long, long ago.
Politically each city is individualized with separate groups, the Capital Government only intervenes for homeland defense and stimulating trade across the land, all for the better of the people. Corrupt individuals in the government are either imprisoned or exiled, although their jail system is quite well kept. It does get lonely, though it’s humane to say the least.
Technology:
Roman/Byzantine-Era, plus a few hundred years for the clocks.
Capital:
Myterias Prima. Being the capital of Magnus, Prima has The Great Clock. It branches out into four other cities towards the outskirts, connected by roads and guided by the aqueduct system. The city itself is the biggest within the nation, and is situated next to a large mountain, on the side is where Di'Myria resides.
The Great Clock of Prima:
Every city and town in Myterias Magnus is built around a large circular platform with markings dividing it into 10 equal parts, signifying time. Towards the center of this platform are usually several pillars which are used to line up with the stars to tell the date relative to time of year. Using these and the sun, with some magic to align the trajectory properly, each town is properly synced in time. The inside of these are left exposed for easy reading of the time. These clocks are the centers of town, with the outer rim being lined with trading posts and the inner sides being set up for speeches and performances of whatever kind.
Beings:
There are a few different species of Winged Felines, some feral and some are quite peaceful. The feral ones tend to be bigger and bear much larger teeth. The peaceful types tend to be much smaller and are the size of a small child, not reaching larger than a teenager at full age. Those are In nightly invasions of these Felines assisted by marauding Thick-Skinned Bears, which are usually kept at bay due to both fire and their distaste for the clocks. Something about the magic makes it so they’re deterred from entering the cities inner boundaries. Bear meat is one of the few hunted wild animals which are good for eating, though those from far away seem to always cost more and are considered delicacies. In the Spirit Forests, as the name implies, some nature spirits inhabit the area and usually stay away from outsiders, though tend to be active at night. |
48,863 | 1,317 | 7 | 496 | 66 | Ki'ivara - Goddess of Lust
Pestering words began to ring out inside her mind. She groaned at the distraction and she pushed herself up to her knees on the bed and moved out from under the blanket; wiping her lips dry of Autumn's dew. Focusing now more onto the annoying voice echoing in her head she was finally able to make out what it was saying.
"...to the throne room for the Kings funeral. All must attend." the message ended. She didn't get all of it but just the important parts. She groaned to herself as she crawled out of bed fully, her body naturally growing back from its mortal size and into its Godly size. "Go on now Autumn. Our fun is over for now." Ki'ivara instructed to the naked woman sprawled across the bed Ki had just left.
The petite girl whined in disappointment before rolling out of bed and leaving the room. With a glimmer of light appearing around her body her normal, minimal attire suddenly formed around her body; the long white and blue accented back of her dress cascading down. Her body swayed beautifully across the room with each step towards the large mirror. She looked herself over, fixing her sex hair into its elegant drape down her shoulders.
This was something she hoped to avoid. She didn't want to address the death of her father. Ki'ivara was a creature of pleasure. She had no interest in solemn gatherings. She almost considered bringing some of her priestess' to liven the whole thing up. Though that would be near impossible with the Guardian around. What a blasted buzz kill he was.
Satisfied her appearance was proper she took a deep breath, letting her entire body relax. From her feet up they began to dematerialize into a mix of blue and white energy.
Through the ground next to Oksana's throne the very same blue and white energy swirled up and with a bursting flash Ki'ivara materialized; sitting on the arm of her throne, facing Oksana. With a devious grin across her pale pink lips she leaned down towards her before she could react. Leaning in to the point her lips were inches from her ear.
"Hello, My pet." She breathed in a sensually whisper, ending her words with a light bite to her ear lobe. Before Oksana could retaliate Ki was already gone. Having spun off the arm and walking away gracefully swaying with each step; taking a look back at Oksana and giving a devilish grin.
Finally giving a look to the rest of the room she took particular note of everyone in attendance. Not everyone was here, giving herself some relief not to be the last to arrive. Without wasting anymore time she ascended the stairs to the coffin where her father lay, peacefully stoic. She stood there silent for a moment, looking down at his unflinching stature. It was almost like he were still alive; except for the faint look of disapproval - even though she was his creation he still happened to be disapproving. But she still loved him all the same. She leaned down a bit into his casket, gently cupping his cheek into her soft hand. She leaned further in and place a soft, loving kiss to his forehead. "Good bye, father.." She softly whispered in a sweet, genuine tone. Uncharacteristically of the Goddess of Lust. To show true emotion. She wiped her eyes before standing back up, composing herself once again.
She turned back to the room, facing little Myria. She flashed her normal, brilliantly beautiful smile. She walked down to her, wrapping her in her arms nice and tight. "Hello my little Myria!" She cooed sweetly, pressing herself nice and tight into the other girl; making sure every curve pressed against Myria. After a long moment she released Myria from her arms and smiled, "We must catch up later." Ki insisted in her soft, silk voice before moving away and too her throne - a beautifully twisted throne of vines and flowers. She sat down among the beautiful flowers and let the vines contort to her figure into perfect comfort. | Name:
Ki'ivara.
Gender:
Female. (Though can shift appearances or even genders)
Appearance:
Ki'ivara when in her natural state stands at thirteen feet and four inches; holding a slender yet lightly curvaceous figure. Her entire body is flawlessly sculpted, not a scar or blemish in sight, and her attire leaves little covered or left for the imagination. Her hair is long and waved beautifully down her frame, nearly bleach blonde. Her eyes a bright crystal sky blue that glimmer like jewels in the sunlight.
Personality:
Being the Goddess of Lust she if very physically expressive. She seems to be completely unaware of personal boundaries or inappropriate social interactions. Though soft spoken verbally if she likes you it would be blatantly clear. She is unabashedly clear with any individuals standing in her eyes, though disdain may merely be conveyed by less affection. Ki'ivara's biggest desire is above all else is beauty and lust. She can be often seen as rather gluttonous with her desires, nearly incapable of letting go of something she finds beauty in.
Major Domain:
Lust.
Minor Domains:
Beauty and Prosperity.
Your Avatar:
Her Avatar is a large humanoid with blackened angelic wings. Her sharp spikes and edges scattered over her physique. She is very quick and agile, her slim figure able to weave and contort away from danger. With her large wings she can generate powerful gusts of winds to attack or even push herself or others away.
Stance:
Uninterested in becoming the new Ruler. She believes that would put to much responsible on her. Currently supports no one.
Loyalty During the Rebellion:
The Kings. Simply because she liked how it was, she was left alone in her domain to rule over her people. And she wanted to keep it that way.
Center of Power:
Ki'ivara's center of power is a small, bronze statuette. It is of a beautiful naked woman on her knees, displaying her natural beauty for those that would desire it.
Relations:
Ki has an almost unhealthy obsession with Oksana. After the rebellion Ki'ivara stole the weakened Oksana and took away to her country. She was Ki'ivara's little play thing and she adored her greatly. Though when Oksana's daughter rescued her and took her away was when her obsession really manifested. Ki'ivara didn't like losing her play things, in her eyes they were rightfully hers. And there was no better play thing than another God/Goddess. Now knowing Oksana is not weak enough to be seduced once again she has to simply chip away at her defenses until she can be hers again.
She has a strange relationship with the God of Dragons. She has no real strong feelings either way for him. She simply enjoys teasing the God - seeing as he cares for her play thing. It's almost irresistible not to play with the Mighty Lizard.
Ki'ivara gets tremendous joy from the God of Mischief. She is such a peculiar little thing she could simply sit back for hours and watch Ahru. Through this Ki'ivara has gained a great deal of affection for Ahru.
Ki'ivara feels the most genuine kinship with Janin. Seeing as they are both creatures of carnal desires they have the most in common. She is nearly the only God that Ki'ivara won't outrightly tease or try to seduce - not to say she hasn't thought about it, being the Goddess of Lust is just bound to happen. But Ki'ivara just simply and truthfully enjoys Janin's company beyond her own carnal desires of lust. Not to mention it is literally always a party when Janine is involved.
Powers:
Shapeshifting - The Goddess of Lust can shift and transform herself into any shape or form.
Beloved Visage - Ki'ivara naturally has this effect on those who look upon her. Those who lay their eyes upon the image of her get a huge Oxytocin (or the love hormone) dump into their system. They literally feel as if they are looking upon the person they love the most. This is often the reason those who look upon her feel the irresistible need to protect her and worship her. The stronger the mind the less this has an effect on them. Though this does work on other God's its effect is only 1/4 of that on mortals with weak minds.
Toxic Lips - Though this may seem a bit misleading her lips don't actually cause harm. Her lips simply have a special chemical that they can release onto her targets skin that amplifies sensations. This is often used on her play things to increase euphoria and pleasure. Though they can work to increase feelings and sensations of fear and panic. They simply take the most prominent sensation and emotion and amplify them to a degree of Ki'ivara's choosing. So she has to make sure not to uses this power carefully. This also requires contact with bare skin; and the closer to the heart or brain the faster the effects work - so lips or chest are the best locations.
Though well trained in combat she prefers not to fight if given the option.
Godly Weapon:
Luneth's Tear - A crystal blue tear drop shaped jewel places into an ornate golden collar necklace. This gem fills Ki'ivara with a radiant energy that protects her from harm. Not only that but boosts her natural capabilities.
Demi Gods:
Tyr was her second child. He was born with a bit of a complication... Tyr was born cursed by the mana spring, corrupting his very life blood. By no means is he evil but his mind is constantly tormented. Though despite this he is overall a good person though has a strange sense of humor. He is manic on occasions, often going out of his way to mess with people. Tyr is devastatingly gifted with magical power and physical prowess. If only he could keep focused longer than eleven minutes at a time.
Luneth is her first child, named after Ki'ivara's first and only love. Luneth is very little like her mother. She is very serious and feeds little into her desires. Focusing entirely on the army, which she oversees and commands. Luneth is a brilliant fighter and tactician; equally gifted in all forms of combat though little magical capabilities.
Luneth is actually the first born Succubus in the land of Hevalt. Since her more and more have began to be born and now there is a decent group of them scattered throughout the islands. Many have joined their army as they are quite devastating in combat. Not to mention their beauty and allure is quite distracting to opposing fighters.
Name of your Land:
Hevalt.
Lands:
Hevalt is made of of several large islands located not far off the main continent. Each island is beautifully unique with their own flora and terrain. Ranging from flower fields to jagged volcanic mountains and all in-between. Ki'ivara spent her life cultivating and creating the most diverse and beautiful region of the world. Scattered pieces of unique paradises crafted with her own hands. Not only is this country incredibly beautiful it is immensely wealthy, probably more so than any other. Each small island is filled with beautiful homes made of expensive materials. Her people receive only the best money can buy, and she certainly has the money to spare.
People:
The people of Hevalt are very elf like in most respects. They are naturally beautiful with a faint pale complexion and pointed ears and fair colored hair. This is the primary race of Hevalt and all else are often kept as servants in one sense or the other. Or even someone wealthy enough to purchase land in the beautiful island country.
Culture:
Hevalt is a strong matriarchy. Women have a higher social standing within this society. Women are often seen as more valuable then men, though men have their purpose. The men of Hevalt are care takers of the country either by joining the army or serving the women. Within Hevalt they have a thriving "service" trade. Being naturally beautiful the woman, and even some men, are heavily desired within the world and most will pay large amounts of money to spend the night with one. Though this is not a place to bring mistreatment. There is no mercy for those who mistreat Ki'ivara's children; and no one is exempt.
Technology:
Amazonian levels of technology.
Capital:
Ivara - Named after their Goddess (expected with how vain she can be) this is were Ki'ivara lives. Though it is the smallest island only Ki'ivara and her priestess' and children live. The environment is beautiful beyond imagination. Covered in rare flowers and beautiful trees. The priestess' keep the lands perfectly trimmed and groomed, the ornate statues and arts well kept and clean. There are no buildings or any form of housing structures on this island, they all sleep and live within the beauty of the island. She believes in no walls to cover her beautiful island.
Beings:
Wisps have started to appear at night across the islands. They've been popping up starting only a millennia ago. Though they could be found on any of the islands they are still rare to run across. Any male from any race in the country - aside from those who bought their way in - are kept as servants. Females of any race are welcome without question, though are socially equivalent to pure-blood male Elves. In recent years Succubi have began to sprout up. They are a near perfect personification of the Ki'ivara true identity. |
48,864 | 1,317 | 8 | 682 | 1,490 | Kilgarrah of Honor
It was another blistering hot morning in Drake Valley, on a near summit cave on the tallest mountain, lies a pile of gold and treasure, monstrously huge, and stacked like a heap of sand. On top of this pile, the great Dragon King himself slumbered, Writhing in his sleep over piles of gold and gems "No.." He moaned eyes closed, rolling to one side in an almost violent matter. "No, no, no! Damn you Ferrum, this is not the en-!" He cut himself off as he woke up in a cold sweat. So long ago had that wretched event occurred, so long ago did he awaken from that cruel and ironic prison, but without a godsbane what was he to do for revenge? Yell at him and hope he kicks over? Kilgarrah stroked the hair on his chin as he was now back in reality, another day over his kingdom of hellish fire and jungle. Far from the more glorious cities of his kin. Though the vast amounts of wealth he hoards, and sleeps upon, makes up for the lack of much civilization.
His thoughts were broken when he heard a loud thud. Instinctively, Kilgarrah grew into a massive biped dragon, sprawling over his treasure hoard with protective greed. "Who dares approach the lair of Kilgarrah, the progenitor of dragons?!" He bellowed in his monstrous form, careful to not allow the flames building up inside his veins to melt his precious hoard. A familiar, armored figured approach. Equipped with a lance and sported wings on his back. "Father, forgive my intrusion." The armored figure spoke with a humble attitude, bowing before his fire. Recognizing his demi-god, Kilgarrah stepped off of his treasure hoard and came closer to his son, though kept his monstrous form. "Ah, William! It is good to see you have paid visits to your creator, what is it thy desire?" The once cruel and savage beast became more compassionate and endearing in a moment's flash. William looked up to his draconic father and continued. "There is a council of your fellow Gods being hosted, it is mandatory for you to attend.
Kilgarrah leaned back. "I have to see him again" Narrowed his glowing, reptilian eyes, his tail would swing across a heap of gold as unpleasant thoughts of both Ferrum and some other siblings that were equally hated would naturally be there. The only thing he had to look forward to was seeing dear Oksana again. Seeing his father in distraught, William Assured, "I have come to accompany you as well, father." "Come then, my son." His massive tail would wrap around William before they were both converted into a crimson energy, that took off out of the cave with a firey wave of wings following the energetic form.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Moments after the arrival of Ki'ivara, A bright crimson flame bolted the entrance to the hall of the gods. From the flame, stood Kilgarrah alongside William, armored to the teeth. For a brief moment Kilgarrah had the silhoutte of a draconic figure, but that soon shrunk into his normal, mortal-like appearance. William walked alongside his father, as he made his way to his throne. Before so, he stopped to give a bow to the current gods that where present, even in the presence of the gods he despised. He then gave a smile to Oksana. "I have come as soon as possible, what is the news?" As he spoke, he took a seat at his throne. The throne itself was an ebony black, made from what seemed like blackened marble. The arms had to skeletal spines of dragons with their skulls burning fire from their eye sockets. The top of the chair had a much larger dragon skull that hang just above Kilgarrah. Two crossed swords were embedded in the back of the throne, with the blades reaching over the chair's height. William stood just beside Kilgarrah's throne in a vigilant possession, Lance wielded firmly and planted in the floor. | Kilgarrah, Father of Dragons, Patron of Knights, Lord of Gold
Gender: Male
Appearance:
In his traditional armor, sword, and shield, Kilgarrah's glowing red eyes are an intimidating site through his helmet.
Standing at 9' in height, Kilgarrah sports a mildly toned build despite his deceiptively powerful strength, having long black messy hair and sometimes sports facial hair. His skin is beige, and other then his crimson, glowing and reptilian eyes, there is nothing more remarkable about his initial form.
a 180 ft tall behemoth of a dragon, bipedal with firey veins on his chest, wings, and elbows that glow when he is charging flames within him. Black scales, massive claws, and a somewhat sleek design.
Personality: It is difficult to pin an exact alignment or personality for Kilgarrah. He is a being that values honor and other minute philosophies of a knight, respecting strength as well as mortals that rise to the occasion as warriors, regardless of alignment or affiliation with other gods. He also is supportive of the art of dragon slaying, that is mortals slaying his own creations. Despite this, he also is prideful of his very race he created, the dragons, which has also inspired a group of dragon cultists that also worship him. His pride and even greed are perhaps his most noteworthy of his flawed persona. Thinking of himself as the most powerful God, and his creations, the dragons, the ultimate race of creatures, even higher then angels or demons. He values treasures and rare artifacts, gold especially, a sacrifice commonly offered to him, and he guards his materialized hoard selfishly.
Overall, it is difficult for him to work with other gods, but those that do forge a bond that can never be broken, as he does not tolerate betrayal and other dishonorable acts. His bipolar nature of being a savage, destructive monster, and a fervent harbinger of justice and honor are perhaps his most interesting features.
Major Domain: Dragons
Minor Domains: Gold, Knights (It should be noted that he doesn't necessarily own dragons and knights, and other gods may use them, but both knights and dragons often look to him for worship.)
A massive, 600 foot long dragon, nicknamed by Kilgarrah as Smaug. This beast is the embodiment of Kilgarrah's destructive wrath and weapon of vengeance. Its strength alone could match the god himself, but it can create volcanic quakes with its greatest of firepower. It's third eye has psychic abilities, that can allow it to
-Speak telepathically
-Manipulate uncontrolled flames or molten rock/metal within sight
-resist against psychic related effects/attacks and illusions
Stance: He believes that he is the rightful heir to the throne. Though he is not against a favorable ally persay to take it either, but overall anyone that claims to also want the throne he will fight against for that right. Claiming that it can only be settled through an honorable duel, and demands to fight in such a manner to any and all that wish to claim this title, only then do they gain his respect and allowance to become King.
Loyalty During the Rebellion: Kilgarrah views such rebellion as a dishonorable act, and to this day he holds a bit of a grudge to those that were against the King of the Gods. However, in his pride he secretly believes that he was destined to be the monarch of deities. Even still, he never wished for the God King to be slayed, and fought valiantly to secure his throne.
Center of Power: A small golden skull of a dragon, approximately the size of a softball.
Relations:
At first he only hated Ferrum for sided more with the Rebels. But ever since he sealed him in gold the dragon only became more enraged at the god of fire. He swears revenge at his own hands, be it death or a brutal beating. To this day, he is very bitter of him. Being sealed under molten gold for hundreds of years would do that to anyone. Even if he gave him his weapon back.
The relation between Kilgarrah and Oksana is of thousands of years of kinship and romantic bonds. They often spar, flirt, and even times of romantic affairs. Kilgarrah both admires and respects Oksana, and is willing for her to share a throne with him should she be interested. Every year they try to get together for a big event of Oksana's own capitol, where the Draconians and her own people get together for a grand festival of dancing, sparring, and other forms of entertainment to celebrate their relations. The grand event is of many aspiring performers wishing to please the Gods.
Kilgarrah deeply despises Ki'vara for trapping Oksana on that lustful, accursed island, as well as repressing much jealousy all the same.
Powers: Kilgarrah has an inhuman level of strength and speed. While untransformed, he can lift over four tons and can move as fast as a cheetah in fully clad armor. He cannot be burned by any degree of heat and has shown to be extremely skilled with almost any weapon. He can transform or grow from parts of his bodies into dragon-like features. Such as growing a pair of wings, transforming his hand into a head of a firebreathing dragon, transform his hands and/or feet into claws, or grow scales as hard as iron over his skin. Additionally he has minor pyrokinetic abilities, such as lighting his own body on fire, or creating fireballs in his hand. He also fabricated a form of magic that can allow him to summon and unsummon various equipment instantly.
Fully transformed, his strength becomes so great that he can trample over hills, and can spew flames that can melt stone and most metal. At its most potent, he can fire projectile flames that can create an explosion powerful enough to create a 20 meter crater.
Godly Equipment:
The armor of the Scalelord is a steel armor that repairs itself over time from damage, it is also highly heat resistant and can protect users from extreme heat and fire. Additionally, the armor grants the wearer to be able to speak with dragons and improve strength and agility to a minor degree.
The Shield of the Scalelord is a large shield that is also indestructible, and can reflect non-solid projectiles and magic. The metal shield has a dragon's head inscribed into it.
The Wyrm Tooth is a large 12 ft long weapon with a steel 5 ft blade and a black hilt. The weapon is strong enough to pierce through a dragon's scales in addition to being able to slay gods. The Lance can also enhance pyromantic powers, natural to Kilgarrah. Such as igniting the blade on fire or shooting a ray or wave of fire.
Demi Gods:
A 60ft long hellkite born From Kilgarrah and another dragon in times soon before the the war started. Niddhoggr since birth has been the sole true and reliable protector of Drake Valley. A hero to the local Draconians as the white, four winged, four clawed dragon combats with all other scourges, mainly other dragons that seek the population as prey. His bladed horn is sharp enough to cut through their scales, and the dragon can produce a radiant, burning light, that while hotter then fire, it obviously isn't the heat that effects the dragon foes, it is the bright light that can temporarily blind and in some forms of attack can blast them back with brute force. Its rays of burning light that it can create from its wings and horn or breath from his mouth makes him far more dangerous in terms of ranged abilities for a dragon.
He, like Fafnir, upholds honor and justice. Despite being a dragon he has a far less malice intent then his physical appearance. Unlike Fafnir though he rarely travels, and instead devotes his entirety to the Draconians.
Niddhoggr rests under the Great Tree of Drake Valley, Yaggdrill, a 10 mile tall tree that's roots are so durable that they dig straight into pools of magma without damage.
Fafnir was born from an affair between Kilgarrah himself and a draconian named Minerva, who died upon giving birth. Fafnir quickly grew to a surprising 30 feet in height, despite the draconian subtype rarely having any similar size in the part, likely due to his godhood. Fafnir was honored by the Draconians as a true blessing of the god, honoring him as a great warrior. He served his father directly and forged his own weapons from the molten lake of a volcano. Sporting a steel clad armor, massive lance, and a massive shield. He is somewhat agile despite his massive size, being able to fly as well, breath flames, and using the equipment magic his father has. After decades of being raised in Drake Valley, he would be the answer to the prays of mortal knights across the world that wish to praise the dragonlord himself. Becoming a teacher to aspiring individuals in both technique and magic.
William was born for Annabelle Sigil and Kilgarrah. Born from a human, he was cursed to have glowing crimson eyes similar to his father, and a pair of white bat-like wings with plated scales. Both of these features have caused many of the residence of his local town attributed to him being a bad omen, aside from his mother's death. He has deathly pale skin and a tone but otherwise skinny build, standing 5'11, with messy black hair. His father eventually revealed his identity, and gifted him with His trusted spear and even crafted his son a special armor just for him, enchanted to be in tune with the electric properties of his spear
William also naturally has some traits similar to a dragon's. His growth seemed to stop around the age of 18, and quiet possibly suggesting that he now has an indefinite lifespan just like a dragon. Which explains why he is as ancient as his more draconic brothers despite being mostly human. Additionally, he cannot be burned by any degree of heat as well, and being stronger and more durable then the average human, granted barely reaching superhuman level. his wings also gift him with flight. He has grown quiet skilled with his lance and armor, and was taught the equipment magic through his half-brother, Fafnir.
Lands: Drake Valley is an island continent located in the southern region of an ocean. The entire region is an explosive jungle with high volcanic activity, aside from plateaus on certain mountains the terrain is mostly rugged and mountainous, with valleys stretching between vast tree covered mountains and volcanoes. The average temperature year-round fluxuates between 80-120 degrees, and molten lakes and rivers are just as common as rivers and streams. The hostile terrain is ideal for Kilgarrah's creations, the dragons, which are the apex predators of the region.
People: Dragon cultists live in the slightly less hostile regions and costlines of the island, where they worship both Kilgarrah and the local dragons. They sometimes interact with the Draconians, a race of humanoid dragons that live further within the region. The cultists often make their homes in caves and stone structures along beaches, with primitive tools and technology. The draconians are more advanced, having proper metal tools and castles that could rival human design. However the wild dragons of Drake Valley terrorize the draconians often, there are few surviving cities of the race, namely three castles.
Culture: The cultists live in unified tribes that worship the local dragons as gods, and Kilgarrah being the king of said gods. Individuals are either unaware of the other true gods, or simply do not acknowledge them as gods, believing that even the mortal dragons are a higher being to worship. They will sacrifice treasures and meats in large furnaces and volcanoes to appease kilgarrah, and will even have human sacrifices to a local individual wild dragon.
The Draconians however are a knightly group of humanoid dragons. They value the honorbound side to kilgarrah, and often conflict with the dragon cultists. The draconians culture reflect that of medieval society. They live under a monarchy, with structures, armor, and tools reflecting that of knights from human society. Additionally, they have an almost mysterious and mystic connection with dracomancy, which they right down in both books or stone tablets and runes inscribed in walls. Dracomancy is a magic that both cultists and Draconians use that mimics that of dragons, particularly involving pyromancy and even shaman like abilities or charms of good luck.
Technology: The cultists have a very primitive lifestyle. They have stone carved buildings and tools made of stone and weak metals like brass. Their most advanced equipment is paper and ink, which they use for their ceremonial rites.
The draconians have the typical medieval technology with iron and even steel in their possession to craft. In addition to large castles they also have expansive cavernous tombs with walls inscribed in them runes of ancient dracomancy and egyptian-like tales of their history and the gods.
Capital: Out of the three castles, Reijar is the most thriving. It should be noted that the Draconians are cut off with the rest of the world. Reijar has a high resource of iron in its location, as well as being on a massive plateau suitable for farming, raising cattle, and fishing. This makes it the most economically thriving city. Tunnels expanding over miles beneath the surface connect the other two castles, Avalon and Babary, to the capital.
Beings:
All dragons are reptiles, closely related to lizards and snakes (squamatas). Dragons have undefined lifespans, age itself has never claimed the life of a dragon, nor do dragons weaken with age, in fact its quiet the opposite. The elder the dragon, the more dangerous it tends to be. Every dragon, even those that relate with snowy environments or lack any sort of fire ability, have an innate affiliation with fire, and as such they cannot be burned or damaged by heat. All dragons have some sort of magical or spiritual aura, and their biology reflects much of that energy. not all dragons are intelligent, or capable of speaking. Many act like animals or even lack sentience altogether, while others while sentient are unable to speak or are knowledgeable of a language. Lastly, dragons are often born with at least 1 of the seven sins; greed, wrath, lust, sloth, envy, pride, and gluttony. Not all dragons are evil and there are plenty of dragons that could be considered good or benevolent, however they still suffer from at least one of these sins. Pride, wrath, greed, and gluttony are the most common sins.
Dragons are rarely intelligent. Most are animalistic and are essentially savage monsters. Even the few that are sentient rarely are able to speak or communicate directly. Even with this limited intelligence their nature does reflect their natural sins.
Dragons have varying traits and forms to the point that almost every dragon is unique. However all dragons can be classified as one of the following:
Hellkites
(typical six limb dragons, 4 legs and a pair of wings.)
Hellkites are the most ideal of dragons, and bare in likeness to Kilgarrah's transformed state. Hellkites are named for being described as flying bringers of flames, they commonly possess the ability to have a breath weapon, fire being the most likely, and often attack farmlands or other civilizations regularly out of some primeval habit. They are quiet a handful of sapient Hellkites as well, they are typically one of the more intelligent subtypes, but usually are far from benevolent. Hellkites typically range between 20 to 120 feet long.
Drakes
(Wingless 4 legged dragons)
Drakes are very close to hellkites, though some may resemble more of giant lizards then actual dragons. While it isn't likely for drakes to have a breath weapons, they are still dangerous for their fierce strength and speed, and while they cannot fly they are often well adapted to multiple terrains, some even tend to be semi-aquatic. the average size ranges between 20 to 80 feet long. There have been cases though of far more massive Drakes.
Wyverns
(Two legs and two wings)
Wyverns are considered to be one of the most intelligent of all dragons, even non-sapient individuals tend to have a dog-like level of intelligence. They are the most easy to tame. Some wyverns may possess breath weapons, however they more commonly have various venoms and natural weapons such as a barbed tail or powerful, talon-like feet. They are also one of the fastest of all dragon sub-types. Wyverns can be seen either in small roosting groups or by themselves, and while some can be aggressive, others may be more docile and less likely to attack a mortal. Wyverns are much weaker physically then other dragons, and their scales are not as durable either. Most wyverns range in sizes from 10 to 30 feet long, though their are records of individual wyverns as long as a 100 feet.
Basilisks
(Often resemble lizards or snakes, usually having no more then 6 legs, and rarely do any have wings. However most basilisks have some form of toxic property such as acidic saliva or a venomous bite, and can turn people to stone by looking into their eyes.)
The basilisk varies between either a snake-like or lizard-like form, sometimes somewhere inbetween. Rarely do they possess wings, however. Like drakes, they are more adaptive to land or water based terrain. Basiliks often have a wide variety of toxins such as venoms or poisons, even one to have said to have a green-tinted fire-breath that burned off a toxic and lethal gas in addition to the danger of the fire itself.
basilisks are legendary for their petrifying gaze, though it is actually rare for one to possess the ability. Regardless, this magic trait is exclusive to the Basilisk and Cockatrice subgroups. The gaze itself is not passive either, their eyes will change color in response, usually a shade of yellow or green. Those that look into their eyes at this point will become petrified and turn into stone. The only way to be freed from being petrified is for their statue form to be broken, surprisingly this doesn't harm the victim, however this means little if the victim is already in the stomach of the basilisk.
Cockatrices (bird-like dragons, often resembling a cross between a basilisk and a Wyvern)
Cockatrices are very similar to Basilisks, both having tendencies for toxic traits as well as having the possibility of a petrifying gaze. They are also similar to wyverns in their weak bodies, fast speed, and size range. However they are not as intelligent, and their feathers often provide additional protection from the elements and sometimes even magic based factors.
Wurms
(serpentine dragons, rarely have any limbs, and many vaguely resemble reptiles. Often both gigantic in length and diameter, they are rarely sentient. Some resemble snakes.)
Wurms are one of the more strange dragons. They are serpentine, and rarely have any sort of limbs to speak of. Some may resemble a snake, while others resemble a more insect or worm-like monstrosity despite being a reptile. While the most common type of wurms are sandwurms, wurms can inhabit a wide arrange of environments. Some can be sea serpents, slithering on land, volcanic lava, or even fly despite having no wings. Wurms are gigantic, ranging anywhere from 50 feet, to 500 feet. They are also the most primitive of dragons, seemingly only driven to consume, they act solely on primitive instinct and there has yet to be a sapient wurm.
Tarragons
(Like hellkites but are bipedal, some may have forms that could resemble a dinosaur.)
Tarragons are similar to drakes, but are bipedal and may resemble something like a dinosaur or godzilla. They can range anywhere between 20 to 80 feet in height commonly. Tarragons do not often possess wings, and sometimes could be confused for bipedal hellkites.
Drakkens/draconians
(Dragons with a humanoid posture and build, often ranging between 5'11 to 9'10 in height, they are as varying in appearance as any other dragon, though all drakkens are sentient)
Draconians are a specific race of dragons that are purely sapient and humanoid. These creatures can range in sizes varying between 6 to 15 feet in height, and can have a wide variety of color and design as well. They have four arms, and two legs, with the second pair of arms being wings. Some Draconians have been able to breath fire and do have other traits commonly associated with dragons. However they are not as cursed with sin as other dragons, and have a much for human-like freedom of personality.
Longs
(Asian styled dragons, serpentine and with 4 limbs, though wingless they can usually fly as if they defy gravity. Longs are often the most intelligent of dragons and usually are more involved with spiritual energy then magic.)
Longs are the most intelligent of all dragons, almost always sapient, and are often mystical by their vary nature. They can vary in power and size, being serpentine and having no more then 4 limbs. Despite rarely having wings they can fly as if defying gravity itself, the typical size range varies between 20 to 60 feet in length. Their have been sightings of even larger individuals such as a 150 foot individual that rested in a volcano. While born of sin like most other dragons, longs often go out of their way to cleanse their spirit and innate sin through spiritual journeys and assisting those out of pure benevolence, very rarely are any truly susceptible to their original sin except for those that choose not to go on these spiritual journeys of travel and self discovery.
Elemental, Fae and hydra dragons are mutation-like traits that happen within individuals regardless of type. Elementals often are more magical then biological, for example they may have a shell of ice over a frail naked body, or an armor of lava-flowing stone instead of scales. The weakness of an elemental are the opposing elements, for example fire can weaken the magic significantly of an ice elemental dragon, although dragons cannot burn the heat against those of ice can render them unconscious. Hydras are dragons with multiple heads, some can even regenerate new heads. The number can vary within 2 to a thousand, though it is rare for a hydra to have anymore then 20 heads. The heads of hydras are either each independent heads, or are all one conscience. Fae dragons tend to have butterfly-like wings and generally have fairy-like traits, they also are usually quiet small, they have various magical qualities that can be attributed to fairies as well.
Being cold blooded, most dragons are vulnerable against cold conditions and attacks of the sort, with exceptions of dragons that have an affiliation with it. Dragons usually have tough scales that act as natural armor, though their bellies tend to be of soft scutes and scales that are the Achilles heel to their physical defense. Dragons have a hard time of overcoming their sins, affecting their personalities and decision making.
Most dragons can regenerate naturally at great rates. They can regrow a loss limb or tail within a few months, large wounds can heal in weeks, however if they are fatally wounded something else must keep them alive in order for them to recover on their own. Some elemental dragons can regenerate certain factors seemingly instantly, and many hydras can also heal most wounds in minutes.
While many dragons have access to magic, their breathe weapons are usually from biological factors instead of magic, though many have sort of blended or amplified their breathe attacks with magic. The most common breathe weapon for dragons is fire. While dragons are affiliated with fire, they are not completely immune to it. While they cannot be burned or damaged by heat alone, the force from flames can knock them back with enough force, and elemental dragons that are weak against fire will start to loose conscienceless and magical power against great amount of heat.
Most dragons are capable of great strength and speed, attributing to their massive size. Dragons with forked tongues have a great sense of smell like most lizards and snakes.
Dragonsbane, a rare flowing plant that grows in Drake Valley, has an aroma that wards off dragons like a repellent. It can make dragons that ingest the plant grow very sick and ill, and even to the point of great irritation sort of like a bear-spray for dragons. |
48,865 | 1,317 | 9 | 2,358 | 96 | Janin
Summer nights on the coast of Tarren lent themselves perfectly to evening parties. The heat of the desert clung to the humidity of the tropical shoreline, leaving the air warm long after the sun was gone. Even when the cold came, the people would be filled with enough cheer and drink to notice it’s arrival. They were Janin’s favourite evenings for hosting; the stone courtyard of the palace was filled with music and laughter as people drank and gambled under fruit trees and firelight. The goddess herself remained in her true form, taking pleasure in the looks of fear and awe the appearance stirred in her guests. She made quite a sight, towering over most who even stood beside her seated form, a gold circlet around her head and abundance of matching jewelry that flashed and chimed with every moment.
“My father believes there may be even more workable land on the other side of the mountain, not the desert of course, but just under the cliffs...” The girl pushed against Janin’s side had a beautiful smile, but the conversation had grown tedious moments after it started. Janin had long since been watching a game of dice taking place to her left in favour of listening. They were quite obviously loaded to the observers, but the losing man had become too drunk to notice, and was trying to shake coin out from his empty purse.
“Is that a cat?” The shrill voice of her companion drew attention again, sure enough a small black cat was resting on her lap. It was an accustomed enough feeling it had gone unnoticed, she filled her glass again, glaring at the animal. The cat in turn began kneading her thigh, purring gently. The woman reached for it and had her hand slapped away with what was possibly more force than necessary when used on a mortal. Janin stood with her wine, clutching the cat by the nape of its neck with her free hand, and walked from the music and laughter into her palace. Slaves lined the entrance, and only watched as their mistress passed through the halls to her private rooms, here it was silent enough the only sound was her own jewelry and bare footsteps on stone.
Her room was large and open, three walls that opened to a second, much smaller courtyard than the one she had come from, shielded only with thin curtains, allowing the breeze to pass in. There were few furnishings for a room of such size, but all elaborately decorated, and most seemed to grow from the floor itself. The desk, wardrobe, lounge and bed where all fashioned from sandstone, with various images of animals, instruments, and humans carved in. Red and while fabrics draped from the ceiling, and matching cushions covered the lounge and bed. The walls where the focus of attention; all were covered in murals, depicting Janin’s coming into being and her various deeds, some sorties more exaggerated than others. The east walls depicted Janin taming the desert with music, charming Desin into her service and using him to raise mountains to protect her people from exposure and the dreaded Scorpios. Janin sat on the only piece of wooden furniture; a velvet-lined chair to sit opposite the stone desk, and dropped the cat to the floor.
As Alek fell she changed back to her usual human shape, rubbing the back of her neck as she walked towards the small heap of clothing in the center of the room, her mother resumed drinking, good humor gone.
“I am sorry mother but this is important,” Janin looked past her daughter, cool glass pressed again her flushed cheeks. The room was wavering and murals blurring, making it harder to focus on her daughter’s words, she already missed the loud sounds and distractions.
“The guardian is sending summons.” Alek finished dressing herself, “Rieth is dead.” Whatever reaction she was expecting never came. Janin closed her eyes, suddenly feeling very drunk and very tired. It was expected, but that did not make the news any more welcome. Meetings with the gods could take months, and that was with Rieth’s oversight. She considered for a moment the consequences of not going, missing the first few days or so wouldn’t mean much, forgoing the preliminaries and polite niceties everyone would play at before falling back to old patterns and revisiting old wounds.
“Cai” Quiet footsteps approached the goddess, and a slave in a white robe came to stand beside her, looking to the ground. Someone had hit the girl, and the wonderful symmetry of her face that Janin had chosen her for was spoiled by a swollen purple bruise just above the eye.
“We will be leaving within the hour.” The girl nodded and left the room quickly. Alek remained standing in the center of the room, hands clasped.
“What is it Alek?”
“Olek, he- he should be with us” This earned a snort of laughter.
“You want him to come along? Of course! We’ll all go, holding hands and pay great respect to the old man’s corpse. Will you weep at the sight child? I know it’s been centuries since you’ve seen your dear grandfather.” Alek remained silent, but did not move.
“I have a gift for you.” Janin finished the last of her drink before reaching to the heavy purse on her hip, and procuring a small key. She used it unlock a small gold box on the desk, which opened to reveal a small medallion-shaped bronze piece.
“Mother I-“ Alek stopped, and was suddenly kneeling before her, head bent.
“It is called an astrola-astro-” Janin blinked, and gave up. “it is for charting by stars or some nonsense. Too small for functional use but it is important to me you have it.” She pressed the trinket into the girl’s palm, who touched it with reverence. “I need you to keep it safe while we’re gone.”
“Of course” She closed her other hand around it and stood again. “But what of Olek?”
“I don’t know where your brother is and he has made it perfectly clear I am not to find him. He’ll hear of the summit and come if he wills.” She stood, leaned on the desk for a moment, and waved her hand dismissively, the subject was closed for the time being.
“I will take you back here to search for him if you like, but for now we leave” Cai re-entered the room at that moment, carrying a sword, lyre, and chalice with some difficulty; everything being made for a being more than twice the girl’s height. Janin took them without a word and stepped to the center of the room with her daughter. Alek nodded, still clutching her new gift in a grip tight enough to whiten knuckles. Janin looped the sword across her back, handed Alek the lyre to carry under an arm and took a long drink from the chalice before taking her daughter’s free hand with her own.
Teleportation after heavy was never a particularly good idea. Whatever dignified entrance she had hoped to make was lost when she appeared directly behind the very wet, occupied seat of Aesis. There was a brief moment of swaying, and steadying on the part of Alek before she managed to move into the circle of thrones. There were more empty than full, but most of those that would come had already arrived, spaced between memories of the dead. Janin barely looked at the coffin before striding across the room.
“Ki’ivara, it has been too long,” she smiled and stopped to briefly embrace her sister before moving on. She spared only the briefest glance at Naqqash as she past his twisted form, not bothering to hide her revulsion at the sight.
Her own ‘throne’ was built for comfort rather than to display power, the seat was wide enough for her to lounge and festooned with red and gold pillows. The left armrest extended further than the right, a perfect place to rest her chalice.
“Arhu,” she acknowledged, raising the glass toward the goddess and drinking deeply as she seated herself as comfortably as possible. The sight of two of her more favoured kin was almost enough to lift Janin’s spirits again. Small feet crawled along her back to rest around her neck, Alek had chosen the form of a ferret, apparently having already found a suitable spot to hide the astrolabe and clothing, the holy lyre and weapon were already resting again the leg of the seat. She brushed the creature away from her face, but made no serious effort to remove her from her perch. | Name: Janin The Harbinger of Festivities
Gender: Female
Personality: Ignorance is bliss for Janin. She is lazy, indulgent, and aloof. Not quite the gifts anyone desires in their god, and certainly not a mother. Her mortal subjects amuse her and serve little other purpose, their own struggles and ‘morality’ itself has never been of interest to her, so she never learned about it; her people’s lives mean very little to her. Their feelings towards her vary from fear to love, but very few respect her for any reason more than her divinity. That said her apathy leads her to be rather joyous; none of her ignoble deeds are done out of spite, only to sate her eternal thirst for entertainment.
Major Domain: Alcohol and inebriation
Minor Domains: Dance and Music
Avatar:
Desin is said to never be far from his master, most believe he follows her under the sands of Tarren, a few meters below her feet. He trives of Janin’s darker pleasures, and most common use is killing warriors and slaves alike in fighting pits. The show delights his god, and the spoils go to her pet. Each head contains a different venom, the first headi, Jyn, is a paralyzing agent; numbing a person to the point of immobility but they remain completely conscious. Second is Nar, who’s venom can kill in gross amounts, but in normal dose is a powerful hallucinogenic which is sometimes kept in store for Janin and her favoured. Last of the heads is Bol, who’s venom is an exceedingly powerful toxin which can kill a human in a matter of seconds. Desin’s entire form reaches nearly two miles in length, but its enormity is often hidden, either underground or camouflaged by scales that change colour each time they are shedded.
Stance: Janin would much rather no one take the role of leader. Apart from that she has no qualms about who leads so long she is left alone.
Relations:
Xsar, Arhu - The three form a group free of the judgement often placed upon them by the other gods. Their 'alliance' is formed mostly out of pleasure from drinking and causing trouble.
Ki'ivara - Ki'ivara is a kindred spirit to Janin; a friendship with someone who not only does not scorn her practices but enjoys them along side her. While they do run in different circles for the most part, Janin will always find time to share wine, stories, and poor choices with the god of lust.
Naqqash - Janin despises the demi-god, an emotion even few full-gods can provoke from her. His ideals threaten the entire base of her domain's power, and if he was to become a full deity could have influence and power enough to actually do something to end her reign.
Powers:
Shapeshifting; Janin can change into any form she wishes, so long as she has seen it before. This may include other gods or their avatars, thought she would obviously not gain any of their powers. The greater the difference in size between herself and the shape she takes, the greater effort she expels.
Teleportation; Self-explanatory, Janin can shift herself in space without actually moving. She must know exactly where she is going less she find herself three miles in the side of a mountain. It requires less thinking of a place to teleport to, and more the direction and distance she must travel.
Loyalty During Rebellion: War. In the beginning Janin was content to watch things unfold as they would; her domains small and easily dismissed. As time went on and it became clear the entire ‘family’ would be involved, she took sides with War as a small act of defiance against Rieth who had always frowned upon the way she leads her people.
Center of Power: A wineskin typically worn at her hip, embroidered with red and gold images of celebrating humans.
Center of Power (knowledge); Through scheming with Xsar, Janin possesses the center of power belonging to the domain of knowledge, a small bronze astrolabe, half the size of her palm.
Godly Equipment:
Infinite chalice; a glass that is forever brimming with strong wine, never empties or spills but may be poured.
Crooked Lyre: A lyre that when she plays upon can tap into the emotions of mortals, and while not directly controlling them can ease a person into calmness or whirl them into a passion.
The Wine Blade: A sword nearly the length of her arm, forged of red steel. Besides its colour, it's other oddity is the thin metal string of barbs wrapped and infused around its length. While this makes it a useless when it comes to properly tearing through an opponent, it requires only a light touch to pierce the skin, allowing the coating venoms procured from her avatar to enter the bloodstream.
Demi-Gods:
Demi-Gods: Twins; Olek and Alek
Olek dislikes and distrusts Janin with anything and everything, not that his opinion has greater value to her than any mortal’s. The bulk of his life has been spent away from the settled coastline and instead traveling the wide deserts of Tarren, in an effort to become a warrior in a land that holds no value for strength or virtue in any form. He is one of the few beings to go into contact with the Scorpio tribes and survive. His hatred for his mother is no secret, nor is his desire to kill her avatar and take control of Tarren. Janin does not view him as a threat; having inherited only her divine strength and teleportation, and finds his thoughts of overpowering her wonderfully amusing. He views himself as a somber and noble lord, and wholly rejects ideas of his own cruelty which has led to destruction of entire settlements in his fits of rage.
Where Olek is distant and cold to their mother, his twin can hardly be apart from her. Alek inherited Janin’s shape-shifting ability, along side god-like speed, and tends to prefer animal forms over her true shape. The people of Tarren have become so accustomed to seeing an animal beside their god, she is often portrayed more as a familiar than demi-god. Alek is quiet to the point of if being unsettling for many. Though centuries old, she remains dependent on her mother, clinging her not out of any love, but a straining need to be close. Her motives and thoughts are unknown too all except perhaps her brother, the only one who she both speaks too and who listens to what she has to say.
Land: Tarren is a large nation, nearly stretching twice as far from north to south as it does east to west. Vast as it may be, it is mostly desert and only the north cost is properly inhabited and developed.
People: Humans and Scorpios
Culture: It would be easiest to say Tarren survives on the back of its slaves, the number of which is vastly greater than the rest of the human populace. Slaves can come from anywhere, occasionally traders come in from other nations, nomads found in the desert can be claimed if they have no waiting family to be found, or if someone where simply to fall out of favour with their fickle god they could find themselves in chains. While the slaves may not be happy, there has never been a proper uprising. The ‘master’ class find no need for education or personal betterment; the best and only way to gain favour with their goddess is to entertain her with lavish feasts, parties and shows. The upper-class lives in constant indulgence while their slaves tend to their farms and breweries. It comes as little surprise that that main trade in Tarren is wine-making, vineyards can be found less land two miles outside of the capital, and the people boast there are more types of drink to be had in Tarren then there are people who live there.
Slaves in Tarren are treated in varying degrees. It is up to each slave-owner how their own business/household is run. For the most part, they are allowed to partake in monthly festivities and some are even offered small wages. Freeing a slave is possible in theory, though there are no documents in the mostly illiterate culture, and no records. So a freed slave without family, sufficient funds to begin his own trade, or a chance to get out of Tarren completely is likely to find himself/herself back on the market.
The lack of proper government and rule leaves Tarren in an almost constant state of chaos. No cities are truly safe, or even all that clean. ‘Crime’ runs rampant, though what constitutes a crime isn’t very clear in the first place. It is a land of instability and gratification, held together by very thin strings in Janin’s hand. Tarren could probably be taken over by an opposing force very easily, if any outside force could see anything redeemable in such a ruin of an empire.
Capital: Capri Bay, a colourfull city towards the east on the north coast, frequented by both traders and travelers. Where it is not surrounded by sea, it is saddled by fruit farms, reaching back to an encircling mountain-range shielding the tropical, humid land from the harsh desert winds. Estimated population; 3000 (roughly three times as many slaves occupy the area including the farmland).
Technology: Ptolemaic Egypt/Ancient Rome
Beings:
Half giant scorpion half-man creatures that populate the inland of Tarren, mostly in small nomadic tribes. The humans have tried to enslave groups of them at a time, always failing and often falling to their venomous stingers and bone-shattering pincers. Lone stragglers have on rare occasions been found. In such cases slaves are sent to remove the stinger from the creature and bind its claws. These beings are prized possessions among the high class, and often put on display at parties. The removed stingers are given Janin, who uses the deadly venom in her own wine, such gifts are one of the few ways to assure favour with the goddess, for a time at least. |
48,866 | 1,317 | 10 | 2,259 | 996 | Xsar
Xsar sat on a stair case that ran between the walls of a corner going nowhere. he sat on the top step, defying gravity, pondering the news he had just heard. He had a feeling that it was true, but then again it might be another hallucination, but then again it might actually be a message, but then again... "oh this is just too confusing" he said out loud mostly to himself, "but- No!" He stood and walked left, or what would be down the stairs from his perspective. He reached the wall and stood there several feet off the ground as if trying to remember how to navigate his own house, which is exactly what was happening.
As if struck by a blow he seemed to remember that he was using the wrong directions, to which he fell the several feet to the actual ground. "right then" he said as he stood, and marched off towards the library to see his daughter. Before long, taking several staircases that ignore rules like, gemometry, or phsyics, or sanity for that matter Xsar reached the Library and greeted his daughter Quelana who sat behind a large desk with a servant girl reading a thick dusty tome to her. Xsar heard something about the mating preferences of salmon... He shrugged, "My dear Quelana"
"Father!" she said brightly but weakly, she beamed in his general direction unable to be entirely sure of the direction as she was blind. "Nora was just reading to me about fish, they are so interesting"
Xsar paused, he couldn't remotely think of what he wanted to know about fish, "Where is your brother?"
"He is in the lower levels guarding the rift, as always." she replies, still beaming.
Xsar nods, and produces the small amber sphere to teleport himself down to the rift.
-Womp-
Xsar disappears leaving a pair of footprints in a mild dusting of powdered sugar on the floor of the library... He still wasn't sure why that happened. Sugar wasnt a reagent for a teleportation spell was it?
-Womp-
Xsar appears directly in front of the Gate Keeper, who's boots are now also dusted with sugar. "Son, we must-"
"None Shall Pass" he says flatly
"Yes, very good. but we must go to the service for your grandfather" Xsar says
The Gate Keeper says nothing, which was normal. The extent of his madness was rather crippling, believing that saying anything except when he had to would mean he would run out of words. Which, after a brief explanation made perfect sense to Xsar. He reached out and touched his son on the shoulder and teleported again.
-Womp-
the pair appeared at the foot of the tomb, several feet away. Xsar held up his arm in greeting, while trying to make something interesting happen and make his enterence spectacular. He was aiming to conjure a small flock of doves, or ravens or something to fly away from him in a very picturesque way. Unfortunately he thought of the Salmon that his daughter was reading about in that moment, making his conjuration cause several dozen fish to appear around him and fall to the floor to flop around. 'close enough' he thought
"Greetings Family!" he shouted while standing in a circle of flopping fish before making his way to his throne. His throne, made of the lowest quality wood and iron was little more than any other chair at a table of a poor family, the only difference is that the wood shifts its color randomly like paint being endlessly poured over it. On his way to the throne he stops to greet Janin, giving her a kiss on the cheek. | Name: Xsar
Gender: Male
Personality: Xsar is a jubilant and happy God, generally. His mood changes on a whim, and his actions also reflect this, he is often changing with each passing fancy. Underneath it all there does seem to be a wicked intelligence capable of true magnificence but fractured through his insanity.
Major Domain: Madness
Minor Domains: joy, Scholars (the pursuit of knowledge)
Stance: Xsar's loyalty is random at best or schizophrenic at worst on the surface, but beneath the shifting tides of loyalty there is a method to his madness.
Loyalty During the Rebellion: None. Causing trouble for both sides.
Center of Power: A bronze Jack-o-lantern about the size of a fist.
Relations: Rabble Rouser with Janin and Ahru
(Probably more, PM me for ideas)
Powers: Xsar's powers are as insane as himself, he probably isn't actually aware of the extent of his abilities. He could cause an entire battalion of raging ogres to suddenly become a raging battalion of hamsters, or cause them to break down into a hallucinatory rage or have all their armor simply vanish. nobody knows and Malal certainly doesnt.
He also can single handedly start a raving party, with his powers over Joy he can use this power to liven up a party or more sickeningly, make his soldiers perfectly happy while getting maimed in combat laughing as their platoon is destroyed.
Finally his power over scholars and the pursuit of knowledge is not an offensive ability but it ties in with his domain of madness. he can fill scholars with obsessive compulsions to learn more driving them to the brink of sanity and straining their health. The use of this ability has generated knowledge about great secrets and forbidden knowledge that Xsar and his scholars will share freely, broadcasting divine secrets from the rooftops.
Godly Equipment:
Helm of discord: At will Xsar can surround himself with vibrant life like hallucinations drawn from the twisted nightmares of Xsar himself. Often times these take the "shape" of twisted monstrosities who have no concept of biology or how creatures should exist. Xsar seems largely uneffected by the use of the helm but will often confuse and horrify lesser creatures.
Rift Stone: A polished grey stone about the size of a fist that can tear holes through reality to other points within his own domain. With some effort on the part of Xsar he can use it to move from anywhere and into his domain, but not to leave. Also the time between departure and arrival seems random at best, taking only seconds or sometimes days. (note: there is often a mild dusting of powdered sugar on the ground wherever his portals had been used)
A copy of the Infinite chalice: Xsar was very jealous of the Infinite Chalice used by Janin so he made a crude copy for his own use. It is a simple clay goblet painted as if by a child with flowers and terribly drawn animals. BUT! it works, the goblet holds an infinite amount of wine, cheap and sour wine granted, but an infinite amount.
The Gate Keeper is a deranged paranoid maniac who denies all access to the lower levels of the Pyramid. The only person seen passing the gate keeper is Xsar himself. The only power he has is true and complete immortality. his limbs can be severed but he will still survive, and taunt his foe.
The gate keeper uses a Quick Silver blade, a sword made of liquid metal that shifts its balance constantly during combat. It is not a Gods Bane weapon, but it is a very difficult weapon to use the gate keeper however is a master with the weapon.
She is a blind Scholar with a broken body, her lower half born fused with a spider. but her intelligence is vast, and she is obsessed with accumulating knowledge. Her immobile form sits in the entrance to the extra-dimensional library. very few can navigate the library successfully because beyond the books of common knowledge it becomes very dangerous, but the rewards can be great finding by books that have not been written yet. The librarian Quealana knows how to navigate the twisted maze of space and time within the library but is unable to move herself. A few trusted scholars with armed gaurds will sometimes venture deeper into the library with enough gear to survive for several days if they get lost.
Name of your Land: Asajnoksdfjigopdshiergknowqohiyhdsog (Commonly known as Wonderland)
Lands: The geography of wonderland is quite unremarkable, great plains stretching for miles the lands are fertile with rolling farmland around a great city with a massive pyramid at its center. Beyond the farmlands the terrain becomes ever more strange and wild, to the north forests of great mushrooms with tribes of Mycellium-Men stomping through the undergrowth protecting their forest from the Mushroom soup bandits. In the south there is nothing but vast desert and the great wurms that are believed to be immortals but nobody is actually sure. In the center of the southern desert is a floating platform of Xsar's design that has a scale map of each land modeled to perfection, each building in each city made to excruciating detail. to the east and west are great forests that seem to be normal, but contain dreaded creatures within them. Many of them are not neccecarily evil, some are quite friendly, but quite dangerous.
People: In the City are mostly regular human beings, with Mushroom men traders coming down to trade from the forests to the north. However several Immortals such as ogres and Shoggoth live along side humans with little issues.
Culture: The human culture is resembles a proto-Egyptian culture with some coloring of tribal aztec culture. however there is often some Mushroom man traders. However they do not keep slaves, mostly its just the wearing of robes and feathers with the occasional blood sacrifice to Xsar that he never asked for, but is always appreciated. The rest of his domain is populated by mad bandits, who are like normal bandits but like to give their victims a good song and dance routine while robbing them. Wandering tribes of humans surviving in the desert and only rarely being eaten by the great wurms of the desert
Technology: High Bronze and occasional stone age for the most of society, however the military and the high ranking members in the capital do have access to early medieval weapons and armor.
Capital: Umlaut, the Capital city is the only true city in Wonderland for the most part it operates as any other city with the exception of the grand Pyramid in the center. upon entering the Pyramid the internal structure's geometry is something that strains the mind most human's do not enter the pyramid unless they have to because most of them feel quite ill within an hour of being inside. Most immortal beings however merely find it confusing or uneasy.
Beings: Ogres: Hulking masses of muscle, unlike most of their cousins the ogres in Wonderland are very friendly and rowdy. occasionally wounding a human with an over excited hug.
Shoggoth: These are blob like creatures that are immensely strong lifting stone slabs weighing tons by flowing their whole body under the slab and stabilizing it by extruding tentacles from their body.
Fae: Several races of Fae live in wonderland, mostly little pixies and faries that are not immortals but live far longer than most humans, they mostly do very little but occasionally become a secret maid service or cobbler employees. The terms of these contracts are obviously a form of madness.
Dungeon Keepers: the truest form of the madness in the land, these are a race of berzerker demons that live underground and only occasionally harass the humans living on the surface. The part of the Gate Keeper's job is to prevent these demons from coming up into the Great Pyramid through its network of tunnels. or allow them to reach the hidden chamber in the base of the pyramid. |
48,867 | 1,317 | 11 | 1,585 | 1,022 | Azo'tet
Roars of bloodthirsty cheering and the stamping of feet on stone carried into the air and out into the city as a crowded Coliseum watched a fierce battle between a group of eight humans and four centaurs. The centaurs had the advantage of speed on the humans as they continued to run in circles around the humans who had formed a shield circle to protect themselves from the savages. Swords flashed in the torch light that illuminated the cavern as the centaurs would dash in to try and break up the shields but would only get cut for their effort. Eventually one of the humans couldn't take being trapped and broke formation to try and take out one of the centaurs only to get swarmed by the other three and quickly cut down.
Another ten minutes passed between the two forces before the remaining five humans were brought to their knees in front of the crowd with four bloodied centaurs standing over them with swords still in hand. At this moment all the cheering fell quiet as all eyes turned toward a dais that overlooked the blood soaked field where Azo'tet appeared looking down at the warriors. "You all have fought bravely. I welcome your souls to their new home as you will not be forgotten." The Lord of Death told the men on the field who held their heads high until they couldn't anymore. Azo'tet watched as the centaurs finished up the humans to the cheers of the crowd and left the arena before he turned around and headed back to the shadows of his perch over the arena.
"Father, I assume that you received the summons from the guardian as well." The voice came form the far end of the dais that was not touched by the blue flamed torches. Into the light stepped the four armed son of the Lord of death carrying with him one of the two God Bane items that was available in Kalian.
Azo'tet picked up his weapon from its place against the wall before even acknowledging that his son was standing in the same room as him. "We will both have to go pay our respects to the old man and keep up appearances with the others. I trust that you got the item I asked you to get." Morgrim nodded and gestured to the silk pouch that hung from his hip as cheers rose once again from the crowd as new fighters entered the arena. "Let us go before we are late." Morgrim joined his father's side as smoke started to surround them and than they were gone and on their way to the meeting that would decide everything.
A swirling pillar of smoke rose from the ground behind Death's throne soon revealing the two from Izamo. Morgrim silently handed the silk pouch to Azo'tet before going to stand next to his father's throne while keeping an eye on the rest gathered. Azo'tet walked past the rest of his siblings and up to the coffin where Rieth lay in rest. The lord of death reached into the pouch to produce a soul stone the size of a boulder that was lit from the inside with a golden light. "I thought a pure soul would be a good companion for the rest of eternity." He said under his breath as he placed the stone inside the coffin before turning around and looking at the gathered gods.
Azo'tet always felt like an outside when gathered with the rest of the gods as his domain was not a pleasant one to deal with. There was also the other matter that he had not taken part on either side of the rebellion and had instead helped to pick up the pieces after the dust had settled. The only god present that he had any close relationship with was Illyona and that felt more like a business agreement rather than a kinship.
He had fulfilled his duty to the last king and now made his way over to his throne to wait for everything to settle down. The throne of death was a large slap of obsidian that glowed with a swirling internal white light with grooves carved into it where Azo'tet could settle and still be comfortable. | Name: Azo'tet
Gender: Genderless
13'3"
Personality: Azo'tet is a solemn being who has an indifferent view on the life cycle of mortals as he is the caretaker of the the departed souls. He sees the short lives of mortals an interesting concept from an immortal point of view and also knows that they need to be kept in check in fear of death to never rise against the gods. Azo'tet is the type that would rather sit back and watch others do his dirty work than get involved himself as he likes to manipulate from the shadows.
Major Domain: Death
Minor Domains: Medicine, Poison
The avatar of Azo'tet takes the form of a massive hound with tendrils of ember trailing behind the head. From his mouth can spew forth rivers of lava and pillars of ash that can choke the air. Mortals that touch the tendrils of ember are wisped away to the afterlife as their bodies are consumed in flames and their souls feed the God of Death. The hide of the beast is as thick as stone and can deflect all mortal weapons that are turned against him.
Stance: Azo'tet has ambitions of taking the crown for himself and ruling over the rest of the gods. He will use any means necessary to make his ambitions become a reality.
Relations:
Powers: Azo'tet has the power to kill mortals with a mere touch or cure them from any disease that afflicts them. He is able to create poisons or medicine that can cure or cause most afflictions to mortals but would have no affect to Demi-Gods or Gods. Where ever he walked, he is able to absorb the life from the area at will to feed himself as he does not eat like others but from the souls of other living beings.
Godly Equipment:
Apothecary Axe: The axe of the Death god is able to bring death to mortals with a single touch and even mortally wounding other gods as it absorbs the life around it.
Lantern of Demon Light: A lantern illuminated by deep blue flames that are the damning flames of the underworld. The lantern is able to convert the souls of condemned into torrents of flames that can even burn a god into submission if needed.
Demi Gods:
Morgrim is the only child of the Death God Azo'tet. He is a four-armed demon blessed with the ability to steal souls from mortals with a swing of his weapon. He carries with him a gift from his father, the Lantern of Demon Light, which is a God's Bane Weapon which can convert the souls trapped within to blue flames that can engulf entire fields in unending fire that water can not extinguish.
Name of your Land: Izamo
Lands: Izamo is a landlocked realm pushed up against the deserts of Illiosis on one side and the wastelands of Xepthys surrounds the other half of the nation. Separating the desert from his land are the Forlorn Mountains that stretch the entire length of the border reaching high into the sky. Underneath these mountains lies the a catacomb of dark tunnels and massive caverns rich with herbs and minerals that remains the home of the Dark Elves since the beginning of time. Pushed up against the base of the mountains and spanning the rest of the land is a dense jungle populated by dangerous creatures of all kinds that live in a constant cycle of life and death. Surviving within the harsh jungles of Izamo are the various tribes of the centaurs that travel through the underbrush as nomadic tribes.
People: The native residents on Izamo are the shadow-born dark elves that crawled from the deep caverns of the Forlorn Mountains to serve their Lord Death and the jungle dwelling shamanistic centaurs that are renowned for their savagery. The Dark elves of Izamo are skilled architects of herbs and medicine that was gifted to them by their Lord for their own means. Azo'tet rewarded the dark elves for their loyalty with the blessing of toxic resistance allowing them to have a high tolerance towards poisons and other toxic materials.
The centaurs of Izamo are savage creatures that only know survival of the fittest as a means of living. They live in tribal war bands that that roam within the borders of Izamo battling against each other in a never ending war of survival. The centaurs are worshipers of death who believe that the God is the embodiment of all their ancestors.
Culture: Dark Elves may be the civilized portion of Izamo with large sprawling cities of rock and marble underneath the Forlorn Mountains but they can be just as bloodthirsty as the roaming bands of Centaurs in the jungles outside. The popular sport in Izamo is pitfighting in massive arenas where people can go to watch all manner of creatures battle to the death. The Dark Elves chose to stay underground as they found that direct sunlight is harsh on their eyes and can even cause severe burns across their body. The elves are skilled healers and herbalists that know what kind of medicine can prolong the life of their patients on death's door thought they do believe that there is no eternal escape from death if Azo'tet does not wish it.
The centaurs of Izamo are ruthless savages who believe that their ancestor spirits will protect them in battle and that ritualistic sacrifices are needed to please Azo'tet. Their beliefs are that only the strong are allowed to survive and any that do not show strength are to be left behind to be swallowed up by the jungle. Among the chieftains of the various tribes there is agreement that they must hone their battle skills against each other for the day that they are to be called upon by the Lord of Death to serve in his armies.
Technology: Roman/ Germanic Barbarians
Capital: Kalian is the capital of the Dark Elves realm that likes under the Mountain of Souls. This is a massive sprawling city that even spills out from under the mountain onto high terraces that overlooks the lands below. There are two main features of the city that makes it stand out from any other city, these features are the massive arena sitting high at one end of the cavern which draws fighters from all over the world to prove who the greatest fighter is, another draw is located in the center of the city which is also the lowest part of the city. Located at the bottom is a large crystal that emanates an eerie white light where no mortal is allowed to go as this crystal is called the Soul Engine, and this is the final resting play for all mortal souls in the world.
Beings: The jungle of Izamo is filled with savage creatures that would rip you apart without a second thought and is not a place for those of the faint of heart. |
48,868 | 1,317 | 12 | 2,739 | 207 | Oksana
As each God, and Goddess arrived Oksana did not move from her place among the thrones, rather she gave each of them a nod, and a simple held, sometimes a wave of her hand. She did however give Ilyona a bit of a smile, as well as giving one to Kilgarrah when she spotted his form. This reaction only changed when Ki’ivara appeared, and bit the lobe of her ear. Oksana suddenly looked angry, her eyes cutting to the side at the Goddess of Lust as she retreated back to her own place among the Gods. With a single wipe of her finger tips Oksana cleared away any saliva that Ki’ivara may have left behind, and flicked it onto the ground with a scowl.
When Oksana saw Naqqash though, her skin crawled, and she remembered her brother who she had so violently beheaded before. Feeling slightly ashamed to be in his presence, she turned her head away, not wanting to look at the Demi God she had orphaned. It was no secret that Oksana was vehemently against Naqqash taking the seat of Greed among the Gods, but was a secret was the fact she felt it was for Naqqash’s own good. Oksana firmly believed that no god should ever take the seat of Greed again, as it was that very domain that had helped lead War down the path of Rebellion.
Zadia
An explosion of raw energy suddenly erupted across the room, everything turning a dark almost crimson red. A crackling ball of raw hate floated in midair for a moment, when suddenly materializing from the ball of energy stood Zadia, her arms spread wide, and standing tall above the others. She looked between all of them, and grinned wickedly at Naqqash. It was when her eyes fell upon the coffin that Zadia smiled the most though. Stepping rather heavily Zadia stood over her Grandfather’s corpse, and flexed a bit. “Finally dead.” She looked to the others. “The fool is finally dead, and the THRONE belongs to me! My father deserved the throne! So as his heir, it should go to me.”
Zadia turned, and began walking towards the throne, but not so much towards the throne, but reaching out to grab her father’s center of power. The Dagger was a symbol of war, and it glew a bright red the closer Zadia got to it. Her trip was cut short though as Oksana stood in the way suddenly, and glared at Zadia. The two facing off for a long moment as Oksana stared up at the four armed Goddess of Amazons
“You do not deserve your Father’s power Zadia, you are nothing like him… You are a shadow of his glory, and filled with hatred and arrogance.” That was when two of Zadia’s fists found Oksana’s face, and stomach sending her across the room to crash into a wall. Zadia began to follow, as if meaning to pummel Oksana more, but soon found herself flung like a Ragdoll into a pillar. Both Goddesses lay on the floor, staring at the Guardian who now stood. “This… Is not something I will allow in the Heavens. Battle does not wage here!” He shouted, his body becoming immense, larger than any of the Gods attending. All of them had been told by their Father Rieth, that the Guardian was the most powerful of any beings in existence, but was completely restrained by his oaths to only guard the Heavens, and to never seek out violence. “None of you may take the throne simply by sitting upon it. All of you have some part to play in who will become King. You know that whoever is to become king, must have collected every center of power, and placed it within the throne. Now... I have called you all here, so that you may see each other. Perhaps come to a peaceful conclusion as to who will ascend the throne.” | Name: Zadia
Gender: Female
Appearance:
Personality:
Major Domain: None|Minor Goddess
Minor Domains: Amazons, Hate
Your Avatar:
143 feet in length, Zigrit is and imposing sight, her body pure muscle powerful and coiling. She has six arms and each of those arms carries a weapon forged for her size though crude in comparison to what someone much smaller would wield they are deadly nonetheless. She is capable of biting and inflicting a venom quite deadly, or simply spraying it from her fangs at those who she would face.
Stance: Zadia believes she is the true heir to the throne, as her father was Heir to the throne, so she would come next.
Loyalty During the Rebellion: She sided with her father War of course, there would be no other choice. She in that war killed Ahru’s daughter, and near the end was captured by Di’Myria who held her within a prison till her her father Kovar was killed.
Center of Power: None, Minor God
Relations:
Friends with Naqqash as they are both Orphans from the same side of the Rebellion
Hated by Ahru after killing Ahru’s daughter
Powers: She is extremely strong, capable of feats of strength four times that of an average god. She is capable of going into a state of rage where her skin becomes as tough as steel, and her need to destroy her enemies knows no bounds. She is also capable of instilling in her Amazons a fearlessness in battle making them all capable fighters who never give up.
Godly Equipment:
Spear of Kovar: Her Father’s spear it is a Gods Bane weapon made of pure bronze, and capable of punching through armor rather easily. It releases a powerful blast of energy capable of cracking most armor and obliterating the enemy wearing it if struck with a direct hit.
Axe of Ruin: The axe of Ruin is a terrible weapon to behold, whenever it strikes it leaves behind a trail of rust that begins to grow sapping armor of it’s endurance. This weapon used to be Zadia’s brother’s own axe.
Blade of Feth: It appears to be a normal sword, but that would be deceiving, whenever it cuts flesh it begins to sap the energy of whoever it had cut after so many it could leave someone extremely weak. This is a God’s Bane Weapon.
Shield of Kovar: Her father’s shield, its indestructible against anything to crash against it, even dragons fire.
Demi Gods: None yet
Name of your Land: Illiosis
Lands: Illiosis is a enormous wasteland of sand, and rock, filled with extremely poisonous cacti, and deadly creatures including, but not limited to enormous sandworms that dive in and out of the desert devouring whatever they come across. Packs of wild creatures known as Ushra by the Amazons look like feline reptiles, their teeth sharp, claws long and deadly. Any who might have gotten cut off from their group can quickly fall prey to these beasts. Hundreds of other creatures roam these lands all of them just as dangerous as the last in their own ways.
People: The Fushwari (Known to outsiders are Amazons) are powerfully muscled ten foot tall four armed women. There doesn’t seem to be any males among the, that being because they procreate rather oddly. One month out of the year is considered mating season where approximately half of the population will grow male genitalia as to impregnate the other half, wherein four months and each baby will be carried to term. They’re stronger than the average person easily capable of throw several hundreds pounds more than the Average human. Their skin is tougher as well, more akin to leather than that of actual human skin.
Culture: The Fushwari are a primitive culture, with dated ideas, but Zadia only insists on this as she believes it keeps them strong, and easier to control. They live in houses built into the side of cliff faces as to keep away from the sandworms. They believe firmly in war, and combat, that this will lead them to an afterlife where they will reside forever with the War God. They frequently hunt down their own when they worship any deities that are not Zadia, and brutally murder them. They also once a year have a sacrifice in which they kill one of their own for Zadia.
They believe strongly in combat, and so they have created a huge stone pit in which the sandworms cannot enter, it is here that they have Gladiatoral competitions, the Fushwari fighting each other, and other beasts to prove their strength. They also drag prisoners captured in raids to this place, to fight as well.
Technology: The Fushwari are very tribal, their weapons primitive, but strong made from the sands they us a lot of Glass weapons. Though they are glass they are as strong as steel with the way they are made. The Fushwari also use shields made from the local trees, though they are more scarce and only rewarded to the elite. They tend to not wear any armor, or any clothes at all really and would typically be found in such a way, unashamed of their nudity.
Capital: None
Beings: WIP |
48,869 | 1,317 | 13 | 62 | 2,653 | Naqqash
Naqqash watched the arrival of each of the Gods from behind his father's old chair. It was a gaudy, ridiculous thing in his eyes, made up of every precious metal and constantly changing its ornaments. Heavy jewlery piled about it, thick strands of gold and silver woven into a rich cushion on the seat, beautifully wrought marble armrests, it was never content to remain one fine material for very long. Naqqash stood beside it, though in and of itself he thought the chair was absolutely ludicrous, he was more interested in what it represented.
Equality. He didn't care about the powers of a Greater deity, or the influence it might bring him. Naqqash wanted to be heard. For his people to have a seat amongst the highest of courts so that he and they could not be ignored and trampled upon by those lucky enough to not have had their center taken from them. Even amongst the rebellion it was only those gods who had died that had lost their centers, and their heirs deprived of them as well. Ferrum had kept his, yet had rebelled. As had Ahru, and while Naqqash felt no ill will towards either it irritated him how vehemently his appeals were rejected each time these meetings happeened. Each time Oksana would stand against him, scolding his father for rebellion and Naqqash for blindly siding with his father. Naqqash would try to argue, claiming that any demigod would do the same for their parent... but the outcome never changed. Despite his respect for Naqqash Kilgarrah voted with Oksana, followed by most all the gods on that side of the rebellion and the king said the matter was over.
And so Naqqash stood in the sahdow of a dead father, a shadow he could not escape... but perhaps now was the time. He greeted those gods that bothered to greet him. He bent down heavily, skin tearing and bones creaking though he seemed to pay them no heed, smiling beneath his helmet at her kind words and returning, "If they would ever give me the chance aunt.", and leaning back up. Janin received as good as she got, being one of the few gods Naqqash could claim to truly hate. From beneath his helmet a light snarl met her glare, the woman standing against all Naqqash stood for. She was a decadent slaver, and he could never undrestand how one as good hearted as Ahru could enjoy her venemous company.
Ki'ivara's entrance... confused Naqqash to an extent. In spite of himself, Naqqash naturally drew away from her on instinct, as if afraid to offend the Goddess of beauty with his... twisted form. He had fought her daughter during the war, comign to a stalemate with her before retreating... she had been good but like her mother made Naqqash shrink with their beauty against his sheer ugliness. Xsar... well he was Xsar. He was to... complex? No, he was too ridiculous for Naqqash to even consider him... well more than a relative. Naqqash like Kilgarrah, and gave him a slight bow, respecting him even if he often stood opposed to Naqqash. Azo'tet was always strange to Naqqash. Loss and death were a common occurrence together, but Azo'tet always seemed... lax to Naqqash. He knew little of Ilyona or Di'Myria, giving them nods of welcome.
Now Zadia... that was entrance Naqqash would not soon forget. A fellow orphan of the rebellion, similarly denied her rightful center, Naqqash had always felt a kinship with her, and her entrance surprised him. The room darkening, a ball of hate... what was that grin? she had stopped upon his twisted visage and visited some sort of... excited and insane smile. This was before she walked to take her center and... apparently the throne. For a moment Naqqash thought no one was going to stop her... before Oksana stepped in. The short bout, ended by the guardian was nonetheless jarring. Naqqash was transfixed until it ended... and decided he would be the first to speak up in the following silence. "The Guardian is right. To fight here is... disrespectful. We should discuss... and find our new king in peace if at all... possible yes?", he spoke in his wet, ragged gasping voice torn from tortured lungs and throat, as if each word pained him to speak. If such was the case, he showed it not. | Name: Naqqash
Gender: Male
Appearance
Naqqash was born a grotesque. Were he not a demigod he no doubt what have been born dead. His bones were warped and many fused together, great spiky growths ripped free of his skin and his skeleton was dotted with cruel bone spurs. His skin was rent and torn, tougher than leather by the time he reached adult hood. His face was so rictus and terrible his father had it hidden beneath a thick helm... through which the spines grew and eventually fused it to his skin like the rest of his armour. He stands at about 13 feet tall, and is well muscled despite his twisted form.
Personality: Naqqash is a serious God, he is slow to jest or joke as he believes such things can be distracting. However, despite what you'd expect, Naqqash is neither dowre nor depressed. Indeed, he carries himself with a poised since of hope and determination. He is never idle or lazy, intent on making his hopes and the hopes of his followers a reality. He lets not his pain stop or hinder him, turning it into his strength, a cross to bear turned into tool rather than a crutch or hindrance. He practices what he preaches, he accepts his suffering and moves on, keeping it from hurting him more than it absolutely must. So, while not jovial or seemingly happy, he is kind and understanding. He wishes ill will on very few, only the holders of the lash who do so without thought or remorse. His amiable nature gives way to endless determination when the need arises, stubbornness is a trait he keeps from his father.
Major Domain: None
Minor Domains: Pain and Loss
Your Avatar:
A massive three headed dog,large as many other avatars standing several hundred feet tall.
Stance: Naqqash is yet to declare an alleigance, too afraid of making the same mistake as his father and backing the wrong Gods. But, suffice to say he hopes to find a side to back that gets him his fathers Center of Power, an item he longs for an believes is his by birthright.
Loyalty During the Rebellion: Naqqash sided with his father, the God of Greed, who had sided with War. During the war Naqqash was his fathers principle warrior, being his only child. the Demi god was a talented warrior, said to be able to outlast any opponent in a fight. Some claimed he could not tire, and that no amount of pain could stop him. That his thick skin, dull reaction to pain and thick bones made him nearly un-beatable. While simply a myth made during war, he remained unbested until the very end. Once his father was slain by the Goddess of the storm Oksana, Naqqash immediately surrendered. It was no longer his fight.
After that he bent the knee to the King once more, his stake gone with his fathers death.
Center of Power: Naqqash has no center of power... his father did. But that is lost to him, or rather kept from him, by the King of the gods so he cannot become a full god. This is due to the fear of the King and Oksana that greed is untrustworthy inherently and would inevitable betray them again. Naqqash is convinced he would do no such thing, and deserves his fathers center.
Relations
-a good friend and spiritual son of Sekh, god of pestillence (Obscene)
-Under the suspicion of the Goddess of time, andd trying to prove himself to her and others (Kit kat)
-enemy of Oksana, slayer of his father and one of the primary people keeping his fathers Center of Power out of his hands
-Ahru is a friend and positive influence on Naqqash, who is often happy to see the trickster even when neing the subject of jokes and pranks
-
Powers
Naqqash is a dangerous combatant, though his grotesque form could suggest otherwise. Though slower than many other Gods, almost none can match his resilience. In fighting Naqqash relies on his strength and ability to take damage and keep fighting. Though taslented in his own right, the strength he has gained from his life of pain and hardship is his greatest tool. Rare is the fighter who has even a chance to outlast Naqqash.
Godly Equipment
Golden thorn: Naqqash's personal weapon, it is a fusion of his own old blade and his father's Gods-bane sword.
Fused armour: His armor has long since fused with his body, meaning unlike many others who wear armour he is far less slowed down by it. In addition, the armour is nearly impossible to seperate from his body.
Bone Spines: His body is covered in cruel, sharp protrusions that torment his form, and are extremely sharp and make fighting him up close exrtremely hazardous.
Demi Gods:
Naqqash's one and only child, his daughter Scylla is quite young compared to many other demigods having been sired and born shortly after the rebellion. She, like her father, was born a monstrosity though in quite a different way. She is composed of two bodies, one of a monstrous beast below, and her more human but still warped half placed atop its shoulders. Her face is rumoured to carry the marks of a beast as well. She dotes on her father, even taking a mask like his own to cover he face, and seeks to support him in all endeavours.
Name of your Land: The followers of Naqqash and indeed Naqqash himself have no lands, being the dispossessed and enslaved. His worshippers are the cults beneath the lash, the gatherings of slaves in the night and the grotesques in the gutters. Those who are lost, in pain, who see no end to their own suffering.
These are his worshippers. The young god has far less than others, but thhey are truly fanatical. His priests are the ones who whisper frantically in the night about hope, about freedom and prosperity. He likes it this way. To help the desperate and destitute, and give them hope when it seems there is none. The closest to a land he has are the wilds of Elkesis, a place of deep gnarled woods and disturbing beasts. The beasts and wilds like their creator are twisted and warped and in much pain. Some shoulder it like their master, others are cruel and ornery predators. Also in these woods are his only 'organized' churches. Escaped slaves and grotesque pilgrims dance amongst the trees, embracing their pain and celebrating it together.
It is their home, and Naqqash loves it this way.
Lands: The Wilds of Elkesis are like something out of a terrifying tale or painting. The trees are blackened and twisted, their trunks gnarled and made up of extremely tough wood. The branches have deep red leaves or no leaves at all, creating a desditute and dark look. The beasts are little better, often large and as disturbing in appearance they prowl the woods fighting eachother or seeking food and always in pain or with some other suffering. Massive hairless dogs with black and cracked skin and a mouth filled with rock like teeth seemingly placed happhazardly along their jaws. Long reptiles with wrinkled scales and pained expressions, beasts stranger still prowl the thick woods with dead foliage that seems to always grow.
Gnarled roots and vines seem to try and drag the inhabitants down... but still people live here. The free folk as they call themselves are all quite alike. All have suffered greatly in one way or another, and bear their scars happily. Former slaves and grotesques, shunned children and bastards, victims of abuse at the hands of loved ones or others, prisoners unjustly imprisoned and tortured. All have suffered in their own way, and live together now in the great cults of their lord. They walk through the wilds, often armed and armoured to survive, but exalting their freedom. At night they will build great pyres and dance about them, the scars of life apparent on their flesh in all their own unique ways. Sometimes one of the cults will be visited by their god, whi will join them in revelry, or tell great stories of his suffering, or even set them on a mission to bring more like themselves to this holy land.
Here all are free.
People: The people of Elkesis were by and large not born their. Most are runaways and wanderers, pilgrims and oasis seekers. They say in order to find his land as a mortal you must have experienced a great pain in their life, and that the gnawing ache will lead there as scars throb and even bleed as they get closer. They are from everywhere and it shows, sking colors of every range are seen and members of many different races find salvation here. And all kinds are welcome, for we all seek a place where we suffer no longer.
Culture: Nomadic, the people of Elkesis move where the food is in the wilds, unable to farm the top soil. But they do not do so with frowns, and complain very little. they are stoic and determined to survive in their new lives of freedom, free from thie old pains. All worship Naqqash here, for only his worshippers would ever stay in such a place, let alone find it.
Technology: The technology is largely primitive or mix and matched as the populace simply brings whatever they can with them to this oasis.
Capital: The closest thing to a capital is the great thicket. A massive patch of briars, thorns, and downed trees. Its said if you can get to the middle it is where Naqqash lives when he is not travelling.
Beings |
48,870 | 1,317 | 14 | 641 | 893 | Ahru sat in silence as the rest of her kin filtered in. She only moved to respond to those that acknowledged her, unusually contemplative and reserved considering her usual behavior. She merely sat on her throne, observing those who entered and returning the occasional greeting. She acknowledged Di'Myria's greeting with a nod and a smile, happy that her sister, and by extension the others, seemed unaware of her contempt for their father. As Ki'ivara entered Ahru in truth felt slightly snubbed as she walked past, the Goddess of Lust making no move to greet her; the Goddess of Mischief could certainly be a petty creature at times, and Ahru had expected Ki'ivara to greet her as she did Di'Myria. Next came Kilgarrah, whom Ahru knew had little regard for her. Despite this Ahru certainly enjoyed tormenting the God of Dragons, who has become a regular target of her pranks. After him Janin made her entrance- Ahru wasn't surprised to see that she was more than a little drunk. Ahru was not offended- it came with the territory after all, as Janin was the God of Alcohol. Janin rose her cup to Ahru, and Ahru toasted back with an imaginary goblet of her own. And then came Xsar, ushered in by a retinue of salmon. Even after their time drinking together Ahru would never be able to figure out the God of Madness, and she quite frankly might prefer it that way. At least he was fun, which was more than she can say for many of her kin. Finally, and somewhat fittingly given his status in the God's social structure, came Azo'tet, who Ahru truthfully had little knowledge of despite being her sibling. He kept to himself which was sensible since most of their ilk were quick to disavow him.
And that was everyone, assembled. Almost everyone, at least... and therein lied Ahru's problem with this meeting. The appearance of Zadia.
War's daughter appeared in a flurry energy, suddenly and in a most unwelcome manner. Ahru glared at the newly made God- referring to her as such made bile rise in Ahru's throat- as she appeared. Zadia apparently reveled in her grandfather's death, I may be inclined to gloat as well, but I hope she stops her squalling soon, or I may stop her myself. Ahru thought to herself, ready for any excuse to provoke the fledgling God. Zadia's next move proved to be provocation enough, as she suddenly began to stride towards the King's throne. Apparently she had presumed to take her father's place, and saw that as reason enough to take Reith's seat as well. Ahru reached for the bow that should've been at her back, instead finding it absent. She hadn't elected to bring her weapon to what should've been a peaceful meeting, but she wished for it now. Thankfully Oskana- wretched Oskana, yet now in Ahru's eyes a savior- stopped Zadia's march. Ahru returned to her seat- with Oskana in her way Zadia surely would not get through. Surprisingly enough she managed to muster up enough force in her fists to send the Storm God flying, but the Guardian was quick to intervene, sending Zadia into a pillar of marble.
With The Guardian's plea for peace everything seemed to settle down. Ahru was glad to see Zadia flung around- hopefully there would be reason enough for more of that. The God of Mischief cleared her throat, making it clear she wished to speak. "Yes! Yes, yes, I agree, a peaceful solution is best... and, uh, to that end may I so humbly suggest that we remove Zadia from this meeting? Please?" She glanced to Oskana and The Guardian in turn, "Pretty please? She's made it clear she cannot hold council with us in peace, after all! We, uh, shouldn't tolerate her disrespectful actions in the presence of father's grave!" Now Ahru gave a sweeping glance across the assembled Gods, appealing them to support her. She made no effort to pretend that any of what she said was really the reason that she wanted Zadia gone- the others would already knew, her animosity towards the daughter of Kovar was well known, no one would be fooled regardless of how well she had lied. In fact, despite her ability to lie very well she was prone to displays like this, obvious deceptions with no effort put into them- it made it all the more unclear when she was actually lying. | Gender: More often than not Ahru manifests as a female, although the benefits of shape changing for a legendary prankster such as herself are clear. Almost all traditional depictions reflect her preferred female form, however.
Appearance:
Ahru is an oddity among her fellow Gods. Despite most of them preferring their imposing immortal form Ahru instead appears as a mere mortal woman at almost all times. After all, it's easier to trick mortals when you look like them. Moreover as a mortal her Godly peers take her less seriously, which she quite honestly prefers. In her mortal form she stands far below other Gods, a mere 5'6". She is a lithe women, possessing a slender and quick frame. The girl is pale with a face alight with freckles. She is beautiful, as most Gods are, which proves to be an asset in her pranks. It's easier for her to manipulate someone attracted to her, after all. Ahru maintains an air of jolliness and informality, a guise that has long become effortless for her. She has a predisposition to mindlessly space out, playing with her hair or swinging her legs to and fro as she sits, giving the impression that she is carefree even in the most dire situations. She hasn't felt the need to call upon her godly form for some time and as such few Gods but those she favors greatly can claim to have seen it in person.
Personality: Ahru is undoubtedly the most carefree of the Gods. She cares not for their politics unless, of course, she has the opportunity to make things more 'interesting'. She is a being in constant search of a new distraction. She is fickle, rash, and most of all mischievous. She is known as the Trickster of the Gods for good reason. While her peers may be interested in establishing order in the world she is the source of chaos. She revels in disrupting the plans of her fellow Gods and inflicting her whims on the mortal world. One should not be mistaken, she is not 'evil' as one would traditionally define it, but is merely interested in creating situations that in turn interest her. Perhaps the most dangerous aspect of dealing with her is the fact that she is quick to change her mind, constantly acting on her first impulse. Of course she derives entertainment from far more baser activities as well- dancing, singing, anything that might sate her desire for a good time. Most of all she enjoys playing simple pranks on the Gods themselves- while creating chaos in the world may be fun the thought of Aesis sitting on a whoopie cushion greatly appeals to her as well. Despite her comical personality Ahru is deceptively shrewd and intelligent, traits that make her a natural deceiver. Her licentious attitude causes many to underestimate her, a mistake that has caused the downfall of many. If one can put up with Ahru's antics they may find a valuable albeit annoying friend, but many of her fellow immortals find her insufferable.
Major Domain: Ahru is the God of Mischief, holding dominion over tricks, pranks, and more sinister acts of deception.
Minor Domains: Fortune, Secrets
Avatar:
The Jabberwock stands at nearly 150 feet, smaller than most Godly avatars but making up for the disparity in agility and ferocity. The Jabberwock is a fearsome creature, imperceptibly fast with strength to boot. Despite its vicious appearance and aptitude for combat The Jabberwock reflects the disposition of Ahru: It has not interest in fighting. It will not attack unless it or Ahru is attacked. Instead it is content with playing games with mere mortals and, occasionally, the Gods if they are so interested. The Jabberwock is a master of all games, approaching humans with a promise: Those that can beat it in any game will receive whatever their heart desires, but those that lose will be cursed to die in a painful and premature fashion.
Stance: Ahru, of course, has absolutely no interest in ruling the Gods. That would be, by her estimation, incredibly boring. She does not strongly support anyone, preferring to keep her allegiance for whoever proves to be most interesting.
Loyalty During the Rebellion: Who needs to pick a side? Ahru is on every side and no side. She had no allegiance, instead going from one side to another to ensure things stayed as interesting as possible.
Center of Power: Most Gods objects of power are something that's important to them or something that represents their power. Ahru's center of power is a mouse. A live mouse. Her more serious siblings have admonished her for pestering the King of Gods to give her such an obviously terrible Center of Power. Her response? She did it because it was fun. Having a living Center of Power was just so much more interesting! Luckily her mouse, whom she has named Puck, has grown fond of her and is reluctant to make an escape attempt. Puck will try to find its way back to her if lost as well/ To be quite frank Ahru likes the mouse as well, and considers making her Center of Power her pet one of her better decisions.
Relations:
Aesis: Living on an island Ahru shares a border with Aesis, God of the Seas. Ahru revels in pranking the serious God, who gets some measure of amusement from her antics. She also knows that if she isn't on his good side he'd cause trouble for Jarenhold, which probably wouldn't be good for her.
Donavall: The former God of Family was good friend of Ahru's. Kovar, God of War, gave Ahru the ultimatum to kill Donavall or be destroyed. Ahru choose the former but regrets her actions and hates Kovar for making her murder her friend.
Di'Myria: The Goddess of Time and Ahru are like-minded, both out for their own amusement. They get along well and are close friends.
Ferrum: The God of the Forge is amused by Ahru's pranks, but Ahru constantly tries to go a little too far with him. She makes a game of trying to arouse his well hidden anger.
Ki'ivara: Ahru enjoys the company of the Goddess of Lust, one of the few Gods that like her antics. Ahru can appreciate someone who knows what they want, in addition to her other 'assets' as the personification of lust.
Lacetris: Ahru totally abuses the God of Darkness' good nature. She ropes him into her schemes constantly causing him to neglect his own duties.
Naqqash: Naqqash is the son of Prephistes, God of Greed. Ahru was good friends with Prephistes before his premature death, and her affection for him has inspired her to protect his son. She makes sure he's getting along well with the whole 'becoming a God' thing while in the process of playing one of her practical jokes on him.
Sekh: Sekh might not consider the God of Mischief a friend, but she considers him one. He is one of her favorite targets because she knows that he hates when she makes fun of him.
Xsar and Janin: Ahru forms a triumvirate of sorts with the God's of Alcohol and Madness. The share similar interests and are drink together often.
Killgarh: Ahru enjoys inflicting her mischief upon the God of Dragons, but he does not enjoy her japes. Additionally he is a close ally of Oskana and Ahru considers him a little too honorable.
Kovar: To put it lightly Ahru is glad that War is dead. Although she at first appreciated his rebellion since it made things a little bit more interesting she resents the Rebel's leader for making her kill Donavall, the God of Family. He's dead now so she doesn't worry about him too much, however...
Oskana: The Goddess of Storm represents order in the Sphere of the Gods- a natural enemy for the God of Mischief. She also killed Ahru's friend Greed during War's rebellion. Ahru greatly resents Oskana. Oskana in turn dislikes Ahru because of her actions during the war.
Zadia: Ahru harbors a deep hate for Zadia. The newly made God stuck her spear through Ahru's firstborn daughter Orthia during War's Rebellion, an act that Ahru will surely never forgive her for.
Powers: Ahru is a highly capable archer, said to never miss her mark. Being a trickster she is naturally very agile and hard to get a hold of. She has little skill in a melee to speak of, preferring to keep her distance and stay out of direct combat. Her greatest skill is that of guile, the ability to sneak and steal. Even without her Skeleton Key it is said that she can pick any non-magical lock. Ahru has the ability to peer into the mind of mortals and discover their darkest secrets; this ability does not work when used upon immortals. Despite her prowess in combat it is rare to see her in a battle; fighting simply does not match her definition of fun. Ahru's power lies truly in her ability to trick and deceive even the Gods. To this end while she is in mortal form she can change her shape at will, although is unable to exceed the size of her typical form.
Godly Equipment:
Sunstrike- Legend hold's that Ahru's bow, Sunstrike, has the power to pierce even the Sun, hence its name. She has yet to test this particular feature for fear of how she may alter existence as she knows it... and the wrath of Ilyona. However it is certain that an arrow shot from Sunstrike is very hard to stop, able to pierce shields, armor, and just about everything in the mortal world. Each arrow shot from the bow is rendered nigh unstoppable. Despite the great urge to wreak havoc with the weapon Ahru does demonstrate an uncharacteristic restraint with it, for fear that her peers will take it from her if she gets too eager. The bow is crafted from the light of the Moon itself, the limbs of the weapon having an ethereal quality, seemingly made of moonlight but nigh unbreakable. The string is taken from a lock of Ahru's own hair- not that of her mortal form, but of her godly form. It is a weapon greatly treasured by the trickster. It is a God's Bane weapon, although she has yet to try to claim an immortal life with it.
The Dagger That Does Not Cut- One of the most curious weapons in the God's arsenal is her dagger. As the name implies the dagger is incredibly dull and is unable to cut even the softest of cheese. Despite this it is completely unbreakable no matter how much force is applied to it. The dagger has another curious property: All who touch its blade are destined to misfortune. Their plans will fail, their loved ones will come to shun them, they will lose their wealth, and for the rest of their life, however long that may be, they will be shrouded by misfortune. She has yet to see how the dagger will affect a God, but it is not a God's Bane weapon, so it is unknown how much of the dagger's properties will work upon an immortal. Ahru suspects that while it is not able to kill a God it will give them a burst of bad fortune.
Skeleton Key- Ahru's greatest tool, a key that can open any lock. Its head has the design of a skull, but the rest of the key is ever changing to match the lock it will fit into. Only Ahru knows the secret to creating a lock that will not yield to the key, but she of course refuses to share this knowledge.
Cloak of Night- When one looks upon the cloak it seems to be night itself- the black canvas seemingly as dark as the night's sky filled with glowing points of light that look like stars. It is a beautifully crafted garment made from the wool of a winged black ram; a strange creature borne into the mortal world by Rieth himself. The cloak has the unusual ability of turning all who wear it completely invisible, undoubtedly a useful tool in the trickster's arsenal.
Ahru's Slippers- The unfortunate result of Ahru's own attempts at making a tool worthy of her pranks. These ill fitting slippers are ugly; a craftsman Ahru is not. There are made of the leather taken from a centaur and blessed with her own power. They are an ugly shade of brown and the shoe is improperly glued together, threatening constantly to come apart but never committing to self-destruction. They are uncomfortable on Ahru's feet but she finds herself wearing them often, perhaps because she feels some semblance of pride in their design, or, more likely, because of their extra-ordinary properties. Those who wear produce no sound from their feet. That is to say the sound of footsteps or that of falling are imperceptible to all but the wearer.
Demi Gods:
Várlil is Ahru's first born son, spawn of one of the few able to beat the Jabberwock in a game. Várlil is a murderer, raper, and committer of many more vile deeds in the mortal world- he is like his mother in the fact that he commits acts of chaos for his mere amusement, although he is far more evil. He encompasses the darker side of her mischief. Quite frankly Ahru would prefer to ignore him, never having need to call upon him, embarrassed by his crassness and violent tendencies. He has the supernatural strength that Ahru possesses alongside all gods and her great skill with the bow.
Reynard appears less a fox and more some creature of magic. Ahru is the father, not the mother, of Reynard. The result of one of her whims, an 'experiment' with her shape changing abilities, Ahru is content with pretending Reynard does not exist. If Várlil represents the dark of Ahru's domain then the fox represents the lighter side of the sphere of mischief. He is a playful prankster and well loved in the mortal world, more whimsy than malice. Much like his sibling Ahru does not call upon her spawn often, but Reynard is eager for the chance to appease his parent. Reynard has the agility of Ahru and the ability to turn into shadow at his whim.
Orthia was Ahru's first child, and the only one she had ever cared for. The stories go that Orthia's father was a man of Jarenhold that the Goddess of Mischief met not long after she was created. As a newly born God she was eager to explore her lands, and her whims led her into one of her subject's beds. Orthia was the result of their union, and Ahru was eager to dote on the newly made demigod. Orthia was a capable warrior and possessed the better qualities of her younger siblings- Reynard's agility and charisma and Várlil's skill with the bow and great strength. Most importantly she possessed Ahru's sense of humor and her lively spirit. When Ahru entered War's Rebellion her daughter was not far behind, following her as she ping ponged between the two sides. She was ultimately struck down by War's daughter Zadia in battle, an act that Ahru will never forgive the newly made God for. Ahru arrived at the battle too late, routing Zadia's army but losing her daughter. Ahru never forgave herself, withdrawing form her two sons soon after, leaving them to their own devices.
Name of your Land: Jarenhold (Pronounced Yar-en-hold)
Lands: Jarenhold is an island entrenched in an eternal autumn, a surprisingly beautiful land considering the character of its ruler. It is covered in autumnal forests alight with the colors of fall,: red, orange, and brown hues of leaves that are nigh constantly falling. Despite this the trees are never bare, seemingly growing leaves as fast as they lose them. Besides the woods of Jarenhold one can find rolling fields that are canvased by flowers. Jarenhold is a temperate island, never overly hot or cold but maintaining a pleasant sunny atmosphere. Near the coast the forest and fields give way to beaches covered in white sand. The flora and fauna of Jarenhold are not peculiar- they are what you would expect from the mortal realm, overall an idyllic land that does not match its ruler.
People: The people of Jarenhold are simple, ordinary humans. They are predispositioned to a pale white complexion and red hair, matching their God's chosen form.
Culture: Men of Jarenhold are simple and hardworking- the land is known for the farms that dot its fields, storied as the source of the finest ale and produce in the mortal world. As the fields turn into the coast farming towns become smattering of fishing villages. Although they are a people that value labor their God ensured that they know how to have a good time. The towns of Jarenhold are alight with parties after the workday that will last well into the evening. Perhaps one of the greatest oddities in Jarenhold is the fact that Ahru can be found regularly joining in her people's revelry and, of course, playing tricks on them. For them she is less a God and more a whimsical spirit- in fact many in her land would not recognize her as the God of Mischief, more accustomed to worshiping depictions of her unfavored immortal form. Jarenhold is a simple land of simple people, although one must ask, why does a God such as Ahru hold dominion over such a seemingly unfitting land? The answer is simple: It's more fun for her to inflict her brand of mischief on ordinary mortals. For her the land of Jarenhold is less her domain and more a playground for her to find her jollies.
Technology: The land of Jarenhold is best described as Medieval Era, although there is little technology to speak of besides that which may be applied to farming. That is to say that one might find water wheels and advanced farming techniques but innovations involving warfare and weaponcraft are much less commonplace, as Jarenhold's people are a peaceful breed.
Capital: Jarenhold's capital, Alarah, is perhaps only distinguished from the other villages in that it is slightly larger and more centrally located. The architecture of Alarah, much like the rest of Jarenhold, is simple and wooden, the most formidable building in the village being a longhall dedicated to worship of their God.
Beings: Jarenhold has a small population of Kitsune. They are ordinary foxes save for the capability to speak and an intellect matching a human. Their ideals fall more in line with that of Ahru's. They revel in inflicting her mischief upon the people of Jarenhold, and are disliked by their Human neighbors. The exception to this is Reynard, who is respected as Ahru's own offspring, a Half-Breed who possess the ability to walk on two legs as a Human would. He has become well liked by the people of Alarah, his particular brand of whimsy and fun injecting life into the town. |
48,871 | 1,317 | 15 | 906 | 30 | Ferrum
The Forge God lowered himself into his throne slowly as Aesis, the King Kraken as Ferrum called him once centuries ago, for his mood could get as foul as those damnable creatures, his obvious glee at Father’s death grated on Ferrum, even if he had fought against him in the Rebellion of Kovar. With a slight smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, Ferrum nodded to his brother, tipping God-Smiter in his direction before laying it head first next to his throne, Krixis standing slightly in front of him to the left, Siani to the right.
“Sadness, brother?” he asked, his fingers tapping against the armored thigh, leaning against the side of his throne. “Am I sad that Father has passed? Yes, I am. Am I sad that it takes an occasion such as this for our family to come together? Yes, I am. Am I sad to see your cranky face again? Yes, I kind of am,”
He cracked his neck slowly as more gods appeared, Ilyona was the first, another kin-slayer, killer of Kovar himself, a feat that, while it sat ill with Ferrum, was one worthy of respect at least, to beat the God of War in battle, kind of ironic in his mind. His hand clenched again as he was reminded of his brother’s death, two kin-slayers of the “rebels” and two survivors of the “rebels”, didn’t Fate just enjoy its games with the Gods.
“Aye, we’re continuing, Sister,” he growled, slowly relaxing his hand.
Naqqash was next, the son of Greed, a horror on the eyes, one that someone could find revolting had they not the patience to see past his skin to the heart within. He despised slavery, he hated inequality, he had noble intents from what Ferrum had understood from the son of his rather distant brother, but orphaned regardless, leaving Ferrum to sometimes nudge things along had they targeted the young fledgling God. He returned the nod without a word, returning to drumming his fingers on his armor as they waited for their kin to arrive. To have a Demi-God appear so early was unexpected, but then again, Naqqash held a fair amount of pride of respecting others.
Ahru, Ferrum honestly smiled at her appearance, even though Krixis tensed at her arrival, the slightest clinking of his golden plate, Ferrum chuckled as he remembered the last prank that Krixis had suffered at the hands of Ahru, the mask of the Forgekin now sits mockingly in Ferrum’s personal vault, something that Krixis quietly hates him for, having forged it while under one of Ahru’s many pranks.
“It’s been too long Ahru, maybe you should prank Krixis again just to visit again,” he said, the granite voice cracking a little to allow some warmth into the words.
It was Di’Myria that arrived now, drawing Ferrum’s gaze, he had fought with her many times during the Rebellion, and every time they faced one another, it would come to something else calling them away from one another. Kovar’s demands for victory elsewhere, or Father’s own plans drawing the Time Goddess away. He’d never held hatred against her, with her powers Ferrum knew she could have wounded him at the very least in the past, instead she stayed her hand. Although Loshtar had fallen to her hands, and she was another kin-slayer, Ferrum couldn’t fault her for it. Loshtar was Murder after all, and he had said he would kill the Time Goddess during the rebellion, not one of Ferrum’s favored brothers, and he often forgot that as kind a soul as Di’Myria was stained with death.
“A minute or two we shall have, Sister,” he said bowing his head to her in respect.
Ki’ivara arrived without a word to him, pressing herself to her sisters with her habitual glee in such moments, Ferrum would never fully understand her, even though he had to deal with her during the rebellion, a fact he personally didn’t want to repeat, there were only so many lusty people he could beat aside without killing them in a realm such as hers. It was the one who followed her that made Ferrum sit up fully, his children reading themselves almost on instinct, Siani’s flames burning a little brighter and Krixis gripping his own hammer.
“Peace, my children, we won’t be the ones to break the rule of the Guardian this day,” he said, seeing the eagerness of Siani fading slowly, although Krixis kept his hand on his hammer.
Kilgarrah, the dragon lord, and the one who Ferrum had fought bitterly, losing one of his prized projects because of the blasted flying wyrm. He said nothing to Ferrum which was fine by him at this moment, Krixis keeping the shrouded Wyrm’s Tooth at his side, and he was suddenly beset by the decision to unmake the weapon again. It was a gamble in his mind, and just seeing the dragon again made him question the choice in allowing the weapon to be made once more. Sighing he relaxed again, his eyes flashing to keep him in sight, he had no desire to risk losing more family this day.
Janin arrived, Ferrum admitted he knew little of his sibling, keeping his distance from that one out of habit rather than dislike. And then there was Xsar. Madness certainly was his domain, salmon, that was his entrance, salmon, Ferrum could already feel Aesis’ prickling at it. With an inward sigh, he realised just how dysfunctional his family was whenever Xsar appeared. And impressive ability which Ferrum hated about the God personally.
Azo’tet, the centaur, the death god, at least he brought a gift for the old man, a pure soul, something Ferrum doubted existed in a world where the Gods exerted their differing wills and schemes onto their peoples. At least he was a neutral party, he hadn’t taken part in the rebellion, and many times Ferrum had heard Kovar raging against not having the God of Death on side.
And then there was Zadia, Kovar’s daughter, and she held the same belief of Kovar, that she should have the throne, even though he cared for her, he pressed his palm against his forehead as he watched her parade around as though she was already empowered. Even Krixis’ jaw fell open as Zadia made to claim Kovar’s center. It was Oksana who stopped her of course, ever the enforcer. Ferrum watched silently as Zadia struck the Storm Goddess, only to be flung across the chamber by the Guardian.
Stepping from his throne, he offered Zadia a hand to her feet again, staring at the Guardian and Oksana before turning his attention back to the four-armed amazon.
“Now’s not the time for such claims, Zadia, work on earning Kovar’s throne first, rather than thinking of it as a birthright,” he said quietly to her.
It was Ahru’s request to have the daughter of War ejected from the Heavens that caused Ferrum to look up, it wasn’t surprising, Ahru’s dislike of Zadia was plain, what caught him off guard was the brazen attempt of it.
“Zadia is the daughter of Kovar, our brother and the son of Father, she has every right to be here, as a representative of War in the… absence of Kovar himself,” said Ferrum loudly to all the assembled Gods and Goddesses, his eyes falling on Ilyona as the last of his sentence. | Name: Ferrum
Gender: Male
Appearance:
(Ignore the mechanical arm on his back though) Ferrum stands at the full 14’ height. His arms are the color of silver, with which he crafts the metals within the Forge.
Personality: Where once Ferrum’s temper was as easy to ignite as a fire was to consume dry grass, his commitment to the Forge had moulded his temper with patience, allowing him to work to perfecting his creation with little effort or frustration. And while some are able to break the wall of iron-will he has cast upon himself, he never allows it to come out in large amounts.
The disaster of the rebellion has changed him from seeking to improve his creations of war and death, instead, following the punishment meted out against him for his part in the forty years of battle has reinforced his desire to create things once more, his once fiery temper now embers within his heart.
Major Domain: The Forge
Minor Domain(s): Fire, Metal
Your Avatar:
Called Vatra, standing at 261 feet, and around 400 feet from wingtip to wingtip, Vatra burns near constantly, the flames only hurting those not being honest of their intent and deeds. Vatra is rarely away from Ferrum, and often aids him around his own forge, keeping the fires burning endlessly to provide just the right temperature to create wonders of peace, of weapons of war.
Stance: Ferrum honestly cares little for who sits on the throne as King anymore, and simply wishes to tend to his people and his forge. Because of this stance, he will provide weapons to those he feels are worth the effort, regardless of their views on the current political situation.
Loyalty During Rebellion: Ferrum unexpectedly sided with Kovar the War during the rebellion, won over by the praise given for his work on Kovar's God Bane. It was not unexpected that the two were friends of sorts, for Wars always needed weapons to fight them, the two domains overlapping and a kind of symbiotic relationship kept the two on more even terms than Ferrum ever felt towards their father.
Center of Power: Ferrum’s center of power is an simple iron ingot, one of the first he made with the Forge in his youth, it is always moved throughout the Forge, but regardless of where he puts it, or even if he places it in the largest pile of exact ingots, he knows where it is for the power of the Forge is within that unadorned ingot, the sigil of the Forge stamped into the bottom of it, as with any other ingot.
Relations:
Ki’ivara: Becoming something of a friend to the Goddess of Lust, Ferrum gifted her a palace unlike anything he had constructed in the past as an apology for deeds created in the midst of the rebellion, keeping the details and secrets of it between himself and the Goddess of Lust herself.
Aesis: Ferrum considers Aesis the closest thing to a brother he can with his sibling gods, finding a similar heart in the fury of the ocean’s master. The pair challenged one another to forge a weapon, and the greater shall be the victor. This challenge lasted a full week in length, with Ferrum’s creation of the Riptide trident, and Aesis’ forging of the God-Smiter.
Ahru: Ferrum finds Ahru’s constant meddling an enjoyable way to change the more methodical aspects of his life and work, although there are times when her antics draw his ire, and he knows she actively tries to pull this moments from him..
Di’Myria: During the rebellion, Ferrum had several engagements with Di’Myria, which leveled the lands of their battles, but neither could get that decisive victory over the other. With the rebellion dragging out, War redirected Ferrum to another front, leaving Di’Myria to the Murder God, Loshtar. At the rebellions end, and seeing just what he had allowed his fiery temper to blind him to, Ferrum apologised to the Time Goddess, and now the two regularly meet to discuss various things, with Ferrum learning patience most of all from their meetings.
Kilgarrah: Ferrum and Kilgarrah fought hard during the rebellion, with a somewhat pyrrhic victory landing in Ferrum’s hands after the destruction of one of Ferrum’s many vaults dotted throughout the mountains of Corantha, this battle saw to the breaking of Wyrm Tooth, and the entrapment of Kilgarrah towards the end of the rebellion. Ferrum has held onto the broken remains of Wyrm Tooth, wondering if the weapon would help fix the hatred born from the rebellion.
Powers: Temperature Control, Metal. While not capable of creating fire out of thin air, Ferrum can bring the temperature around him up to intense level, and also back down to near freezing levels, he uses this to aid in his forging, while crafting things with his hands has given him a deep affinity for whenever a metal touches his skin, capable of bending it to his will the longer he has touched it. With this affinity his skin naturally hardens against strikes, making him extremely durable, especially with weapons he created.
Godly Equipment:
Fate’s Anvil: The primary anvil in which Ferrum forges the God Banes, combined with the Destined Hammer it allows Ferrum to transfer the power of the God in question into their weapon or item of choice.
Destined Hammer: The Hammer is the key part to forging God Banes and their items. The Hammer must be held by the God in question to allow a transfer of power into their item, before Ferrum physically beats the item with the God’s power. This is not a long process, the Hammer required to be carried for maybe a full day before Ferrum retrieves it for his Forge.
God-Smiter: This immense Warhammer is Ferrum’s God-Bane, favouring the power of destruction it holds of the speed of smaller and more elegant weapons, it captures Ferrum’s strength easily, each blow capable of cracking open mountains. This is a God Bane.
Demi Gods:
Krixis was born to one of the few mortals to actually enter the Forge itself, his mother a lady of royalty and eager enough to bed the God of the Forge. Krixis rose to station as his affinity of metal became clear, moulding it in many ways and showing an ever increasing need to know more about how to craft and mould ever more complex patterns. He came to his father simply to learn of metalcraft, but after seeing the truth of the Forge, has stayed with his father, crafting his own smaller forge next to the Forge itself. His proudest creation were his Forgekin, at the moment they are lifeless suits of armor in marshalled ranks across his domain of his father’s mountain fortress.
Siani was the second child born to Ferrum, the mother an acolyte of his temple and during one of his few times walking with his people, Ferrum found himself attracted to this woman, while not exactly love, he felt deeply for her, and mourned her loss some years after the birth of Siani. Siani is the more unpredictable of his children, living to her affinity of fire, she can manifest flames from the thin air, and often her tempar is shown by this ability, she bears no weapon other than those she makes from her own flames. It was Siani who went to war with Ferrum during the rebellion, leaving Krixis to protect and govern the people of Corantha.
Name of Land: Corantha
Lands: The lands of Corantha are mostly mountains with forests surrounding the outer edges, and great rivers of fresh water pour down the mountains in large numbers. The lands teem with game and predators, few of which approach the larger mountains.
People: Corantha is mostly filled with settlements of Dwarfs, with the odd human settlement nestled somewhere in the forests along the main routes into and out of Corantha.
Culture: Corantha’s culture is one that is not its own, for their God does not impose his will on them, and instead teaches them the art of forge-work and metalcraft, allowing them to grow as they wish. This in turn has led many of the dwarf communities to focus on metalcraft and mining for the materials required to forge. The scattered human settlements primarily focus on food production, trading with the dwarfs for their metalcraft in exchange for their produce. The homes of the dwarfs, built into the mountains themselves are strong and built to last, while the human settlements are dotted around the foothills and forests, with only a couple of large, developed coastal towns.
Corantha’s armed forces are a mixed breed, with the dwarfs preferring to stay on the defensive, constructing fortifications and defences, while the humans provide the bulk and strength of the army with powerful, well-armored cores of heavy infantry, supported by wings of cavalry and lines of skirmishers.
Technology: Roman Era
Capital: Corinth, largest Dwarf city built before the Valley of the Forge, which leads directly to Ferrum’s forge. The city is built into the mountain, going deep and far, with masterfully crafted halls and walkways mapping the length of their work. The entrance to the city is lined with statues of dwarf warriors watching the road, and the entrance to the Valley has two large guardians crafted into the rockface.
Beings: The Mountains are home to many creatures, the largest of which are the cyclopean giants, which mainly stick to their caves, but on occasion venture close to the towns and cities in search of fresh food in the form of meat. While he does not interfere directly against them in roaming from their caves, Ferrum has made it clear they are not to enter the boundaries of the cities and towns, those foolish enough to remain outside the boundaries when a cyclopean giant nears are not his concern.
While not a being in a sense, the golems now dotting the length and breadth of Corantha have become a strong part of the everyday occurrences, with people giving praise to Ferrum and creating altars of a sort at their feet. These Golems were originally a pass time for Ferrum, during his century long punishment for his part in the rebellion, but became one of his more favoured creations. |
48,872 | 1,317 | 16 | 1,404 | 5,004 | The World-Drowner, Earthshaker, King Kraken
With each god's arrival, irritability began to set in, weighing deep on Aesis' soul. Ilyona's coruscating light singed his skin. Naqqash's twisted countenance was anathema to his eyes. Ahru's butterflies were swallowed by his piranhas. Ki'ivara's oddly colored aura vexed him. Kilgarrah's flaming bolt seared and cooked his aquarium, smoking a few of his children. Janin's degrading appearance within his pool lowered her expectations to the point of no return. But Xsar's appearance angered him the most. With a flourish and an explosion of fish, the mad god took to his poorly made throne, leaving behind dozens of suffering cold-blooded aquatic vertebrates.
It was like a vexing of the soul, for what Aesis felt was nothing new, it was twisted and distorted but it was something strong. It burned like fire lacing his veins and creeping up his spine, his skin began to froth and foam like the waves of the sea, but all he could feel was desire; desire to hate. He was intoxicated with an emotion he had no intention of feeling at this moment, not on this day. The acidity of it was residing in his stomach waiting to be spat out of his mouth in foul and vulgar words he would be stared at for saying.
Then, the near tipping point came, Zadia's arrival. Without thought or whim, her stride wasn't towards her throne, but his Fathers' own. This brought the look of disgust upon the sea gods face, and the throne room began to feel his wrath. His pets began to scream and swim erratically, his aquarium began to twist and turn into a violent miniature hurricane. Before he could turn his fury towards Zadia, Oksana took his place instead, stopping the war goddess in her tracks and proceeding to be launched across the room with a nasty sucker punch. Only the Guardian's interference, saved the two goddesses from his own getting involved. Despite his own dissatisfaction towards his father, he still maintained common decency when necessary. Their very own creator had died, and before his body, on top of his grave, she attempted to steal his throne? Did she know no respect?
Aesis throne began to shake, his anger clearly made known by the swirling torrent that surrounded him. Words could not describe the actions that may have taken place if the Guardian's words hadn't brought him back to reality. The King Kraken was many things, but he was not a hypocrite. He to, would bring respect upon the territory of his father, and calm himself. The raging water that surrounded Aesis slowed to a stop, but the embers of his rage still burned within him.
-a peaceful conclusion-
The Guardian's words replayed over and over within his head, and a frown formed upon his face. Confusion quickly set in. It was clearly apparent from the get-go that such an ending was farfetched and childish, and as an elder god, Aesis felt that his opinion should be heard:
"You are very mistaken if you truly believe such a conclusion is a plausible outcome. All of you are." he began, his words washing over the room like a rushing wave. "The altercation, he made sweeping gesture with his hands, alluding to the very spot in which the fight began. "proves my very point. Peace, that is not and never will be the answer here." he concluded, leaning forward in his throne. "The the situation is no longer so clear cut, Guardian." "Brothers." He turned to his right. "Sisters." he turned to his left. "What is the answer?" Aesis began to stroke his beard, thinking on such an conclusion, a violent one. The answer the clear and no doubt in the minds of all those present, once they faced reality. Once they realized they realized the reality of the situation, they would also sense the jaded motives behind them.
But the answer certainly didn't involve kicking anyone out. His sea blue eyes landed upon Ahru. Her dislike and contempt for Zadia was no secret indeed, but she should have known better. It was clear who was stronger between the two, the Guardian meant little outside this room. | Name:
Aesis
Gender:
Male
Personality:
Just like there are two sides to every story, there are two sides to every being. Aesis' duality comes in the form of how the public perceives him and who he is on a personal level. Furthermore; Aesis, like many of those who consider themselves to be a divine, has three sides of themselves. Not truly three distinct personalities, nevertheless, he has three ways of looking at things: contemplative, direct, or dubious.
His emotional set consists of a phlegmatic disposition, generally unemotional and stolidly calm. Which usually leads to assumptions of a depressed, cynical god, but bitterness and hate has yet to taint his soul. He still has an optimistic view of the world, harbors idealistic dreams, and naively believes that other gods can be trusted. Aesis maintains no disillusion about the state the world is in, however. But it’s a testament to his integrity and nobility, how he has remained an honest and responsible being.
In combat, Aesis is: controlled, focused, steady, and conscientious of his surroundings. Every decision is made cautiously and pragmatically; he's vigilant in his efforts and never impulsive. He strives to apply the same manner of thinking to every facet of his immortal life. This is why he doesn't interfere in every dispute and is content with watching until needed.
When it comes to Aesis' ability to handle sudden changes and disagreement, his open-mind enables a high degree of adaptability. Because of that, he's able to be tolerant and forgiving of ignorance; whether he's willing to, differs from scenario-to-scenario. But to avoid any interactions outside of his guardianship, he projects a rough, cold exterior. He even goes as far as exiling himself, which further lends to the mysterious lone wolf persona he has adopted. This facade is obviously a guise however, as evident in his altruistic behavior. Once his icy shell has been broken, his warm nature will shine through and the courteous, cultured being with a unique sense of humor and charm will be revealed.
Major Domain:
Oceans/Seas
Minor Domains:
Water/Rivers/Rain/Streams/Lakes/Marine Life
Your Avatar:
A massive beast standing more than five-hundreds feet tall, it is the epitome of the seas unstoppable rage and destruction. Capable of traveling the world in mere seconds at speeds in which are unfathomable. Nothing can go on in his waters without him knowing, and it often preys on ships and sailors who enter his territory without paying tonnage.
Stance:
Chaotic Neutral; the kingship has little meaning to him, but since his natural order is being disturbed, he will and has lashed out.
Loyalty During the Rebellion:
War
Center of Power:
Pearls are smooth and white with a silky look, and silky feeling. They are milky white and lovely; and this is what describes his Center of Power. A massive pearl that is juxtaposed into his for head with pulses with the power of the ocean.
Relations:
TBA
Powers
The domain of the Sea is a tricky one to describe. It is both a loving and a cruel mistress; water is a giver of life to those who drink from it, growth to the plants it rains on, and certain death to those who fall between it's crushing waves.
Likewise, the sea may bring peace to those who swim in it's luxurious shores and a full belly to those who gather fish from it, but to drink too much sea-water is to embrace death for most mortals. At times the sea will provide, and at times it may rise up in a vengeful, inescapable tsunami and crash itself against shores or cities.
The sea is home to life too abundant and diverse to comprehend, but with this life comes danger. Sailors may bring home stories of monsters lurking in the depths; humongous, shadowy creatures stalking them for days before suddenly vanishing as they pulled towards the safety of the shore.
As the God of Oceans, Aesis embraces both sides of the sea. He has power over it's strong waves and it's playful shores. He breaths it's cool, soothing touch and the painful, fatal suffocation to those who fall too deep beneath it, and both are in his sphere of power. He embodies waters itself, and lords over it confidentially.
Godly Equipment:
A weapon that cuts with the destructive force of the ocean, Riptide is capable of ripping about the earth at a single swipe; commanding the oceans at its slightest movement. Standing at 9'0 feet, it is the god of the seas weapon of war.
Demi-Gods:
The first born of Aesis, and an Admiral of the Aesisian Fleet, Triton is the exemplary warrior that his father raised him to be. From birth, he has been trained to raid and kill, battle strategies and navigational patterns imprinted into his brain. As a child he was sent to work under the supervision of a raid ship captain who forced him to work his way up the ranks to where his his now. Triton is a warrior not to be challenged.
Aesis' second born who inherited his fathers pragmatic disposition and kindness. While his elder brother is a powerful warrior, Neptune is much more subtle, a tactical mastermind who has earned his place as Admiral next to his brothers through playing chess master.
The dimwitted warmonger of the family, Hapi inherited his father random and unpredictable rage. The seas destructive power incarnated, Hapi his straightforward to a fault and lacks the intelligence or foresight to form strategies, and simply wishes to pillage. Despite his lack of intellect, he happens to have sense of leadership, which justifies his rank of Admiral.
Delphin, the last born of Aesis, inherented her father cunning and otherworldly beauty. Despite his brother warmongering and non-stop campaigning, she has managed to fly under the radar of her siblings through manipulation and subduction to gain a foothold in her fathers army as the final Admiral.
Name of your Land:
The UnderSea
Lands:
The ocean was formed by the God of Seas as both a way to show their power and to serve as a catalyst of their divine will in this world. Waves are often seen rippling their way across the surface of the water, and below you'll find an infinite mass of blue (which will be filled with fish, eels, and sea life of all sorts imaginable).
Deeper down, the bottom is covered in a thick layer of sand and the occasional loose rock; no sunlight reaches this far into the depths, and as such most life that makes it's way here is strange and hardly pleasing to the eye. Only the most beloved creatures of Aesis have the power to survive so far from the hated surface.
Any god may enter these seas, but they should be aware that they are descending into the territory of Aesis.
But the UnderSea is Aesis' abode. When Aesis smashed himself into the barren crust of the world directly following it's creation, he shattered it with such power that a massive mark was left forever in the earth. It is the descends deeper than any crater, trench, or canyon. When it was filled with water by Aesis it became the lowest point of the ocean- at one point going as far down as 50,300 feet (or 15,331 meters). The length by longitude is roughly 9,400 miles (15,127 kilometers) and the width by latitude is 8,100 miles
As one descends, they fall more and more into the Ocean's dark realm. No god has a hold here, and as such there is no peace for trespassers. Even god's may find reason to fear this place, and only the most beloved of the World-Drowner are allowed to enter. It is rumored that here Aesis has built a massive palace from which to command his armies that will rise up from the sea and conquer the world.
The Sun does not cast light in the furthest depths of earths Scar, and as such it is home to some of the strangest life the world- and Aesis in particular- has to offer. The creatures who inhabit this realm are monstrosities of the most eldritch fashion, and must be explained in another place.
People:
Intelligent and malevolent entities of chaotic and peaceful creation that are a living embodiments of the oceans power. Commonly known as Mermen, they are collectively the greatest servants of Aesis and are potentially a worldly force. They are created at the whim of the seas turbulent power and act as an extension of his will. A Mermen's appearance and intrinsic character reflect the seas true nature, and very constantly due to mutations. This also affects it power and physical and or mental capabilities.
However, the sea is fickle and often bestow gifts of change without rhyme or reason. These gifts include mutations such as extra arms, tougher, coloured skin, larger fines, claws and fangs, often decided by the seas power and effect. But one intrinsic ability has been gifted them all; feet and lungs. With thier ability to walk onto land and breath air, raids on sea coasts regularly take place.
Mer are a highly emotional and surprising people. Although they can, at times, exhibit crushing logic and reason, they are primarily ruled by their emotions. This is especially true for Mer in large groups, as they telepathically sense each other's feelings and that, in turn, arouses similar feelings in them.
This means that thoughts in Mer society work almost like a virus. If a Merman is angry, and he goes home to his wife, she will telepathically pick up on that and become angry too (even if she does not know why). The wife may then go outside and meet a stranger, who will become angry from her anger, and he will go home and cause his family to be angry simply with his presence. Therefore, the emotion spreads like a disease until many, many people have been "infected" with anger, even if nothing valid technically happened to trigger that emotion, other than meeting someone already exhibiting it.
Culture:
Almost half of the Mer population live in the great city Deep Coral- the capital of the UnderSea. Mer in the city, like the fish in an ecosystem, all work for themselves while still benefiting the greater whole- often without noticing it.
The rest of the Mer live outside of the city, in small villages or, although somewhat rare, alone along the massive walls of the crater. Deep Coral is much to big and heavy to easily move around, but these smaller towns are often built on semi-buoyant submerged platforms that may be pulled by domesticated Giant Squid or sharks. A Mer will build the platform from a mix of coral, sand, biral (of course), and fish scales. Then they will build their home on top of it and have animals pull it to achieve locomotion. The reason they go through all this trouble to keep themselves mobile is simple: fish. They often follow schools of fish so that they have a constant supply of prey items, and some Mer have even rigged giant baited nets on the exterior of the homes, so that fish will get caught inside as the platform floats along, removing the need for hunting or even leaving the construct.
But Mer aren't to be mistaken for the peaceful type. Everything in the UnderSea has power that can be absorbed by the Mer and fish alike. Power is everything and if often tossed around to assert dominance. But the Mer's favorite past time is raiding; be it ships or coastal cities, they often s destroy and take whatever that want. Just as thier homes are built on sea creatures, so do they build their raid and siege engines, ships. Ships that are submersible and are built on the backs of sharks are the fear of every sailor, often signaling a raid. While on land they are viewed as monsters, pirates who make up a massive fleet and navy loyal to Aesis, Mer are quite intelligent and efficient while governed by the 12 Laws of the UnderSea:
-Law One: Lost
-Law Two: Lost
-Law Three: Oaths May Not Be Broken
Oaths sworn upon sea may not be broken unless both members agree mutually to break the oath. If an oath is broken, otherwise, then the fury of the land, sea, and sky will be cast upon them at the mercy of Aesis.
-Law Four: Lost
-Law Five: Gifts May Be Only Used for the Purpose Given
Gifts may only be used for the purpose they are given until that purpose is no longer suitable or needed, in which case, the gift can be used for a different purpose.
-Law Six: All Favors Must Be Repaid
Favors, gifts, and handouts will acquire debt and can be repaid in any way the giver desires unless the giver themselves waves away that right.
-Law Seven: Consuming the Nectar of the UnderSea Binds One to the UnderSea
If a human consumes the nectar of the UnderSea for it's nourishment or healing property they will be bound to the UnderSea . The bond can only be broken by the one who gives the nectar.
-Law Eight: If Two or More People Enter into a Conflict then the Winner will Gain Immunity if any Law is Broken
If two or more people enter into a conflict, the winner of the conflict is immune to any punishment if any Law of The UnderSea is broken.
-Law Nine: Iron is Banned from the UnderSea on the Pain of Death
Those found carrying iron in the UnderSea may be punished with death unless they are in occurrence with Law Eight.
-Law Ten: The Winner of a Conflict Will Gain the Loser's Power
If the Winner of a Conflict kills their opponent, then they gain the power that the opponent has.
-Law Eleven: The Winner of a Conflict Inherits the Loser's Property
If the Winner of a Conflict kills their opponents, then they gain and inherit the loser's property.
-Law Twelve: Magic Must Not Be Used to Alter the Events of Time
Upon the pain of death, magic may not be used to alter the events of time either in the past or future.
These Laws govern all Mer in all thier dealings, such as transferal of rank or civil squabbles.
Technology:
Late Egyptian/Mid Roman
Capital:
Deep Coral- a massive city in the deepest trench of the UnderSea where most of the Mer live in unity under the massive coral castle of thier god king; Aesis.
Beings:
Devourer Fish are one of the most well-known breeds of "sea monsters". They- along with StormHunters, Terrorfish, and Mighty Sharks- were created by Aesis to terrorize mortals who entered his domain.
Devourer Fish are close relatives to the Angler Fish, and have many of the same habits (including the unusual mating habits). Angler Fish have a natural "lantern" on their head, the light of which lures prey into their waiting jaws. Devourer Fish, on the other hand, have a similar natural lantern- the main difference being that Devourer Fish are imbued with a strong magical element. Their lanterns are able to create any illusion needed to pull in their prey; someone lost in the bottom of the ocean may see it as a light to lead them out, a sailor with a sinking boat will believe it's another ship coming to rescue them from a watery grave, a dying man sees it as a healing force of the gods, and so on. Devourer Fish are very dangerous in this manner, anything one desires they will imitate until you swim right into their grasp. It's far too late by the time the trap that's been set is discovered.
Like the Devourer Fish, StormHunters are closely tied to mystical forces, which they use for hunting their prey. Unlike the Devourer, StormHunters do not wait and lure their prey in. Instead, they actively hunt their prey at the absurd speed of ninety miles-per-hour (one-hundred-and-fifty KPH) by invoking the sea to push them faster, and they have been granted the powers to stir up the forces of water at will. They possess an extra organ molded on to the back of their brain, which forms a bond with the elemental forces of the world (particularly that of the ocean and air) and is used at will to spin the waters into a whirlpool, cause lightning to strike it's prey during a storm, or bring rain down from already cloudy skies.
It should also be said that they are normally among the most difficult creatures to slay (to kill one of these is to be hailed as a hero by many), and are several times worse during storms. StormHunters serve the purpose of guarding those parts of the ocean furthest from land. They are Aesis' last resort to terrify mortals, and they are generally considered to be the most fatal of his monsters, even more so than the ever-dreaded Mighty Shark. Only a select few brave men and fools approach them willingly.
Terrorfish are perhaps not as dangerous as a StormHunter, but they are nearly as terrifying. There is no magical elemental powers to these creatures, there is no cunning lure, there is simply brute strength.
Terrorfish swim at an average speed of thirty miles per hour (fifty KPH). They have no known mystical powers, but they do not need them. The lack of magic is easily made up for by an impeccable sense of vision above and below water, the strength to crush iron with their tentacles, an ability to smell prey from over almost a hundred miles away, and a merciless attitude. There is no room in their mind for anything more than eating and destroying, and they favor land-creators who enter the sea.
They were created with the express purpose of attacking sailors or deep-sea fishermen. Aesis desires people to enter the water, of course, but he does not want them to do so without certain knowledge of the dangers that may be waiting for them. He is, after all, an embodiment of the sea's bipolar force and rage.
All fear the Mighty Shark. They are in many ways identical to "Great White Sharks", with the obvious exception being that they can grow up to be several miles long. They feed their massive bodies by inhaling the water around them (as whales do), sucking in whole schools of fish, squid, eels and whatever or whoever is unfortunate enough to be near them. Like the Terrorfish, they have no mystical powers, but they do have a taste for human flesh and blood.
Leviathan are in many ways the dukes of the sea, capable of growing hundreds of miles long. Unlike Mighty Sharks, they simply chow down on thier prey with thier massive maws that can devour whales whole. Leviathans are the apex predators of the sea. |
48,873 | 1,317 | 17 | 1,256 | 158 | Di'Myria
Goddess of Time
The first one to approach the Goddess of Time was the cheerful Ki, and of course after she finished her moment of mourning, Ki came to address Di’Myria. Not that she minded at all, it was too long since Myria had actually talked to her family. Ki was no exception, unfortunately. So of course, Di’Myria returned the embrace with a smile. “Absolutely, Ki. If Ferrum gets two minutes, I can spare five for you.” As Ki stepped away, Myria turned back to the coffin in solidarity.
Standing next to her mother’s throne, Vespira made an obvious cough, while shaking her head at the passing Ki’Ivara. Both Vespira and Kiroas share a bit of disdain for the presentation of some of the Gods present, though that doesn’t mean that they didn’t respect everyone here. They both glanced at each other, before a loud crash was heard across the room. Respecting the Guardian’s authority, they both said nothing.
Di’Myria on the other hand, quickly turned her heel to face Zadia. The Goddess was quite irritated with the younger one’s display of both disrespect and misunderstanding of the system, taking a few steps to her and crossing her arms. Respecting the rules of The Guardian, she refused to lay a hand on her weapon, though was afraid for conflict in the land of mortals. “You are a damn fool. Learned nothing from those twelve years, it seems. Don’t force me to make the next one forty.”
Unfortunately not knowing a single story of their mother from the war, save for rumors from the mortals, the siblings glanced at each other questioningly. It did seem a bit uncharacteristic, her reaction to this, as they haven’t seen her more serious side past the respectfulness she portrays when needing to show authority. Those times were never close to Di’Myria attempting to be authoritarian by any manner, leaving the two siblings blissfully ignorant. The two of them stepped in front of the throne, only to question each other for knowledge.
“Old rumors, sister?”
“Likely so. Some things about the old war, though I attribute it to the mortals praising the greatness of their gods.”
“There’s more to that. She did mention she was going to tell us eventually, maybe we should ask…?”
Myria smiled to Ahru, with a nod of similar contempt for Zadia. Ferrum cut in, to which Di’Myria sighed in admittance. “At least her father thought he was doing something worthwhile. I suppose an equal opportunity is at hand, should she learn even a fraction of respect from The Guardian.”
This was when Aesis cut in, prompting Di’Myria to shake her head in disappointment. She stepped back for a moment, engulfing herself in her own small distortion to let herself think. Just for a minute. Barely even a second in real time. Maybe he was right, maybe there was no chance for peace? Myria didn’t trust really anyone to take power at the moment, save for likely two exceptions, and isn’t going to settle for someone taking the throne in spite.
So what options were there? The least they could do was honor their father and at least try to go for peace. That seemed like the best option, try and work for peace. At the very least, try her hardest. If not, the outcome might be unfortunate, but Di’Myria would never let someone just take the throne.
Opening back up to real time, Di’Myria spoke quickly. “One oddity in our family should not and cannot leave us with no other opportunity. At least give it a chance.” The slight hypocrisy showed through her voice as she stared right at Aesis. Give it a chance… She thought to herself again, realizing that she hadn’t really given him an opportunity for redemption after the war. Though this, this might be it. | Name:
Di’Myria, Goddess of Time, Patron of Navigation, Maiden of the Oracle. Ospiria
Gender:
Female
Appearance:
Standing at a 12’2, Di’Myria prefers to keep the formal clothing which she has donned for quite a while. She prefers shades of blue, and always has her shawl on her person.
She does spend a lot of time in her mortal form, at about 5’6 without assistance of footwear. The gradient of her hair shifts to a solid color, and in this form she gives off the impression of being a traveler with a sword for defense and hunting.
Personality:
“Which would you prefer? Playful me or being spited by time itself. I personally think it’s a lot more fun this way, though I do have some sort of a reputation.”
Di’Myria could be seen as a bit immature for a Goddess at some points, though when you have as much time as she does to be all serious, some things get boring. Her most outward impression is that she attempts to take as much amusement as possible out of most scenarios, except for those of serious matters. In which, she often goes into her own sphere of thought as need be. She often spends time disguised as a mortal just to see how things are doing, and enjoys it quite so.
Generally, Di’Myria is benevolent, and attempts to have as close relations with the other gods and possible. Her intent has always been to keep order and do her best to create peace. She generally is one of trying to lighten up the mood, although when need be will push in authority. Her being serious is a bit of an odd sight though she does her best to enforce, but can easily flip the coin.
Major Domain:
Time
Minor Domains:
Oracles and Navigation
Avatar:
Resembling the Flying Felines in Magnus, De'Metus is a spectral looking feline who, spare for the glowing blue aura and claws, looks perfectly like a winged lion. Physically it's a bit smaller than an averaged sized avatar, however the glowing aura surrounding it makes it a lot more menacing and appear much larger than it is.
Stance:
“Not everyone can be trusted, especially after what’s happened in history.”
Despite her relaxed attitude toward most things, Myria doesn’t trust anybody else at the moment to take the throne properly, being cynical even among the gods. Her response and resolution to this would be to go and defend the throne and take power if needed.
Loyalty During the Rebellion:
“Many rulers have problem, even our king. An attempted coup like so was not the way to address it. I had my moments fighting in the war, but I proved myself in battle and we all are better off now then we were centuries ago.”
Center of Power:
Clockwork Medallion - A small three golden necklace with several spinning rings, Di'Myria keeps this on her neck at all times, and it seems to shrink when she's disguised as a mortal.
Relations:
Ahru - The two of them have always been pretty close due to their similar nature of self-entertainment and somewhat messing with their people.
Aesis - A bit of a cold shoulder experience after the war, the two of them were a lot closer before, though Di'Myria wishes for the closer relations to return.
Loshtar - Put simply, Di’Myria has had to prove her capability once in history. The death of Murder.
Powers:
In combat, Di’Myria primarily uses her powers as a utility rather than primary use. Most of her abilities have a slight temporal effect on Myterias Prima. Her power is a lot weaker when being used on other Gods, because they all are anchored to time heavier than mortals are.
Sphere of Thought -
Not a combat ability, though in the need of making a very important decision or having a conversation with a person or two, Myria can isolate herself and others in a short sphere of highly sped up time to think or talk. This is where Myria spends most of her deliberation time and can spend a minute for an exchange lasting an hour. This sphere can be broken and disrupted if used in combat.
Temporal Adjustment -
This sums up the general specifics of her powers, creating distortions in time which affect mortals and most things in time. When used against Gods, it’s effect is severely limited. She creates a few events in time to either slow down others or speed herself up. The first two make it so that she can react faster or use her weapons in better timing than without. When used against Gods, their anchor to time makes it so that there’s an equilibrium Myria has to meet between speed and duration. One half second burst of highly sped up time for her or several seconds of time slightly sped up or slowed down for her opponents. When used against mortals, the equilibrium has a much wider range and she can use her power to the highest extent.
Distortion Event -
Between a handful of points, Myria can flash herself back or forward in time a few seconds during combat events. In the world, it’s applications are far more wide, although rarely used. Myria sees no purpose in altering timeflow by sending things forward or backward in time by large gaps, though she uses this to send short prophetic messages about the weather or seasons to help better her people.
Godly Equipment:
Continuity Blade -
A dark metal broadsword, which when used in conjunction with Di’Myria’s abilities causes a bit of a repeated strike a half second afterwards. It creates an aura behind her blade which repeats the previous strike. This is a Gods Bane weapon. When used by a full-sized god, this sword’s guard extends and creates a glowing aura of a much larger blade, for proper use by said god.
Perfectionist Pendulum -
A small gilded pocketwatch and compass for navigation. The compass lines up with the stars and cardinal directions and is synced to time much more perfectly than The Great Clock of Prima using a small magical motor, fueled by Di’Myria’s power.
Timewinder’s Shawl -
Not quite a weapon or utility, but this shawl is imbued with protective energies. It also tends to glow when in combat, and if Di’Myria needs to make an entrance.
Demi Gods:
Kiroas -
Kiroas stands at 9'5, usually donning his custom armor of the MHC.
Far too serious for his mother, Kiroas is considered The Guardian of Myterias. Kiroas uses the fraction of Di’Myria’s power he inherited to repel borders from the slightly antagonistic packs of Winged Felines and enforce order throughout the land. He’s terribly stiff because of his mortal mother, Kirvan, trying to keep up expectations of him being a demigod and due to her family lineage. Kirivan herself was a member of the Prima Defense Army, which was mostly a volunteer army for times of invasion or defense though they were regarded as the keepers of the city. Kiroas is quite the perfectionist when it comes to combat and trying to keep up spirits of the people.
Vespira -
Vespira is a tad short at 7'11, though honestly doesn't mind too much.
The daughter of Di’Myria is substantially less a stick in the mud, though both have their dilemma with their mother. Vespira was more of the scholarly type for the most of her childhood and into her teen years for education. The city Vespira was brought up was a coastal city known for it’s technological advancements, bringing the science to the capital. Up until her teenage years, she had never actually known about her mother, being raised by her father. Somewhat adopted under the care of Kiroas at the end of her schooling, it was his idea to teach her in the art of swordfighting, and among her understanding of science, she is nearly a match for her brother. Vespira was gifted a much slower version of her mother’s Sphere of Thought.
Both of Di’Myria’s children share a handful of similar factors. Both are quite irritated with their mother and her escapades as a mortal, thinking that she’s somewhat been apathetic to the people, now knowing that it’s been the exact opposite. They both also haven’t seen the other side of the coin with Di’Myria, being born after the war. They also don’t seem to be able to trust her when she’s disguised, always lurking around her.
Both also have been gifted special blades by Di’Myria. As her people have questionable defenses for invasion, the two of them are somewhat responsible for assisting protecting the cities.
Name of your Land:
Myterias Magnus
Lands:
Myterias Magnus is a temperate land which about all of it is inhabitable. A large portion of the plains are occupied with farmland, and many cities are founded around large geographical masses. The Capital, Myterias Prima, or just Prima, is dead center in the territory, was initially built around a large mountain. All around the plains are various animals which are mostly left all alone, with people hunting the cattle and the grazing animals for food around the main cities. There are a few mystical locations around the land, including a few bioluminescent forests with purple and blue leaves, a lake surrounded entirely by mountains, and rolling forested hills which seem to be eternally in a state of autumn. Birds seem to avoid this area but flock to the Spirit Forests.
People:
The people of Myterias Magnus are mostly human with various exceptions. Most of those exceptions are treated with high respect, as most locals approach most with open minds.
Culture:
Most of the food in Myterias Magnus are agricultural based though nomadic cattle farmers do strive. There are some conflict with some of the farmers property, though they usually exchange cattle in exchange for grazing rights. Most people live within the groups of cities bunched together, staying away from the borders. Most nearby cities have an interconnected series of aqueducts, carefully yet seamlessly blended into most official buildings.
The people of Magnus are both of science and of culture. Most have a certain distaste for war and most forms of violence, only those in the MHC (Magnus Homeland Coalition, which acts as a defense force and a police, and whose armor resembles the Roman Legion minus the feathers) and the localized militaries have much taste for blood. Even then, they only choose to defend themselves in times of need, and historically have done a good job of doing so. They do have schools of practice for all of their training of warriors.
Both their scientific endeavours and their literature have been staples of their culture, their science being closely tied into spirituality and worship for their goddess. Being guided by the Patron of Navigation makes quite a few stories. They take pride in their architectural advancements and their stories of times long, long ago.
Politically each city is individualized with separate groups, the Capital Government only intervenes for homeland defense and stimulating trade across the land, all for the better of the people. Corrupt individuals in the government are either imprisoned or exiled, although their jail system is quite well kept. It does get lonely, though it’s humane to say the least.
Technology:
Roman/Byzantine-Era, plus a few hundred years for the clocks.
Capital:
Myterias Prima. Being the capital of Magnus, Prima has The Great Clock. It branches out into four other cities towards the outskirts, connected by roads and guided by the aqueduct system. The city itself is the biggest within the nation, and is situated next to a large mountain, on the side is where Di'Myria resides.
The Great Clock of Prima:
Every city and town in Myterias Magnus is built around a large circular platform with markings dividing it into 10 equal parts, signifying time. Towards the center of this platform are usually several pillars which are used to line up with the stars to tell the date relative to time of year. Using these and the sun, with some magic to align the trajectory properly, each town is properly synced in time. The inside of these are left exposed for easy reading of the time. These clocks are the centers of town, with the outer rim being lined with trading posts and the inner sides being set up for speeches and performances of whatever kind.
Beings:
There are a few different species of Winged Felines, some feral and some are quite peaceful. The feral ones tend to be bigger and bear much larger teeth. The peaceful types tend to be much smaller and are the size of a small child, not reaching larger than a teenager at full age. Those are In nightly invasions of these Felines assisted by marauding Thick-Skinned Bears, which are usually kept at bay due to both fire and their distaste for the clocks. Something about the magic makes it so they’re deterred from entering the cities inner boundaries. Bear meat is one of the few hunted wild animals which are good for eating, though those from far away seem to always cost more and are considered delicacies. In the Spirit Forests, as the name implies, some nature spirits inhabit the area and usually stay away from outsiders, though tend to be active at night. |
48,874 | 1,317 | 18 | 1,585 | 1,022 | Azo'tet
Azo'tet was slightly annoyed that he seemed to be the last of his siblings to show up to the meeting as no one had appeared after his arrival. Not even Sekt had showed up and that was what annoyed him the most as he needed his closest ally present for his ambitions to succeed. He was silently mulling over his options on how to approach his current situation when Zadia appeared in the room making a large show of power as she strolled toward the throne claiming that power was her right. Morgrim tightened his grip on his scythe and seemed ready to act and even Azo'tet was putting weight onto his ax as he was ready to act at a moments notice as well. That was the moment that the guardian acted to split up the argument causing Azo'tet to raise his hand to his son as a signal to stand down.
It was strange listening to his siblings discuss what to do with Zadia which ended in mixed results. It would be beneficial to keep the young demi-goddess in council as it could distract from his own goals to put his own name forward for the crown. He would also need to get Naqqash to take his father's throne and get a seat among the gods so that he could get another god to vote for him. He knew his siblings had mixed results about his person and he would have to campaign to earn some of their votes which wasn't always his strong suit, he would probably have to get Morgrim to whisper into the ears of their own children to sway some of their minds.
The lord of Death slowly rose from his seat at the assembly and used his ax to support his weight as all four legs got underneath him. "Siblings, this is not a time for us to swing weapons at each other. We already saw how this has affected our family." He waved his hand around the room as he pointed out the empty thrones. "There are a few issues that are to be brought up today and we should all be present for these decisions." He made circles around the room using his large ax as a staff as he looked at each of the gods.
Azo'tet needed to choose his words carefully as he new the tempers that some of the Gods had toward each other. "This is a neutral place and we should honor that choice. Zadia may not seem fit to take her seat among us, but that does not mean that she should not be present for the rest of the meeting. On another note, I move to have Naqqash take Greed's throne as I believe that he has earned his right these four hundred years." He nodded toward the spiked demi-god as a gesture that he was on his side.
"There is also the matter of the empty throne that sits in front of us. I offer my own name be put forth as a neutral party who did not take part in the fighting all those years ago. I see no favorites on either side of the rift. I do regret my decision at times a I wonder if I had taken part if some of the dead may still be among us today." Azo'tet knew it was a big risk to throw a bid for the throw this early, but it was a gamble worth taking with the guardian watching over everyone. With these final words said, he made his way back to his throne and took his seat once again to see the reactions of the others. | Name: Azo'tet
Gender: Genderless
13'3"
Personality: Azo'tet is a solemn being who has an indifferent view on the life cycle of mortals as he is the caretaker of the the departed souls. He sees the short lives of mortals an interesting concept from an immortal point of view and also knows that they need to be kept in check in fear of death to never rise against the gods. Azo'tet is the type that would rather sit back and watch others do his dirty work than get involved himself as he likes to manipulate from the shadows.
Major Domain: Death
Minor Domains: Medicine, Poison
The avatar of Azo'tet takes the form of a massive hound with tendrils of ember trailing behind the head. From his mouth can spew forth rivers of lava and pillars of ash that can choke the air. Mortals that touch the tendrils of ember are wisped away to the afterlife as their bodies are consumed in flames and their souls feed the God of Death. The hide of the beast is as thick as stone and can deflect all mortal weapons that are turned against him.
Stance: Azo'tet has ambitions of taking the crown for himself and ruling over the rest of the gods. He will use any means necessary to make his ambitions become a reality.
Relations:
Powers: Azo'tet has the power to kill mortals with a mere touch or cure them from any disease that afflicts them. He is able to create poisons or medicine that can cure or cause most afflictions to mortals but would have no affect to Demi-Gods or Gods. Where ever he walked, he is able to absorb the life from the area at will to feed himself as he does not eat like others but from the souls of other living beings.
Godly Equipment:
Apothecary Axe: The axe of the Death god is able to bring death to mortals with a single touch and even mortally wounding other gods as it absorbs the life around it.
Lantern of Demon Light: A lantern illuminated by deep blue flames that are the damning flames of the underworld. The lantern is able to convert the souls of condemned into torrents of flames that can even burn a god into submission if needed.
Demi Gods:
Morgrim is the only child of the Death God Azo'tet. He is a four-armed demon blessed with the ability to steal souls from mortals with a swing of his weapon. He carries with him a gift from his father, the Lantern of Demon Light, which is a God's Bane Weapon which can convert the souls trapped within to blue flames that can engulf entire fields in unending fire that water can not extinguish.
Name of your Land: Izamo
Lands: Izamo is a landlocked realm pushed up against the deserts of Illiosis on one side and the wastelands of Xepthys surrounds the other half of the nation. Separating the desert from his land are the Forlorn Mountains that stretch the entire length of the border reaching high into the sky. Underneath these mountains lies the a catacomb of dark tunnels and massive caverns rich with herbs and minerals that remains the home of the Dark Elves since the beginning of time. Pushed up against the base of the mountains and spanning the rest of the land is a dense jungle populated by dangerous creatures of all kinds that live in a constant cycle of life and death. Surviving within the harsh jungles of Izamo are the various tribes of the centaurs that travel through the underbrush as nomadic tribes.
People: The native residents on Izamo are the shadow-born dark elves that crawled from the deep caverns of the Forlorn Mountains to serve their Lord Death and the jungle dwelling shamanistic centaurs that are renowned for their savagery. The Dark elves of Izamo are skilled architects of herbs and medicine that was gifted to them by their Lord for their own means. Azo'tet rewarded the dark elves for their loyalty with the blessing of toxic resistance allowing them to have a high tolerance towards poisons and other toxic materials.
The centaurs of Izamo are savage creatures that only know survival of the fittest as a means of living. They live in tribal war bands that that roam within the borders of Izamo battling against each other in a never ending war of survival. The centaurs are worshipers of death who believe that the God is the embodiment of all their ancestors.
Culture: Dark Elves may be the civilized portion of Izamo with large sprawling cities of rock and marble underneath the Forlorn Mountains but they can be just as bloodthirsty as the roaming bands of Centaurs in the jungles outside. The popular sport in Izamo is pitfighting in massive arenas where people can go to watch all manner of creatures battle to the death. The Dark Elves chose to stay underground as they found that direct sunlight is harsh on their eyes and can even cause severe burns across their body. The elves are skilled healers and herbalists that know what kind of medicine can prolong the life of their patients on death's door thought they do believe that there is no eternal escape from death if Azo'tet does not wish it.
The centaurs of Izamo are ruthless savages who believe that their ancestor spirits will protect them in battle and that ritualistic sacrifices are needed to please Azo'tet. Their beliefs are that only the strong are allowed to survive and any that do not show strength are to be left behind to be swallowed up by the jungle. Among the chieftains of the various tribes there is agreement that they must hone their battle skills against each other for the day that they are to be called upon by the Lord of Death to serve in his armies.
Technology: Roman/ Germanic Barbarians
Capital: Kalian is the capital of the Dark Elves realm that likes under the Mountain of Souls. This is a massive sprawling city that even spills out from under the mountain onto high terraces that overlooks the lands below. There are two main features of the city that makes it stand out from any other city, these features are the massive arena sitting high at one end of the cavern which draws fighters from all over the world to prove who the greatest fighter is, another draw is located in the center of the city which is also the lowest part of the city. Located at the bottom is a large crystal that emanates an eerie white light where no mortal is allowed to go as this crystal is called the Soul Engine, and this is the final resting play for all mortal souls in the world.
Beings: The jungle of Izamo is filled with savage creatures that would rip you apart without a second thought and is not a place for those of the faint of heart. |
48,875 | 1,317 | 19 | 2,358 | 96 | Whatever fears Janin had of boredom at the beginning of the meeting where quickly extinguished; starting with the arrival of Xsar, and his aquatic accompaniment.
“An entrance as always” She greeted in return to her brother’s embrace, her smile returning at the look of Aesis’ face behind him.
Zadia’s arrival, and what came with it was the real surprise. Janin had no opinion of the still-young god, but liked her well enough if only because of the stir she caused so quickly. The guardian was suddenly visible, gods who had been sitting quietly suddenly standing and speaking if not yelling, and Oksana and Zadia herself where on the ground. It had all happened a bit too quickly for the spinning mind of Janin, who remained him her seat and suddenly very much in need of her drink again. Alek on her shoulder was hissing, an action more clearly demonstrated by the tensing of her small form then the sound only her mother could hear. Janin was content to pick up her glass again and let everyone continue talking until they calmed again.
Aesis was the first to try and gain control of the situation. Of course, so hasty to finish the war he had lost centuries before. The better part of the conversation was lost to the now substantially inebriated goddess, but Ahru’s words she clung to most, unjustly biased as they may be.
“I agree with Ahru” Janin didn’t move, face only shifting to a frown, focus spent on remembering how to speak with authority and without slurring “these new gods are too young and inexperienced to have a voice in these discussions. Let them mourn their grandfather and be gone.” She waved her hand at Zadia, but it was Naqquash her gaze went to after whatever attention her remark might have gained faded. Or it would have, but she hardly managed to look at the mangled body before turning away out of disgust. | Name: Janin The Harbinger of Festivities
Gender: Female
Personality: Ignorance is bliss for Janin. She is lazy, indulgent, and aloof. Not quite the gifts anyone desires in their god, and certainly not a mother. Her mortal subjects amuse her and serve little other purpose, their own struggles and ‘morality’ itself has never been of interest to her, so she never learned about it; her people’s lives mean very little to her. Their feelings towards her vary from fear to love, but very few respect her for any reason more than her divinity. That said her apathy leads her to be rather joyous; none of her ignoble deeds are done out of spite, only to sate her eternal thirst for entertainment.
Major Domain: Alcohol and inebriation
Minor Domains: Dance and Music
Avatar:
Desin is said to never be far from his master, most believe he follows her under the sands of Tarren, a few meters below her feet. He trives of Janin’s darker pleasures, and most common use is killing warriors and slaves alike in fighting pits. The show delights his god, and the spoils go to her pet. Each head contains a different venom, the first headi, Jyn, is a paralyzing agent; numbing a person to the point of immobility but they remain completely conscious. Second is Nar, who’s venom can kill in gross amounts, but in normal dose is a powerful hallucinogenic which is sometimes kept in store for Janin and her favoured. Last of the heads is Bol, who’s venom is an exceedingly powerful toxin which can kill a human in a matter of seconds. Desin’s entire form reaches nearly two miles in length, but its enormity is often hidden, either underground or camouflaged by scales that change colour each time they are shedded.
Stance: Janin would much rather no one take the role of leader. Apart from that she has no qualms about who leads so long she is left alone.
Relations:
Xsar, Arhu - The three form a group free of the judgement often placed upon them by the other gods. Their 'alliance' is formed mostly out of pleasure from drinking and causing trouble.
Ki'ivara - Ki'ivara is a kindred spirit to Janin; a friendship with someone who not only does not scorn her practices but enjoys them along side her. While they do run in different circles for the most part, Janin will always find time to share wine, stories, and poor choices with the god of lust.
Naqqash - Janin despises the demi-god, an emotion even few full-gods can provoke from her. His ideals threaten the entire base of her domain's power, and if he was to become a full deity could have influence and power enough to actually do something to end her reign.
Powers:
Shapeshifting; Janin can change into any form she wishes, so long as she has seen it before. This may include other gods or their avatars, thought she would obviously not gain any of their powers. The greater the difference in size between herself and the shape she takes, the greater effort she expels.
Teleportation; Self-explanatory, Janin can shift herself in space without actually moving. She must know exactly where she is going less she find herself three miles in the side of a mountain. It requires less thinking of a place to teleport to, and more the direction and distance she must travel.
Loyalty During Rebellion: War. In the beginning Janin was content to watch things unfold as they would; her domains small and easily dismissed. As time went on and it became clear the entire ‘family’ would be involved, she took sides with War as a small act of defiance against Rieth who had always frowned upon the way she leads her people.
Center of Power: A wineskin typically worn at her hip, embroidered with red and gold images of celebrating humans.
Center of Power (knowledge); Through scheming with Xsar, Janin possesses the center of power belonging to the domain of knowledge, a small bronze astrolabe, half the size of her palm.
Godly Equipment:
Infinite chalice; a glass that is forever brimming with strong wine, never empties or spills but may be poured.
Crooked Lyre: A lyre that when she plays upon can tap into the emotions of mortals, and while not directly controlling them can ease a person into calmness or whirl them into a passion.
The Wine Blade: A sword nearly the length of her arm, forged of red steel. Besides its colour, it's other oddity is the thin metal string of barbs wrapped and infused around its length. While this makes it a useless when it comes to properly tearing through an opponent, it requires only a light touch to pierce the skin, allowing the coating venoms procured from her avatar to enter the bloodstream.
Demi-Gods:
Demi-Gods: Twins; Olek and Alek
Olek dislikes and distrusts Janin with anything and everything, not that his opinion has greater value to her than any mortal’s. The bulk of his life has been spent away from the settled coastline and instead traveling the wide deserts of Tarren, in an effort to become a warrior in a land that holds no value for strength or virtue in any form. He is one of the few beings to go into contact with the Scorpio tribes and survive. His hatred for his mother is no secret, nor is his desire to kill her avatar and take control of Tarren. Janin does not view him as a threat; having inherited only her divine strength and teleportation, and finds his thoughts of overpowering her wonderfully amusing. He views himself as a somber and noble lord, and wholly rejects ideas of his own cruelty which has led to destruction of entire settlements in his fits of rage.
Where Olek is distant and cold to their mother, his twin can hardly be apart from her. Alek inherited Janin’s shape-shifting ability, along side god-like speed, and tends to prefer animal forms over her true shape. The people of Tarren have become so accustomed to seeing an animal beside their god, she is often portrayed more as a familiar than demi-god. Alek is quiet to the point of if being unsettling for many. Though centuries old, she remains dependent on her mother, clinging her not out of any love, but a straining need to be close. Her motives and thoughts are unknown too all except perhaps her brother, the only one who she both speaks too and who listens to what she has to say.
Land: Tarren is a large nation, nearly stretching twice as far from north to south as it does east to west. Vast as it may be, it is mostly desert and only the north cost is properly inhabited and developed.
People: Humans and Scorpios
Culture: It would be easiest to say Tarren survives on the back of its slaves, the number of which is vastly greater than the rest of the human populace. Slaves can come from anywhere, occasionally traders come in from other nations, nomads found in the desert can be claimed if they have no waiting family to be found, or if someone where simply to fall out of favour with their fickle god they could find themselves in chains. While the slaves may not be happy, there has never been a proper uprising. The ‘master’ class find no need for education or personal betterment; the best and only way to gain favour with their goddess is to entertain her with lavish feasts, parties and shows. The upper-class lives in constant indulgence while their slaves tend to their farms and breweries. It comes as little surprise that that main trade in Tarren is wine-making, vineyards can be found less land two miles outside of the capital, and the people boast there are more types of drink to be had in Tarren then there are people who live there.
Slaves in Tarren are treated in varying degrees. It is up to each slave-owner how their own business/household is run. For the most part, they are allowed to partake in monthly festivities and some are even offered small wages. Freeing a slave is possible in theory, though there are no documents in the mostly illiterate culture, and no records. So a freed slave without family, sufficient funds to begin his own trade, or a chance to get out of Tarren completely is likely to find himself/herself back on the market.
The lack of proper government and rule leaves Tarren in an almost constant state of chaos. No cities are truly safe, or even all that clean. ‘Crime’ runs rampant, though what constitutes a crime isn’t very clear in the first place. It is a land of instability and gratification, held together by very thin strings in Janin’s hand. Tarren could probably be taken over by an opposing force very easily, if any outside force could see anything redeemable in such a ruin of an empire.
Capital: Capri Bay, a colourfull city towards the east on the north coast, frequented by both traders and travelers. Where it is not surrounded by sea, it is saddled by fruit farms, reaching back to an encircling mountain-range shielding the tropical, humid land from the harsh desert winds. Estimated population; 3000 (roughly three times as many slaves occupy the area including the farmland).
Technology: Ptolemaic Egypt/Ancient Rome
Beings:
Half giant scorpion half-man creatures that populate the inland of Tarren, mostly in small nomadic tribes. The humans have tried to enslave groups of them at a time, always failing and often falling to their venomous stingers and bone-shattering pincers. Lone stragglers have on rare occasions been found. In such cases slaves are sent to remove the stinger from the creature and bind its claws. These beings are prized possessions among the high class, and often put on display at parties. The removed stingers are given Janin, who uses the deadly venom in her own wine, such gifts are one of the few ways to assure favour with the goddess, for a time at least. |
48,876 | 1,317 | 20 | 2,259 | 996 | Xsar
Xsar sat in his multi-colored throne through the display of the Guardian and his power, he wasn't even interested in the exchange much less surprised. He sat pondering the events and how the inevitable civil war will unfold, his theories of what might happen began to descend into madness quickly but the surface of it seemed to be a sure thing already. Several Gods laying claim to the throne, old rivalries and petty squabbles sparking the tinder to war.. He smirked to himself, which was of little consequence as the other gods have to contain their emotions and expressions. Xsar did not, his insanity being the perfect cover for any slipped expression... so he didnt even try any longer, a serious expression on his face was far more suspect than an amused smirk.
The best part of this godly civil war was his position, and to an extent Janin's. While they may not be loved by many of the others they are hardly viewed as a threat. Xsar displayed this handily during the first civil war, applying military pressure to both sides randomly. Never committing a serious force or engaging in the major battles. Except when it came to capturing the goddess of Knowledge a few years ago.
In an instant his childish smirk switched to pained sadness, not at her death as the rest of their family had mourned, but at her enslavement. He hated that he had to enslave her in such a way... but he had to know about his enemy, about the Maruk, he had to KNOW. His eyes flashed wide in sudden fury that evaporated a moment later as he realized that there was some debate happening around him. He glanced up again, having entirely missed the gods talking over the last few moments.
Seemed like the fishy god was probably jockeying for position again, and Azzy threw his hat into the ring for king.
He hopped up in the throne and stabbed a finger at Azo'tet "You can't be king!" he shouted at the top of his voice "It would be too depressing." before turning to Aesis "and you can't either, you are way to Fishy" and promptly sitting back down wondering if anyone else would catch his double meaning of fishy... and hoping he could piss off Aesis enough to start a fight so the guardian would smack him around. He beamed at Aesis looking happy as could be, mostly to just get under his skin a little more.
Yes ive cleared the knowledge god with Yen | Name: Xsar
Gender: Male
Personality: Xsar is a jubilant and happy God, generally. His mood changes on a whim, and his actions also reflect this, he is often changing with each passing fancy. Underneath it all there does seem to be a wicked intelligence capable of true magnificence but fractured through his insanity.
Major Domain: Madness
Minor Domains: joy, Scholars (the pursuit of knowledge)
Stance: Xsar's loyalty is random at best or schizophrenic at worst on the surface, but beneath the shifting tides of loyalty there is a method to his madness.
Loyalty During the Rebellion: None. Causing trouble for both sides.
Center of Power: A bronze Jack-o-lantern about the size of a fist.
Relations: Rabble Rouser with Janin and Ahru
(Probably more, PM me for ideas)
Powers: Xsar's powers are as insane as himself, he probably isn't actually aware of the extent of his abilities. He could cause an entire battalion of raging ogres to suddenly become a raging battalion of hamsters, or cause them to break down into a hallucinatory rage or have all their armor simply vanish. nobody knows and Malal certainly doesnt.
He also can single handedly start a raving party, with his powers over Joy he can use this power to liven up a party or more sickeningly, make his soldiers perfectly happy while getting maimed in combat laughing as their platoon is destroyed.
Finally his power over scholars and the pursuit of knowledge is not an offensive ability but it ties in with his domain of madness. he can fill scholars with obsessive compulsions to learn more driving them to the brink of sanity and straining their health. The use of this ability has generated knowledge about great secrets and forbidden knowledge that Xsar and his scholars will share freely, broadcasting divine secrets from the rooftops.
Godly Equipment:
Helm of discord: At will Xsar can surround himself with vibrant life like hallucinations drawn from the twisted nightmares of Xsar himself. Often times these take the "shape" of twisted monstrosities who have no concept of biology or how creatures should exist. Xsar seems largely uneffected by the use of the helm but will often confuse and horrify lesser creatures.
Rift Stone: A polished grey stone about the size of a fist that can tear holes through reality to other points within his own domain. With some effort on the part of Xsar he can use it to move from anywhere and into his domain, but not to leave. Also the time between departure and arrival seems random at best, taking only seconds or sometimes days. (note: there is often a mild dusting of powdered sugar on the ground wherever his portals had been used)
A copy of the Infinite chalice: Xsar was very jealous of the Infinite Chalice used by Janin so he made a crude copy for his own use. It is a simple clay goblet painted as if by a child with flowers and terribly drawn animals. BUT! it works, the goblet holds an infinite amount of wine, cheap and sour wine granted, but an infinite amount.
The Gate Keeper is a deranged paranoid maniac who denies all access to the lower levels of the Pyramid. The only person seen passing the gate keeper is Xsar himself. The only power he has is true and complete immortality. his limbs can be severed but he will still survive, and taunt his foe.
The gate keeper uses a Quick Silver blade, a sword made of liquid metal that shifts its balance constantly during combat. It is not a Gods Bane weapon, but it is a very difficult weapon to use the gate keeper however is a master with the weapon.
She is a blind Scholar with a broken body, her lower half born fused with a spider. but her intelligence is vast, and she is obsessed with accumulating knowledge. Her immobile form sits in the entrance to the extra-dimensional library. very few can navigate the library successfully because beyond the books of common knowledge it becomes very dangerous, but the rewards can be great finding by books that have not been written yet. The librarian Quealana knows how to navigate the twisted maze of space and time within the library but is unable to move herself. A few trusted scholars with armed gaurds will sometimes venture deeper into the library with enough gear to survive for several days if they get lost.
Name of your Land: Asajnoksdfjigopdshiergknowqohiyhdsog (Commonly known as Wonderland)
Lands: The geography of wonderland is quite unremarkable, great plains stretching for miles the lands are fertile with rolling farmland around a great city with a massive pyramid at its center. Beyond the farmlands the terrain becomes ever more strange and wild, to the north forests of great mushrooms with tribes of Mycellium-Men stomping through the undergrowth protecting their forest from the Mushroom soup bandits. In the south there is nothing but vast desert and the great wurms that are believed to be immortals but nobody is actually sure. In the center of the southern desert is a floating platform of Xsar's design that has a scale map of each land modeled to perfection, each building in each city made to excruciating detail. to the east and west are great forests that seem to be normal, but contain dreaded creatures within them. Many of them are not neccecarily evil, some are quite friendly, but quite dangerous.
People: In the City are mostly regular human beings, with Mushroom men traders coming down to trade from the forests to the north. However several Immortals such as ogres and Shoggoth live along side humans with little issues.
Culture: The human culture is resembles a proto-Egyptian culture with some coloring of tribal aztec culture. however there is often some Mushroom man traders. However they do not keep slaves, mostly its just the wearing of robes and feathers with the occasional blood sacrifice to Xsar that he never asked for, but is always appreciated. The rest of his domain is populated by mad bandits, who are like normal bandits but like to give their victims a good song and dance routine while robbing them. Wandering tribes of humans surviving in the desert and only rarely being eaten by the great wurms of the desert
Technology: High Bronze and occasional stone age for the most of society, however the military and the high ranking members in the capital do have access to early medieval weapons and armor.
Capital: Umlaut, the Capital city is the only true city in Wonderland for the most part it operates as any other city with the exception of the grand Pyramid in the center. upon entering the Pyramid the internal structure's geometry is something that strains the mind most human's do not enter the pyramid unless they have to because most of them feel quite ill within an hour of being inside. Most immortal beings however merely find it confusing or uneasy.
Beings: Ogres: Hulking masses of muscle, unlike most of their cousins the ogres in Wonderland are very friendly and rowdy. occasionally wounding a human with an over excited hug.
Shoggoth: These are blob like creatures that are immensely strong lifting stone slabs weighing tons by flowing their whole body under the slab and stabilizing it by extruding tentacles from their body.
Fae: Several races of Fae live in wonderland, mostly little pixies and faries that are not immortals but live far longer than most humans, they mostly do very little but occasionally become a secret maid service or cobbler employees. The terms of these contracts are obviously a form of madness.
Dungeon Keepers: the truest form of the madness in the land, these are a race of berzerker demons that live underground and only occasionally harass the humans living on the surface. The part of the Gate Keeper's job is to prevent these demons from coming up into the Great Pyramid through its network of tunnels. or allow them to reach the hidden chamber in the base of the pyramid. |
48,877 | 1,317 | 21 | 465 | 6,811 | IlyonaGoddess of Sunlight
The Sun Goddess watched as the other deity trickled in, remaining at her throne and molding her face into various subtle expressions based on who arrived. A number of other emotions bubbled up to her surface, the only ones really of note being that who had sided with War in the rebellion; an aura of gentle awkwardness was around Ilyona for a short time before her resolution returned to her, clutching her scythe tightly with one hand. A strange sense of pride welled up inside of Ilyona, spurred on by memories of slaying the rebellious god herself, ending the war in the heavens. Were such memories always so fondly remembered?
Of course, such mental discussion quickly dissipated from her mind when she realized that Zadia was now standing in the room after a dramatic entrance of a crackling ball of pure, hate-driven energy that bathed everything in a deep crimson. Ready to spring into action, her pure knuckles turned even whiter from how hard Ilyona gripped her staff, readying a spell to be casted at the War Daughter. As Zadia spoke, Ilyon felt more than contempt just for her and her so called "plight"; she didn't want the throne to uphold order or even tradition, that bitch just wanted it for herself. Skipping over the formalities of magic, she Ilyona was about to show case her other title, Lady Reaper, to the rest of the gods, no doubt tickling Azo'tet's pickle to some degree. However, with the Guardian stepping into all of this before conflict would rear its head on the sacred hall of the Gods, Ilyona took a deep breath in and sate back down in her throne.
A peaceful chat seems to be the best option, wether that was one enforced by the precesne of a being which could probably kill the lot of the already all-powerful beings in the room by breathing in their general direction was up to debate (not really). With more deep breathes, Ilyona felt herself calm down, shooting a look at Okasa to make sure she was okay before moaning at Xsar's terrible puns. Those things were probably more lethal to any form of life than anything Ferrum could forge. | Name:
Ilyona (Ill-ee-own-ah), the Sun Goddess, Maiden of Dawn, Mother of Hallows, Lady Reaper
Gender:
Female
Personality:
Ilyona was once a bubbling girl with a heart open to the world, but it would be such that would cause her downfall from being the pure deity of the solar star. Legend has it that the endless cycle of death had constantly caused her pain since her earliest days and sought to if not remove it, at least alleviate and let people live just a bit longer. With determination, she dabbled in magics and powers she was not supposed to even be able to handle and ended up creating Hallows, undead beings with all the sentience of mortals but with an immortal lifespan. However, her magic was not perfect and through repeated death or extreme mental trauma, her creations could go "Feral", driven mad by their new cycle of undeath and suffering. As you would expect, this did not resonate well with many of the other gods, especially the Gods of Life and Death. As punishment, she would have to harvest the souls of the fallen and deliver them to the God of Death.
Since then, the goddess has lost a good deal of her bubbly nature and replaced by a more serious attitude. There's always a notion of personal repenting as even now her sin as there are some gods which still do not completely forgive her. However, even if she had created Hallows from a mistake, she acts as a motherly figure to them none the less, caring for them as they are her own creation. Much of her efforts is put into making a home for the often outcasted undead as well as protecting them from those who wish them harm or exploit them.
Major Domain:
Sun
Minor Domain:
Harvest & Shadows
Avatar:
Ilyona appears as a firebird phenix with glorious red and feathers, embers constantly falling in her wake and a dazzling brilliance that surrounds her. However, she only wears this facade when going beyond her own people as she prefers not to be in avatar form, but a shorter more human like form in that case.
Stance:
Ilyona is currently neutral on who she believes deserves the throne. Part of her wants the throne but she does not believe that she is qualified or even allowed to claim it due to her past actions.
Loyalty During Rebellion:
Ilyona was on the side of the king, being the one to slay the traitorous War god in the rebellion's waning hours. Its said that the god's spirit is still trapped in her scythe to this day.
Center of Power:
A small medallion known as the Sunlight Medal serves as Ilyona's Center of Power, its an intricately engraved and decorated golden pendant with bronze detailing and the shinning symbol of a sun on it, it is always kept on her person.
Relation:
- She harvests souls of the dead for the God of Death
- Once had the Minors of Light and Fire but was forced to give those away
- Defied both the Gods of Life and Death to create Hallows, unbound undead. (Perhaps this is why she harvests souls for the god of Death)
Powers:
Ilyona is capable of various light and fire based spells although they are greatly diminished compared to both the powers of the respective gods and her own power long ago; she can only summon blinding light, floating orbs of light and set fire to certain objects amongst few other things. She of course has the supernatural strength that all gods have, and regeneration powers allowing her to come grow limbs, and heal faster than normal.
Divine Arms:
- Soulset Scythe - The tool to which she reaps the life of those next to die, it is by far Ilyona's less popular weapon but it is her most effective weapon, absorbing the souls of the fallen to empower it, and is also a God Bane weapon. Its actually her former staff, now forever twisted with a ehteral blade but she can still cast some spells with it.
Demigod Champions:
The glorious knight of sunlight, Talvyrn represents everything saintly about his patron goddess, blessed with wings of light and plate armor fit for legends and a flaming sword, he is Ilyona's noble and honorable face who fights with undaunting courage and bravery.
For every light, there is a shadow and Malicia is Ilyona's shadow for she is the one who collects the death tithe for her patron when her patron cannot and hunt the beasts which dwell in the darkest recesses. With a pair of flaming swords, Malicia is the one to expunge the evils within the shadows and collect the due of the living.
Lindenhold
Lands:
High in the mountains of the North lays the haven of those living undead who flee from places which prosecutes them. At the base of the mountains are snowy swamps and frozen boreal forests, beautiful places but poor farming soils; however, Hallows don't really eat much so its of little concern to them. Winding roads and cliff face ramps, flanked by villages and settlements all along the path, lead up the toward the great peaks of the mountains that house impressive cities of white stone and grand citadels.
Constructed of brilliant masonry work, the aqueducts and roads of these cities are beautiful, cared for by the Hallows who view them as the property of Ilyona herself. It is through the Sun Goddess's blessings that their towns do not freeze in such high altitudes, ceiling mounted windows are as such a common feature in many buildings with some even having open villas. Epic arches, columns and bridges decorate and connect buildings and even the mountains themselves, all carved with great detail that clearly takes a great deal of time, something that the inhabitants of the Lindenhold Mountains have.
People:
Hallows, the creations and children of Ilyona, are the ones who live in the high mountains of Lindenhold, as close to the sun as possibile. Although many are human, Hallows refers to any once living sentinent creature that has died and since been brought back with a factured soul not bound to the will of anyone else. At one point, Hallows were raised by Ilyona herself but even she would have never expected the curse which will sometimes bring back those who have fallen to life once more. Being undead, Hallows in other lands are often scorn and hunted, but their immortal nature means that they cannot be killed and many go "feral" after they have died many times or suffer great mental trauma. Once Feral, Hallows can never turn back; it has become one of Ilyona's duty to hunt these Feral Hallows as penitence for creating them.
Whatever life these people may have lived in the past, its often wiped away by their new status as undead who bleed a pale milky white ichor. Their appearance can range from looking almost exactly like any normal member of their race to a rotting skeletal frame on dark green flesh. To combat the fact that they can go feral, many look to some great duty in unlife to keep them busy as well as pious prayer to their God Mother who can bless Hallows with light to return their appearance to "normal" once more after they have died or simply decayed. However, all of Ilyona's creations are destinte to turn feral one day meaning that they will be hunted down by their patron goddess and her servants but this is not seen as a terrible thing as many Hallows view it as a "true death" which they will finally be delivered to peace by their own Goddess.
Culture:
The Hallows are dedicated to the worship of Ilyona as she is the one who created them and one of the few gods who do not show indifference or disgust at them. She protects her creations and cares for them and in return it is the Hallows that support the sun. In addition, it is her blessings which can reverse their appearance back to more normal looking forms. Beyond the pious nature, there's also a focus on perfection and seeing unlife as an eternal journey to experience new things and perfect subjects. As such, master craftsmen from Lindenhold are without parallels and veteran soldiers are without rivals. Death is a tricky subject as some wish to die as soon as they can but cannot be killed by most normal means and their goddess will only end those who have turn Feral.
There's two main school of thoughts amongst the Hallows of Lindenhold, both stemming from the champions of Ilyona, Talvyrn and Lady Malicia. Talvyrn is associated with the "Dawn" school of thought and that to best serve is to be righteous and noble and faithful like knights, protecting and defending while also being reserved and more passive. Malicia's "Dusk" school of thought is much the opposite encouraging aggressive hunting of those who have fallen, speed and aggression is key and many subscribers are categorized by being energetic and opportunistic for it is the followers of the sun who must drive back the shadows by fighting in the shadows.
Technology & Atheistics:
Imperial Roman with a bit of Greek
Capital:
Kharstav - The Ascension Beacon
Of the settlements and locations of Lindenhold, Kharstav is without a doubt the most notable with a light that pierces the central pillar of the city, the Beacon. Its long said that it is this ray of eternal light which guides lost souls to the afterlife under normal circumstances, ironic as most of its inhabitants are those few whose souls have come back to them. With intricately carved bricks and sparkling gems and polished gold, bronze and brass, Kharstav lays claim to the most ornate city in the world with Ilyona making her throne room at the heart of the pillar.
No one knows if the beam comes from the sky and came down or was from the earth and shot up, but it is impossible to miss and a breathtaking sight from amongst snowy mountain peaks. Of course, the light also goes below the city and into the catacombs below where the hunters of the shadows reside, ever vigilant in their watch.
Beings:
Hallows of all races make their home although there are still a few other beings within the realm of Ilyona. Perhaps the most numerous and dangerous are the Feral Hallows and the Soul Beasts, beings fused of multiple souls and bodies that have become horrid amalgamations of all things unholy who came about as Ilyona's creation of the Hallows; her hunters rentlessly seek out these monsters lest they threaten anyone.
While only rumors exist of the following, its said that once a race of ogres lived in the mountains before the rise of Lindenhold but were purged to the last by the Goddess and her Knights and Hunters and their bodies have been buried in the mountains. |
48,878 | 1,318 | 0 | 1,537 | 4,313 | The year of 2099 was a rough one for what used to be the United States. Now simply just five larger areas in North America, Alchemax basically owned the northeastern States. Stark-Fujikawa owned a large portion out west. There was even an area somewhere around the Great Lakes now called the 'Bad Lands' where hundreds of savage Hulk-like creatures roamed free. Spiderman has fought against the crooked government and corporate influence of Alchemax over the mega-city now called Nueva York for several months now. Once addicted to a drug called 'rapture' before becoming a superpowered hero, Miguel O'Hara was shocked to learn the drug was really taking a toll on the people of downtown. He got a lead on the guy manufacturing the drug, called the Chemist, but when Miguel approached the vile human being he was caught off guard by the grotesque creatures the Chemist had morphed ordinary people into. When Spiderman tried time and again to shut down the Chemist' operation, the one time renowned doctor helped several of Spiderman's deadliest enemies escape prison.
Now the cannibalistic Vulture is putting his gang back together. Mutagen began killing several people in the downtown area for their sickness and abnormalities. Flipside was now posing as Spiderman's friend once again. The Scorpion of this era was also now on the loose and seemingly targeting his father and CEO of Alchemax, Tyler Stone.
___________________________________
Rules:
1.) No back-to-back posting.
2.) PAY ATTENTION TO DETAIL AND SET-UPS!!
3.) Make sense. If we can't make heads or tails of your posts they're likely to get skipped over.
4.) Get permission before using another player's character in your posts if it involves changing the scene or making actions. Everybody will take beatings in this game in battle however, so don't get pissed if you get punched or blasted into a wall by the bad guys! Namely me or the Co-GM controlling the badguys...
5.) Problems with the game or players should be sent directly to me or the Co-GM through PM's. I don't want a bunch of bickering in the OOC. And I don't particularly like it when some random argument costs the game players and story potential. So don't be dicks to each other, just send your concerns to us.
6.) Abandoned characters will be used as NPC's or killed off within the context of the story.
7.) “I was waiting for to make a move” is not how this game is played.
8.) There is no rule #8.
9.) My word is law.
10.) Obey the law.
11.) In the event that I'm offline for any period of time, the Co-GM will take control and HIS/HER word will then be law.
Nueva York, Manhattan....
The man with the flaming skull for a face could run and leap across Manhattan's skyline in less than twenty minutes. He leaped from flying cars and in the back of his head thought of the new Mario Bros Legacy theme. However he wasn't fighting angry turtles or rescuing princesses, and he'd avoid sewers as much as possible being a bit of a germaphobe when not in costume. Aside from all of Spiderman's rogues running around, there were rumors of a new kingpin in the underworld. The new hero didn't come all the way from Brooklyn for rumors though, he was looking for Spiderman. Mutagen was spotted in Brooklyn several times over the last few days. Jorah was hoping to get some insight on how to handle him. Dodging Public Eye wasn't much of a problem, even with the matchstick appearance. When Blaze finally saw what he thought was Spiderman swinging around a neon skyscraper he gave chase.
"Spiderman... HEY! Slow down!" Blaze screamed leaping from building to flying cars.
"SPIDERMAN?!? WHERE?" the red and blue clad Flipside screamed doing a complete one eighty.
"Dammit.... first shapeshifting guys with animal powers in Downtown and now Terminator-Spidey? This just isn't my week..." Blaze thought moving upward in the Uptown of Manhattan leading towards the now gigantic Times Square.
"First time I've been back here since my community service was over. Thankfully I know the street level area like the back of my robotic left hand..." Blaze thought turning and firing a blast of hard light flames at the android assailant.
"You're the guy who tried blowing up Alchemax... time for Spidey's Best Bud to take you down ghost-face!" Flipside screamed dodging the blast of fire and leaping towards the new hero shooting a webline and zipping across the neon skyline.
Across town, near the Brooklyn Bridge area....
A large man of African descent stalks a man in the slums with the large bridge visible in the background. Nobody really knows the man called Mutagen behind the red mask he now wears. Nobody knows the loss he's had to go through, or what drove him mad. The man with the physical abnormality would soon know his rage. Mutagen will kill anyone who is sick or deformed that could stain the gene pool for humans.
-00492 | Character Type - Cannon Inspired
Name - Jorah Blaze
Alias - Blazing Skull, Blaze
Age - 29
Social Class - Midtown
Alignment - good
Archetype - Human
Powers -
* bionic enhancements increase his physical attributes. Max lift 1 ton, max speed on foot 75 mph. Armored body is more durable, exposed skin can withstand small arms fire.
* completely robotic left arm can be used like a computer and jack into various systems.
* uses hard light projection graphics for the flaming skull headpiece; tinkering with this gave him the ability to fire hard light flames from his mouth
Skills - good with most electronics but no genius. He's not super athletic or agile but loves to run and jump through the steel skylines of Uptown in Nueva York.
Weaknesses - Still just a human with human weaknesses, hes just a little more durable because of the robotic enhancements. He's also an amputee and most of his left arm is gone. Blaze also has low self esteem and is overcoming an addiction to the drug rapture.
Arch Enemy - Depending on what we get in the villain department...
Appearance -
BRIEF Bio -
Jorah is actually the great nephew of former Ghost Rider Johnny Blaze. As a kid he had heard rumors of his relative being the famous motorcycle stuntman, and there were pictures and strange stuff in a locker passed down to Jorah that didn't make much sense. Much of the history of the Heroic Age was lost but old pictures of Johnny in his old gear and cycle suggest he was either Ghost Rider or another hero called the Blazing Skull.
However Jorah would go on to live a mostly average life growing up in Brooklyn outside of Nueva York. Most of Brooklyn by this point looked like a mix of Midtown with a dash of Downtown here and there. Not as many people as in 'the city'. One night in 2097, Jorah's life would be forever changed after being high on rapture caused him to wreck his hovercar into the side of an electric gas station. An electrical fire erupted and Jorah lost most of his left arm and had scars on a large portion of his back and left thigh.
The court system had mercy on him and only sentenced him to 200 hours community service. During his time picking up litter in Times Square (the only area of Nueva York that's 'Uptown' from street level all the way to the top) he overheard somebody's plan to blow up an Alchemax Lab his friend happened to work at.
Since there were a couple of crappy movies recently about some form of Tron-like Ghost Rider, he chose to go the Blazing Skull route when creating a superhero/vigilante alias. He used some vibranium alloy debris he'd found in downtown areas to fashion armor and combined with electro-magnet powered prosthetics also managed to boost his strength, durability, and speed. Jorah took pride in the design of his hard light projection graphics. He wasn't the greatest artist or tinkerer but he could pull of some pretty legit stuff when he had the drive. In the end he foiled the bombing, but made enemies out of the Public Eye and Alchemax, who blamed Blaze for the botched bombing.
Notes - Might need to polish the CS up a bit later. I'm behind on packing/moving.
Sample Post -
With red and black cybernetics augmenting his attributes, Jorah ran and leaped from building to building until he was in what was once a lot smaller Times Square. It's the Times Square of 2017 to the 10th power. Now with even more lights, flying cars, and completely robot traffic cops. At one point Blaze jumped onto a flying car before leaping onto the side of the MTV skyscraper. The robot traffic cop spotted the fire headed hero as he was attempting to apprehend somebody that looked like they'd stolen a baby from a woman in the Downtown area. The Public Eye was on the scene to make things interesting. More like a bunch of sociopaths with badges and authority nowadays, Blaze took the two out of the air leaping at their sky cycles and ripping at their exterior until they began to descend.
"Where did that guy go?" Blaze asked himself before spotting the guy who took the baby.
Later, on the other side of the city's Downtown area...
"I'll keep you safe, you don't have to worry about the bad man..." the young man said to the little girl in the bottom of a rundown old building with most of the windows blown out.
"I just want the kid taken back to his mother... I don't have to give you a beating man..." Blaze said coming out of the shadows and reactivating his fire skull 'mask'.
"She can't protect the baby. I can!" the man in the tattered clothes claimed settling the baby down in an old dresser drawer.
"It's not your call!" Blaze declared dashing forward and kneeing the guy in the abdomen and dropping him.
"You don't understand..." the guy said tearing up as his hood fell revealing a boy in his early twenties at most.
The baby wiggled and coo'ed. It wasn't afraid of it's would-be abductor. It's blanket began to fall away from the baby's face and arm and revealed the child was different. The eyes and mouth looked to have a type of energy emitting from them ever so slightly.
"What the..?" Blaze thought to himself looking back at the kid on the ground.
"That guy is out of prison... the one who kills people who're sick, or mutants, or look anything less than human. My mom's too old, she can't fight that guy off. Spiderman barely beat him last time and he already killed six people Downtown..." the kid in tattered clothes said standing back to his feet and clutching his stomach.
"Wait... didn't the Bugle call him the Mutagen Murderer?" Blaze asked.
"That's the guy. Two people have already been found dead Downtown. One was just sick, the other one was a teenager. A mutant girl. I'm not gonna let that guy get close to my sister..." the young man continued.
"You should stick with your mom, two of you stand a better chance than just you. I'll see if I can't find some better place to stay safe should anybody spot the guy.. you know anybody else that would fit this guy's MO?" Blaze asked turning his flames and skull face off.
"Four or five yeah, then a couple more people that're sick..." the young man answered picking his sister back up and putting the blanket around her once again.
"I'll come Downtown with my face on when I've got some place for you guys to stay. Bring your sister, your mother, and tell the others. For now go back to your mom's side of town." Blaze instructed leaping back into the tops of skyscrapers of Midtown on his way up.
-00492 |
48,879 | 1,318 | 1 | 2,002 | 2,686 | Patrick Warrens
The rhythmic sound of Patrick's steady pace rang out through the chrome, barren hallway that he inhabited. He made a smooth move to adjust his tie and wipe some dust off of his navy pinstripe suit all the while giving his reflection in the chrome wall a proud smile. The last few months had been eventful to say the least. He'd finally broken his way into the superhuman crime circles, gained the powers of a hulk, manipulated his alter-ego to the point of being able to sick him on others on the off chance that he isn't in control and finally began pushing Valhalla on the streets of Nueva York thanks to a new benefactor and his organization's new chemist.
To top things off Patrick was on his way to begin forging a new temporary alliance with one of the older gangs of Nueva York, aptly named the 'Old Nueva Gang'. He was supposed to be meeting with one of the higher ups of the gang in an old hospital in the lower end of the city. Patrick expected that the representative of the gang would have some bodyguards around as these meeting were very rarely set up without a fair amount of distrust from each side. Naturally Patrick had brought along a few similarly dressed gunmen to not come off to cocky but in all actuality he doubted there was anything in the room that he and his alter-ego couldn't handle easily enough.
Finally coming to the end of the chrome hallway, Patrick opened the doors into the abandoned hospital reception area to greet whoever was sent by the Old Nueva Gang.
Meanwhile...
"Ted I swear if you don't hurry up and get these boxes in the van I'm gonna smack ya up-side of the head so hard ya won't know which way is up." Mark yelled as the two thugs loaded up boxes of Valhalla vials into a self driving I-Hual moving van. Ted was moving at a pretty quick pace as he too wanted to get out of the area as quick as possible. Both had heard rumours about various heroes that had sprung up and they were naturally afraid of getting caught and prosecuted. | Character Type - Cannon Inspired
Name - Patrick Warrens
Alias - Ton, Megaton, Kiloton
Age - 23
Social Class - Uptown though spends most of his time Downtown
Allignment - anti-hero (Ton wants to be left alone and Patrick is a criminal)
Archetype - Enhanced Human
Powers -
The Big Guys: At will Patrick is able to transform into the monstrous brute known as Ton. Ton can then also change into two other forms as he gets angrier. Rather than being able to increase his strength to a nigh infinite level, Ton simply changes forms and has a capped level of strength with Megaton being the stronger than Ton and Kiloton being the strongest. It takes a metaphorical ‘kick’ to get Ton to change forms meaning even after he’s calmed down as Megaton or Kiloton he might still stay in one of those forms for a while. Ton’s base form has him pretty level headed and at his weakest ‘only' being able to lift around 10 tons (a large hovercar/SUV). Megaton is more articulated with his language (speaking in proper sentences rather than classic hulk speech), possesses the strength to lift 40 tons (equivalent to an 18 wheeler in 2099) and a bad temper to match. Finally Kiloton doesn’t talk a lot and possesses the ability to lift 80 tons (a 90 ft long subway engine car).
Skills -
Crime Boss: Patrick runs a decently large gang and as such has access to a plethora of resources such as underworld connections, money and goons. Along with these resources he has the respect of many lower life criminals though thats not to say there are lots who’d rather see his hulked out head on a skewer.
Hand-to-hand combat: Patrick, while not on par with the likes of Daredevil or any other martial artist, is still capable of holding his ground without calling on his stronger alter-ego.
Weaknesses -
Random Transformations: Sometimes Patrick will turn into Ton at (seemingly) random which can be a major downside if he needs to be calm and collected during a discussion with other thugs he’s trying to hire or work out a deal.
Smarts: While Patrick is decently smart, Ton is more lacking in the intelligence department rendering him reliant on allies or his fists to get out of delicate situations.
Arch Enemy - None as of yet
Appearance -
BRIEF Bio - Patrick Warrens grew up in the absolute slums of Nueva York where his parents did their best to raise him often at the expense of spending time with him. He was generally sheltered from his family’s plights as his parents put on a good charade that everything was alright even if they had to go hungry a few nights to keep their son happy and healthy. Patrick’s first true bit of tragedy struck when his mother died from scurvy and he had to drop out of high school to help his dad pay the bills. Things continued to decline as Patrick’s father began to get old and incapable of working as much as he once was physically able to. Patrick threw himself into his work as a criminal when his father finally passed away due to his deteriorating condition.
A few years would pass and the name Patrick Warrens became feared and revered in most of downtown population but Patrick hadn’t been able to push into to the superhuman crime circles despite his best efforts. Due to this Patrick sought new procedures to augment himself so that he could break into the higher revenue ventures. Patrick’s search eventually turned his attention to an experimental research program that was trying to recreate the travesty that caused all the savage hulks in the badlands. The process was done in a building bordering that badlands and had no immediate results on Patrick but the scientists seemed happy enough with the results so Patrick left, unknowingly a changed man.
In the coming months news spread about a hulk running around Nueva York and it soon became common knowledge in the underground that it was indeed Patrick Warrens. Now Patrick has the means to break into superhuman crime rings and really start imposing his will on the people Nueva York.
Notes -
-Patrick is somewhat based off of Kingpin and Ton is based off of the Hulk
-When not in control, Patrick and Ton are unable to sense the world around them but can still communicate with one another.
Sample Post -
The Incapacitated Blue Beetle
Episode 5
Ted groaned and let out a pained grunt as he hit the floor. His footing wasn't as sound as he had hoped and managed to topple over himself and fall before he could let out a stunning-flashes from his Air gun. As he went to attempt to get up he found another arm helping him get up and a friendly enough voice.
"Your coming with me, too"
"If... you insi-... insist." Ted struggled to say as he was raised to his feet and brought back to the elevator by the man and an old woman who Ted assumed was another hero-turned-elderly.
"What she... said..." the exasperated hero stated in regards to the old lady's reply. All things considered this wasn't going to badly for a first stint with the league. He could have ended up being completely useless in some other mission but at least, at the moment, he had a pretty good excuse. Shrugging off his new teammate's support, BB offered his hand to the bandaged man for a handshake and then to the old woman.
"I'm Bl-... Blue Beetle... I missed th-the..." Ted looked to the ceiling and took a deep breath as he began to feel a pain in his chest "the... shindig a... few days ago. Pleasure... to meet you two." |
48,880 | 1,318 | 2 | 455 | 707 | On the desolate, destroyed road of Interstate 86, a blur of dust and gunfire races along the highway at over a hundred miles per hour. This masterpiece of engineering, this titan of the open road is known to the underworld as...
THE ROADBUSTER!
The soft hum of the Arc Reactors beneath its hood matched to the bumping soundtrack as behind the wheel, one Uther Samson Archer pulled a sharp right, swerving around a long-abandoned tractor trailer. Behind him, and surrounding him on all sides, the Ghost Riders- a gang of skull-faced mutants in their ramshackle cars and bikes. On the passenger seat, a suitcase with an ominous green glow leaking out of the edges that he's been commissioned to transport from the Roxxon Brain Trust's Ultrafoundry in Deleware to a buyer in Nueva York's uptown. Yeah, these were the moments he lived for. Grabbing the gearshift, Uther slammed the gas, and the car started accelerating... and the world slowed down. The Rider on the right- the motorcyle obviously made of various auto parts- had pulled a sawn-off shotgun. Nothing to worry about, the windows were rated for guns a dozen times more powerful. On the left, the Rider in the large custom truck had started turning to ram the Roadbuster- it might scratch the paint, but it'd probably knock him right. Overhead, a Rider had ramped off some rubble and was juuuust coming into view of the front of the car. Behind, there were... at least six or seven others in their Technicals. Uther was left to grin as he spotted the tunnel coming up. The track changed over...
First, he tapped the brakes, just a bit. Taking aim with the fingerless gloves he wore, he made a fingergun gesture at the biker overhead- who was promptly shot by the laser headlights. Watching the first of his problems turned into ground meat upon impact with the road, he braced himself and started turning the wheel and shifting to Reverse as the truck on his left slammed into his side, sending him spinning. It was a simple matter to stabilize the Roadbuster, now able to bring his lasers to bear on the targets behind him as he swerved around one of the the rusted-out cars parked along the road. The shotgunner was knocked over by the fishtailing Roadbuster, as Uther kept accelerating backwards. The car that rammed him earlier eased up, its driver and passenger taking aim- before another shot from the lasers blew out the suspension on the right tire, sending it spinning out and ramming into the wall of the tunnel entrance.
It wasn't long before the first of the tunnel's turns came up. Uther braced himself again, jerking the wheel left. This sent the Roadbuster spinning until it was once again driving forward... and Uther gave the gas more and more, shifting gears as he accelerated straight toward the wall.
The drivers seemed intimidated as the Roadbuster swerved again, its wheels turning in their wells... and sliding up the wall to continue accelerating! The sound of Eurobeat blaring through the tunnel, Uther spared a split-second glance for the map of the old interstates... yes, this would take him into the tunnels beneath Downtown Nueva York. No trouble with Customs, no issues with the local gangs or the Private Eye. Just a nice, long ride on the wall of the tunnel and a stop in Midtown to hand off... whatever that glowing green shit was. Thankfully, his cybernetics kept being perpendicular to the ground from being too catastrophic. Looking in his rear view mirror at the Ghost Riders far in the distance, he chuckled and returned his eyes to the road. The Arc Reactor's soft hum wouldn't trip any audio sensors, and he didn't know of any video feeds that could keep track of a target moving this fast... but just in case, he had the plate scrambling through a few dozen Nueva York drivers. Lighting up a cigar with a grin, he tightened his grip on the steering wheel once more.
"Speed at two hundred and fifty miles per hour... all systems nominal... and we're set. Look out Nueva York... Here comes U.S. Ace!" | Character Type - Canon Inspired
Name - Uther Samson Alger
Alias - US Ace, The Roadbuster
Age - 21
Social Class - Downtown
Alignment - Anti-hero
Archetype - Enhanced Human
Powers -
Uther himself has very little going for him. His skull and other bones (including his teeth) are ridiculously durable, and his reflexes and reaction times are far and above the human norm. He also has an outrageous amount of endurance, able to go for a few days without sleep.
On the other hand, we have The Roadbuster. The Roadbuster is Uther's supercar, a custom number with several incredible features that make Uther's job as a courier possible. Under the hood is a custom-built engine powered by an Arc Reactor. The only computers on board are completely removed from most of the more important systems to prevent hacking. The car itself has a Vibranium chassis and suspension, allowing it to absorb the bumps from the road... and any fenderbenders, gunfights, or daring jumps Uther gets into. Thankfully, the windows are made of high-tech glass that's highly reflective- lasers tend to bounce right off. The Roadbuster is completely airtight, with oxygen scrubbers, allowing it to operate underwater for hours at a time or survive encounters with toxic gasses.
Additional systems include:
Rotating wheelwells- The Roadbuster is able to move sideways for a quick burst- enough to dodge rubble or traffic.
Gecko-Grip tires- a coating that allows The Roadbuster to drive on walls
Railway Riders- a deployable set of disks that allow The Roadbuster to drive on old subway tracks- perfect for evading pursuit.
Headlights- that double as nonlethal laser cannons. For the purpose of getting rid of debris in the road and deterring sewer mutants.
Electronic Paint Job- The Roadbuster's paint is a specialized coating that can be changed between a few preset configurations- including midnight blue and pitch plack for stealth purposes.
Scramble Plate- the license plate is able to scramble its numbers, giving false results from databases.
Skills - Even without his cybernetic enhancements, Uther is a master wheelman, equally at home behind the wheel of a sedan and a big rig.
Despite his less-than-legal career, Uther's actually highly educated as an engineer. He builds, modifies, and repairs The Roadbuster himself.
He's a reliable marksman, but nothing to write home about.
Weaknesses - Uther's cybernetics don't have an internal power source- they convert the calories in his body for energy. As such, he has to eat a lot more than a normal human.
Arch Enemy - The mystery dude who blew up his lab.
Appearance -
BRIEF Bio -
Uther and his brother Charles Simon Archer were once engineers working for Roxxon's automotive division. They were tasked with the development of new engines, and were particularly interested in the Arc Reactor that powered much of Stark Industries' technology. In order to help reverse engineer one, the fine folks at Roxxon gave them hard drives their agents "acquired" from various older corporations. While this should have pinged as something sketchy, Uther and Charles were a bit busy trying to do their damn jobs- the world of experimental tech is a cutthroat business after all, full of betrayal and nasty surprises.
Well, throats were cut one night when Uther lost the coin toss and had to go get takeout while they worked overnight searching through the hard drives. He barely opened the door before the explosion went off, blowing him out into the street- and nearly gutting the interior of the lab. Passing out from his horrific injuries, he awoke the next day in the hospital- with several replaced bones and repaired nerves. It seemed that someone was none to happy with the eco-friendly direction of their research and had planted explosives in one of the hard drives. To top it off, Charles was missing- but since the camera was fried, there wasn't enough evidence- or money at stake- for the Public Eye to intervene.
That night, Uther staggered to the scene of the crime, and dug through the rubble. Always physically fit, he managed to move aside enough broken rock to find some things- a cassette tape and a USB stick. Though one off the devices was ludicrously outdated, the other was usable- and Uther was completely unprepared for what he found. There was video footage of a shadowy figure leaving the lab earlier in the day... as well as tampering with one of the hard drives.
This evidence was enough for Uther. But he didn't trust the Public Eye, or Roxxon, to follow up on this information. He was struck by a thought: Iron Man was a superhero with armor made with human engineering. Well, Uther didn't know enough about armor to become a new Iron Man... but he could become a knight errant, seeking his brother's killer on a steed of chrome. He pooled his finances and every bit of material he could scrounge from Roxxon and its labs, and began building. He shut himself away from the world, toiling in a garage foundry to create a car from scratch- and what a car it was. Detroit Vibranium. Ultraglass made from sand tempered in a nuclear furnace. All of Uther's knowledge regarding cars- combined with some very interesting tech specs from a hard drive from Stark Industries- went into building a vehicle that put any before it to shame. Wiping his computers, he set out to find this shadowy figure and avenge the death of his brother... but he has to figure out who in the underworld might want them gone.
Those in the know can be sure of one thing: if you need someone or something to get somewhere fast and safe, and if you can afford his rates, you might just be able to hire a man known only as "US Ace."
Notes - The glove compartment of the Roadbuster contains two things that Uther has deemed utterly necessary for his work- a rather large revolver, and a collection of discs of classical music- such as The Scorpions, Saint Pepsi, and Lazerhawk.
Sample Post - |
48,881 | 1,318 | 3 | 1,830 | 90 | Nueva York, Manhattan's Finest Skyline Dining Experience - 'Mumbles'
Adjacent to a window which had the best view of all those wonderful glowing neon signs was single, glossy, black oak table with matching chairs with cushions made of only the finest imported Egyptian cotton. At the table there was a smorgasbord; in the center there was a suckling pig, yes a suckling pig cooked with the traditional apple in its mouth and of course its skin was browned to perfection, to the left of that there were a pair of lobsters which had its shell already cracked open primed for the buttery meat inside this aquatic bug to be harvested, and on the left there was a stack of veal cutlets which were sauteed in a lemon sauce. Behind the pig were three plates, one consisted of thinly sliced tuna served raw, and two plates of oysters. In front of the pig there was a matching pair of dishes and orders. Yes when it came to service for the elite with a hankering to eat, 'mum's the word at Mumbles'.
At this particular table there were two gentlemen. On the left there was a man with a black comb-over and a tanned complexion who was dressed in a blue suit with a pair of red cufflinks. This gentleman was an agent for celebrities and made sure certain affairs were kept in order. He was keeping a keen eye on the gentleman who sat on the right.
The individual who was sitting on the right had his focus on a high definition television that was just a few paces away behind the head of the agent. This individual needed no introduction, especially not here at Mumbles, for he was THE Nicholas Grey. However what did need to be addressed was his choice of attire at this restaurant; a much classier suit in vermilion and matching trousers, pearl cufflinks, a violet undershirt made of silk, a canary yellow tie and despite this attire he wore a pair of gleaming riding boots. Nicholas Grey swished back his hair before eagerly staring at the food. The gentlemen on the other side of the table simply slid a pen across the table.
Grabbing it, Nicholas Grey immediately began to twirl it around, "Ah thanks Arthur! I know there are a lot of fans here who'd want autographs. We can worry about it after eating!" The agent, now revealed to be an Arthur began to cough before stating something about business paperwork which in turn was interrupted by Nicholas Grey slamming the pen down onto the table and grabbing a fork and knife as he frantically cut into the lobster and wolfed down a chunk.
The agent sulked and crossed his hands over his chest. Staring at his disappointed compatriot, Nicholas Grey with a mouth full of food began to mumble something. Swallowing it down Nicholas Grey spoke again, "C'mon Arthur it'll be fine; I can't eat all of this by myself and I don't want to bring a doggy bag of it back to the filming set! It has to be a surprise for when I get the rest of the crew real catering. We can focus on paperwork and that jazz later, cause I've got a feeling this upcoming broadca-" He found himself interrupted when a pair of crime fighters having a minor scuffle came whizzing past the window.
Nicholas Grey casually lifted up the pen as he pushed his seat back. He gave a brief wave to Arthur as he mimed getting his phone out of his breastpocket with his free-hand.
"Uh huh yeah?" he said to no one on the other line, shoving the pen in the pocket he covered his mouth as he spoke to Arthur. "One of my adoring public... YEAH, I can talk. Arthur I'll be right back, shouldn't take too long." Arthur, far too exacerbated at this moment simply shut up and began to gulp an oyster down much like it was a booze bottle.
Nicholas Grey had to get out of the restaurant and get into a vehicle as soon as possible; solving this scuffle would look great on the eight o'clock news! And so as he weaved his way out of the restaurant he began to undo his tie and undercoat to reveal some racing leathers he wore under them... It was time for some good old fashioned vigilante hobby heroism. | Character Type - Original
Name - Nicholas Grey
Alias - THE Nicholas Grey, Greatest Racer of This Generation, Atlas Andes Sponsored Heroic Do-gooder
Age - 39
Social Class - Uptown
Alignment - Arrogant Good
Archetype - Human
Powers -
Incorruptibly Pure Human Genetics - Nicholas Grey was born with some rare genes that have made him immune to being altered through scientific mutations, magical spells, or any other supernatural means. In short this means that Nicholas Grey is and will always be a human.
Skills -
THE Greatest Racer - Nicholas Grey is surely the best damn racer you'll ever have the pleasure of seeing, and he has a top-notch record in multiple fields of racing from drag racing, to track racing, to motocross racing, to off-road racing and so on. As such he is extremely skilled in operating vehicles of all sorts and driving them as fast as possible, and of course using a vehicle as a most dangerous weapon. He is also versed in performing maintenance on his own vehicles if his pit crew isn't around.
Celebrity - Nicholas Grey is, again, surely the best damn racer you'll ever have the pleasure of seeing who has a top-notch record in multiple fields of racing. Due to this he is a noted celebrity and as such is easily recognizable; which means Nicholas Grey a number of admirers, papparazzi, agents, stalkers and so on. With his social status Nicholas Grey can do things such as walk into classy restaurants without a reservation, go into filming studios easier, etc. as perks of his fame.
MacGyvering - To many people construction is a difficult task; this is not the case for Nicholas Grey. Nicholas Grey is quite adept at taking all sorts of bits and scavenged pieces from an assortment of objects, and with a workbench, can create unique and deadly gizmos from the simple spiked baseball bat to the more advanced plasma-flamethrowing motorcycle.
Corporate Sponsored - Nicholas Grey, as a famed racer, has his share of corporate sponsors. His most notable sponsorship is from an 'unhinged' Home Improvement/Outdoor Recreations Corporation, known as Atlas Andes. This corporation provides Nicholas Grey with tools, such as chainsaws, axes, two-by-fours, hunting/sport rifles, crossbows and other 'assorted improvised weapons' in return for Nicholas Grey shilling for them during his heroic acts of vigilantism, logos on his racing vehicles. And so Nicholas Grey fights off the villainous threats of man with the items provided by Atlas Andes.
Weaknesses -
Celebrity - Of course while being a noted celebrity is all well and good it does have its downsides. Nicholas Grey has his share of stalkers, his personal information is more likely to be spread around than someone without fame, and he has a personal reputation to uphold. Not to mention that he has to juggle this noble hobby of heroic vigilantism alongside his actual career of racing, with occasional film, TV, and commercial roles. It is safe to say there are a lot of routes a notorious villain could go to try to defeat Nicholas Grey.
Gloryhound - Nicholas Grey is a notorious gloryhound with a grandiose ego to match it. He is incredibly reckless when it comes to performing acts that would net him more glory and fame, and can easily be manipulated into courses of action by appealing to his ego and the fame he'd receive from them.
Human - Nicholas Grey, albeit a physically fit racer, is still just a normal human.
Arch Enemy - No Challenger Has Proved Themselves Worthy of Being seen as an Arch-Enemy.
Appearance - Nicholas has rather white skin, which compliments his dark blue eyes. Another notable feature is his black hair which goes all the way to the back of his neck, that is combed thoroughly (except when he initially takes off his racing helmet). He doesn't have any sharp facial features, and overall he looks like an average man. More often than not he is in his flame-retardant, black race suit leathers which are emblazoned heavily with the Atlas Andes logo.
BRIEF Bio - Nicholas Grey lived in an orphanage for a brief period of his life. It was surprisingly unremarkable, as he never had any traumatic encounters from gangsters or abusive staff. At the orphanage Nicholas Grey had a lot of freetime which he used to scavenge for interesting objects to make new and fun things out of to play with. Soon enough, this child was adopted into the lap of luxury by a lovely couple who lived Uptown. He lived well and often watched televised races, both standard and death matches, with his adoptive parents. It was then Nicholas Grey decided to become a racer and used all the resources at his disposal to become the greatest racer of this generation. He would soon begin to achieve his dream as he racked up win after win after win in multiple forms of racing. However he found himself introduced to a new purpose in life after some radioactive creatures attacked a casino he was relaxing after finishing a previous competition. He initially hid to save his own hide but was eventually bitten by the radioactive monster. Oddly enough Nicholas Grey was not altered to become such a creature; it was then he knew he could become a heroic vigilante the world needed. So he obtained a new sponsor to supply him with weapons for his crusade of justice, a film crew to follow him around as he performed acts of heroism, and thus began to juggle his career with the noble hobby of heroic vigilantism.
Notes - The curious case for Atlas Andes' Corporate Sponsoring of Nicholas Grey's heroic acts of vigilantism revolve around the fact that in 'Quarter Three' they were really badly in the red. Not wanting to risk going bankrupt and have their assets bought by a larger company, the Board of Directors accepted the Chief Marketing Officer's proposal for sponsoring an associate to one of his personal friends, Nicholas Grey.
He is currently engaged in the filming process for a Romantic Comedy called 'Jumpstart My Heart'; alongside this he is also preparing for another upcoming racing tournament.
Sample Post - The sun was setting upon the metropolis of Nueva York which just so happened to be blessed by the presence of THE Nicholas Grey. Lounging over the railings of the balcony from his Presedential Suite, a man with such exquisite tastes like Nicholas Grey would do with nothing less than that, he watched the traffic go by as less important people went about their routine. He was lodging in this hotel due to being close to the film studio, and more importantly the motocross track which he would soon dominate as was his nature. Performing a dramatic flourish with his left hand and flinging it up to the heavens, Nicholas Grey began to speak. "Soon you'll kno-" He paused in his mighty and bold performance of dialogue as he noticed his phone was ringing with the very classical tune of, 'Let's Make Lots of Money.' This ringtone belonged to Agent Donald's number. Sure it was just one of many agents Nicholas Grey had, but Donny always had the hookup for some nice and easy gigs.
Nicholas answered the phone, "Donny whatcha got for me?" Nicholas nodded his head, "Game Show huh? 'FIR' you say, how much?" Nicholas beamed as he did a celebratory fist-pump with his free hand. "Donny baby you make me so happy! OH any new media gigs to talk about my heroism against those "supernatural" criminal freaks and the countless leagues of gangbangers?" Nicholas nodded, "Schedule it for a Thursday. I'm busy the day you told me they wanted." Nicholas listened to his phone as he said "Well it was great talking to you. Keep getting me cash buddy!" With that he hung up the phone and headed into his room proper. Grabbing the remote he began flipping through channels until he caught the footage of his glory. |
48,882 | 1,318 | 4 | 1,966 | 2,593 | -
Old Abandoned Hospital, Nueva York.
Nayden had felt off since they had arrived. The hospital had been chosen specifically for its strategic advantages. That room, simple as it seemed, was just big enough for The Boss to accommodate his best while offering an alternative route for escape should things go south. Not that any of that would be necessary. The Sword, as they liked to call Nayden in the gang, was confident that these new thugs were just as doltish as any. They would be easy to put down should the need arise.
The Boss had found conversation with his Second, both speaking of the possibilities. Nayden, garbed his white attire and black suit jacket, leaned casually on the chrome counter; a physical boundary separating them and the newest arrival. The moment the door open, his head perked up and his sharp eyes slid to bulky man. Five armed men stood from their seats as well, all garbed in respectable suits.
All those muscles and he still doesn't measure up to me. He's just another meat-head.
The Boss stepped ahead of The Second, nearly as tall but hardly the powerful presence that Patrick was. He scratched his groomed beard, touching the scar that framed the right side of his face. "Welcome," greeted the elder. "Jesse, Sword, introduce yourselves. Afterwards we may begin with this... this meeting."
The Second stepped up. "Nice to meet you."
Nayden, eyes still fixated on the bulky man, kept quiet for a moment. "... Hello." | "Just leave. You don't stand a chance against me."
Character Type - Cannon Inspired
Name - Nayden Reynolds
Alias - The Sword (The Scourge)
Age - 15
Social Class - Downtown
Alignment - Bad
Archetype - Enhanced Human
Powers - Nayden discovered several well-documented abilities that he can utilize. All of them have either spawned from or was a direct result of his psychic powers. His super-strength, nigh-invulnerability, and super-speed are all acts of corporal manipulation; reinforcing, energizing, and shielding his body. Of course, he could barely call himself a psychic without the telltale repertoire of gifts. Telekinesis is one of them. At most he can lift a sedan without effort. Unlike his mom, who could dive into another's mind unaided, Nayden can only defend his from other psychics and experience past memories from the unaware. Try as he might, he has never been able to read one's current thoughts or future intentions.
Skills - Nayden's personal skills are severely lacking. He's relied on his powers for most of his life so he's kinda useless if they were taken away. He's good at reading the tension in the air, probably the result of some uncounted power. Very manipulative, charming even to most people. He plays a good fool.
Weaknesses - One-on-One fights are his specialty, however group fights tend to be trickier. His powers work on the premise of mental concentration. Too many distractions often leave openings for mistakes and without his psychic powers backing him up, he's essentially a normal, un-athletic teen. One whose never really felt true pain or disappointment. Furthermore he's never encountered another super-powered being, sure he heard word of Spider-Man, seen him on the big-screen, but he never had to fight the freak himself.
Arch Enemy - Nayden shrugged his shoulder to the idea.
BRIEF Bio - Nayden was born to Annalise Reynolds, single-mother and workaholic in the downtown streets of Nueva York. She was a librarian, dabbling model, and aspiring lawyer. Incapable of ever returning to her scholarly ambitions, Annalise had become content with learning what she could at her part-time job and taking care of her psychic, wallflower of a child. Because, regardless of how desperate she was to better her own life, she was fully devoted to insuring the best for his.
Nayden Reynolds was the latest of a rare breed. A child who had been born with their ancestor's: Robert Reynolds' (The Sentry) peculiar gifts. As powerful and heavy as those gifts were, Nayden had not avoided the importance of them. For a time he had ostracized himself, struggling to beat the learning curve for controlling his power; she had sensed that much with her own limited talents. Recently though, puberty had smoothen the rough edges, giving Nayden some form of personality. He was kind but quiet and often selfless, but that came with a volatile tendency of overreacting. Which with his gifts were often fatal for others. She had always been on guard for "accidents", always dipping in and out of his mind, searching for the unfortunate. Sometimes he blocked her out. That was hard to deal with but understandable. Still she trusted him and loved him dearly, she knew he was a good kid and knew one day he would become something spectacular.
What she did not know was truth about Nayden Reynolds
Yea, he had took time to hone his powers but it wasn't for the safety of the herd. It was for himself. Having dozens of thoughts, both hideous and mundane, fill his head everyday was a circus. A painful, obnoxious one. Truth was he was the central guard for a very powerful, very ugly gang leader. They were sharks, very dangerous but very awe-inspiring to look at. All wore suits or similar garments, the majority looked like cronies but special members... well they stood out. When they had saved him from those bullies all those years ago, he wondered the same as everyone else. Why? Why did the, then, second-in-command offer to protect him. Well he knew the answer now; y'see, them pressing him to learn control had ultimately been advantageous. Now he knew they wanted him for his power. Now he knew they had seen his strength.
Now he knew... that it had not been them that took out those bullies but none other then himself.
He had been unmovable against the fist of those thugs, a pure monster in terms of strength, and for a moment, he had floated over them like a god. They had seen it all and they had greedily wanted him for themselves. He was irreplaceable to The Boss; so long as he had his powers, he didn't need to be viewed as a demon to be left alone. He needed only be known as a member of The Old Nueva Gang.
Notes - Not The Same is his favorite audio file (regardless of its age).
It should be mentioned that his powers are not essentially psychic in nature. Robert Reynolds powers were born from a secret formula created by some professor. Its caused a phase-shift in his molecules, having his atoms jump ahead of the current time-line and giving him hyper-state of consciousness. It was very potent in Robert, since his time its been diluted, and now part and parcel of the formula floats inside of Nayden's molecules. He has yet to awaken to its latent capabilities but has realized several psychic powers and seems to believe that's all he's capable of.
Sample Post - He reached into his pocket until his entire hand was obscured, his fingers grasping for his domicile's key. He pulled it out, flinching from the gentle but unwanted touch of his mother's mental probing. She really needed a less invasive way of checking the door. He allowed her entrance to his initial thoughts while the door slid up into a wedged compartment.
"Perfect timing I was just leaving for a photo-shoot."
Nayden slipped off his weary sneakers and without pause carried himself down the hall to his room. "Yea, I remember you saying something like that." His voice grew louder the further he traveled. "Its that small shady group right? on Kjad Avenue?" Nayden hated the tedium of playing nitwit, his position within the Old Nueva Gang had afforded him plenty of insight. That shady studio on Kjad was filled with swindlers, nothing more. Rumors of rapist and murders had surfaced months ago but the actual employees were cowards, and as of recent, they were subservient to The Gang.
"Mhmm. Before you start I know awful things have been said about them but I wouldn't worry too much about it. Your mom can handle herself."
Nayden fixed his work clothes on, buttoning the remainder his white dress shirt and draping his topcoat around his shoulders. Course you wouldn't. You could probably smelt their minds easy, he thought. He heard her keys scrape against the counter as she snatched it up. "Food is in the fridge. Remember, Nayden, study, eat, sleep. I don't want to come home to your food still in the fridge."
"You got it, Ma," he voiced loudly. He sat on his bed, amidst his flawless room, awaiting to hear the final click of the door. When it resounded through the silent house, he rose, and begun his small trek to the hideout. |
48,883 | 1,318 | 5 | 2,411 | 165 | FORCE
Elisabeth was bored.
Soooooooooooo bored.
She also really needed to get some work in soon. Rent was due and she was getting low on funds. might have to rob another fuckin’ bank this point she pondered as she rounded the corner to check her third and final postbox registered to Force, in which old contacts would occasionally send her work. Nothing but an ad. She couldn’t believe that there was still junk mail in 2099. I am the one still using postboxes she realized. Phones had trackers though. The government was always watching, and she wanted to be as off the grid as she could manage in this city. She walks back out of the post office, and decides to go find a dark alley in which to change. She does.
Unfortunately, a rather creepy guy is in there. And when she turns into the alley, his eyes light up. She sees something poking out of his shirt. She sees that it is from his pocket, and his hand is also in there.
“alright little lady, hands up. You wanna live?” he asked, a devilish smile creeping over his face. She feigned fear for a moment. “Yeah? Thought so. Then do exactly as I say. First, y’all gonna take your clothes off-“
“Oh fuck that! I though you were just gonna try to take my wallet or something” she sighs angrily as she charges him. His gun goes off twice, hitting her both times. ahhhh....yessss she thinks as the bullets hit her and her power grows, her hands giving off a blue glow. She tackles him, pinning him to the ground. Getting very close to his face, she hisses “there’s a certain kind of freak who doesn’t deserve to live in this world, and there is no honor in using others for their body,” and then snaps his neck. She quickly takes off her outer layer, hiding her backpack on a roof after climbing a nearby fire escape. She sees the police moving to the alley (someone probably heard those gunshots, she reasoned), and quickly moved away from the area, headed towards an area of downtown that often saw heroes act to protect the locals.
She was definitely getting up to some shit now. | Character Type- Original
Name – Elisabeth Harrison
Alias - Force
Age - 24
Social Class – changeable depending on the circumstances; lives in Midtown, mostly works in Downtown, occasionally in Uptown.
Alignment – Usually a villain
Archetype - Mutant
Powers – Energy absorbsion: if Elisabeth were to take damage from any physical form (punches, fire, explosions, trains), she instead absorbs this energy to empower herself, though it wears out over time rather quickly. I realized on the walk home that this is basically the same concept as Zarya from Overwatch :V
This energy gain manifests physically as she gains in power, starting out with a bit of a blue glow around her hands, then moving next to her eyes, then covering her entire body in a bright blue glow.
-At its most basic form, this ability makes her strong. Ever so strong. The more power she takes in, the more she can dish out. Power wise, if she gets hit with the force of a train, she can then punch with the force of a train, and lift with that force. Relatively simple.
- She can also channel this energy into blasts, more quickly draining from her pool but giving her a nice ranged option; she can keep doing this even if not powered up, but it will begin to hurt after a while and will eventually kill herself with it.
-it is worth considering that she is able to pump up her abilities in a variety of ways: from over-eating to slashing her wrists repeatedly with a razor to jumping off of a building. She's also far from useless even when not powered up, as she still trains regularly and is near her championship fitness level. She just has to be careful to not over-do it in the gym :V
Skills – the basic things you’d expect from a capable adult of her age. Also Muay thai, Judo, mountain climbing, and the Bassoon.
Weaknesses –
-love of combat: fighting is fun, and a good way to get an energy high. While not dumb enough to make a scene out of costume, Elisabeth does strive to be in costume as often as she can – it is her job at this point, anyway.
-constant hunger: Force’s powers give her a constant need to eat, and take damage to sate her hunger (think your stereotypical hungry teenager, on steroids). High energy is also rather addictive, and if she is low for long enough she will start to go through withdrawal.
-Hubris: Being functionally invincible most of the time doesn’t do wonders for your caution, and Elisabeth was already pretty damned confident. Expect her to easily fall victim to tricks, traps, “dishonorable” fighting, and mental effects (as well as anything else that doesn’t deal direct physical damage)
-impenetrable: her powers have their downsides - she can't have surgiries performed on her, can't get tatoos, etc.. This may or may not be much of a barrier for her, tbh.
Arch Enemy – I am the villain department! (Ghost and Power Man seem like they’d be a lot of fun to fight – Force would love the physical challenge of Power Man, and Ghost is everything that she doesn’t like in an opponent: wily, confusing, and ever changing. Starting there would probably be good?)
Appearance – Elisabeth is mostly unassuming, coming in at 5’5” and 133 lbs. she’s ripped though; full body in great shape: clearly trains a lot. Her features are small – mouth, ears and nose are all, for lack of a better word, cute. Her hair is short: shaven close on the sides with a bit of pomade keeping the front swept to the left (or spikey and pointing right when in costume). Keeps it brown to keep herself less identifiable, but would totally color it red if she could. Conforms to most female beauty standards – shaven legs and armpits, does some basic makeup, etc.. large mole on her right cheek.
One of the main problems with her ability is finding clothing that can stand up to the same punishment as she can. Fortunately, Force has, with enough profit and the right contacts, found someone who can make for her a hyper-resilient suit that covers the bases, and generally stands up to what she can take. It’s mostly form-fitting underarmour sort of material, done out in black and red. The upper half is kind of a belly-shirt tank top, covering the top half of her chest but leaving the stomach and arms exposed, while her shorts reach to about mid-calf and are also form fitting. She also wears half of a facemask, done in deep purple and deep red – this used to be a bandana, but is now the same form-fitting spandex shit as the rest of her suit. It covers her nose down to her neck. She wears a necklace that looks vaguely like it might give her powers or something to throw people off. No shoes.
Born a child of two latent mutants, Elisabeth grew up in a normal midtowner’s life. sure she wasn’t the best in school, but man was she hella at Judo, taking home multiple state championships and almost qualifying for the American Olympics Team (or whatever an equivalent would be in this time). She never really made life plans beyond that, though, and fell somewhat aimless after an injury in her senior year of high school threw her out of contention for that year, making scholarships a lot tougher. She really started focusing in on bassoon then, and eventually went to college on a planned double major in sports medicine and music performance, the latter of which she dropped to complete on time. at the age of 19, while on a mountain climbing trip, Elisabeth fell off of a hundred foot cliff, and came out luckily unharmed. To all observers, it was luck, and she claimed that she broke her fall grabbing onto some cliff foliage near the bottom.
But that didn’t happen. What happened was that she hit the ground. But there was no crack of her neck or spine, no feeling of whiplash, no loss of breath as her ribs punctured her lungs and left her to die. Instead, there was a feeling of power. Ecstasy, almost. And POWER. She felt so strong: crazy strong. She had to try this again! And experiment.
So she went off “Hiking” much more often – and while she did get better at climbing mountains, the real goal was to learn more about her powers; purposefully hurting herself while deep in the wilderness, figuring out the true limitations of her powers: of which she found none. But, with all this in mind, Elisabeth saw not a chance to do good part-time. No, people didn’t deserve another person working their asses off only to get picked up by the fucking Public Eye and whisked off to who knows where once again. No; if she was going to use her abilities, she was gonna make bank. So fuck Sports Medicine.
Developing a codename: Force, and working with a shitty costume for the time being, she put herself out there in Downtown robbing some banks and beating back some small-time goodie-two-shoes until she got the attention of some bigger guys and was able to drop the small-time villainy and get what she really wanted – safe, legal (usually) money in the eyes of her bank, and jobs beating up people for pissing off the big wigs. She got a great apartment out of the deal, too! Both her parents are quite elderly and have moved off to what’s left of florida, while most of the rest of her family is out in the Midwest.
Force doesn’t really have a plan for the future. There is no master plan, no world domination. Force lives to fight, and makes work as a contract enforcer/killer/bounty hunter/whatever you want if the price is high enough; assumingly she’d therefore be introduced in a situation where a hero is trying to stop one of these from happening, or is the target themselves. Given the chance herself for complete power, she’d keep fighting until she’s fought the strongest being she can find, and then… ??? . It’s also worth considering that, presented in the right circumstances, she’d just as happily fight for the “good guys,” though I wouldn’t really classify her as an anti-hero, because her end goal really isn’t positive, yet.
Notes – gonna use this area for personality.
Elisabeth is strong of focus and body: when training in her preferred martial arts or musical instrument, she is in her element, as when she is in combat. She shuns any idea of stealth once the fighting starts, and will generally give her opponent a fair chance to face her and fight on even grounds – whatever weapons they’d like (though this is often as much for her own benefit as theirs, since sneak attacks from her are generally pretty low powered). This feeling of battle honor, however, does not extend to the authorities: she’ll gladly use every dirty trick in the book to beat, kill, or escape their grasps, and has so far kept her identity secret. In five phrases:
Fun Loving – Killer – Relatively level-headed – brusque – aimless |
48,884 | 1,318 | 6 | 2,002 | 2,686 | Patrick Warrens
"Gentlemen." Patrick replied to the the trio, making note of 'The Sword's intense nature. He was all about keeping things on point and professional in his line of work but it alway rubbed him the wrong way when the people he worked with were too serious about what they did. After all, if you gotta work you might as well try to make it enjoyable.
"Now then." Patrick said as he clapped his hands together and rubbed them for a moment "lets get down to business. As you may or may not know my organization has come to possess a pretty shway new 'recipe' for some 'energy drinks'. Naturally we've been processing and distributing it for a few weeks now but as word gets around we've seen an increase in demand and occupational hazards." Patrick explained as he walked aimlessly around the room making sure to make and break eye contact with everyone in the other gang.
"While it'd be very doable for my employees to make up for these short comings, I come here today to present you with an offer. For loaning your men's services in protection and distribution of my product, I'm willing to offer you a cut of all major sales done while your conspirators are working with us." Patrick offered as he took a seat on a old waiting room chair. | Character Type - Cannon Inspired
Name - Patrick Warrens
Alias - Ton, Megaton, Kiloton
Age - 23
Social Class - Uptown though spends most of his time Downtown
Allignment - anti-hero (Ton wants to be left alone and Patrick is a criminal)
Archetype - Enhanced Human
Powers -
The Big Guys: At will Patrick is able to transform into the monstrous brute known as Ton. Ton can then also change into two other forms as he gets angrier. Rather than being able to increase his strength to a nigh infinite level, Ton simply changes forms and has a capped level of strength with Megaton being the stronger than Ton and Kiloton being the strongest. It takes a metaphorical ‘kick’ to get Ton to change forms meaning even after he’s calmed down as Megaton or Kiloton he might still stay in one of those forms for a while. Ton’s base form has him pretty level headed and at his weakest ‘only' being able to lift around 10 tons (a large hovercar/SUV). Megaton is more articulated with his language (speaking in proper sentences rather than classic hulk speech), possesses the strength to lift 40 tons (equivalent to an 18 wheeler in 2099) and a bad temper to match. Finally Kiloton doesn’t talk a lot and possesses the ability to lift 80 tons (a 90 ft long subway engine car).
Skills -
Crime Boss: Patrick runs a decently large gang and as such has access to a plethora of resources such as underworld connections, money and goons. Along with these resources he has the respect of many lower life criminals though thats not to say there are lots who’d rather see his hulked out head on a skewer.
Hand-to-hand combat: Patrick, while not on par with the likes of Daredevil or any other martial artist, is still capable of holding his ground without calling on his stronger alter-ego.
Weaknesses -
Random Transformations: Sometimes Patrick will turn into Ton at (seemingly) random which can be a major downside if he needs to be calm and collected during a discussion with other thugs he’s trying to hire or work out a deal.
Smarts: While Patrick is decently smart, Ton is more lacking in the intelligence department rendering him reliant on allies or his fists to get out of delicate situations.
Arch Enemy - None as of yet
Appearance -
BRIEF Bio - Patrick Warrens grew up in the absolute slums of Nueva York where his parents did their best to raise him often at the expense of spending time with him. He was generally sheltered from his family’s plights as his parents put on a good charade that everything was alright even if they had to go hungry a few nights to keep their son happy and healthy. Patrick’s first true bit of tragedy struck when his mother died from scurvy and he had to drop out of high school to help his dad pay the bills. Things continued to decline as Patrick’s father began to get old and incapable of working as much as he once was physically able to. Patrick threw himself into his work as a criminal when his father finally passed away due to his deteriorating condition.
A few years would pass and the name Patrick Warrens became feared and revered in most of downtown population but Patrick hadn’t been able to push into to the superhuman crime circles despite his best efforts. Due to this Patrick sought new procedures to augment himself so that he could break into the higher revenue ventures. Patrick’s search eventually turned his attention to an experimental research program that was trying to recreate the travesty that caused all the savage hulks in the badlands. The process was done in a building bordering that badlands and had no immediate results on Patrick but the scientists seemed happy enough with the results so Patrick left, unknowingly a changed man.
In the coming months news spread about a hulk running around Nueva York and it soon became common knowledge in the underground that it was indeed Patrick Warrens. Now Patrick has the means to break into superhuman crime rings and really start imposing his will on the people Nueva York.
Notes -
-Patrick is somewhat based off of Kingpin and Ton is based off of the Hulk
-When not in control, Patrick and Ton are unable to sense the world around them but can still communicate with one another.
Sample Post -
The Incapacitated Blue Beetle
Episode 5
Ted groaned and let out a pained grunt as he hit the floor. His footing wasn't as sound as he had hoped and managed to topple over himself and fall before he could let out a stunning-flashes from his Air gun. As he went to attempt to get up he found another arm helping him get up and a friendly enough voice.
"Your coming with me, too"
"If... you insi-... insist." Ted struggled to say as he was raised to his feet and brought back to the elevator by the man and an old woman who Ted assumed was another hero-turned-elderly.
"What she... said..." the exasperated hero stated in regards to the old lady's reply. All things considered this wasn't going to badly for a first stint with the league. He could have ended up being completely useless in some other mission but at least, at the moment, he had a pretty good excuse. Shrugging off his new teammate's support, BB offered his hand to the bandaged man for a handshake and then to the old woman.
"I'm Bl-... Blue Beetle... I missed th-the..." Ted looked to the ceiling and took a deep breath as he began to feel a pain in his chest "the... shindig a... few days ago. Pleasure... to meet you two." |
48,885 | 1,318 | 7 | 2,411 | 165 | FORCE
As Force jumped from building to building, she began to take stock of where exactly she wanted to end up. Already on the south end of the city, she remembered hearing from a friend of a friend that the Old Nueva Gang had something going on in the area... the abandoned hospital?... she vaguely remembered. She considered going there to start trouble - or join in if it was already happening, but this didn't really suit her. They weren't that likely to have that much shit going down, and they were generally no fun to deal with - had a tendency to try and track you, go after your family: the no-fun sorta things.
But... weren't they meeting with some dude? some dude who was supposedly actually the hulk? now THAT would be fun to fight, she considered. But still probably not worth pissing off old nueva. She looked around, and realized she had autopiloted to above a nearby Key Bank branch. this is my stop, I guess, she decided, jumping off the top of a 14 story high rise. She hit the ground with a dull thud and a small crater, rising from it with her arms aglow. Walking up to the door of the bank, she chooses to simply punch a hole through the glass doors instead of trying the door. The security guard, already rather surprised by a woman falling off of the roof, shakily pointed her gun at Force.
Force glances sardonically at her, expressing the proper emotion with only her eyes: "you really think that's gonna do anything?," she asks, and the guard's resolve fails.
Walking completely inside, she says a quick "good afternoon" to the bank manager before looking around. "uhm. Where is this bank's safe?" she demands of him.
"Just over t-there" he says, his voice betraying his fear for a moment.
"Thanks!" she says, as she walks over and punches the vault door. she punches again. stronger than anticipated she thinks, annoyed, as the third hit makes a crater in the door, smashing a hole in it with the fourth. walking in, she sees a bit of cash lying around - amazing really: a hundred years ago, they were predicting cashless societies. some habits refuse to die, it seems, she considers as she grabs what she can and walks out of the building, quickly hustling into a nearby alley. she takes some turns down a few more alleys, a short back-track through the sewers, and into a recently abandoned crack house across the street from the hospital - letting her catch any exciting events as they happen. and she really hopes something will happen. That was unsatisfying. | Character Type- Original
Name – Elisabeth Harrison
Alias - Force
Age - 24
Social Class – changeable depending on the circumstances; lives in Midtown, mostly works in Downtown, occasionally in Uptown.
Alignment – Usually a villain
Archetype - Mutant
Powers – Energy absorbsion: if Elisabeth were to take damage from any physical form (punches, fire, explosions, trains), she instead absorbs this energy to empower herself, though it wears out over time rather quickly. I realized on the walk home that this is basically the same concept as Zarya from Overwatch :V
This energy gain manifests physically as she gains in power, starting out with a bit of a blue glow around her hands, then moving next to her eyes, then covering her entire body in a bright blue glow.
-At its most basic form, this ability makes her strong. Ever so strong. The more power she takes in, the more she can dish out. Power wise, if she gets hit with the force of a train, she can then punch with the force of a train, and lift with that force. Relatively simple.
- She can also channel this energy into blasts, more quickly draining from her pool but giving her a nice ranged option; she can keep doing this even if not powered up, but it will begin to hurt after a while and will eventually kill herself with it.
-it is worth considering that she is able to pump up her abilities in a variety of ways: from over-eating to slashing her wrists repeatedly with a razor to jumping off of a building. She's also far from useless even when not powered up, as she still trains regularly and is near her championship fitness level. She just has to be careful to not over-do it in the gym :V
Skills – the basic things you’d expect from a capable adult of her age. Also Muay thai, Judo, mountain climbing, and the Bassoon.
Weaknesses –
-love of combat: fighting is fun, and a good way to get an energy high. While not dumb enough to make a scene out of costume, Elisabeth does strive to be in costume as often as she can – it is her job at this point, anyway.
-constant hunger: Force’s powers give her a constant need to eat, and take damage to sate her hunger (think your stereotypical hungry teenager, on steroids). High energy is also rather addictive, and if she is low for long enough she will start to go through withdrawal.
-Hubris: Being functionally invincible most of the time doesn’t do wonders for your caution, and Elisabeth was already pretty damned confident. Expect her to easily fall victim to tricks, traps, “dishonorable” fighting, and mental effects (as well as anything else that doesn’t deal direct physical damage)
-impenetrable: her powers have their downsides - she can't have surgiries performed on her, can't get tatoos, etc.. This may or may not be much of a barrier for her, tbh.
Arch Enemy – I am the villain department! (Ghost and Power Man seem like they’d be a lot of fun to fight – Force would love the physical challenge of Power Man, and Ghost is everything that she doesn’t like in an opponent: wily, confusing, and ever changing. Starting there would probably be good?)
Appearance – Elisabeth is mostly unassuming, coming in at 5’5” and 133 lbs. she’s ripped though; full body in great shape: clearly trains a lot. Her features are small – mouth, ears and nose are all, for lack of a better word, cute. Her hair is short: shaven close on the sides with a bit of pomade keeping the front swept to the left (or spikey and pointing right when in costume). Keeps it brown to keep herself less identifiable, but would totally color it red if she could. Conforms to most female beauty standards – shaven legs and armpits, does some basic makeup, etc.. large mole on her right cheek.
One of the main problems with her ability is finding clothing that can stand up to the same punishment as she can. Fortunately, Force has, with enough profit and the right contacts, found someone who can make for her a hyper-resilient suit that covers the bases, and generally stands up to what she can take. It’s mostly form-fitting underarmour sort of material, done out in black and red. The upper half is kind of a belly-shirt tank top, covering the top half of her chest but leaving the stomach and arms exposed, while her shorts reach to about mid-calf and are also form fitting. She also wears half of a facemask, done in deep purple and deep red – this used to be a bandana, but is now the same form-fitting spandex shit as the rest of her suit. It covers her nose down to her neck. She wears a necklace that looks vaguely like it might give her powers or something to throw people off. No shoes.
Born a child of two latent mutants, Elisabeth grew up in a normal midtowner’s life. sure she wasn’t the best in school, but man was she hella at Judo, taking home multiple state championships and almost qualifying for the American Olympics Team (or whatever an equivalent would be in this time). She never really made life plans beyond that, though, and fell somewhat aimless after an injury in her senior year of high school threw her out of contention for that year, making scholarships a lot tougher. She really started focusing in on bassoon then, and eventually went to college on a planned double major in sports medicine and music performance, the latter of which she dropped to complete on time. at the age of 19, while on a mountain climbing trip, Elisabeth fell off of a hundred foot cliff, and came out luckily unharmed. To all observers, it was luck, and she claimed that she broke her fall grabbing onto some cliff foliage near the bottom.
But that didn’t happen. What happened was that she hit the ground. But there was no crack of her neck or spine, no feeling of whiplash, no loss of breath as her ribs punctured her lungs and left her to die. Instead, there was a feeling of power. Ecstasy, almost. And POWER. She felt so strong: crazy strong. She had to try this again! And experiment.
So she went off “Hiking” much more often – and while she did get better at climbing mountains, the real goal was to learn more about her powers; purposefully hurting herself while deep in the wilderness, figuring out the true limitations of her powers: of which she found none. But, with all this in mind, Elisabeth saw not a chance to do good part-time. No, people didn’t deserve another person working their asses off only to get picked up by the fucking Public Eye and whisked off to who knows where once again. No; if she was going to use her abilities, she was gonna make bank. So fuck Sports Medicine.
Developing a codename: Force, and working with a shitty costume for the time being, she put herself out there in Downtown robbing some banks and beating back some small-time goodie-two-shoes until she got the attention of some bigger guys and was able to drop the small-time villainy and get what she really wanted – safe, legal (usually) money in the eyes of her bank, and jobs beating up people for pissing off the big wigs. She got a great apartment out of the deal, too! Both her parents are quite elderly and have moved off to what’s left of florida, while most of the rest of her family is out in the Midwest.
Force doesn’t really have a plan for the future. There is no master plan, no world domination. Force lives to fight, and makes work as a contract enforcer/killer/bounty hunter/whatever you want if the price is high enough; assumingly she’d therefore be introduced in a situation where a hero is trying to stop one of these from happening, or is the target themselves. Given the chance herself for complete power, she’d keep fighting until she’s fought the strongest being she can find, and then… ??? . It’s also worth considering that, presented in the right circumstances, she’d just as happily fight for the “good guys,” though I wouldn’t really classify her as an anti-hero, because her end goal really isn’t positive, yet.
Notes – gonna use this area for personality.
Elisabeth is strong of focus and body: when training in her preferred martial arts or musical instrument, she is in her element, as when she is in combat. She shuns any idea of stealth once the fighting starts, and will generally give her opponent a fair chance to face her and fight on even grounds – whatever weapons they’d like (though this is often as much for her own benefit as theirs, since sneak attacks from her are generally pretty low powered). This feeling of battle honor, however, does not extend to the authorities: she’ll gladly use every dirty trick in the book to beat, kill, or escape their grasps, and has so far kept her identity secret. In five phrases:
Fun Loving – Killer – Relatively level-headed – brusque – aimless |
48,886 | 1,318 | 8 | 2,002 | 2,686 | Patrick Warrens
"That sounds a little too much like the Old Nueva Gang working for you rather than a partnership." The leader of the Gang stated very matter-of-factly as his patience began to wear thin. He'd been expecting more from this punk but sometimes things didn't go according as expected and that's why he kept the Sword of the Old Nueva Gang on hand.
"Let me make you a counter offer Warrens. How about we bust you and your boy's head's in for trying to pull that drek with me." The Boss calmly stated, making sure putting extra emphasis on 'drek'. As if on cue the various members of the Old Nueva Gang drew their various weapons, all except Nayden who was a weapon.
Patrick's men were outmanned and outgunned with the likes of one of the oldest crime gangs in the country set on reducing them to pulp. Patrick made no movements, simply content with staying still in his chair, as he looked The Boss straight in the eyes. A solid minute passed accompanying the deafening silence and lack of movement.
In an instant the stress-filled atmosphere was broken as the TONG men opened fire and one of Patrick's goons tossed a small rock looking object straight at Patrick. The body guard duo managed to dive behind cover before being filled with lead and lasers but Patrick wasn't as lucky and took a few hits to the torso and shoulder. Naturally the attention of most of the TONG was switched to the two remaining goons, all except Nayden who was the only one to see what was actually going on with the bullet ridden Kingpin.
It started with a loud snap like an arm being broken but the sound was drowned out by the flurry of bullets, then came a few more and the TONG began to look at the shifting body of the once thought to be dead enemy leader who was now staring down the group with a face of pure anger decorating his features. Megaton was awake now.
Patrick was mad, he had to be to stay in control, but he was also glad that the hit from one of his goons Anger 'management' balls was enough to get him angry enough to cut out the middle man and get himself in control of his brutish alter ego.
"Shoulda taken the deal pal!" Patrick yelled as he ran straight towards The Boss with the intent to kill. What Patrick didn't count on was the extremely touch punch that he took to the gut delivered by The Sword of the group. The force was more than enough to knock Patrick out of the building but being out of the enclosed space did nothing to help Patrick as The Sentry of the TONG shot out of the hole of the building, proceeding to wail on Patrick until the duo crashed into another building across the street.
Shaking off the shock of the blow, Patrick managed to knock Sentry away with a massive backhand to the torso, making a loud clapping noise as the outstretched hand collided with Nayden. Repaying the favor, Megaton leapt out and towards Sentry delivering another massive punch to the boy's torso and knocking him into the harbour water that now came into view. calling it water was a bit of a stretch however as the murky sludge that washed up on shore nowadays was probably more akin to garbage with water mixed in which made it terribly notorious for staining clothes and occasionally burning skin.
As Patrick landed on the shore there was a moment of silence as nothing seemed to happen. Maybe he'd won? Was this guy allergic to water? The answer quickly came as Nayden rose out of the water without a stain on him, and a emotionless face that just screamed danger, even to Megaton. In an instant the fight was back on and Megaton was sent flying into a nearby amusement park where numerous people screamed in fear of the superhuman throw-down that was taking place. Megaton groggily got up and was met by yet another punch from the one man army known as The Sentry which sent the goliath flying through a promotional drive in movie booth and landing near a impressively sized and aptly named 'Mansion of Mirrors'. Quickly Patrick rushed inside out of view of his assailant.
Nayden was pissed. He could admit that he hadn't expected the sheer strength of Mr.Warren's but they weren't nearly enough to really get to him, them only damaging his ego thus far. Slowly and menacingly Nayden floated into the house of mirrors which was eerily dark at the moment but the path of broken mirrors heading farther in was more than visible to The Sword. He followed the broken shards until they came to an abrupt stop a decent way into the mansion of mirrors. He looked around for a moment and prepared to leave when suddenly he was attacked from all sides, not by force but by light and sound. Bright images and loud music played from seemingly every angle as it began to overload the superhuman's sense and make him lose his concentration as he clasped his ears and shut his eyes. On cue, Megaton smashed his way out of one of the mirrors and brought his foot down on the incapacitated superhuman.
Luckily Nayden had manage to draw just enough concentration to somewhat block the attack but all he could manage was making the attack non-lethal. Now suffering from extensive injuries Nayden began to dip in and out of consciousness as Megaton looked down on him.
"When you came outta the river without a speck of gunk on ya I figured you might have a forcefield and took a chance in guessing that it was some mind powers which looks like I was right to assume." Patrick explained as he now crouched down next to the fading superhuman "you'll probably make it through this but chances are your friends won't be around for very long now so if you're ever able to stand again give me a call. Coulda been my right hand man if your boss hadn't been so stubborn."
Patrick felt his control slipping as he calmed down so he made his way outside as the sound of the public eye sirens greeted his ears one last time before he took over. | Character Type - Cannon Inspired
Name - Patrick Warrens
Alias - Ton, Megaton, Kiloton
Age - 23
Social Class - Uptown though spends most of his time Downtown
Allignment - anti-hero (Ton wants to be left alone and Patrick is a criminal)
Archetype - Enhanced Human
Powers -
The Big Guys: At will Patrick is able to transform into the monstrous brute known as Ton. Ton can then also change into two other forms as he gets angrier. Rather than being able to increase his strength to a nigh infinite level, Ton simply changes forms and has a capped level of strength with Megaton being the stronger than Ton and Kiloton being the strongest. It takes a metaphorical ‘kick’ to get Ton to change forms meaning even after he’s calmed down as Megaton or Kiloton he might still stay in one of those forms for a while. Ton’s base form has him pretty level headed and at his weakest ‘only' being able to lift around 10 tons (a large hovercar/SUV). Megaton is more articulated with his language (speaking in proper sentences rather than classic hulk speech), possesses the strength to lift 40 tons (equivalent to an 18 wheeler in 2099) and a bad temper to match. Finally Kiloton doesn’t talk a lot and possesses the ability to lift 80 tons (a 90 ft long subway engine car).
Skills -
Crime Boss: Patrick runs a decently large gang and as such has access to a plethora of resources such as underworld connections, money and goons. Along with these resources he has the respect of many lower life criminals though thats not to say there are lots who’d rather see his hulked out head on a skewer.
Hand-to-hand combat: Patrick, while not on par with the likes of Daredevil or any other martial artist, is still capable of holding his ground without calling on his stronger alter-ego.
Weaknesses -
Random Transformations: Sometimes Patrick will turn into Ton at (seemingly) random which can be a major downside if he needs to be calm and collected during a discussion with other thugs he’s trying to hire or work out a deal.
Smarts: While Patrick is decently smart, Ton is more lacking in the intelligence department rendering him reliant on allies or his fists to get out of delicate situations.
Arch Enemy - None as of yet
Appearance -
BRIEF Bio - Patrick Warrens grew up in the absolute slums of Nueva York where his parents did their best to raise him often at the expense of spending time with him. He was generally sheltered from his family’s plights as his parents put on a good charade that everything was alright even if they had to go hungry a few nights to keep their son happy and healthy. Patrick’s first true bit of tragedy struck when his mother died from scurvy and he had to drop out of high school to help his dad pay the bills. Things continued to decline as Patrick’s father began to get old and incapable of working as much as he once was physically able to. Patrick threw himself into his work as a criminal when his father finally passed away due to his deteriorating condition.
A few years would pass and the name Patrick Warrens became feared and revered in most of downtown population but Patrick hadn’t been able to push into to the superhuman crime circles despite his best efforts. Due to this Patrick sought new procedures to augment himself so that he could break into the higher revenue ventures. Patrick’s search eventually turned his attention to an experimental research program that was trying to recreate the travesty that caused all the savage hulks in the badlands. The process was done in a building bordering that badlands and had no immediate results on Patrick but the scientists seemed happy enough with the results so Patrick left, unknowingly a changed man.
In the coming months news spread about a hulk running around Nueva York and it soon became common knowledge in the underground that it was indeed Patrick Warrens. Now Patrick has the means to break into superhuman crime rings and really start imposing his will on the people Nueva York.
Notes -
-Patrick is somewhat based off of Kingpin and Ton is based off of the Hulk
-When not in control, Patrick and Ton are unable to sense the world around them but can still communicate with one another.
Sample Post -
The Incapacitated Blue Beetle
Episode 5
Ted groaned and let out a pained grunt as he hit the floor. His footing wasn't as sound as he had hoped and managed to topple over himself and fall before he could let out a stunning-flashes from his Air gun. As he went to attempt to get up he found another arm helping him get up and a friendly enough voice.
"Your coming with me, too"
"If... you insi-... insist." Ted struggled to say as he was raised to his feet and brought back to the elevator by the man and an old woman who Ted assumed was another hero-turned-elderly.
"What she... said..." the exasperated hero stated in regards to the old lady's reply. All things considered this wasn't going to badly for a first stint with the league. He could have ended up being completely useless in some other mission but at least, at the moment, he had a pretty good excuse. Shrugging off his new teammate's support, BB offered his hand to the bandaged man for a handshake and then to the old woman.
"I'm Bl-... Blue Beetle... I missed th-the..." Ted looked to the ceiling and took a deep breath as he began to feel a pain in his chest "the... shindig a... few days ago. Pleasure... to meet you two." |
48,887 | 1,319 | 0 | 1,721 | 1,466 | King Roderick I of Thorne
Crystal Palace - Throne Room
Upon the Crystal Throne did the Good King sit as he rested his weary eyes upon the court. They spoke loudly and freely amongst themselves, discussing the week’s festivities, their families, their gossip. The awkward stale air that hung about the chamber like a choking mist had faded quite a bit since the beginning of the week, as foreign dignitaries grew familiar with the customs of the court. It would surely return, Roderick knew that of course, but the little breaks in-between were well-received. Soon the talks would resume and Roderick would have to weigh in. He truly had no authority to do so, but these people valued his opinion on such matters. He still had no idea why.
“It’s still not too late to run away, my king. To have that Grand Adventure we always spoke about.” A soft hand laid over his shortly before Roderick felt the warm air caress his ear and cheek. His smile broadened. Even despite his decayed sense of smell, Roderick could enjoy the full, sweet scent of his beloved. She smelled softly of lilies after a fresh rain. He glanced up at her leaning on him. His precious Dalia. Though her golden curls may have whitened and her skin may have been marked with age, she was every bit as beautiful as the day he first laid eyes upon her. Moreso even. She glowed. And despite decades and decades having passed, Roderick still found himself glancing at her every chance he could.
“Perhaps. But what of Bandit? He’s grown old, fat, and lazy. I imagine he might not be able to keep up, and we couldn’t just leave him here. These folks, why, they’d make HIM king.” Roderick whispered back. Upon hearing his name, the shaggy gray dog, as gray as his master, lying beside the throne lazily raised an ear and cocked an eye up at the king, as if to say ‘Speak for yourself.’
“Oh certainly. And I’d dare say it might even be an improvement.” Dalia replied playfully. Bandit, having lost interest, rolled over and farted
Roderick shook his head in disbelief, but Dalia burst into laughter. It was music to his ears. And infectious. He joined in with his own booming, roaring laugh, drawing curious stares from the court. It continued for a short time before Dalia excused herself to find her composure.
“Your Highness? Shall we continue from where we left off?” one of the dignitaries called out. Roderick managed to calm himself before nodding and making a rolling motion with his fingers. He covered his mouth with his fist to hide the wide smile that his wife had burned onto his face.
Not even such a dry topic could ruin his mood now. Dalia always knew how to raise his spirits. She truly was an amazing woman. Perhaps he finally would step down from the throne and take her out to see the world. He had to admit, it was sounding more and more appealing every day. And after all, didn’t she deserve SOMETHING for putting up with him for all these years?
Absolutely. After the festival, then.
Amelia Thorne
City of Thorne - Tournament Grounds | City of Thorne - Seedy Grand Market Tavern
It truly was a beautiful day. Blue skies with nary a cloud in sight. Warm, yet not too warm. The young paladin thanked her lucky stars that she had been able to draw patrol duty rather than being cooped up within the Crystal Palace all day. Sure, the lake was beautiful this time of year, but she really wanted to just get out and stretch her legs. There was something about all the hustle and bustle of town that really energized her. Especially the huge commotion brought on by the festival.
CLANG!
CLINK!
Wild cheers arose from around one of the nearby fighting arenas, small stages surrounded by powerful barriers supplied by the White Mages in order to protect the audience. There were a few of these set up for this stage of the tournament, though by the end of the week there would only be a single, grand stage.
Obviously something exciting had just gotten the crowd worked up into a frenzy.
Okay, so maybe she just wanted an excuse to go watch the fights. Could anybody really blame her? They were by far one of the biggest highlights of the festival. The weeklong tournament drew warriors from across the islands to compete for fame, fortune, what have you. She so desperately wanted to participate but...duty comes first. At least this way she could somewhat live the dream while still fulfilling her duties.
“...ptain? You asked for me? Captain?”
“Oh. Yes. Sorry. I was just sort of uh…” she started but trailed off. What exactly WAS she doing? Day dreaming? How uncouth.
Amelia returned her gaze from the crowd back to the matter at hand. The voice she had just heard belonged to one of the knights under her charge. A short, slightly portly man named Biggs. He had served under her for quite some time now, and while some were hesitant to follow her orders, Biggs was not. He was a good man. Maybe not the best fighter, but a good man nonetheless.
“Doesn’t matter. The crowd’s getting a bit worked up over there. I’ll need you and...hmm? Where’s Wedge?” she asked.
“Couldn’t say. Maybe the market? He mentioned wanting to pick up the wife something.”Biggs shrugged. Amelia could feel her teeth grinding. Wedge was in a lot of ways Biggs’ opposite: tall and lanky, but with a terrible sense of duty. Honestly he was pretty lazy. Obnoxiously so at times. But damn if he didn’t have a good sword arm. And right about now, he would be…
“Ah. Fine. I’ll hunt him down then. You, sir, shall go watch the crowd. I’ll send him your way when I can. Do try to avoid hurting anybody too much.” she finished, dismissing the short knight with a salute. After he left, Amelia turned and started making her way towards the Grand Market. There were a number of taverns there, and knowing Wedge, he’d likely be plastered already. That would actually be ideal for her. Normally, she’d hunt him down and chew him out, something she still might do, but for the time being, she was grateful for the excuse to go the Grand Market.
She thought back to the letter she had received recently. IF the sender was who she thought it was and IF the letter was even legitimate in the first place, then the tavern it proposed they meet at could only be a single place. Conveniently enough, it lay smack between the tournament grounds and the market, across the road from the Temple of the Crystal, so she made great time.
Once she made it, Amelia gave the place a quick once over, but she was fairly confident that her knight was in another castle. So she ordered a drink from a bar wench, found a fairly empty corner, and went over the possible taverns in the area. The fact that he had been banned from so many of them narrowed it down quite a bit. She ended up with a pretty good idea where exactly he might be, so she decided to just wait around a bit more to see if the “Old Friend” would show up or not.
A few minutes and then she’d leave. That’s what she kept telling herself. She couldn’t help it. Her curiosity got the better of her. And besides, it wasn’t like she absolutely NEEDED to be on the tourney grounds. Surely Biggs could handle that.
Right? | Name: Amelia Thorne
Title: Queen-Regent of Thorne, Princess, Acting Knight-Commander of the Holy Paladin Order
Race: Hume
Job: Paladin
Age: 24
Gender: Female
Warrior of Light?: No
Appearance Information
Physical Features:
Roughly five-foot-eight, give or take an inch. Amelia has an athletic build worthy a knight, though she is a bit smaller than she'd like. Her skin is rather fair, splotched red on her cheeks and across her nose. A light smattering of freckles covers her face and upper torso. She has the bright blue eyes attributed to the majority of the Thorne royal family. Her golden, wavy hair tumbles down to just about the mid of her back. Should she expect to go into battle, however, Amelia will either braid it into a tight rope or pull it up as tight as she can.
Much to her poor mother's dismay, Amelia does have a number of scars. One of which was a fairly deep cut starting from just under her lip on the left side and running down vertically to her chin. That one has since healed, but the off-color line remains. Another runs horizontal across her left check back towards her ear. And while she may have quite a few more, it's not as likely for people to see those.
Clothing/Armor/Weapons:
Amelia isn't one for the formalities normally associated with her position. As such, her choice in clothing is a bit...casual. When not heading off to war or to some formal event, Amelia is content in just a pair of nondescript trousers and a roomy shirt. She's prefers lighter clothing that allows for movement.
Her choice in armor is much the same. She prefers light armor that doesn't restrict her too much. Chain-mail is usually preferred over plate. Simplicity and function over style. The only nonessential Amelia dons is the white cape normally associated with the Holy Paladin Order. Her cape has been sliced and diced and, at some point, torn in two, but Amelia still insists on wearing it. It's a point of pride for the girl.
As far as weaponry goes, Amelia more often then not chooses to don two swords, which is rather unconventional as far as paladin styles go. One of those swords is crafted of castle-forged style of the highest quality. It is the standard for paladins within the order. The white blade is easily recognizable for what it is. The other is the sword wielded by her grandfather, King Roderick I of Thorne while he was serving as a Warrior of Light. It is an older sword, seemingly of ancient Eldian craft. It doesn't seem enchanted or anything, so Amelia likely only carries it in particular as a way of honoring her grandfather.
Psychological Information
Personality Traits:
Passionate | Brave | Charismatic | Hot-headed | Impulsive
Likes:
Birds | Roses | Fairy tales
Dislikes:
Heights | Losing | Public Speaking
Personal History
Hometown:
Thorne City | Thorne
Current Residence:
Thorne City | Thorne
Backstory:
Granddaughter of the King of Thorne, daughter of the younger Prince of the Thorne, and Knight-Captain of the Holy Paladin Order, Amelia was brought up on tales of valiant heroes defeating monsters and dastardly villains. She had always dreamed of being a hero herself, but her birth dictated that she would eventually end up married off to another noble family in order to secure some sort of political alliance. For the most part, she had accepted this inevitable truth and tried to make the most out of it.
It was by order of her grandfather, the king, that the girl be allowed to take up arms as a squire in service of the Holy Paladin Order of Thorne when she grew old enough to hold a sword. She took to her opportunity like a woman aflame, madly and greedily trying to absorb all that she could from her superiors. And to her credit, the girl possessed some innate talent beyond what the knights had expected from a princess. When she was to eventually be knighted, it was as much due to her combat aptitude as her royal birth. She had sworn to protect the land of Thorne with her life.
She quickly rose through the ranks of the Holy Order, eventually reaching the rank of Knight-Captain. This attracted scorn from some of her fellow knights who felt that she had an unfair advantage. Perhaps they were right. It didn't matter if they were or not, upon hearing that Amelia began questioning her entire purpose. Had she earned her place? Or had everything been just a way of satisfying the selfish whims of a noble?
Thus Amelia became determined to prove herself. She took more and more difficult missions, tackling stronger and stronger monsters. And while her determination and ferocity eventually won the respect of her men, Amelia could never satisfy her own self-doubt.
On the day of the Massacre of Thorne (and the assassination of the king), Amelia was participating in a tourney in town. Because of this, she wasn't present in the castle for when the Mage-King led his attack. She blames herself for not being there to stop the Massacre, despite the fact that she likely saved quite a few lives by assisting in fending off the monster attack on the city square and that she likely would have only perished like the others had she been there.
Having been thrust into the role of Knight-Commander of the Paladin order (due to being the highest ranking knight of the Order left in Thorne after the Massacre), and acting regent of Thorne for her baby brother (as her grandfather, father, uncle, and cousins were slain by the Mage-King), Amelia begins to assemble champions to stand against the traitorous Mage-King, and support the newly-appointed Warriors of Light.
Other:
Amelia is left-handed. |
48,888 | 1,319 | 1 | 2,044 | 422 | Ryteb the Awesome
City of Thorne - Running for his Life
There were times when "it doesn't get any better than this" springs to mind. This... was not one of those times.
It all started earlier today, when he had entered the city of Thorne for the first time in about four years. He knew there was a reason he had been avoiding the capital, though he figured that if he couldn't remember it probably wasn't that important. Hindsight is kind of a bitch.
So, what was the reason Ryteb was avoiding the capital? Well, it's actually quite simple. In his infinite greed wisdom, he had decided to obtain the legendary blade of Kyreth-tan. You know, standard treasure hunting. Only problem was... The sword already had an owner, namely the Kyreth-tan Assassins. Apparently they had a 2000 gil bounty on his head. Insulting really, Ryteb thought, should be at least 5000.
Naturally this offer of coin attracted much bloodlust, and almost as soon as Ryteb entered the city the cry of "Get 'im!" Began the rally of the uneducated brutes who thought a ponce like Ryteb would be easy to catch. Those guys were easy enough to escape from, but soon he sensed a much more terrifying presence, that of a professional assassin, and that just made his day a perfect storm of awful.
"Look, I don't wanna die yet!" he called back to his mysterious pursuer, "Can't we settle this in a way that doesn't involve sharp objects?" | Name: Ryteb
Title: Dragonheart
Race: Human
Job: Red Mage
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Warrior of Light: Yes
Appearance Information
Physical Features:
About 5'11 in height, with a relatively scrawny build. Though there is some muscle there, when compared to knights it is miniscule. Ryteb has naturally orange hair, which comes down to his shoulders, and a pair of blazing red eyes. His face could be considered quite handsome, in a mischievous way, with a rather dashing scar on his left cheek whose origins are a mystery. Apart from that, his body is almost unmarked, and he seems to lack the ability to grow facial hair.
On his back is a tattoo of a oriental dragon clutching a golden chalice, which he apparently recurved after a drunken wager that nobody involved can quite remember due to excessive drink.
Clothing/Armor/Weapons:
Ryteb’s first choice in apparel is a bespoke black suit, with a green waistcoat and white shirt, though he doesn’t wear a tie. Too close to a noose for him. His boots are made of a sturdy leather, and seem more practical that the rest of his In a battle, he swaps out the jacket of the suit for a cloak made from scales of bronze. As a weapon, he uses an oak cane, though the inside is filled with steel to strengthen it. The end has a sharpened bronze cap such that it can act like a rapier.
Psychological Information
Personality Traits:
Cocky | Brave | Obsessed With Treasure | Has a skewed view of ownership | Loyal to his friends
Likes:
Treasure | Adventure | Good Food
Dislikes:
People Who Claim They Own His Treasure | Confinement | Being Called a Thief | Lobsters
Personal History
Hometown:
Takhtajan
Current Residence:
Takhtajan
Occupation:
Treasure Hunter
Backstory:
Officially the greediest b*****d under the sun, and proud of it, Ryteb is the best damn treasure hunter in all of Takhtajan, if only because he’s one of the few who have survived more than one adventure into the desert. People call him Dragonheart, as his lust for treasure is so massive he doesn’t accept anyone else as the rightful owner of an object.
His origins are a mystery, perpetrated by the conflicting rumours Ryteb himself has spread. Regardless of his murky past, people agree that he’s a stand-up guy... unless treasure is involved.
Other:
Nothing comes to mind... |
48,889 | 1,319 | 2 | 2,702 | 57 | Dandy on Vacation - Ersatz
Thorne City - Grand Market
Celebration was in the air. People from all walks of life could be found in the metropolis to commemorate civilization's victory and triumph over evil. However, this festival also drew in some men of questionable moral fiber to the capital. Among them is Ersatz, who was primarily here in the hopes of breaking the monotonous routine he had found himself while living in Calestani as a machinist apprentice. At the back of his mind though, Ersatz had hoped that he would find some merchants he had associated with from his past. After all, what better place to sell wares of questionable origins than a market that both buyer and seller might not even lived close to.
(Un)fortunately, Ersatz was unable to find said merchants at the Grand Market. However, he was able to procure some elemental shells of fire, thunder and ice variety that was compatible for his firearm, along with some directions to a tavern that he might be interested in. Once he had entered the tavern doors, Ersatz did a quick glance at the bar patrons and a paladin at a corner table was the only person of interest that he noticed. Ersatz would then pull up a stool to the bar tender's counter, placing a stack of Gil in front of him. "Shot of your finest, barman." Once he would receive the drink, Ersatz would raise his glass and say "Prost." before downing it.
Whatever it was, the drink was burning Ersatz's throat. He would then put up three fingers up in the air, signalling the bar tender for three more. | Name: Ersatz Rasaba
Title: The Self-Proclaimed Desperado Dandy
Race: Hume
Job: Machinist
Age: 29
Gender: Male
Warrior of Light: No
Appearance Information
Physical Features:
Though he stands at 5'9", the garb Ersatz wears makes him seem slightly larger than he actually is. He is somewhat on the lean side in terms of build as well. Ersatz claims to have short black hair, desert-tanned skin and a scar from an old gunshot wound on his chest. However, as he is usually covered in all his garb, the only real physical feature others can confirm are his dark olive eyes.
Clothing/Armor/Weapons:
The first thing most people will notice about his attire would either be his bright green-and-red sarape or his large canary sombrero. A closer inspection at his garb would reveal the fact that he not only has a skull bandana over his mouth but also an orange scarf that covers his neck. A bone pattern dress and a pair of leather boots cover his lower body while metal gauntlets protect his arms. To complete the theatricality, he carries a frequently out of tune guitar that's strapped over his right shoulder.
The real tool of the trade lies in his satchel bag however: a customized sawn-off musket that has been fitted to fire elemental bullets!.. If he had any left.
Psychological Information
Personality Traits:
Theatrical | Clever | Selfish | Deceitful | Sentimental
Ersatz likes to put on a show, whether he's fighting or performing. However, when confronted with a life or death situation, he'll be ready to throw someone unimportant in front of the fire. Alas, his judgment is not always logical.
Likes:
Songs | Artifacts | Machines
Dislikes:
Authorities | Caves | Flans
Personal History
Hometown: ??? | Cronquist
Current Residence: Topeak | Calestani
Occupation: Street performer, irregular handyman, and machinist apprentice
Backstory:
A Cronquist citizen who sought a better life, Ersatz moved to Calestani after an incident forced him out the land he called home. The only things he had were the clothes on his back, his guitar and a broken Deepkin firearm that he wanted to have repaired by the master machinists themselves. Once he got there, however, it became apparent that he wasn't going to get an audience with a Deepkin machinist anytime soon. Still, an apprenticeship with a tinkerer and some music gigs at the local inns were enough to help him get by. After saving up enough money, Ersatz finally had the firearm repaired and has decided to take a vacation with the remaining savings, just in time for the festival at Thorne.
Ersatz's journey has been filled with tough times but it wasn't all bad. In fact, he tends to remember the good moments more than the bad experiences. Yet, one can never just escape the deeds of their past. Ersatz is trying though.
Other: He has been known to perform with his guitar but does not know of any magical bardsongs. |
48,890 | 1,319 | 3 | 1,716 | 219 | Clementine Haschwalden
Thorne City
You have been assigned to guard duty for the duration of the festival.
Those were Clementine's orders. But that's not very helpful, he had protested. Or specific. Where am I supposed to guard?
Unfortunately, his orders were delivered via letter, which he opened over breakfast the day festivities would begin. That's just not helpful at all.
And so he went wandering the streets, feeling more like a tourist than an employed soldier of Throrne and emissary of Cronquist. Which wasn't altogether bad, of course, but did make him feel a little guilty. You can't help it though, not on a day like this. Clementine, slightly but not altogether unwilling, felt every part of him relax. During the heat of the morning, he bought a snowy white-blue popsicle, and ate it in the shade of the arena. Confetti and flower petals blew through the air like swarms of happy bumblebees.
Eventually, however, common sense got the better of Clementine, and, feeling a little red-faced over wasting the whole morning, went out in search of an officer. Most of the soldiers couldn't give him much advice. In fact, most of the soldiers were busy engaging in the festivities. Eventually, he found one soldier who told him, rather awkwardly while eyeing his armor, "Commander Amelia is in charge of the Knights" and, eventually, another, just in front of the Temple, mentioned, "I think I saw her pass into that tavern across the way."
Tired, rather frazzled, but mostly pleased with his detective work, Clementine pushed his way into the bar. It wasn't hard to spot her; the Knight-Commander's paladin armor was bright and mighty even in the dim, orangey tavern-light.
He approached her table, a lonely little corner of the building, his helmet tucked under his arm, and said quietly, "Um, excuse me, ma'am, I'm sorry to bother you, but my orders, the ones I got this morning, I mean—"
The Knight-Commander was quite tall and serious looking, and Clementine became keenly aware of his rambling.
"What I meant to say, ma'am, I was assigned to guard duty, but I'm not actually sure what that means, and there weren't any further orders to clarify where I was to go or who I'd be working under. Someone mentioned that you were in charge of the knights, and I thought I might find you and ask if there was anything you needed. From me, I mean." | Name: Clementine Haschwalden
Title: The Giantslayer
Race: Hume
Job: Dark Knight
Age: 21
Gender: Male
Warrior of Light: Yes
Appearance Information
Physical Features:
When you look at him, at his young jaw and his soft skin, you might think that Clementine Haschwalden is just a boy playing knight, that’s he’s too small and too quiet and too much like a dandelion about to be blown away in the wind. Or maybe you look at him and think to yourself, that young, soft look to his face is a red herring, because looks deceive, and the dangerous ones are the ones who don’t look dangerous at all, and he must have earned that sharp and shadowy armor for a reason, right? But Clementine isn’t really any of the things he looks like. He’s not much of a dandelion, and he’s not much of a knight.
Clementine Haschwalden has snowy white hair cut short and boyish, large round eyes that might be black, or muddy blue, and he stands at an unimpressive 5’3”, maybe 5’3-and-a-half”. His legs are long, and his shoulders are round and hard, and he might appear a bit like a gymnast, or a long-distance runner. A distracted look tends to meander around his face, like a part of him got lost in thought one day and never came back home.
His eyes are always so serious, and if they’re not serious then they’re worried.
Clothing/Armor/Weapons:
Clementine wears the highly recognizable armor of a Dark Knight, with horned shoulder-plates and a huge, angry-looking helmet that might’ve fallen off a chess board. A lacey white cape flies over his shoulders, and his lower arms are covered up by thick white opera gloves, with black hands. The tight and form-fitting armor of a Dark Knight is, as is traditional, very dark, and makes little noise when it moves.
At Clementine’s hip is Arondight, a witch-sword aligned with the Darkness element. It is simple, long, and unadorned, made of solid black metal, and its cut can inflict Slow on its targets.
Psychological Information
Personality Traits:
Shy | Self-Doubting | Thoughtful | Fussy | Self-Destructive | Awkward
If you are injured, Clementine will fuss and fret and treat you to the best of his abilities. If you are noticeably upset, he will ask if there’s anything he can do. If you are about to march out into danger, some place where he can’t follow, he will go with you all the way to the door and watch you vanish over some distant hilltop. But he is not the kind of person who would extend that courtesy to himself.
Clementine works best and most confidently when following another person’s orders, and he works best as a tool, not a person. He has a bad habit of undervaluing or ignoring his own happiness or value, and if required to make decisions for himself, Clementine will um and uh and crumple with hesitation.
Clementine is somewhat starved for affection, and will brighten up noticeably at very simple acts of kindness.
Likes:
Flowers | Cronquist | White Magic | Home-Cooked Meals
Dislikes:
Attention | Arrogance | Pranks | Spoiled Rich Kids
Personal History
Hometown:
Cronquist
Current Residence:
Thorne City
Occupation:
Monster Hunter
Backstory:
Tol Mannagan, the Dark Capital, central city of Cronquist, hung over Clementine’s childhood like cloudcover. The long black towers that peeked over the horizon, just out of reach, spoke of safety and knights and mages and untold possibilities, and when he was young, Clementine would sit on the hill in the center of town and watch the city’s silhouette, and he would think about all these things and more. Clementine and his family lived in one of the townships just beyond Tol Mannagan’s walls, and though it was safer there than in the provinces, safe, in this case, was a very relative word. By the time he was eleven, Clementine knew what it was like to have another child not show up to class one day, and never appear again.
Clementine was not a wanted son. That isn’t to say he was treated badly, or that his parents were unkind, but maybe they kept him at arm’s length more than most parents would, and maybe they looked at him with a kind of wariness that left long, thin wounds on the preteen Clementine. Sometimes he heard them talking in low and serious voices over the kitchen table late at night, when they thought he was asleep.
Cronquist, Clementine’s home for nearly twenty years, was a country at war. Unkindness was expected, and kindness was measured almost exclusively in lives saved, and, if not that, then days survived. The best and the brightest were warriors, or doctors, and the Dark Knight and the White Mage were symbols of escape and prestige for every child in the country. Clementine, never a violent boy but urged on by the shadow of Tol Mannagan, decided at a young age that he would be a White Mage, he would, he really would, and when he turned fifteen, he left town for the first time in his life, and made the long and troubling journey to Tol Mannagan.
Clementine managed two straight years of study at the Academy of Mercy before dropping out. Despite his best efforts and his countless hours of work, nothing could make up for his complete lack of magical talent. Unwilling to go home, Clementine sought employ as a nurse in one of the Dark Order’s reserve battalions, and served under one of the few Dark Knights who, instead of going out alone, held a small military attack force under her command.
During the next few months of service, Clementine showed a certain affinity for Darkness that his Knight-Commander noticed, and she eventually recommended he enter Dark Knight training. This time, Clementine managed the full three years. Because, although Clementine was only ever an average Knight, only ever an average swordsman, only ever an average fighter, he could plunge himself into Darkness like no other student. He soon accepted his slow progress as a swordsman and athlete, and ultimately chose to focus on mastering Darkness itself. Soon, though others could dance circles around him, or duel him into submission, Clementine could fell giants in a single, Darkness-powered hit.
Upon graduation, Clementine set out alone, as most Dark Knights were known to do, and served quite admirably as a defender of the people, far too self-destructive to demonstrate the usual corruption and extortion even the best Knights would occasionally engage in. Though no more effective than many other strong and popular members of the Order, Clementine Haschwalden was thrust violently and wildly into the limelight one day on his first real test as a Knight—a behemoth in the Hud Province. Two others had been assigned to join him and, as the rookie, Clementine was expected to organize the civilians’ escape while the others fought. The behemoth was too much, however, and soon the beast had killed Clementine’s companions, torn through the township, and rained tooth and nail down on the villagers. Clementine, however, was there, Darkness ready, and with just three strikes the behemoth was cut down.
It took nearly a week to regain consciousness after the massive injuries his Darkness inflicted. When he woke up, to his blank and utter bemusement, ‘Clementine Haschwalden’ was suddenly a household name. He was the Giantslayer now, the Dark Knight who felled a behemoth in just three hits and saved hundreds of innocent lives. In reality, of course, the behemoth was worn from a battle with two other, more experienced Knights—but of course, that’s not what the people saw.
When he was fully recovered, Clementine was immediately sold out to the nation of Thorne by his government, who saw him as a useful political tool; the Giantslayer would go out into the world beyond, and he would demonstrate the might (and price tag) of Cronquist’s Dark Order, and cast the trade deals Cronquist relies on for food and supplies in a much more attractive light to outside nations. Unhappy as a soldier of the Thorne government, however, Clementine soon struck a deal with his superiors, and arranged to take on more down-to-earth monster hunting as his main source of income and publicity. He didn’t want to be cooped up in the palace like a luxury item, dispatched only when the monster was dangerous enough to warrant his price tag. He wanted to there, here, now, out and about, seeing people and doing things and filling his hands with something real and concrete.
Clementine spent the better part of a year and a half wandering Thorne in a kind of publicity tour. Though he would always love his home in Cronquist, the rolling brown hills and soft yellow grass, the scrubby white wildflowers and the gray-white twilight, Clementine grew a soft spot for the more hospitable country of Thorne, and soon came to enjoy the time he spent as the dark and mysterious Giantslayer. Never one for socializing, he made few friends, though his efforts were, distrust-aside, largely appreciated. His wandering lifestyle was recently put on hold, however, after receiving orders to return to the Palace as additional security for the coming festival.
Other:
Left over from his training as a White Mage, Clementine has an unusual amount of endurance and stamina, and knows the rudimentary basics of weak Cures and Esunas. |
48,891 | 1,319 | 4 | 619 | 2,638 | Sayuri Takashi
|Seedy Grand Market Tavern|
|Interacting with Amelia and Clementine|
Sayuri rubbed her temples as she walked along one of the main roads to the Temple. It wasn't even that late in the day and it was already wearing on her. The merchant she'd come in with had tried paying her less than half what they'd agreed, she'd taken care of that right quick but it was still a pain, then her parents were both out during the festivities so she couldn't see them until late that evening despite the fact that she'd specifically sent a letter saying she'd be here and to top it all she'd ran into Wedge. It didn't end with much more than words, mostly cause she left as soon as she saw an opportunity, but still soured her mood further. At least the day was most likely going to improve from here. She was hopefully going to meet an old friend of hers that she hoped still remembered her. That could easily go badly though and she knew that much when she sent the letter. Either way it would be nice to see how she's been. After that a long day in the market and hopefully some good fights which she would top off with a nice dinner with her family would definitely raise her spirits.
When she reached her destination she'd almost missed it. It'd been so long since she was in Thorne that she'd almost forgotten her way around. Pausing she lets nostalgia wash over her before making her way into the tavern. A smile instinctively made its way onto her lips as she did as memories came back before quickly fading and leaving her with a sigh. Looking around she spots her target in a mostly empty corner of the tavern with a nervous looking kid wearing dark knight armor. Shrugging she makes her way asking one of the bar wenches for a glass of their best on the way. She catches the last little bit of the kids request and nods at him before dropping into the chair across from Amelia. She waits until Amelia responds to the kid before speaking, "Hello there Amelia it's been a long time hasn't it? Eight years or so?" | Name: Sayuri Takashi
Title: “Wandering Blade” “Sword Saint”
Race: Half-Eldian
Job: Sword Saint
Age: 24
Gender: Female
Warrior of Light: No
Appearance Information
Physical Features: Sayuri is tall at 6'4” with a lithe build and pale skin. She has midnight black hair and dark violet eyes. Her waist-length hair is almost always worn in a low thin ponytail tied with a pale blue ribbon otherwise it's just let down. Her chest is a B. Being Half-Eldian her neck and hands are normal length for her height. She still has the ears and slender build. She has a large X shaped scar crossing her back from shoulders to hips and tattoos of a black dragon along the top of her forearms with the head resting on the back of her hand.
Clothing/Armor/Weapons: Sayuri's casual attire consists of black leather boots, pants, a loose long sleeved button up shirt, fingerless gloves, and if the weather calls for it a worn black hooded cloak.
Sayuri's armor also doubles as her travel gear. She wears greaves, gauntlets and pauldrons in a Kimuran style that are black with a silver trim. She also wears a pair of armored plates on her hips. Under that she wears dark grey pants and a white shirt both made of spider silk to offer a little bit more protection from blades. She also usually wears her black cloak with it.
Sayuri wields a longsword like the one in this picture except the crosspiece, pommel, and design at the base of the sheath is dark purple. The small additions at the end of the sheath are also removed.
The only accessories that she wears are the pale blue ribbon in her hair and a blood red dragon head necklace.
Psychological Information
Personality Traits:
Carefree | Calm-minded | Friendly | Explosive Rage | Trust is easily lost
Likes:
Fighting | Reading | Cats
Dislikes:
Cowards | Spicy Food | Dogs
Personal History
Hometown: Thorne City | Thorne
Current Residence: N/A
Occupation: Sellsword
Backstory: Sayuri was born into a rather odd family in Thorne. Her Father was a Hume blacksmith and former soldier, while her mother was an Eldian immigrant from Kimura. They were rather poor and lived in a section of the city that reflected that. Despite this she grew up happy and well cared for. When she was old enough her father began training her with a sword to protect herself and she excelled at it learning everything he taught her very quickly. Seeing an opportunity in her ability to give her a better life. He took her up to the Paladin Order of Thorne and enlisted her. Though she was hesitant at first she grew to enjoy all she learned and she continued to excel at combat. There she made a handful friends and though she didn't climb the ranks quickly she was well liked by most people. After a few years though she was unsatisfied with just learning Holy Blade and began searching for more to learn. She soon found a few books on the Dark Blade and began teaching herself in secret as the Order looked down on it. She was caught a year later and was dismissed from the order. She left with no objections and began wandering the country. Eventually she ran into a mercenary group with all kinds of swordsman and joined with them. Over the years she learned as much from the others in the group learning more about Holy and Dark Blade and learning Spellblade and Bushido though she was far more skilled with the former two. After a few years she struck out on her own again as a lone sellsword. She spent about a year in her mothers homeland of Kimura under one of the more popular Warlords before moving on to Calestani. She settled down and lived there for the last three years finding well off merchant to work for. Due to recent events however she feels she needs to leave and move on. Knowing that the festival was coming up she decided to head to Thorne to visit her family, try to find a couple of old friends, and maybe even take part in the tourney while she was there. She got herself hired as protection for a merchant on his way to the festival and set out for the next chapter of her life.
Other: Rarely goes anywhere without a weapon of some kind. Her sword was forged using shattered pieces of both a Dark sword and Holy sword she previously used. |
48,892 | 1,319 | 5 | 1,323 | 118 | Ryouji Yasuharu
City of Thorne - Airship Docks
The fire is spreading across the deck as the engines whine and steam pipes burst within the hull. A young boy tightens his grip on his ancestral sword, a bright glow emanating from the steel. Across the deck, a lone figure stands, shrouded in darkness. Glowing red eyes peek out from beneath a blackened hood. The boy raises his sword and points it at the figure, signaling the creature's end. With a blue of motion, the swordsman lowers his blade to his side and charges the figure, summoning the power of Odin himself in the strike as the blade shines brightly. "Zantetsuken!"
With hollow clattering, a bamboo post fell to the deck in two pieces. The fire was nowhere to be found and the boy's sword gave off no glow, besides the reflection of the morning sun. In a practiced motion, the boy sheathed the weapon as reality finished overtaking his imagination. Sighing slightly, he turned around and picked up the bamboo pieces, placing them in a nearby pile of similarly cut reeds. Before he could set up the next practice target, one of the boy's bodyguards approached him. "Prince Ryouji, we'll be landing in Thorne soon. You should take a seat in the cabin until we've safely touched down."
Ryouji nodded and made his way to the cabin as ordered. It had been a long flight, and the Prince was more than eager to enjoy this year's festival. It was unfortunate his parents could not accompany him, but here were too many important meetings that they needed to attend. However, they had made him promise to tell them every interesting detail about the festival upon his return. As the boy sat down and gazed through a nearby window, a sense of wanderlust overtook him. The city was in full view, and from the sky, it was a truly marvelous sight to behold.
The large airship was adorned with the Yasuharu family crest, and it was covered in decorations fit for a royal transport. While the Yasuharu family wasn't the most powerful of the Kimuran factions, it was certainly one of the wealthiest. In addition to passengers, the airship carried many trade goods and gifts for the Thorne Royal Family. Upon landing, a number of workers sprang into action to unload the cargo while the Prince and his two bodyguards made their way across the docks.
Ryouji could hardly wait to see all of what the city had to offer. It felt like he was starting a real adventure. | Name: Ryouji Yasuharu
Title: Prince
Race: Hume
Job: Samurai
Age: 16
Gender: Male
Warrior of Light: Yes
Appearance Information
Physical Features:
Standing roughly 4' 8", Ryouji is quite short for his age. A scrawny 95 pounds would make him an easy target if not for his Royal heritage. Steel grey hair adorns his head, a genetic gift from his Father, and his eyes shimmer in a pale cerulean like his Mother. His youth is ever apparent in his skin tone and complexion, and he has taken great care to avoid poor hygiene. Though, he has managed to build a small amount of muscle, thanks to his swordsmanship training.
Clothing/Armor/Weapons:
Normally, he is seen wearing the traditional dress of the Kimuran nation, a simple indigo kimono with his family crest embroidered on the back. He carries a ceremonial katana with him nearly everywhere he goes, though it once belonged to his grandfather and is merely a placeholder until he is old enough to forge his own. If he were to engage in combat, Ryouji has a set of Kozane, lamellar leather armor that his Father had made for him.
Psychological Information
Personality Traits:
Brave | Naive | Well Mannered | Timid | Determined
Quick to trust, and sadly easy to manipulate.
Likes:
Swords | Friends | Legends | Rainstorms
Dislikes:
Chocobo Riding | Mud | The Color pink
Personal History
Hometown:
Kimura
Current Residence:
The Palace of House Yasuharu, on the southernmost peninsula of the Island
Occupation:
Studies Bushido from his Father, practicing his swordsmanship and political manners daily.
Backstory:
Not much can be said about his upbringing. Life in the Palace was only noteworthy during his time training his sword skills with his father or reading old Legends about ancient Swordsmen and Heroes. Though, there was one time when he was very young when he was bitten by a Chocobo, thus starting a lifelong distrust for the bright yellow birds.
Other:
One day, he hopes to be the greatest swordsman who ever lived, even greater than the Legendary Gilgamesh.
He always carries more Gil then he can really understand the value of.
Even though he has no magical skills, he has named his attacks after powerful techniques used by Legendary Warriors, just in case one of them actually works. |
48,893 | 1,319 | 6 | 2,048 | 1,547 | Seruh Vora
City of Thorne Airship Dock one day prior - Arrival | City of Thorne Slums then night before - Rendezvous with the Kyreth-tan | City of Thorne - Pursuit
--
Seruh heard the captain of the airship call out the next stop, Thorne City, her destination. First class wasnt available from Kimura to Thorne today, unless she waited till tomorrow to hitch a ride with the Yasuharu boy. She had done dirty work for their family before and knew she could get aboard if she talked to them and dropped a Gil here and there, but the Kyreth-tan had sent word that they needed her there tonight for some reason. As far as she knew, she was just doing routine check-ins with the local clans, but something seemed odd about this. Whatever, she thought as the ship landed, It cant be that urgent. She looked around and noticed that everybody else was already standing and flocking toward the exit. She waited a second, knowing there was no chance of asserting herself over the crowd, and preferring to sit anyway. She yawned while she sat, her ears drawing back and her mouth opening wide. When she finished, only a few people were still standing by the door, so she got up and joined them.
Once outside, she breathed in the warm Thornian air. Something about it always felt better, more breathable than the Kimuran air. The smells of the festival filled her sensitive nose. She could smell all sorts of treats being made, blood from the tournament grounds, metals and exotic woods in the market, and somewhere in between there was a familiar scent of booze and puke that brought her back to The Mythril Chalice. Somewhere, she also smelled the stench of the slums, a reminder to her childhood growing up there. That was where the Kyreth-tan were set up. Not because they couldnt afford better, but because the Castle Guard had a looser hold there. And so, she set off in the direction of the slums, to confront the Kyreth-tan about their issue, and to face up to her past.
The leader of the Kyreth-tan was tall and lanky, and he had a sort of deep grimace permanently glued to his face. His head was bald and a scar ran across it from front to back. He was missing an eye and had a fair amount of stubble growing on his face. His body was rather thin and didnt quite match his head, which suggested a much more buff man. The last time Seruh had seen him, he had worn a torn black Gi with a ornamental sword strapped to his back. This time he wore a red Gi and the sword was noticeably absent. "The Shadow of Kimura has arrived.." he said, almost mockingly, "Its about time." His voice was that of a man much larger than him, deep and imposing. "As you were most likely told by your superiors, the Kyreth-tan have fallen on rough times," he continued, Seruh nodded halfheartedly, waiting for him to mention her pay. The crime-lord most likely noticed this so he began to speak deliberately slow, "There was this... sort of... incident about a year back... where this... thief... had gotten a hold of the blade of Kyreth-tan."
Seruh cut him off, "So you want me to kill him and return the blade to you, I get it. But whats the pay?"
"The bounty is 2000 gil," Seruh almost rolled her eyes at the small sum of cash, but the boss interrupted her, "But, since youre one of us," he was using the term loosely, "I'll give you 5000 Gil if you can confirm the kill and return the blade to me."
Seruh's face lit up a bit, and her tail whipped back and forth a little. "Is it possible for me to... get a little more?" She looked at the man before her, smelling the traces of alcohol on his breath and the remnants of blood on his clothes, then batted her eyes a little, but the man simply replied with, "We'll see," in a stern voice. Seruh left the hideout that night with little in her head but thoughts of how to get more than 5000 measly gil from that old ninja.
Back at the docks, she thought, waiting for the thief to show up. Intel told her that he was a red mage from Takhtajan who had sticky fingers all around. Hell, one source told her he had considered trying to steal the Crystal of Light once. She looked around and saw that not too far away, there was a man matching the description of him running for his life from citizens and guards alike. Must be disliked all around, she thought, as she started her pursuit. Her battle gear was on and her normal clothes had been left in the inn above the tavern across from the Temple, where she had chosen to stay.
She glided across the landing area, sometimes behind airships, sometimes over, crossing massive distances with each leap. She passed a very well decorated airship, Kimuran in design, and she heard an adolescent voice yell "Zantetsuken!" from within.
Eventually she reached a point where she was almost directly above her target. She followed him a little ways, the other pursuers fell back, figuring the standard 2000 gil wasnt worth it. When she was the only one remaining her turned around and shouted, "Look, I don't wanna die yet! Can't we settle this in a way that doesn't involve sharp objects?"
"What, you mean these?" she remarked, tossing 3 shuriken in a triangle around him, not intending to hit him but to scare him. Then she jumped down behind him and tapped his shoulder "Wrong way sweetie, I'm over here..." She took a large leap and landed 4-5 steps back from him, just for safety's sake, "I can be bargained with... But it wont be cheap." She smirked as she spoke, the smell of fear pungent in the air, adrenaline rushing. | Name:
Seruh (Like Sarah) Vora
Title:
The Shadow
Race:
Miqo'te
Job:
Ninja
Age:
21
Gender:
Female
Warrior of Light:
Yaes
Appearance Information
Physical Features:
Seruh stands at 5’2” and weighs 118 lbs. SHe has brown hair and fur, with white tufts in her ears. She tends to walk rather pompously while in town and not under cover of shadow, with her chin up, and her face angled slightly upward. She has a slight hourglass form, fair, smooth skin, mostly unmarred save a few scars from the occasional combat injury, one located on her ankle, another on her shoulder, and the last located on the back of her thigh.
Her hair is usually down, sometimes in a ponytail or bun while she is in combat; while down, it reaches to just below her shoulders. Her tail is brown with grayish-white spots on it.
Clothing/Armor/Weapons:
During the day, Seruh wears a Brown coat-like top embellished with studs of gemstones and gold buttons, with a tiny bit of her black, skin tight battlegear showing. She also dons a pair of tight, black pants that reach about an inch and a half below her knees. Around her neck is a pendant that belonged to her Grandmother, the shape of it appears to mimic the Great Crystal. When she goes outside during the day, she also puts on a hooded blue cape to help keep her fair skin looking as light as possible and protect her eyes, trained to do better in darker places, from being damaged from the harsh light.
When prowling the shadows at night or anytime she expects combat, Seruh wears a set of black, skin-tight battlegear designed for agility and silent movement. The “armor” is lined with black steel studs at regular intervals to help protect her from sustaining injuries. In addition to the battlegear she wears under her normal attire, she also wears a mask over her head that covers all of it but her eyes, with a hole in the back for her ponytail/bun.
As for Seruh’s weapons, she carries a holster with 40 shuriken in it, a small blade at her waist, meant only for dire situations, and 4 smoke balls for an emergency escape method.
Psychological Information
Personality Traits:
Untrustworthy | Self-Centered | Outgoing | Patient | Calm
Likes:
Mid-day Naps | Gil | Being treated like she’s special | The Moon/Stars | Cold Beer
Dislikes:
The Sun | Other stuck-up people | Losing
Personal History
Hometown:
Thorne City|Thorne
Current Residence:
Kimura City|Kimura
Occupation:
Bartender at “The Mythril Chalice Inn” and Ninja in a local Ninja Clan.
Backstory:
Seruh grew up on the streets of Thorne City with her father. They lived in a small broken down, abandoned house in the slums. She always made do with the little they had, and thought nothing of the hardships they went through. Her mother had died months after giving birth to her, by means of disease. When she was small, her father would tell her stories of the heroes who drove away the Mage-King and how the Mage-King flooded the land, creating the world they lived in now.
When she got a bit older she would daydream about one day being a hero, somebody who protects others. She dreamed not only of heroism, but of greatness. Later in life it would be that same hunger for greatness the would lead her to leave Thorne to make a better life for herself.
When she was about 14, her father told her he needed to leave the city for a while, that he’d be back as soon as it was safe. Her father had never been known as the most honest person in Thorne City, and probably was in trouble for some sort of crime, whether or not he was guilty of it. Seruh, seeking adventure, decided she too would leave town, and so, at the young age of 14, Seruh Vora left Thorne on the first airship, eastbound to Kimura.
Upon arrival in Kimura, Seruh found that the nation was steeped in a type of civil war, where Samurai and Ninjas fought each other for control of the nation. Seeing an opportunity to aquire the greatness she had desired as a young girl, she entered training with a ninja clan based directly in Kimura city, out of a secret passage in an inn known as “The Mythril Chalice”. They set her up with a job bartending during the day while at night she trained.
Fast-forward several years, Seruh has become one of the top ranking Ninja in her clan, and she has become affluent enough to own a home on the edge of the aristocratic end of town, decently close to the Mythril Chalice. At this point, her success has gotten to her head, she completely lost sight of her goal to become a hero. Instead, she has become a tool of war.
Present day, she was sent to Thorne during the festival to visit a sister clan located in Thorne city, using the festival as an excuse to leave so suddenly.
Other:
Has a strange liking for chocolate
Loves liquor, but can’t hold it well. |
48,894 | 1,319 | 7 | 2,010 | 1,147 | Nila the Blue Mage
Somewhere between the Arena and slums
While a large portion of Thorne's residents were attracted to the battles waged at the arena, or perhaps hunkered down at their tavern of choice, Nila had attracted a small audience of her own. It would probably come as no surprise to those familiar with the sword-wielding mage, given her tendency to dramatically emphasise her words with sweeping gestures, and hopping from spot to spot as if trying to play every character involved in her tale. This little oddity of hers was probably why the trio of kids were still listening to her talk about a goblin's typical daily activity.
"...So basically, they sort of wander around aimlessly for ten hours a day, and pick fights with each other if there's no one around to annoy!" Nila summarised ten minutes' worth of story time into a simple sentence that totally did not do the proper events justice. One of the young lads raised his hand curiously, and recoiled when Nila pointed at him in an almost aggressive manner, "yeah, kid?!"
"Uh, well..." he glanced at his friends as if for support, and continued, "...Why did you spend three whole days following goblins?"
"Didn't I say? Research!" Nila declared proudly, leaving the kids just as confused as they evidently had been all along.
"But they're monsters..."
"Yup!"
The kids tried to learn why the strange lady in blue was so happy to tail a bunch of monsters around for no readily-apparent reason, and whether deliberately or not, Nila was proving to be frustratingly obtuse. Indeed, Nila's actions tended to make little sense when monsters were involved. Her bestiary needed filling out, darn it! It was all well and good to learn how to punch someone so hard that their very armour became useless, but surely the story behind the goblins' need to learn such an ability was just as important, right?
She had been making her way towards the Arena to watch some of the mages duke it out in awesome magical warfare, when these kids she passed by had asked for some gil. Presumably, they lived in the slums and lacked the funds to properly take part in the festivities. That really sucked, and Nila herself was pretty much broke - she could work later on when more people decided to take up drinking - so for now all she could offer these children were tales of her exploits. It wasn't quite 'feed the hungry' level on the Good Deed list, but her options were limited.
The mage continued to chat with the kids for a bit. She was in no rush after all, the fights weren't going anywhere. | Name: Nila Daana
Title: The Bluest Of All Mages
Race: Hume
Job: Blue Mage
Age: 19
Gender: Female
Warrior of Light: No
Appearance Information
Physical Features:
Nila stands at five-foot-five, with a thin build suited more for manouverability than heavy lifting. As such, her measurements are also on the shorter side, much to her complete indifference. Nila's skin is lightly tanned, with thick, pitch-black hair that falls wildly onto her shoulders, where it's generally left to lie - aside from a blue ribbon tied around a lock of hair. Her eyes are a super unique and brilliant hazel.
A scar lies underneath Nila's left eye, a nasty cut from childhood, following a terrible run-in with a grouchy goblin that had figured out "Goblin Punch + Pointy Object = more damage". This scar hasn't healed the most gracefully, but is generally hidden under the domino mask Nila likes to wear, however. Not that she has an issue showing the scar, the mask is just too awesome to not wear.
Clothing/Armor/Weapons:
Rare is the occasion that Nila is not decked out in her 'work clothes'. With a standard white undershirt, and blue, poofy trousers as her base, Nila also dons an equally blue cape that travels midway down her back, and neatly wraps around her shoulders. In addition, Nila wears black, travel-worn boots that have served her well in her travels.
And of course, a domino mask. Covering most of the upper half of her face, Nila tends to wear this when being overly-theatrical. The rims of the mask extend slightly beyond her face, with the upper corners tipped with a light teal gradient and stretching upward slightly.
In battle, Nila would wear light, leather armour - anything heavier she finds too cumbersome or detrimental to her spellcasting and evasive action. As such, she generally won't wear anything more complicated than a cuirass, and maybe a leather helmet, if she's going to fight a monster known for throwing projectiles.
At her hip, Nila wields her trusty sabre, a small, curved sword that can be wielded with one hand. It's a rather bog-standard sword, as far as materials go, and has seen it's fair share of fights. Luckily, it's still got plenty of usage left in it. Probably helps that Nila isn't exactly a frontline fighter, making its maintenance much easier.
Psychological Information
Personality Traits:
Outgoing | Cheerful | Impulsive | Curious | Theatrical
Nila's pretty darn showy a lot of the time, seemingly unaware of the art of subtlety. She expresses great confidence in her skills, knowledge and presentation, but lacks restraint and tact in certain situations, which can draw some unwanted attention. She's a friendly and helpful gal with an optimistic mindset about things, but loses sight of her surroundings when a chance to expand her personal bestiary occurs - no matter what, she needs to know how behemoths react to getting poked with a stick.
Nila has a great love for magic of all forms, and naturally loves her brand most of all. When she learned that most places outside of Dahlgren seemed disdainful at best towards magic, it blew her mind. What was the problem? They were acting like magic nearly destroyed the world or something! Nila often overlooks a particular black spot in history when defending magic.
Likes:
Monsters | Moogles | Theatres
Even compared to other Blue Mages, Nila seems to hold a great admiration for the creatures that like to randomly ambush travellers. Part of this may just be because of the possibility she can acquire new techniques to mess around with, but even beyond that, she speaks of monters' chaarcteristics with great fondness and passion. Well, with a particular exception...
The poor moogles, cursed with infinite cuteness, are also Nila's prey. She cannot stop herself from hugging them tightly, wishing to keep them as companions, and touching their pom-poms. It's probably safe to say she is not popular amongst moogles.
And of course, Nila holds great fondness for the theatrical and grandiose. Anyone with an affinity for the extravagant shall earn her much-coveted admiration.
Dislikes:
Malboros | Anti-magic bias | Large bodies of water
...Bad Breath was not worth the effort to learn. That's all Nila will say regarding Malboros.
'Baseless and unfounded' fears about magic are a given for someone that practices an admittedly-unusual school of magic, but regardless, Nila cannot fathom why anyone would consider magic to be a bad thing. It's nothing but beneficial, right?!
Nila, unfortunately, is not a particularly strong swimmer. This probably stems from another monster-related incident, though it's not exactly as trauamtic as the Malboro Incident. Still, she hasn't exactly done much to rectify this issue. The aquatic creatures of her bestiary are going to be neglected for a while, it seems.
Personal History
Hometown:
Dahlgren
Current Residence:
Thorne, The Great Outdoors/Some Inn
Occupation:
Monster Hunter: Nila mainly earns her keep by snatching up bounties on troublesome monsters. Not only does this let her eat for the day, she's practically getting paid to study potentially new monsters! Though on a slow day with no monsters to hunt, she'll ask around for any day-jobs cleaning tables or something.
Backstory:
Born in Dahlgren to a family that heavily favoured Blue Magic, Nila is the youngest of five siblings - the second-eldest sadly deceased at this point in time. While Nila isn't exactly a prodigy, her great love of blue magic, and fascination with monsters in general, has inspired some promising results for her.
Nila has taken every chance possible to encounter a wide variety of monsters, expanding her knowledge of any and all genus recorded in her personal bestiary. Not just their looks or abilities, but even their habitats, habits, typical diet... anything she can observe. Having only just begun her travels though, there are stil lso many fascinating creatures to find...
Growing up, Nila wasn't quite as outgoing and boisterous as she is now. Having a few unlucky encounters with monsters certainly did little to boost her confidence. Fortunately, Nila's family are a rather supportive lot: with their encouragement, Nila stuck with her studies of Blue Magic, and her passion bloomed when she was officially enrolled as a student. Seeing more of the world, a wider variety of monsters with interesting lifestyles, and of course, learning more and more monster-based spells had sparked a desire to master the school of magic.
Other:
Her favourite colour is actually green. Go figure.
Oddly enough, despite getting scarred in this incident, Nila quickly got over the incident. It got her to start wearing a stylish mask, so no point in moping over it, right? |
48,895 | 1,319 | 8 | 775 | 1,183 | Vincent Letendre
Thorne City- Near the arena, close to the slums
The smell of the festivities filled the air, with crowds cheering in the arena, people walking around, talking with each other. Vincent had some good days selling his wares in the last days, having sold a good amount of potions and devices to nearby people. This gave him a good amount of gils, which would be pretty useful in his travels and exploring of the world.
Vincent could have gone to go and keep selling objects right now, but he felt like relaxing a bit right now. He wanted to just have some fun, maybe go look at the fights in the arena… maybe even participate once using his devices… but one thing about that last part made him unsure. What were the rules for equipment… what could each person use… was there a bracket for mechanist or something? Sure… he dabbled a bit with magic before… but he never was really good with it.
With all this, Vincent just kept moving, listening around, before going and opening a potion and drinking it. It was a simple energy potion to keep him awake a bit. Considering that last night he was stuck trying to make sure professor Firaga dosen’t end up blowing things up at the festival today with an invention… he literally had nightmares of Firaga causing a huge explosion that would have wiped out a large section of the city. Something that started with N.. Geez… how did Arte even deal with Firaga all days? Well.. Considering he kind of has issues with his own magic and explosions… maybe they were related by explosions? Well... that gave a small chuckle to Vincent, but for now, he needed to relax. Maybe he could head to the tournament.
It was then that he heard some sound o someone telling stories about goblins and such, about following and telling the daily lives of goblins, which to him seems to exaggerate some things. Well, it did keep the kids she was telling the story to quite entertain. He smiled at this, just listening, and then hearing about the kids asking for some money. This did sadden Vincent a bit. He moved towards the group, getting some gils out that he made from selling potions.
“I feel generous Kupo. I hope you kids can enjoy the festival.” he said to the kids, passing the bag of gils. Sure, that was a bit of a part of his money he made from selling potions, but if it could make those kids happy… Well.. he was acting a bit on impulse he guessed, but he did want to have those kids have some fun at least today. | Name: Vincent Letendre
Title: Prodigy The prodige
Race: Moogle
Job: Mechanist
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Warrior of Light: Yes
Physical Features:
Vincent is a rather short, being about 3'1" feet high. He is not that strong, with his pom pom being blue, with soft white fur around his body and slightly golden eyes. He has a bit of blond hair on the top of his head with large moogle ears.
Clothing/Armor/Weapons:
Vincent wears usually a white and blue tunic with leather armor under it. He also has red boots for travelling. He has a large rifle that he made that is able to split into 2 pistols for rapid fire when it is needed.
Psychological Information
Personality Traits:
Quick thinking | Friendly | Creative | Fiery | Impulsive
Vincent is one to think quickly when things happen, attempting to help as best as he can when needed, though this also makes it that he is too impulsive sometimes. He also has issues with his temper when someone gets him mad, telling those people his thoughts pretty vocally… even if he is laughed at because ofhis small size… which usually end with the guy having a large gun pointed at him, and Vincent threatening the guy to leave him alone.
Likes:
Machines | Mystery | Friends
Dislikes:
Big Spiders | Fish | Backstabbers
Personal History
Hometown:
Eraclia, near Calestani
Current Residence:
Thorne, Thorne City
Occupation:
Traveling alchemist
Backstory:
Vincent was born in a small town of Eraclia, which is near is near Calestani. This small town was known for its large farming lands that it used to export food back to Calestani to keep its people fed. Vincent’s mother was an alchemist, using the grown herbs to make potions for travellers. His father was a farmer who used to be a white mage until he saw so many deaths that he could not save that it effected him too deeply.
Vincent's life was rather simple at the beginning, learning from his mother about alchemy and working to help his father, as well as exploring around town. He wished to explore outside the town, but his parents was too worried about it, so he stayed in town.
One day a hume mechanist walked into town, his large gun in hand, with bruises all over his body, as if he had been attacked by a large beast. He went to Vincent’s mother, going to buy some supplies to her, but he was low on money. Vincent saw the man, and saw the equipment, seeing also a small helicopter bot flying around a bit near the mechanist. This amazed Vincent as he saw the thing. The man looked at his mother, looking down.
“So much work for nothing… so many monsters around these parts…” the man said, before seeing Vincent’s eyes when he was looking at the bot with amazement. He smiled a bit.
“The little guy seems amazed by my bot I see… maybe I could sell him a copy I made for him?” he then said. Vincent’s mother looked skeptical, before Vincent begged for this. She finally gave in and let the guy pay for his potion for a copy of the bot.
Vincent was very happy about this, actually studying the machine, trying to figure out how it worked. It also made him wonder more about machines. His parents, seeing this, decided to buy him some books for how machine worked, as well as some tools that Vincent still has to this day.
After a month, his parents had a big surprised. During some work on the farm to water the plants, Vincent came out with a large water tank with 2 hoses on each arm, using pressure to expel the water out and water the plants. It was then that his parents knew he was rather gifted.
After a couple of months, his parents knew that Vincent needed to go and learn more, and considering the money they made with everything, they moved to Calestani, where Vincent learned more about machines and the mysteries of the world, as well as being a blacksmiths apprentice for money and making friends. It was then also that he made his gun… which he had to use not long afterwards unfortunately.
The nation was soon attacked by dragons, but this time it was very close to Vincent’s home. When the beast attacked, he took out his gun, and shot a thunder elemental shot to the beast, with the guards trying to help also to take it down… They eventually succeeded… but not before Vincent’s home was destroyed in the process. His parents were safe at least, but with something like this happen, it was clear to them that they could not stay here. They wanted to end up somewhere safer, like Dahlgen. Vincent though didn’t really feel like going to Dahlgen, so it was then that he parted away with them, wanting to explore the mysteries of the world.
To make his money, Vincent used the knowledge he learned from his mother, selling healing potions around the world, and also some helpful tools that he made when he had some time.
After some travelling Vincent got to Thorne, where he decided to stay for a bit, exploring the town. He met with another mechanist by the name of Professor Firaga. His knowledge of machines and inventions were very interesting for Vincent, who decided to stay in town because of this, even if the professor was a bit… well… insane with some inventions? Vincent had to stop the professor a couple of times because of his… most dangerous inventions. Let us keep it at that. It was also there that he met Arte, a black mage Nu Mou who Vincent got to know well and befriend, actually working together to make sure Firaga would not end up blowing the town by accident or something.. or telling him major flaws in his inventions.. And this is where his story continues
Other:
Nothing at all that I can think about adding |
48,896 | 1,319 | 9 | 2,587 | 440 | Rakta
City of Thorne Gates - Road to Crystal Palace
"I don't like anything about this," Rakta hissed lowly, "Many faces, many people, many smells-- they're all too focused on themselves." She stood on the road to the Crystal Palace, with nearly fifty other people, seeking entry into the City of Thorne. Behind her was a chocobo, distinct for it's pale yellow coloration and rather massive size, whose raigns she held. Upon the Chocobo's back were massive packs, tents, and a weight load of other trinkets. Rakta noticed that even the Chocobo seemed antsy in the massive crowd and several times she had to give him reasssuring head pats. Then again, Rakta noticed she kept recieving reassuring pats herself. As if on cue, a gentle hand was placed upon her shoulder. Kajad laughed softly at Rakta's words as they told her, "Well, that's because they don't know us forigners. Everything is very new to us. They're not like us."
"No no, we do not know them," Rakta insisted.
"Interesting perspective but ultimately same meaning."
"No, Phamet," Rakta replied, using Kajad's honorific, "They exist together, know one another, generalizations within their shared stories and interactions-- but what of we? The wanderers. Desert crawlers. Us the unknown and unlearned. We know each other but nothing of them."
"I keep telling you," Kajad said with a smirk, "That you have taleweaver in your rafset. That was woefully poetic."
Rakta sighed, then walked a few steps forward as the que advanced. Leaning to the side, she took stock of how many more caravans, merchants, warriors-- whoevers-- were ahead of them in the entry line. At the same time, she also wondered what they were checking for at the security checkpoint. She and Kajad had been in line all morning, well into the afternoon, and were most certainly going to be late for a few things, namely the welcome ceremony. Rakta was sure the welcome ceremony had passed some time ago and scolded herself for not insisting more firmly with Kajad. She looked over at Kajad and glared. Kajad ducked their head slightly submissively then told Rakta, "Relax. We won't be missed that much. They likely do not recall our hail anyway-- these are Humes we're dealing with and they are forgetful. Also very forgiving."
"We could have avoided this," Rakta growled.
"Patience, Rakta-- look, they're doing walking checks now."
A pair Humes, dressed in iron armor, helmets obscuring their whole heads, with a tabard bearing some crest Rakta didn't care about, came walking down the line of entrants. At a distance, Rakta could almost make out what they were saying. To Kajad she said, "I think they're looking for us." Then, sure enough, one of the Humes came jogging up to them and asked, "Phamet Kajad?" Snickering, Kajad bowed slightly then jested, "Was it the headdress that gave me away?"
"Or because we are Bangaa," Rakta growled to Kajad, "Only ones the Humes seemed to question. Can't tell us apart--"
"Rakta, we must educate, not berate--" Kajad interjected "-- for they are not aware of the distinction between our clans."
The armored Hume seemed slightly flustered as Rakta towered over her menacingly. Soon the hume regained her composure and saluted, "I am Ser Ellismore of the Second Guard-- we are to escort you to the palace immediately, honorable Phamet."
Kajad tilted their head to the side and examined the salute with a smile, "Interesting gesture-- but yes. I suppose we have to go quickly, if that is what you wish-- but are we not to see your grounds?"
"I'm..." Ser Ellismore hesitated, "I'm afraid not, I'm afraid," she tripped over her words gracefully, "We. The palace. You're expected and we were supposed to escort you here-- there. Both. We have a chocobo--"
At that moment a knight rode up on Chocobo-back, with another chocobo in tow. Rakta took one look at the average sized chocobo then shook her head, "Least you wish for a broken bird, you will allow my Phamet to ride their own. Yours is puny-- bread for show." Rakta turned to the Chocobo whose reigns she held, then began removing a few very specific saddlebags.
"Truly, are all the Chocobo so small here?" Kajad asked, "Puny and weak looking, aye-- would crumple beneath me."
"Aye aye," Rakta agreed.
Ser Ellismore and the knight atop the chocobo exchanged glances, then she spoke, "Y-yes you may ride your own. That's fine too."
"Fool thinks it was a request," Rakta laughed, throwing a few heavy bags upon her back, "No-- the Phamet needed none of your pardon or permission, hume." Kajad laughed as well as they eased into the saddle of their Chocobo. Then they said, "I bear gifts to your stallions, your sabers, and your sawbones here--" the saddlebags were gestured to "-- and I will see them in this order. Then I see your... King? Was it?"
"Yes-- the King. Very well," Ser Ellismore replied, then looked to the knight upon Chocobo back. "Keep that one in tow-- we'll stop by the stables first, after all." With a sharp whistle from Ser Ellismore, a third chocobo came trotting up, and she mounted it swiftly. "Please follow us through the city--" her words cut off abruptly.
"Your gaze upon me is not needed-- I have walked with more burden for longer," Rakta curtly responded.
"Very well," Ser Ellismore said once again, after a long moment of pause.
With that, they began making their way toward the city, bound for the public stables. | Name: Rakta Ganti-Sih
Title: N/A
Race: Bangaa
Job: Berserker
Age: 36
Gender: Female
Warrior of Light: No
Appearance Information
Physical Features:
Rakta stands at an average height for a Bangaa, around 6ft 5in, with the musculature of a seasoned combatant, and she carries herself with a prideful posture. Her scales are a dusky blue that gradients to light grey and she features orange tattoos, covering nearly half of her body, deeply inset into her scales-- they all look to be words in the language of her people. Those bright orange eyes of hers often have a weary look to them, except for when she's berserking, at which point they are quite alert and lethally analytical. Several scars mar her body, evidence of a life spent fighting, and the tip of her tail is missing. Piercings along her muzzle and ears gives hint to a subtle vanity, despite her otherwise brutish looks.
Clothing/Armor/Weapons:
Rakta is either seen lightly armored or armed to the teeth.
Light plate armor, most notably protecting her face, forearms, stomach, and knees is worn with a set of baggy pants of varying shades. This outfit is considered her "relaxing" clothes when she has to dress as such.
Rakta's usual battle armor consists of several pelts, reinforced with mail, decorated by horns, claws, and fangs of felled beasts. Most impressively about her armor is her hood, which features a mane made of authentic Behemoth hair. The pelts serve as both a trophy collection and "loose" armor, the purpose of which is to obscure her silhouette and increase the chances for glancing blows. When in "full armor" she wears a two-piece cheek and chin guard with a horned muzzle protector, and has been known to full on gore people with said horn when up-close.
No matter how much armor she is wearing, Rakta's clawed gauntlets are never left behind. The clawed fingertips serve as an extension of her own claws and the heavy gauntlets are fully padded inside, making punches and claw attacks easy on her underlying anatomy.
Psychological Information
Personality Traits:
Shy | Rebellious | Stubborn | Nurturing | Aggressive
Good luck getting her to change her mind about anything. Ever.
Likes:
Music | Epic Tales | Spiritualism
Dislikes:
Cold Weather | Summoners | Pessimists
Personal History
Hometown:
Takhtajan
Current Residence:
Takhtajan
Occupation:
Bodyguard
Backstory:
The Ganti-Sih clan roams the deserts of Takhatjan, lead by a spiritual leader called the "Am-Ra". Like all Ganti-Sih children, Rakta grew up on the move and raised by the clan itself-- not solely by her birth parents. When it was discovered that Rakta had been "born with the spirit of a beast" within her, she was assigned a "Pahmet"-- a child chosen to become a carrier of the Am-Ra's knowledge-- and sent on a "Star Speak". The Star Speak consists of a journey through the desert with a Pahmet and, while the Pahmet may have food or water, the beast-child may not, in order to maintain their purification. After being purified by the clan Pahmets, Rakta was sent into the desert sands and, remarkably, went six days before passing into the Star Speak dream. Within the Star Speak, Rakta saw her destiny, met with the spirit of the beast which ignited her blood, spoke to the "Many Faced God", then returned with understanding that she was destined for something which would determine the fate of the world itself.
Years of training and fighting followed. Her Pahmet lead her through ever increasing danger, in order to strengthen the beast spirit, and increase her endurance for the Berserker state. Wars with other nomadic clans, skirmishes with intruders, and plenty of honor duels hardened Rakta's resolve and spirit. Despite the hardship, Rakta learned to care for the clan children with kindness and wisdom-- an odd trait for any berserker. The Ganti-Sih came to rely upon her for both protection and battle prowess, until the day came that her Pahmet spoke of a journey to another isle. Though many were displeased at the development, none questioned the wisdom of the Many Faced God, and reluctantly said their goodbyes to Rakta and her Pahmet.
Other:
- Rakta is a great seamstress-- those pelts didn't sew themselves!
- Wither or not Rakta is truly inhabited by the spirit of a "beast" is a subject of theological debate.
- The Many Faced God's existence is also a subject of theological debate however-- there are very convincing signs of their material existence in the form of clockwork Obelisks on Takhatjan.
- Apparently no one knows where Rakta got the Behemeoth fur from-- she insists it came from her Star Speak journey. |
48,897 | 1,319 | 10 | 1,448 | 3,924 | Arte Firaga
Road to Crystal Palace | Somewhere between the arena, the slums, and the grand market
"For the last time, grandpa, that combination ALWAYS creates an explosion, and we don't want to blow up the city, do we?" Arte couldn't believe that he had to remind his grandfather of this... and, given the old man's senility, it was becoming a daily thing. In fact, this time, just to make sure, Arte had to take one of the two mixtures away from his grandfather, hide it, and hope that he doesn't find it again later. While he was hiding the mixture, Arte noticed something... Looks like we're out of food, again. I hope I have enough gil to get food at least until next week. Frustrated, Arte closed the pantry door, and checked coin bag. Apparently, that caught the attention of his grandfather, who requested "Eh? You goin' shopping again, son? Could you get me some more of that... eh... what was it? Moogle Brew? Confu Ale? You get the point, get me something like that," Arte shook his head, and responded with "You don't remember the last time you tried to invent while drunk, do you? I'm sorry, but I can't allow you to be drunk, again, grandpa," Arte honestly wondered how the old man wasn't facing a life sentence for his 'invention', or what said invention did to a poor, helpless orphanage, but Arte's refusal to get his grandpa some booze had the old man shouting at him, probably loud enough that most people would think the tower exploded, again... Arte didn't want to hear much more than he had to, so he just ran out the door, and headed for the only safe road in this place, the road to the Crystal Palace.
Once he got to the road, he seemed to drop by a scene involving two bangaa, one with the usual orange scales, and one with rather nice-looking white scales, and a few hume guards, and a few chocobos. Arte tried to figure out the best way to approach the situation, but it seemed like the bangaa were a little riled up, already, and his presence alone might be enough to anger them... of course, he ended up just standing there while they continued on with their day, with the situation resolving itself, at least for now. Maybe they'll calm down later... or maybe they're heading somewhere past the grand market... Arte thought as he finally headed down the road, now followed by a merchant selling some odd-looking trinkets, and off-brand, possibly fake ribbons. While they walked, the merchant recounted a few tales about how he got ambushed by monsters on the road, only to be saved by some random bystander on a chocobo, and how he traveled so very far just to get here, the big city, to sell his wares... after that, he tried to sell Arte a ribbon for fifty gil, but... Arte knew, from the price alone, that it wouldn't work very well, if at all, and even if that weren't the case, Arte needed every gil he had for food, so, he had to decline the merchant's offer... no matter how many times the merchant made the offer.
On his way to the market, Arte came across someone who appeared to be a blue mage talking to children about the daily lives of the average goblin. The children seemed confused as to why anyone would CHOOSE to spend time with monsters, but, it didn't take too long for Arte to figure it out. Before he could approach her, Vincent walked up to the children, and started throwing his money around, supposedly, his next greatest invention was a big enough hit for him to be mister moneybags for a day. “I feel generous Kupo. I hope you kids can enjoy the festival.” Vincent said to the children with a hint of excitement and joy. Arte chuckled to himself, and walked over to his moogle friend. "Well, look who's mister moneybags, today. I'm guessing your latest invention sold well, huh?" Arte asked his friend, and, after remembering how empty his own coin bag was, he added "Unfortunately, I don't have much to spare, today... grandpa found out that I was selling his special potions and ether at the market, and he didn't like it one bit... said something about 'not selling out', or 'keeping it a family secret', I can't remember which, though, because I went temporarily deaf halfway through the conversation, heh, you know how he gets," Arte then noticed that the blue mage was still there, and, from the look on her face, it seemed like she was going to hug Vincent, and, for some reason, Arte didn't really feel like warning him about it. | Name: Arte Firaga
Title: Walking Explosion
Race: Nu Mou
Job: Black Mage
Age: 30
Gender: Male
Warrior of Light: Yes
Appearance Information
Physical Features:
He stands at 4'3", rather short for his species, he is, however, of an average build for his kind, his skin color is a sort of brownish grey, almost annoyingly matching his fur color, at least, when said fur isn't covered in soot, He has blue eyes, and completely lacks facial hair. He doesn't have any ACTUAL scars, but there are plenty of burn marks on him that won't go away. He is often covered in soot and ash from failed attempts at casting fire magic... yes, he's aware of the irony, given his last name.
Clothing/Armor/Weapons:
Arte wears a rather simple set of blue robes (which cannot be caught on fire, but are not particularly RESISTANT to it.), as well as some usually hidden pants, and even a shirt underneath, he also wields a basic wooden staff... even if it looks special, since, like most of him, it's covered in soot. As he's a mage, he's not one for armor, so, thus, he wears his usual clothing into battle.
Psychological Information
Personality Traits:
Calm | Cheerful | Usually tries everything at least once | Can be known to hold a grudge for a LONG time | Occasionally unaware of just how dangerous the enemy is
As he takes after his mad scientist of a father, he's obviously rather curious, prone to try any food, or thing once, if he thinks he can either get a laugh out of it, or actually like it. Arte is also normally calm, and slow to anger... but, if you DO anger him, expect him to hold a grudge against you for quite some time to come. He also has a nasty habit of underestimating his opponents... which might have him use his weaker (and less controlled) fire magic, as opposed to his lightning magic.
Likes:
Sweet and or Spicy food | Chocobos | Lightning magic
He absolutely LOVES the taste of anything sweet and or spicy, which makes one wonder why he isn't fat... in fact, he usually carries around a bag of candy, which he claims to be 'components for lightning spells'... despite the fact that he doesn't NEED components for lightning spells anymore. Like most people, he adores the piles of feathers known as chocobos, even if he cannot ride them... and he likes all forms of lightning, be it a storm, or just magic from someone (even himself), and when asked why, he shrugs, and says 'It looks nice'.
Dislikes:
He hates the taste of fish | He can't stand being cold | Bomb-type enemies | He also hates betrayal
If there's one kind of food he can't stand, it's fish. He tried it once, a while ago, and, thus far, it's been the only kind of food to actually make him puke... whether this was because it was poorly prepared, or not, he holds that against all fishy foods, and can't even stand smelling the stuff, anymore. He also despises the feeling of being cold, though, this might just be due to him being used to the heat from all of his failed fire spells... speaking of, he doesn't like bombs, either, due to the fact that he can't kill them in time, and they usually explode on him, and only HE can explode on him, dang it! Arte can't STAND it when someone pretends to be friendly towards him, and then either attacks him, or steals from him... the few who've successfully done it will most likely warn others to just LEAVE HIM BE, instead.
Personal History
Hometown: Dahlgren
Current Residence: Thorne
Occupation: Student. He also takes care of his elderly, 350 year old grandfather (we'll call him just a 'grandfather' for the sake of brevity), and makes sure that neither he, nor the city, blows up due to his grandpa's insane inventions.
Backstory:
Arte Firaga was fairly ordinary as a child, as he didn't do much outside of his own 'comfort zone', and thus, didn't try his hand at fire magic, or talk to his 'grandpa', yet, however, he also didn't have many, if any friends, and when he was really young, he used to always carry around a small plush chocobo... which got him regularly picked on by other children. A couple months after he turned ten, he met an odd man by the name of Cid, who drove a strange-looking, probably custom-made airship, and, much like the other kids at the time, once Cid landed, he asked him how he built that, and specifically, how he knew he was good at doing that. Cid just shrugged and said something along the lines of 'I didn't. I just tried to make an airship one day, and it worked' after that, Arte made the potentially fatal mistake of trying his hand at fire magic. He was JUST as good at not making it blow up back then, as he is to this very day, so, obviously, he's made a LOT of progress, right?
When Arte reached the age of eighteen, is 'grandfather's' caregiver gave up on the old coot, and they had to find a new caretaker... unfortunately, everyone else was already aware of exactly what this 'job' entailed, poor Arte was more or less forced into it, and forced to move to Thorne, where his grandfather's lab was. It took about two weeks before Arte figured out that he was supposed to STOP his grandfather from inventing things, and it took another couple of months before he came up with some guidelines for his grandfather, who he learned was a former warrior of light, himself, to follow, after which, he didn't have to stop EVERY invention from happening. Among said new inventions were the 'mechanical chocobo'... which doesn't move, has no seat other than the wrong side of a gear, but strangely enough made a good juicer, and the 'macro scope' which was supposed to allow you to see things much larger than yourself, which people can already do by using their eyes... oddly enough, the macro scope made for a decent enough mace.
Oddly enough, Arte met one of his first friends, a moogle by the name of Vincent, at around the time his grandfather invented the macro scope, and the two have worked to help 'Professor' Firaga ever since, with Arte trying to keep the two from making anything explosive, and Vincent actually helping the self-proclaimed professor make actually useful things... though, the two haven't made a single device together, as of yet.
Other:
From his near-constant failures, Arte has become quite resistant to spells hostile or otherwise, and his fire spells have a decent chance at failing, and literally blowing up in his face... however, he's actually extremely good at using lightning magic. |
48,898 | 1,319 | 11 | 2,782 | 1,198 | (So hey, was kinda lost on what to do for a starter so I decided to tag along. Hope you don't mind)
Wen Taihou
Thorne, airship docks, Yasuharu family ship
With a loud yawn, a curiously dressed man that could only be described as fat descended from the Yasuharu airship along with the others. People paid him no particular mind beyond a few curious glances as he grunted, loudly as well, and made a visible effort to stretch himself and bring some feeling and comfort back to his considerable frame, but it was likely that few knew who he was beyond perhaps a man of Taisong descent. Technically on official business from the famed Institute of Martial Studies and acting as an ambassador for the Nanchuu Islands as part of a greater Kimuran delegation, Sifu Wen Taihou didn't make much of an impression.
The martial artist was one of many Institute examiners tasked with studying the tournament and the progress of the Institute members that would participate in it, but truth be told he wasn't one for large ceremonies and he saw large melees of the early days with some contempt. Ugly, uncoordinated affairs where achieving a rapid numerical advantage carried more weight than most any level of skill, ascertaining anything worthwhile out of them was a fool's errand and so it was something he actively sought to avoid. Instead, Taihou had parlayed his invitation and position to earn himself a more comfortable ride and priority entry.
Convincing the Yasuharu family to take him on board hadn't been all that difficult. Sure, he might not look like much, but his licenses checked out and constituted undeniable proof. The bespectacled, portly gentleman was indeed a Sifu from the Institute on official business. Taking him along was both a political and personal benefit, because it meant a good relationship with the court of Nanchuu and few men had as much of a martial reputation as certified examiners and instructors. He would certainly make a good bodyguard for the young prince, perhaps in his gratitude he might even serve as an instructor for him, right?
Well, there was none of that. In fact, the first time many crew members saw the martial arts expert was when the ship finally landed and the man at last saw it fit to emerge from his quarters. Air sickness, he claimed, stopped him from doing much moving about during the trip, though the galley could certainly attest to him being well enough to consume not insignificant amounts of food. With a carefree smile, Wen Taihou greeted what few men and women he knew and advanced towards the young Ryuoji, not so subtly taking his place amidst his cohorts. "Aaaah, at last back on firm footing. Airships are far from kind to me, unfortunately".
He seemed well enough and there was not a hint of regret or shame in his voice as he adjusted his glasses and tagged along. "Truly a shame I was unable to instruct you in the arts during the journey, young prince. Though as an observation, perhaps it might be best to focus on learning to walk before dreaming of running. Zantetsuken, was it?". | Name: Wen Taihou
Title: Wen Sifu (master/teacher, term of respect akin to sensei), The Drunken Dervish (in his youth)
Race: Hume
Job: Martial artist
Age: 38
Gender: Male
Warrior of Light: No
Appearance Information
Physical Features:
Though he stands at a fairly respectable 6 feet tall, one could be forgiven for underestimating Wen Taihou given his rather portly appearance. His body wrapped in traditional Taisong clothes, he just undeniably looks rather fat, no two ways about it. If not for that, then his amicable, relaxed posture and expression combined with his glasses and funny moustache make for more of a friendly uncle type rather than an intimidating or dangerous man on a first glance. And Wen Sifu admits he has let himself go a little bit of late, having come to weigh more than 250 pounds, but there’s definitely more to him than meets the eye.
Simply a naturally rounded man, Wen possesses a powerful core of highly trained and developed muscle underneath a layer of fat that actually serves a purpose as natural padding against blows. Taihou sports the telltale signs of a dedicated fighter, as well. One may find a myriad of scars on him from head to toe and his skin is rough and leathery from conditioning and battle, much of his arms and legs are actually calloused into rock hard striking surfaces. His hands in particular sport bulging knuckles that look as though someone inserted pebbles into them and his fingers are as thick but dextrous talons.
Clothing/Armor/Weapons:
After a lifetime of training and fighting without them, Wen Taihou has no need for weapons or armor. His body has been developed for the right mixture of strength, speed, toughness, stamina and flexibility needed to best perform in combat, traits he has managed to retain even as he ages and gains in weight, and his martial arts expertise makes excellent use of his physical attributes. Clothing-wise he dresses in simple Taisong fashion, wearing a grey jacket that he typically carries open exposing a white undershirt, along with undecorated black pants and simple black cloth slip-on shoes. His glasses are nearly everpresent although of course he tends to take them off for a fight.
Wen Sifu practices his own version of the famed Monkey Fist. Originally educated in the simplistic but effective martial arts from the Three Peaks Valley where he was born, Taihou eschews much of the actual “monkey business” of the style and its acrobatics. Instead he employs flowing, stable footwork punctuated by bursts of explosive movement and favors hand and arm techniques, often focused on power generation at short ranges, mixed with primarily low kicks. With quite the eye for occupying the center line of attack and deflecting incoming offense, much of his monkey mannerisms center around wrestling and grappling with opponents to control them as well as delivering unexpected blows such as body checks, headbutts and even a few spinning or jumping strikes.
Psychological Information
Personality Traits:
Honest to a fault | Seemingly always in good spirits | Loyal | Unyielding | Confident to the point of arrogance | Sarcastic sense of humor | Can be quite lazy | Adventurous | Surprisingly cold-blooded at times | Self-reliant | Nurturing, often in a tough love kind of way | Meritocratic | Critical | Polite |
Likes:
Combat | Strength | Excitement | Competence | Luxuries | Growth
Dislikes:
Cowardice | Weakness | Boredom | Magic | Overblown spiritualism | Stagnation
Personal History
Hometown:
Nanchuu Islands (also referred to as the Nanchuu Kingdom), Kimura. A chain of islands to the southwest of the Kimuran mainland, they were once an important trade hub between Kimura and the now sunken nation of Taisong, a vast and storied culture that had made the islands into a tributary state in ages past. Kimuran lords, however, understood Nanchuu’s importance and conquered the land a few generations before the great flood. It did not come easy. The Kingdom possessed a particularly hard-nosed population with a strong martial culture, born from having to fend off pirates and all manner of undesirables for ages, and fought bitterly until a near stalemate was declared and they were guaranteed a high degree of independence.
Seeking to weaken the Kingdom in hopes of eventually bringing it to heel, the mainland laid down a restrictive decree as part of the peace negotiations: Nanchuu was not allowed to stockpile arms or armor. While the idea was to curtail rebellion and make the islands’ authorities reliant on forces from the mainland, the prohibition did not stop the development of combat skills in Nanchuu. Rather, it only managed to incense the warriors of the land and many travelled to Taisong to train and pioneered new schools of combat upon their return, often under the backing of the court. A number of methods based around the use of improvised weapons, chief among them staves, and a strong focus on body strengthening became the norm.
Nowadays the Kingdom remains ostensibly a vassal state of the mainland, but it is entirely a matter of status quo and their degree of independence makes them effectively a nation of their own. After the great disaster the islands took in a massive amount of Taisong survivors, making them the last bastion of a civilization that once rivaled that of Kimura itself, along with a variety of smaller diasporas from lands further east that could not be saved. The islands' culture is a strange mix, with Kimuran orthodoxy replaced in many areas by now firmly established enclaves and much intermixing between them all, and the state is now a parliamentary monarchy with representatives from all major groups within the Kingdom. Relationships with Kimura are cordial and mutually beneficial if somewhat tense.
While the old decree was abolished, Nanchuu now possesses its own standing army, its influence cannot be understated. Many a scholar believes that many a monastic combat tradition in Kimura actually come from Taisong by way of Nanchuu, while many other curious practices were developed within the islands themselves. The Kingdom is a hotbed for martial pursuits to this day, which has led to the creation of a most peculiar organization: The Institute for Martial Studies. An academy dedicated to the spread and preservation of martial arts, backed by a cadet branch of the Kingdom’s royal family, it is also concerned with keeping the rough and tumble the fighting culture of the land under control on some level.
Current Residence:
Nanchuu Islands, often struck by wanderlust.
Occupation:
Martial arts instructor, examiner for the Institute of Martial Studies, vagabond, sometimes masseuse and bonesetter to make money on the road. Not a real doctor, but he can relieve muscular or skeletal pains and similar ailments through massage and manipulation of joints and is also capable of restoring fractured or dislocated bones to their correct alignment.
Backstory:
Though he was born into a simple family of farmers from Taisong in Nanchuu, Wen Taihou had one distinct advantage when it came to rising out of his humble station. The Three Peaks Valley where he lived had a thriving, if generally ignored by outsiders, martial culture. The local fighting skills were simple and straightforward but quite practical, meant for self defense and tested in local grudge matches and against bandits and their ilk. It made for an excellent base for a young Taihou, who took to studying the arts like a fish to water. Even without a formal master, simply lessons passed down from family to family and little scuffles with others in the area, he became a noteworthy fighter.
Of course, a man of his gifts in an environment with little in the way of limitations is bound to stray from a righteous path. Wen Taihou, though still relatively good-hearted, soon earned a reputation for being a ruffian, a violent man who used his strength to bend others to his will and indulge himself in ill-gotten gains. Though it should at least be acknowledged that he never faltered in his martial studies and continued to train with great devotion, the damage his drunken brawls often caused soon earned him the nickname of the Drunken Dervish. Soon, however, his misdeeds caught up to him and he became a wanted man by none other than the Institute of Martial Studies.
What could've been the end of Wen's martial path, however, became a golden opportunity. The master who arrived at Three Peaks was Lau Sifu, a wanderer prone to working outside of the Institute's strict regulations. He was also an expert in several less than common fighting styles, and he was quite impressed with the young brawler even after besting him convincingly in their fight. Feeling at home in the valley, he decided against arresting or crippling Taihou and instead made him his apprentice. With his fighting urges under control, Wen began a process of growth and reform that both improved him as a person and greatly advanced his martial arts skills.
Feeling that the portly man could use a less predictable, brutally straightforward style, Lau educated him in the basics of the playful Monkey Fist. Rather than try and mold Taihou to the style, however, Lau instead encouraged his student to integrate and adapt its concepts to what he already knew. Together they developed a school all of their own, a distinct Monkey shaped by the Three Peaks, a mixture of strong foundations with unorthodox skills. Eventually, however, Taihou wished to leave his home, enamored with the dream of studying the arts of the many masters at the Institute surrounded by peers of many different schools. Lau Sifu wished to stay in the peaceful valley, but as a final gesture he granted his student a certificate marking him as an expert trained by his own hand and sent him on his way.
Wen’s dream, however, soon turned to disappointment. He was accepted in the Institute, yes, but his teacher was not particularly appreciated. Both Lau and now Taihou were seen as country bumpkins in a courtly environment, their schools ridiculed for lacking glorious lineage stories or flowery techniques meant to impress in exhibitions. He advanced in his martial studies and was eventually given a position as an examiner, tasked with testing the mettle of those who seek to enter the organization and those who call themselves masters, but found he received little in the way of recognition and no one was willing to train exclusively under him. He felt stuck.
With advancement within the Institute hierarchy seemingly well out of his reach, in time Wen Taihou grew bored and disillusioned with his situation in Nanchuu. Fortunately for him, his abilities grew in turn, and one day his rebellious spirit of old flared up once more. He would put his skills to good use, he swore to himself, and took to travelling the world on any possible occasion. He is determined to test himself and prove to everyone the validity of his martial arts. And what better occasion than the big festivities in Thorne?
Other:
Despite his skills, he is not some kind of invincible perfect athlete. He won’t beat a minotaur or similar creatures in pure weightlifting or sheer strength competitions, he won’t outrun athletes of similar caliber who train specifically to sprint or be more flexible than a cat burglar or gymnast. His body is built specifically for the purpose of fighting and that’s what he excels at, though he does have the cardio to engage in marathon-like pursuits. |
48,899 | 1,319 | 12 | 2,044 | 422 | Collab between and Myself
Seruh & Ryteb
Thorne City | Negotiating
"Is there any other kind of bargaining?" Ryteb smirked, fully aware of how screwed he'd be if this went wrong. Though admittedly, it was a much more appealing death than being eaten by Sand Worms. Legend says they can digest a man for a thousand years, though he'd never stuck around them long enough to find out. "So here's the deal. I don't currently have money on me... but I'm on the hunt for the lost Tomb of King Solomon. Legend tells that it was lined with gold and jewels. Recently I came across a tablet inscribed with a clue as to its location. If you don't kill me, I can offer you... half?"
Seruh looked at the scrawny man named Ryteb as he talked with a look of suspicion. "Why should I trust you? How could I trust you? You're nothing but a lowly street thief as far as I'm concerned and you stole the blade of my allies." she apporached him slowly while she spoke, slowly drawing the blade at her waist not for the intent of killing him, but incase he tried anything dumb. Then she stopped as she finished her sentence.
"Ah, now I remember!" Ryteb exclaimed, slapping his forehead, "The key to the lost city of Mu Kiza. Some idiot was using the relic as a weapon, giving it a stupid name like the Blade of Cereal or something."
He was cut off by the whirr of two more shuriken wizzing by his head, one grazing his ear with one of the three razor-sharp blades that protruded from the center. "Shut up! You're nothing but an incompetent street ra-" the assassin froze for a second, realizing she had crossed a line of her own. One she herself had no right to cross. "Forget this!" She sprung into the air, throwing a shuriken aimed for the center of his unsightly forehead, his throat, and his chest, all in rapid succession.
Like magic, the treasure hunter flicked off his jacket and in its place was a bronze scale cloak. Flicking it round, the shurikens pinged into the cloak, bouncing off harmlessly. He flicked back his hair, and gave a cheeky grin. "You know, I didn't think a professional would go for the bounty. Clearly I was right."
Seruh glared at the thief as she fell to the ground, bending her knees as she hit. Normally she was calm about her work, but something about this target just boiled her blood. She dashed toward him, the small blade in her left hand. As she came close to him, she slid under him and stuck the knife out in an attempt to slice his ankle.
Ryteb saw her rush towards him, and decided to drop his heavy metal cloak to incapacitate her. In doing so he allowed her to slice his ankle, but had moved so that it wouldn't slice through his Achilles tendon. From his suit pocket, he pulled an impossibly large book, and began to rifle through it. "Look, as a measure of trust, I can give you one treasure from my collection. Worth far more than a dumb key that's for sure."
The cat girl sprung up behind him, now slightly interested in what the thief had to say. "Exactly what kind of treasure is this? And when will I be able to have it?" she tried her best to still sound suspicious and menacing but were he able to see her face he'd surely see the hints of interest that were painted there. Her ears perked up a tiny bit from the laid back, focused position they had taken when she began the pursuit.
Ryteb sighed, and began to explain. "Has the legend of Dragonheart and his lair filled with treasures really not spread outside Takhtajin? Probably not... the bastards at the Treasure Hunters Guild are pretty embarrassed by my existance. Anyway, I have all manner of treasures in my secret vault back in my home country. Here it is, the section on ninjitsu weaponry. Have a look, see if anything catches your eye." He turned around and handed her the tome.
Seruh had already been peering over his shoulder when he trurned around, and she found herself amost nose to nose with the man she had just been about to kill, the book in his hand held outward in a kind way. This man confused her, she decided, one minute he was insulting her and the next he wanted to offer her riches. She laughed nervously a bit as she pulled her face away from his, then carefully reached for the book, still on guard for any kind of trick the man might pull. "I'll just take that for a second..." she snatched up the book and quickly spun it around, skimming the page for something, although what she wasnt exactly sure. Somewhere on the middle of the second page, she noticed something that caught her eye. "The Katana of an ancient Kimuran prince..." she mumbled, but under that was something that made her gasp. It listed a necklace that matched the discription of the one she wore, shaped like the Crystal of Light. She turned the page quickly without saying a thing, and continued skimming, descretely patting her chest to check for the necklace, she sighed in relief when she realized it was still there. "Do you have any kind of replacement for this, with some kind of fancy story to it?" she held up the dinky dagger that the clan back in Kimura had given her.
With a flick of his wrist, the wind began to blow the pages of the book, until it landed on a page with two daggers, one white with an angelic design, the other crimson and rough. "The dagger on the left was said to belong to an angel who descended to earth, bringing light to a realm plagued by a demon. The dagger on the right belonged to the Demon, with which, he slew the angel. Unfortunately for the Demon, in death the angel apparently became the great crystal that banished evil from our world. Both are powerful, but both have deadly curses upon them."
Seruh mulled over the idea of the daggers, thinking that the curses couldnt be that bad. She also decided that this... this thief, for lack of a more accurate word, didnt truly have any ill intent toward her, he simply wanted his life, and the sword. She decided to make an offer, "How about this: I get these daggers, and until I do, you work with me as sort of my... assistant. Then, whenever we happen to be in Takhtajan, you give me the daggers, and you walk off free." She didnt know if this... Dragonheart, Ryteb, would accept or not, but it was worth the try, and she could use a spare set of hands both back home and on the road.
"It's your funeral... but sure, if that's what you want. Put 'em there partner!" Ryteb smirked, holding out his hand in the universal symbol of dealmaking.
Seruh first removed the black glove from her opposite hand and then reached out and daintily shook Ryteb's outstreched hand, his skin rough and calloused against her softer skin. "So, back to the temporary HQ?"
"Sure... I probably need to clean off this blood." Ryteb used Cure to heal up the wound.
Seruh gasped again, just realizing that Ryteb was a mage. She averted her surprised gaze and began to lead her new pet Hume back to the tavern she had chosen as her base during the festival. | Name: Ryteb
Title: Dragonheart
Race: Human
Job: Red Mage
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Warrior of Light: Yes
Appearance Information
Physical Features:
About 5'11 in height, with a relatively scrawny build. Though there is some muscle there, when compared to knights it is miniscule. Ryteb has naturally orange hair, which comes down to his shoulders, and a pair of blazing red eyes. His face could be considered quite handsome, in a mischievous way, with a rather dashing scar on his left cheek whose origins are a mystery. Apart from that, his body is almost unmarked, and he seems to lack the ability to grow facial hair.
On his back is a tattoo of a oriental dragon clutching a golden chalice, which he apparently recurved after a drunken wager that nobody involved can quite remember due to excessive drink.
Clothing/Armor/Weapons:
Ryteb’s first choice in apparel is a bespoke black suit, with a green waistcoat and white shirt, though he doesn’t wear a tie. Too close to a noose for him. His boots are made of a sturdy leather, and seem more practical that the rest of his In a battle, he swaps out the jacket of the suit for a cloak made from scales of bronze. As a weapon, he uses an oak cane, though the inside is filled with steel to strengthen it. The end has a sharpened bronze cap such that it can act like a rapier.
Psychological Information
Personality Traits:
Cocky | Brave | Obsessed With Treasure | Has a skewed view of ownership | Loyal to his friends
Likes:
Treasure | Adventure | Good Food
Dislikes:
People Who Claim They Own His Treasure | Confinement | Being Called a Thief | Lobsters
Personal History
Hometown:
Takhtajan
Current Residence:
Takhtajan
Occupation:
Treasure Hunter
Backstory:
Officially the greediest b*****d under the sun, and proud of it, Ryteb is the best damn treasure hunter in all of Takhtajan, if only because he’s one of the few who have survived more than one adventure into the desert. People call him Dragonheart, as his lust for treasure is so massive he doesn’t accept anyone else as the rightful owner of an object.
His origins are a mystery, perpetrated by the conflicting rumours Ryteb himself has spread. Regardless of his murky past, people agree that he’s a stand-up guy... unless treasure is involved.
Other:
Nothing comes to mind... |
48,900 | 1,319 | 13 | 1,323 | 118 | (No worries at all, I'm glad to have someone to interact with this early on.)
Ryouji Yasuharu
City of Thorne - Airship Docks
The young prince turned toward the rather portly man as he spoke. As soon as Ryouji recognized the man's face, he smiled and bowed respectfully. "Ah, you are Sifu Wen Laoying. I saw your name in the passenger manifest, it is an honor to finally meet you." The boy straightened his posture and continued to walk away from the airship. He gave a chuckle at the mention of the 'attack' he used, "Indeed, my Father says the same thing, but he also tells me that practice is the first step towards Mastery. I practice using what little knowledge I have of the ancient techniques in hopes of one day learning them fully, as the swordsmen of old once did." Pausing for a moment, Ryouji gazed towards the city. He could vaguely see the spires of the Temple of the Crystal, an area that was certainly on his list of places to visit while in Thorne. "Regardless, this journey is far from over. There are still some days left in the festival, and if it is not too much trouble, I would be more than glad to take some lessons from you. I can pay you for your services, of course."
As the group walked, the two bodyguards kept a close eye on the various travelers and tourists that occupied the crowded docks around them. There was no telling if any of them were thieves, or, Crystal forbid it, assassins. The guard to Ryouji's right, a taller man named Solt, spoke to the Sifu. "You are from the Martial Arts Institute, correct?"
Before there was a chance to answer, the guard on Ryouji's left, a shorter man named Peppor interjected. "It's called the Institute for Martial Studies."
"Yes, that is what I said." | Name: Ryouji Yasuharu
Title: Prince
Race: Hume
Job: Samurai
Age: 16
Gender: Male
Warrior of Light: Yes
Appearance Information
Physical Features:
Standing roughly 4' 8", Ryouji is quite short for his age. A scrawny 95 pounds would make him an easy target if not for his Royal heritage. Steel grey hair adorns his head, a genetic gift from his Father, and his eyes shimmer in a pale cerulean like his Mother. His youth is ever apparent in his skin tone and complexion, and he has taken great care to avoid poor hygiene. Though, he has managed to build a small amount of muscle, thanks to his swordsmanship training.
Clothing/Armor/Weapons:
Normally, he is seen wearing the traditional dress of the Kimuran nation, a simple indigo kimono with his family crest embroidered on the back. He carries a ceremonial katana with him nearly everywhere he goes, though it once belonged to his grandfather and is merely a placeholder until he is old enough to forge his own. If he were to engage in combat, Ryouji has a set of Kozane, lamellar leather armor that his Father had made for him.
Psychological Information
Personality Traits:
Brave | Naive | Well Mannered | Timid | Determined
Quick to trust, and sadly easy to manipulate.
Likes:
Swords | Friends | Legends | Rainstorms
Dislikes:
Chocobo Riding | Mud | The Color pink
Personal History
Hometown:
Kimura
Current Residence:
The Palace of House Yasuharu, on the southernmost peninsula of the Island
Occupation:
Studies Bushido from his Father, practicing his swordsmanship and political manners daily.
Backstory:
Not much can be said about his upbringing. Life in the Palace was only noteworthy during his time training his sword skills with his father or reading old Legends about ancient Swordsmen and Heroes. Though, there was one time when he was very young when he was bitten by a Chocobo, thus starting a lifelong distrust for the bright yellow birds.
Other:
One day, he hopes to be the greatest swordsman who ever lived, even greater than the Legendary Gilgamesh.
He always carries more Gil then he can really understand the value of.
Even though he has no magical skills, he has named his attacks after powerful techniques used by Legendary Warriors, just in case one of them actually works. |
48,901 | 1,319 | 14 | 2,010 | 1,147 | Nila Daana
Somewhere Between the Arena & the Slums
Nila had been prepping the kids for yet another of her stories - this one regarding a pack of super wolves that could grow stronger just by howling a lot - when the best interruption in the universe arrived to dispense some generosity upon the kids. The youngsters were, naturally, stunned at the charitable gesture from the diminutive creature, and had simply gaped silently as the apparent leader of the trio accepted the pouch, and looked inside to see that actual gil was inside it.
"...W-wow," he looked at the moogle with wide eyes, "Um, thanks. This is... this is a l-"
A sudden explosion of girlish squeeing made the kids jump away in fright. They certainly hadn't expected the dark-haired traveller to scoop up the moogle in her arms and hold him tightly to her chest, a blissful look on her face.
"Moogle moogle moogle moogle~" Nila sang happily, "Such a kind, philanthropic moogle~ You're so wonderful and cute~!"
The kids stared blankly at the sight for several moments, before the lone girl of the group realised that a nu mou was speaking to them. She quickly bowed her head and replied to his sentiment with a stammered thanks. Putting the strange woman aside, the kids had never seen so much kindness directed at them before. Granted, no one had ever been outright malicious and horrible towards them, but they were still residents of the slums. They could only obtain so much gil with begging, and now they had enough money for the three of them to have fun for the festival...
Nila, continuing to hug the moogle, stopped dancing around long enough to address the trio one more time, "you're still here? Go on, have some fun! There's only so many hours in the day, ya know!"
A few moments later, the kids were waving the blue-clad strangers goodbye as they rushed to the market place. It was a shame Nila hadn't the coin to contribute to the pouch, but it was fortunate that the adorable little guy trapped in her arms was so nice!
"...Oh, hi, when'd you get here?" Nila asked the nu mou, apparently having completely missed his presence up until now. Not on purpose, of course! It was just impossible to focus much on details when there was a perfectly huggable moogle right there, you know?
----------- | Name: Nila Daana
Title: The Bluest Of All Mages
Race: Hume
Job: Blue Mage
Age: 19
Gender: Female
Warrior of Light: No
Appearance Information
Physical Features:
Nila stands at five-foot-five, with a thin build suited more for manouverability than heavy lifting. As such, her measurements are also on the shorter side, much to her complete indifference. Nila's skin is lightly tanned, with thick, pitch-black hair that falls wildly onto her shoulders, where it's generally left to lie - aside from a blue ribbon tied around a lock of hair. Her eyes are a super unique and brilliant hazel.
A scar lies underneath Nila's left eye, a nasty cut from childhood, following a terrible run-in with a grouchy goblin that had figured out "Goblin Punch + Pointy Object = more damage". This scar hasn't healed the most gracefully, but is generally hidden under the domino mask Nila likes to wear, however. Not that she has an issue showing the scar, the mask is just too awesome to not wear.
Clothing/Armor/Weapons:
Rare is the occasion that Nila is not decked out in her 'work clothes'. With a standard white undershirt, and blue, poofy trousers as her base, Nila also dons an equally blue cape that travels midway down her back, and neatly wraps around her shoulders. In addition, Nila wears black, travel-worn boots that have served her well in her travels.
And of course, a domino mask. Covering most of the upper half of her face, Nila tends to wear this when being overly-theatrical. The rims of the mask extend slightly beyond her face, with the upper corners tipped with a light teal gradient and stretching upward slightly.
In battle, Nila would wear light, leather armour - anything heavier she finds too cumbersome or detrimental to her spellcasting and evasive action. As such, she generally won't wear anything more complicated than a cuirass, and maybe a leather helmet, if she's going to fight a monster known for throwing projectiles.
At her hip, Nila wields her trusty sabre, a small, curved sword that can be wielded with one hand. It's a rather bog-standard sword, as far as materials go, and has seen it's fair share of fights. Luckily, it's still got plenty of usage left in it. Probably helps that Nila isn't exactly a frontline fighter, making its maintenance much easier.
Psychological Information
Personality Traits:
Outgoing | Cheerful | Impulsive | Curious | Theatrical
Nila's pretty darn showy a lot of the time, seemingly unaware of the art of subtlety. She expresses great confidence in her skills, knowledge and presentation, but lacks restraint and tact in certain situations, which can draw some unwanted attention. She's a friendly and helpful gal with an optimistic mindset about things, but loses sight of her surroundings when a chance to expand her personal bestiary occurs - no matter what, she needs to know how behemoths react to getting poked with a stick.
Nila has a great love for magic of all forms, and naturally loves her brand most of all. When she learned that most places outside of Dahlgren seemed disdainful at best towards magic, it blew her mind. What was the problem? They were acting like magic nearly destroyed the world or something! Nila often overlooks a particular black spot in history when defending magic.
Likes:
Monsters | Moogles | Theatres
Even compared to other Blue Mages, Nila seems to hold a great admiration for the creatures that like to randomly ambush travellers. Part of this may just be because of the possibility she can acquire new techniques to mess around with, but even beyond that, she speaks of monters' chaarcteristics with great fondness and passion. Well, with a particular exception...
The poor moogles, cursed with infinite cuteness, are also Nila's prey. She cannot stop herself from hugging them tightly, wishing to keep them as companions, and touching their pom-poms. It's probably safe to say she is not popular amongst moogles.
And of course, Nila holds great fondness for the theatrical and grandiose. Anyone with an affinity for the extravagant shall earn her much-coveted admiration.
Dislikes:
Malboros | Anti-magic bias | Large bodies of water
...Bad Breath was not worth the effort to learn. That's all Nila will say regarding Malboros.
'Baseless and unfounded' fears about magic are a given for someone that practices an admittedly-unusual school of magic, but regardless, Nila cannot fathom why anyone would consider magic to be a bad thing. It's nothing but beneficial, right?!
Nila, unfortunately, is not a particularly strong swimmer. This probably stems from another monster-related incident, though it's not exactly as trauamtic as the Malboro Incident. Still, she hasn't exactly done much to rectify this issue. The aquatic creatures of her bestiary are going to be neglected for a while, it seems.
Personal History
Hometown:
Dahlgren
Current Residence:
Thorne, The Great Outdoors/Some Inn
Occupation:
Monster Hunter: Nila mainly earns her keep by snatching up bounties on troublesome monsters. Not only does this let her eat for the day, she's practically getting paid to study potentially new monsters! Though on a slow day with no monsters to hunt, she'll ask around for any day-jobs cleaning tables or something.
Backstory:
Born in Dahlgren to a family that heavily favoured Blue Magic, Nila is the youngest of five siblings - the second-eldest sadly deceased at this point in time. While Nila isn't exactly a prodigy, her great love of blue magic, and fascination with monsters in general, has inspired some promising results for her.
Nila has taken every chance possible to encounter a wide variety of monsters, expanding her knowledge of any and all genus recorded in her personal bestiary. Not just their looks or abilities, but even their habitats, habits, typical diet... anything she can observe. Having only just begun her travels though, there are stil lso many fascinating creatures to find...
Growing up, Nila wasn't quite as outgoing and boisterous as she is now. Having a few unlucky encounters with monsters certainly did little to boost her confidence. Fortunately, Nila's family are a rather supportive lot: with their encouragement, Nila stuck with her studies of Blue Magic, and her passion bloomed when she was officially enrolled as a student. Seeing more of the world, a wider variety of monsters with interesting lifestyles, and of course, learning more and more monster-based spells had sparked a desire to master the school of magic.
Other:
Her favourite colour is actually green. Go figure.
Oddly enough, despite getting scarred in this incident, Nila quickly got over the incident. It got her to start wearing a stylish mask, so no point in moping over it, right? |
Subsets and Splits
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