Fantasy 𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖘𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖓 (CS)

[BELIAL.]

𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖘𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖓 (CS)

a small group, fantasy rp​

Things of note

We are looking for five people to join, and to keep it small at that. Vexed and I will be 'guides' so to say, so don't worry about those five saviours being already 2/5 taken. Now, in regards to these saviours and the character-making process...

1. Each region: Gildern, Vilvex, Arthal, Moswen, and Thalmer represent where five original 'legendary' heroes or villains came from. These Broken Saints, according to the Order, possessed irrefutable virtues that are upheld to this day in each region (as much as possible). And yet, these men and women fell to sin (a flaw that plagues the regions to this day). With only two traits to keep in mind, we want full creativity from you guys on the types of heroes/villains that once were. Go ahead and make it make sense, or get a little funky (if it doesn't work, maybe we can work it out).
2. Each of the five 'saviours' are reincarnations of these 'saints', and thus have some sort of integration with the virutes/sins. It can be a carbon copy, a proper reincarnation, or a total subversion. If you can make a connection, that's great, and if not that's okay as well. Hopefully this isn't too complicated, and please DM me with questions if you have any.
3. Try to be as dimensional as possible. I love a good trope here and there, but don't be afraid to give your character plenty of flaws or things to hold them back. It only means more character growth! We love that.
4. Strive for realistic FCs, for that good dose of historical fantasy. However, if you can't quite vibe with that, realistic fantasy art is totally fine. No other races than human however.

Here are the five regions and their respective virtues/sins:
GILDERN - Wisdom/Ignorance
VILVEX - Courage/Arrogance
ARTHAL - Honour/Greed -
MOSWEN - Compassion/Cruelty
TALMER - Loyalty/Lust

NOTE: If there are more than five applicants, I will not be accepting things on first come/first serve basis. Will not be. Quality is what we are looking for
As well, we will be primarily using DISCORD for OOC plotting. If that's not an option for you, I strongly consider getting a discord since it will be a majority of character and region planning.

CS Sheet

Coded Layout:

Spoiler: code

[h][font=Crimson Text]Character's Name[/font][/h][font=Crimson Text]

[row][column=span3][IMG]https://pixy.org/images/placeholder.png[/IMG] [/column][column=span5][Tabs]
[Tab=Basics]Name:
Age:
Occupation/Title:
Magic User?
Region of Birth:[/Tab]


[Tab=Broken Saint]Their name:
Their age at death:
Possessed the virtue of:
But fell to the sin of: 
Their story:
Optional information:[/Tab]

[Tab=Personality]Positive personality traits:
Negative personality traits:

Loyalties/Groups: (in a group? a religion? tied to anybody important?)
[/Tab]

[tab=Background]History: (keep it substantial, want something to go with - two paragraphs minimum)

Relatives:

Any thing else of note?:[/tab][/Tabs][/column][/row][/font][row][column=span5][Tabs][tab=Background][/tab][/tabs]
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[imXeno]

Ares, Defender of Arthal

• Basics
• Broken Saint
• Personality
• Background

• Name: Ares Hakai IV
  Age: 23
  Occupation/Title: Royal Knight of Arthal
  Magic User? Yes, studied and learned the arts of pyrotechnics, the ability to replicate and create fire, but seeks to learn necromancy, hydrokinesis, and electrokinesis.
  Region of Birth: Born along Horizon's End, traveled to the Hamin Islands to learn magic, only to return to Arthal, the faithful descendant of a regrettable king.
• Their name: Ares Hakai I
  Their age at death: 29
  Possessed the virtue of: Honor
  But fell to the sin of: Greed
  Their story: Ares the First, known better as the Mad King, was an ancient ruler in the lands of Othalan, one that rose through the ranks as a Knight, bringing prosperity and strength to the early peoples of Northern Othalan. Honor was his main strife, being a man that fought with grace in battle, never striking a man who surrendered, giving mercy to honorable fighters, and recruited many of his own enemies to join his side. By the age of twenty-five, Ares already ruled much of present-day Arthal, Vilvex, and Gildern. Being a man of the people, the crown being placed upon his head by the public. He fought for the honor of himself, his people, and for his ancient kingdom. Power however, wove it's way into the golden soul of Ares, corrupting him from the inside out. The greed for power fueled him...replacing his fuel of honor and peace. Ares wanted not just to rule what he had, he wanted to rule it all. He set his sights North, to Nortunda, marching an entire army of 400,000 forward, in what became known as the "Fool's Campaign", because of what would soon come. Ares the First's battles for pieces of Nortunda were filled with victory, and terrible loss, but no matter how much he lost, his greed forced him forward. Battle after battle piled up, loss after loss, death after death. His four year war crippled his kingdom economically and socially, eventually his armies being pushed back all the way to the present location of Horizon's End. As a rebellion sparked in his people, a civil rebel force approaching from one side, and the Nortunda forces approaching from the other, Ares the First committed suicide at the age of 29, his last bit of honor shining in his suicide, as his empire of greed crumbled with his death, the next king arising to make peace with Nortunda, seeking to rebuild the lands and reunite then. Ares's name goes down in legend as the honorable knight who rose, but fell as a greedy tyrant, fueled by power and money, The Mad King...Ares the First.
• Positive personality traits: Ares is extremely intelligent, being a man of high honor and knowledge, using it to his full extent in battle and strategy. He always speaks the blunt truth, no matter how hurtful or horrid it can be, believing that the truth flows above all. Ares can be quite nice to people he respects, having the manners of any royal knight, as young as he is. He is very determined, sticking strictly to his goals of succession and clearing the name of Ares Hakai. Ares is passionate, going out of his way to protect those that he loves, specifically his mother, and to protect the men alongside him. He is prideful as well, fully excepting his name and family history, fighting with a chip upon his shoulder at all times. Overall, Ares is scrappy, witty, quick on his feet, filled with emotion, honor, and truth...being a warrior that many love, but many also fear.
  Negative personality traits: Ares's honor and many great traits are also lined with other issues. One that plagued his ancestor, brews inside of him as well....Greed. But instead of a greed for land, power over people, and money, Ares's greed leads him on his path to be the first knight to master the arts of magic, greedy to become the strongest man in history. His passion and determination can also lead him to be hard headed, launching himself straight into danger with no worry for repercussion. Taunting him is easy, as he quickly lets his blood boil, being a hot headed brawler of rage, once again leading himself into danger fueled over rage alone. From a mix of his temper, greed, and over determination, he leads himself into danger, at times letting his inner ambitions cloud his mind of honor, something he relents and fights internally against everyday.
  
  Loyalties/Groups: Aligned with the Order of the Broken Saints, formerly apart of Lord Frederick Gauvin II's Royal Guard.
  
• History: Ever since the actions of Ares the First, the Hakai name had been banished from many of the Northern lands of Othalan, being labeled as a disgrace to their honor, mainly in the region of Arthal. Ares Hakai IV was raised by his mother only, his father dying from an unknown disease when Ares was 12. He was raised among the Horizon's End, his mother being a trader for many of the Northern regions, also owning a small farm. When he was 16, his mother let him loose, where he settled on going to a new land, setting sail under a different name to the Hamin Islands. He wanted to redeem the name of his family, and sought for a teacher that would help him master the art of the Knight. His teacher, Ocivius, was a man who formerly lived in Othalan, who traveled away to escape the sin of the kingdoms. In two years, Ares stripped his past away, forging his skills, dexterity, and power as a knight, slowly mastering the arts of different weapons and fighting styles. However, he wanted more. After parting from his master, he met an older man from the Hamin Islands, who Ares fought hard to learn underneath. Eventually, this mysterious older man, Juventus, took Ares under his wing, teaching the young knight the art of fire, teaching him the ways of pyrotechnics. Infusing this magic into his body damaged him, leaving a spiral of red marks and scars that travel from his right hand to his shoulder. Within another two years, he returned to Othalan, a 20 year old magic bearing knight, with his eyes set upon Arthal.
  
  As he returned to his family's original home, he was met with criticism and brutality, eventually being captured and brought before Lord Frederick. Ares explained his intentions thoroughly, a blaze of determination showing into his eyes. The young man was let into the Othalan army, in which he fought up the ranks with grace, not even afraid to fight his comrades to show his superiority, eventually making it out of the army, promoted to the rank of Royal Knight, being added to the Royal Guard of the Lord, the most elite knights in Arthal. Ares proudly stood in his Royal Guard, until the day he was approached by the Order of the Broken Saints, his bloodline being known well by them. He announced his resignation from the Royal Guard, instead aligning with the Order, taking up his name with more honor than ever...or so it seems.
  
  Relatives: Pandora Deveraux (Mother), Ares Hakai I (Ancestor)

 

[idalie]

Templar Clermont, Defender of the Faith

• Basics
• Personality
• Background

• Name: Guillemot de Clermont
  Age: 32
  Occupation/Title: Templar
  Magic User?: Yes, albiet focusing on nullifying effects of said magic. Even this is considered borderline blasphemous although utilised by Templars.
  Region of Birth: Moswen
  
  Height: 6'5"
  Body type: Broad and burly by nature, Guillemot carries himself as a soldier and clanks like a kitchen.
  Hair colour: Dark brown
  Eye colour: Overcast grey
  
• Positive personality traits: Paternal, Loyal, Diligent, Patient, Reliable.
  Negative personality traits: Apathetic, Zealous, Biased, Patronising, Guarded.
  
  Notably stoic and withdrawn, Guillemot speaks to command and never to waste his breath. Raised primarily by the Church as the youngest son of the De Clermont family, his socialisation was limited and often restricted. Inept at small talk and finding comfort in the soft utterings of scripture, his childhood was shaped by marble columns and gold cast symbols of faith. Inhabiting the palace of a God whose heart still beat beyond the walls and treading lightly so as not to wake him, Clermont developed a zealous obsession with purity. He has taken to his vows like a drowning man clinging for life, having little other purpose or priority but to serve as a faithful hound.
  
  Nevertheless, it would be blind to see Guillemot has little more than a servant, for between the plates of his armour is flesh and blood. Well-intentioned and blind to the reality of the corruptive nature the Church has fostered, De Clermont is as generous as they come with his time and effort. A paternal soul who understands he will not father a child in his lifetime and has taken to guiding younger templars with a patient hand and reliable nature. Whether or not he’s been riddled by bias with a nasty, lip-curling attitude towards magic-users and debauchery, Guillemot always pulls through and makes good on promises. He knows better than anyone, words are worth their weight in gold.
  
  In his eyes, the Broken Saints are disruptive upstarts drinking from an already poisoned chalice.
  
  Loyalties/Groups: The Church.
  
• History:
  There are few things Guillemot can recall of leaving home. He knew his father was a strong man, tall and handsome, looming in the doorway of their manor with a cold farewell whilst his mother doted on her infant daughter. He could not say whether her voice was soft or shrill, whether she had kissed him as tenderly as she had the child in her arms. They became silhouettes, fanciful shadows he warped to feel comfort during an isolated youth.
  
  The De Clermont family were built on humble origins, they had been Knights and artisans before they became lords. But with each generation, they climbed higher in the ranks of nobility and influence, eventually wedding into the Darkly family with Mortimer’s matrimony. However, they had their debts to get to high places. The Church and the De Clermont's have been thick as thieves since their conception and tradition soon called for them to give a child to the faith which supported them. Each of these children have reached trusted heights in the Church, their power a mutual benefit between blood and servitude.
  
  Clémentine’s birth signalled the sacrifice of a son, their youngest boy aged only eight. Lead away from his ancestral home of Moswen to the capital, donning the robes of an Erudite. His schooling would be arduous, reciting scripture and history, all with their fair share of missing pages. Yet the matrons and the sisters became hollow husks of what they believed a mother to be; her punishments cruel and gently spoken with frankincense soaked skin. Guillemots little comforts were burned away one by one till his youth vowed it’s silence.
  
  Aged eleven, they would be trialled for a month with weaponry to see whether any of the children showed promise to join more militant branches. Guille, although not top of his class, was one of those chosen to be squired. Templar Belliveau gave Clermont a chance and would prove himself fit enough be among the best. Following Belliveau to witch hunts and trials, justice became synonymous with pain. It was burnt flesh and cut skin, Belliveau’s silent penance after taking a life and the red, red rags he wrung out.
  
  At fourteen he was a full-grown man in shoes that were too big for his feet. Belliveau had him burned, beaten, and bled for his faith. But Guillemot was a man - he recited it as truth, a disgusting blemish of desire and greed and sin to be cleansed.
  
  De Clermont has only come close once to breaking his pledges and only once, he has loved. A girl encountered during his excursions with his mentor, a girl who almost convinced him of leaving. All lips and petals till they put her on the pyre to watch her curl and weep. Her crimes were of the heart, to have seduced and twisted the mind of a faithful Erudite. He knew of her innocence and still she wilted, mouth gaped in a harmony of horror. Blasphemously he thinks back, on a cold night where the only warmth is a memoir of smoke and bone.
  
  Thirty-two years he has served, thirty-two years of indoctrination and fealty to the Church. A Templar of renown for his abilities in battle and as executioner to heresy. There is nobody they could trust more to guide the so-called Broken Saints on a road to salvation. Yet it is said the path to hell is paved with good intentions.
  
  Relatives:
  Father - Lord Mortimer de Clermont
  Mother - Lady Eléonore de Clermont (née Darkly)
  Older Brother - Barthelemi de Clermont
  Older Brother - Lazare de Clermont
  Younger Sister - Clémentine de Clermont
  
  

 

[BELIAL.]

Adaline Geralt
The King's Eye

• Basics
• Personality
• Background

• Name: Thomasin Adaline Geralt
  Age: 27
  Occupation/Title: Royal Spy & Bastard-Princess of Othalan
  Magic User?: No
  Region of Birth: Gildern
  
  Height: 5'6"
  Body type: Slim, with strong thighs and strong upper arms.
  Hair colour: Pale blonde
  Eye colour: Blue-green
• Positive personality traits:Intelligent, Witty, Humorous, Dedicated
  Negative personality traits: Aloof, Flippant, Fierce, Cunning
  
  Adaline is a very perceptive individual; as it's her job being the leader of the Ruby Crows (the Crown's spy network). She picks up on little things, and although a larger part of her enjoys using information against people, she will instead keep the information to herself and use it to judge further interactions. Behind her bright eyes, she's quite calculating. It can come off as cold, especially since she's no good at communicating her thoughts. She's a very orderly, decision making person. She's impulsive when the moment calls for it, but truly enjoys taking the time to consider all the facts presented.
  
  Far from sentimental, Adaline prefers to show her intimacy in the form of loyalty. Actions speak louder than words to the woman, and with a whole past of negative actions following her, she isn't impartial to giving people second chances. But in her line of work, sometimes a second chance leads to a breach of information. Especially with the turbulent times within Othalan, secrets are as wealthy as gold.
  
  Despite being all business, Adaline does enjoy a good laugh at times. She likes to keep her hood covering her Dûper traits, the blonde hair and the fair skin, and visit the local taverns and pubs. Drinking the night away is a favourite way for the woman to unwind.
  
  Loyalties/Groups: Loyal to the royal family, Gildern, and the good of Othalan. The Ruby Crows.
  
• History: Long before King Tomas III took his throne, and with it plagued instability and indecisiveness in the kingdom of Othalan, he lived in the royal palace and was an adventurous youth. Far from the sincere, dedicated man that he is now, the young Prince was imaginative and curious. He had a friend in one of the towns outside the capital, a young girl named Caoimhe who was the baker's daughter. She was soft in the face with corn coloured hair, and Tomas was smitten. He snuck out often to spend time with the girl, despite her fear of them getting caught. Tomas was passionate, and in love with this girl, and would do anything for her.
  
  Eventually the two were caught, as it happened, when Caoimhe took with child and the King found out. An equally emotional man, Tomas' father took pity on the girl's relationship with Tomas. He allowed Caoimhe to stay in the palace during her pregnancy, and for Tomas to decide what to do with the child. Caoimhe wanted the girl to live in the town, away from the pressure and judgement of being the king's bastard, but Tomas was idealistic and imagined that having the two by his side would make his days better than they could ever be.
  
  It didn't matter by the time that Thomasin was born, however, as Caoimhe didn't survive the birth. Swaddled in anointed blankets and blood, Thomasin was coddled by her father for all of ten minutes before the servants rushed her out. It turned out that Tomas' mother found out, and was up in arms about the baby. Weak to his wife, Tomas II was quick to abide by her rule and send the child back to the town. Caoimhe's father was presented with a lot that night-- the death of his only daughter, and the arrival of his only grand-child. Nevertheless, he was more than happy to raise the young babe. Tomas made it known to the old man that the baby was his and Caoimhe's, which made her existence all the more elusive. There was nothing to speak of it after the fact, and Tomas disappeared into the night.
  
  Thomasin grew up as gentle as her mother when she was a child. She helped out her grandfather at the shoppe, often visited the castle to deliver goods, but never was confronted by her father. Tomas grew up to, a couple years later, marry a noble from Talmer, as a way to try and keep the regions united. Thomasin ran into the children that slowly followed, such as the eldest Henry, but she didn't have a direct role in any of the royal life until she was a teenager.
  
  Taken on by the young princess Regine as a handmaiden, Thomasin was thrust into royal life. It was there that Tomas saw her, and was reminded of his late lover. He confronted Thomasin and told her the truth, a foolish man to the cost of that, and Thomasin was attempted by Tomas to be elevated to a position of acknowledgement. The Queen was less than elated at the prospect, but Tomas carried on with it. So there, with plenty of uproar by the lords and his wife, Thomasin was given the title of Bastard Princess. Not exactly flowery as one would imagine, but she had her own bedroom in the palace and everything.
  
  But Thomasin was not made for the life of royalty. Being toted along with the other children, the younger twins hating her most, made Thomasin feel excluded. Tomas attempted to keep his child happy, but he was often carted away by advisors or by his wife to hold court. Henry and Regine managed to be friendly enough to Thomasin, but she knew that she wasn't welcome in this new family.
  
  When she was eighteen she took interest in a job within the palace walls. By some stroke of luck, she was taken in by the royal guard to squire for some time. Treated ill because of her sex, Thomasin grew used to skirting along the sidelines. She became adept at moving quietly, and found that a sword and shield were not suited for her body. Her skill was in archery, and the Kennelmaster-- who often hunted in the forest-- took a liking to Thomasin. He let her sleep in the stables, and took her on hunting trips. Thomasin became a skilled hunter, and upon catching the sight of the Ruby Crows, the royal spy network, she wanted in. Spending more than four years apprenticing with the spymaster Waylen, Thomasin changed her name and made her devotion to the Ruby Crows apparent. The Church found her presence troublesome within the court, but were more than happy to oblige and support her position outside the royal family.
  
  Adaline now, at her father's side as his trusted aide, began to fully enjoy life. Being out of the watching eyes of the kingdom was more her speed, and she enjoyed slumming it in the barracks on her downtime between reconnaissance and intelligence jobs. It was she that Tomas trusted most to accompany the supposed saviour of Othalan, and to keep information flowing back to him about their progress.
  
  Relatives:
  Father - King Tomas Dûper III
  Mother - Caoimhe Geralt (deceased sweetheart of Tomas)
  Step-mother - Queen-Consort Bethilde Dûper
  Older Brother - Prince Henry Dûper
  Older Sister - Princess Regine Dûper
  Younger sister - Princess Helene Dûper
  Younger sister - Princess Julene Dûper
  
  Any thing else of note?: Adaline rarely thinks of herself as royal, although the pet name by the public is indeed Bastard Princess. She despises the name, striving to be worth more than her birthright in life.

 

[RayPurchase]

Adelard Dekker
The Wandering Knight

• Basics
• Personality
• Broken Saint
• Background

• Name: Adelard Rictus Dekker
  Age: 28
  Occupation/Title: 3rd Son of Sir Dekker of Banalt (Fiefdom in Moswen), The Wandering Knight
  Magic User?: No
  Region of Birth: Moswen
  
  Height: 5'11"
  Body type: Stocky, broad of shoulder and sharp of chin.
  Hair colour: Light Brown
  Eye colour: Brown
• Positive personality traits: Brave, Courageous, Gregarious
  Negative personality traits: Headstrong, Can't Say No, Prideful
  
  Given the fact that Adelard was quickly relegated to the position of being in a noble family yet with no hope of inheriting anything of note in terms of wealth, land or titles, he has quickly adapted to a life without privilege or noble comforts. As such he is quite easy to please, and quite spartan in his taste, preferring a smoky warm tavern to some fine room on a Lord's estate. This has carried over to the Common Folk who he oftens associates with, joining in with rowdy activities and debauchery that no true noble would even consider for a heartbeat.
  
  Despite his distancing of himself from his noble life, there was one lesson that remained with him, the tales of the knights that were his forefathers, ones that ruled justly and protected the land and the people that they held dominion over. Though he may not have land, he has far more training and better equipment than any common folk. Having tasked himself with fighting for their rights he goes from town to village to hamlet, helping where he can and taking the fight to those who prey on those who can not fight back.
  
  In person Adelard is happy to drum up conversation or to start a carousing over a flagon of whatever the local beverage is. That isn't to say that he is just some sort of travelling party animal. His heart is good, and will do all that he can to both pay his way through coins and deeds, not taking more from those who's hospitality is given to him.
  
  Loyalties/Groups: Loyal to the Common Folk, His own Legend
  
• Name: Osmund Delaney The People's King, The Butcher of Endover
  Age at Death: 44
  Virtue: Compassion
  Vice: Cruelty
  
  Their Story:
  Long before the security afforded by the Kingdom, the land was fractured, ruled by petty tyrants and kings whose crowns lasted mere months or days, their rules of law coming from their strength of arms and the fear of their rule. It was a time of upheaval and discord, villages were burnt, their people put to the sword and lives uprooted. Osmund was no great warrior or sorcerer, he held no enchanted blade, or runed armour. He was simply a man, whilst there is still argument about his exact role before his ascent (The two trains of theological thought say he was either a blacksmith or a farmer, and blood has been spilt over who is right) it is agreed that he was just a commoner. Osmund was thrust into the light when his village was attacked. Normally the villagers would flee before such pillagers, in this case a common bandit who had ascended to warlord of the region, though history has long since forgotten his name, but Osmund stood his ground, armed with nothing more but a sling and a dagger before the riders before him. As they rode towards him he looped the leather strap round, building momentum before sending a single smooth pebble down the street. Contacting with the snarling warlord's forehead, dead centre, he fell from his horse, killed instantly. At this the raiders dispersed, they weren't exactly an intelligent or brave bunch, and besides there were spoils back at home to fight over in the power vacuum that had just been created. Looking over his neighbours and friends as they emerged from hiding places and the surrounding woods, Osmund declared that no more would they, or anyone else be subject to such barbarism and cruelty, the time had come for the weak and the downtrodden to be saved. So began the 'Commoners Rising'.
  
  Osmund went from settlement to settlement, fighting off raiders, and deposing tyrants wherever he went, recruiting more and more to his cause. Peasants joined him with whatever weapons they could muster, and towns provided him with supplies and shelter, though he was at pains to make sure that neither he, nor his followers took more than was required. They swept through the land like a flood, till only one stronghold of fear was left. The Sorcerer Tyrant of Walek, ruling from his ruined fort, a leftover of a golden era long since past, crumbling like the world around it had done. With 12 of his closest companions he entered the keep, the rest of his ragtag army awaited outside. For 2 hours there was nothing but silence. Then the first flames were seen, licking at the shattered window frames and the battlements, and an infernal shriek filled the air. Osmund was the only one to return, a jagged scar bisecting his right eye, and his skin, tanned from a life of working outdoors, a deathly pale. He would not speak of what occurred, or what horrors he had seen in there, the only thing that is known, is what happened next. The land was free, but in that keep Osmund had found another calling.
  
  Endover had enjoyed peace since the 'Commoners Rising' had run its course. Nestled in the foothills of southern Arthal, it had become a haven for magic users, long since subjected to their own subjugation, thought over like they were tools by those who wished to wield their power, Endover was a place that they could live in peace, away from the rest of the world. When they saw the column of riders approaching, a cry of alarm was raised. It soon morphed into a cry of greeting however as they recognised the rider, mainly by the sling still hanging from his belt after all these years. Osmund, the saviour of the people was gracing their humble settlement with his presence. Even as the first arrows began to rain down around them, the townsfolk were still not truly aware of what was happening, cries of pain and terror filling the air once more. What followed was butchery unseen at even the worst points of the anarchy. Men, women and children burned alive in their dwellings or shot and stabbed as they tried to flee. All the while they were surveyed by the unblinking ruined grey eye of Osmund. There was no compassion or sadness, just the emotionless features of someone going about a menial task, one that had to be done. By the time he left, Endover was a smoking ruin, a sign of things to come. Osmund travelled through the land, accompanied by a faithful core of those who had originally followed him, roaming the land they had one target, sorcerers and witches. They slew them without mercy, and they slew any who harboured or tried to assist them. Impromptu trials were held, confessions extracted under torture, and all the while Osmund would watch, he spoke no words, he offered no comfort, he simply observed all that was carried out in his name, under his orders. Once more the land was filled with terror, where first there had been the anarchy, now there was an organised terror.
  
  For 20 years this continued, butchering suspected wielders of magic. It would have gone on for longer if not for his downfall. The village of Banalt was nothing more than a footnote on a map at this point, little more than a hamlet of 10 dwellings. Word had reached Osmund and his band of a witch in those parts. There was no witch, only a healer, learned in herbs and poultices. It mattered not, people had been burnt for far less. As they rode into the village they were met with hostile stares, 'The People's King' was a long forgotten moniker now. In the square the villagers had gathered, pitchforks, axes, shovels and whatever else they could lay their hands on at the ready, Osmund's party stopped a small distance away. The town would not give up their healer, who had nursed them through plague and chill. There was only one outcome then. As Osmund raised his hand to unleash righteous fury, there was a cry from one of the tiled roofs. There stood a girl of no more than 15, a defiant cry on her lips against those who came to destroy her and her people. She knew nothing of Osmund the Compassionate, the Liberator, born long after his fall to something else. She had no weapon, so she let fly with the only thing that was in plentiful supply around her, a roof tile. It hurtled through the air, connecting with Osmund's head with a sickening crack, and with a lurch he fell from his steed, twitching in the mud as the blood seeped from his cracked skull. Before the villagers realised what had happened, the witch hunters were already halfway out of town, without their leader they had no quarrel or stomach for a fight. As the villagers gathered around him, Osmund stopped twitching, his sole brown eye gazing up at the heavens as he breathed his last under the clear blue sky, his final words recorded by that girl who had taken his life.
  
  
  "I did it all for you,"​
  
  
• History:
  
  Banalt. Essentially nothing more than a footnote on a map of Moswen, let alone a map of the continent. It had been granted to one Ribalt Decker, 4 generations previously for duties carried out in the service of the then Lord Darkly. Since then the fiefdom of Banalt had been passed down the male line, not the most prestigious or most economic site, but still setting the Dekkers above the rank of hedge knights and poverty stricken minor nobility. Adelard was the third and youngest son or Arlan and his wife Isabel, with their already being an heir and a spare, Adelard was little more than a happy afterthought, the Dekker name would continue most likely with or without Adelard.
  
  Relatives:
  Father - Sir Arlan Dekker
  Mother - Isabel Dekker
  Older Brother - Harlaw Dekker (Heir to the fiefdom)
  Older Brother - Porlan Dekker
  
  Any thing else of note?: WIP.

 

[Fred Colon]

Blumental Morren

• Basics
• Broken Saint
• Personality
• Background

• Name: Blumental Morren
  Age: 39
  Occupation/Title: Disgraced Knight
  Magic User? No
  Region of Birth:Arthal
  
• Their name: Marina Campbell
  Their age at death: 29
  Possessed the virtue of: Honour
  But fell to the sin of: Greed
  Their story:
  Marina Campbell, known eventually as Silverheart, was born the daughter of a common merchant. Her parents were loving and kind, but on her eight birthday as they traveled up the road to the Capitol of Arthal, they were set upon by bandits. Her father pushed her into a ditch on the road and shoved a small wrapped box into her hands. When he died he fell on his daughter, his body protecting and hiding her from the bandits that surely would have slain her or worse.
  When the bandits had passed, unsure of what else to do, she unwrapped the box while crouching by the bodies of her parents to find a locket with a carefully drawn portrait of the three of them. Father, mother and daughter. A final birthday gift.
  Adrift, she found work where she could and begged when she had to. Her father taught her that hard work will always win the day, that honesty was goodness, and that you always stood up for what was right. But she found that amongst people that saw her, parentless and alone, that wasn’t always helpful. No matter how hard she worked or what she did there were those who would spit on her, or think her less. No amount of work could persuade them otherwise, and she spent a long time sleeping in gutters and scrounging for food because of it.
  But hard work and honesty were what Marina had been taught, and that is what she intended to do. Perhaps the world didn’t work the way her father said it did, but it should, and she wouldn’t dishonor his memory by acting otherwise.
  As it turned out, however, there was some merit to her fathers words. If not everyone quite appreciated it, the honest, hard working, dauntless girl made some take notice.
  When she was thirteen years old she worked in a stable. Cleaning up after the horses in exchange for tasteless meals and a place to sleep in the hay loft.
  One day the owner of the inn was confronted by a band of Arthal soldiers while tending to his horse. She had been ordered to be out of site when the owner of the inn came this way so as not to disturb him, and that is what she did, hiding in the loft, out of sight and quiet.
  The owner was drunk, and the off duty soldiers thought to rob him while he was blind with drink, for the inn was quite a wealthy one. But the owner was more sober than he appeared and drew a blade when the soldiers began to accost him. The soldiers easily knocked the blade from his hands and began to beat him for his insolence.
  Marina dropped down from the rafters and asked them to stop. Unsurprisingly, the soldiers laughed. Marina insisted. The soldiers were less amused now, and threatened the girl. Undeterred, Marina repeated her request. It was unlawful and unkind to take advantage of a man so. Could they not see that? Could they not put themselves in this mans shoes?
  One of the soldiers struck her and, young as she was, the blow dropped her to her knees. But still she persisted.
  Pain did not change what was right and what was wrong. It could not change what was honourable. Strength did not make right.
  So instead of merely beating the inn owner, they beat her as well.
  When they left, Marina got to her feet and called for help. The inn owners wife rushed inside, pushed Marina aside and brought her husband into the inn for medical attention. Marina fell asleep in the loft and didn’t come in the next day for her breakfast or lunch, though no one noticed.
  Eventually, however, the soldier's commanding officer arrived at the inn seeking to make amends for what his men had done. Money was paid, retribution against the soldiers was promised. When asked to see the girl that had been beaten, the owner's wife had no idea who he was talking about. So the Captain entered the stables to find Marina, curled up in a ball too hurt to move.
  He brought her out of the inn and took her home with him. When Marina recovered, he asked why she had tried to stop his men. Those at the inn obviously did not care about her. Why did she care about them?
  “ It wasn’t right, what they did. I would have wanted someone to help me.” She told him.
  But no one had helped her, he countered.
  “You did.”
  
  So she was taken in by the captain and raised to be a soldier, because the captain knew nothing else.
  Marina took to being a soldier like she did everything else, with dedication and hard work. She was not the strongest, or the fastest or the most talented, but she tried, she took orders and she was rarely afraid of anything.
  When Marina was sixteen a minor prince took her platoon out on a supposed ‘coming of age’ hunt, only the quarry was a group of bandits that had been causing problems in the area recently. The Prince was given command, over even Marina’s father figure, who was usually their leader.
  Rather than listening to the captain's advice as his father advised, the prince took his own initiative and began to order the troops about like toy soldiers.
  When the bandits camp was near, the prince ordered the soldiers to charge. Nothing else, simply charge, like it was some old epic where two armies clashed.
  But the bandits hadn’t been able to operate so close to the capitol by being stupid. If they were revealing themselves, there was a reason. Marina knew this, and so did the Captain. The captain tried to dissuade the prince, but the Prince was adamant. He didn’t take the bandits seriously. How could they stand up to the army of Arthal? Even a small part of it?
  The order, charge, was given again.
  “No.” Marina said, glancing at her platoon. “I won’t die for you, and I won’t let others either. You’ve not earned that kind of respect.”
  The prince drew his sword and pointed it at Marina. If she wanted command she would need to beat him in a duel. The Prince had been reading too many story books.
  Marina beat the Prince handily. He wasn’t unskilled, but there will always be a difference between a lazy, talented individual and an average person who works hard.
  Marina gave control back to the Captain, who decided to send scouts and skirt around the bandits position, intending to invert their probable ambush.
  But the bandits had been raising the dead. There had been rumors about foul magics like this, but no one had believed it. Even bandits out of Nortunda wouldn’t be so monstrous. But they had. So despite the commanders more cautious approach, the platoon was forced to retreat. They failed.
  There was hell to pay back at the capitol, but not for Marina.
  She sat in the barracks, waiting to be chastised, refusing to flee, but no chastisement ever came.
  After some hours she went searching for the Captain, but he was gone.
  Her platoon mates found her soon after that. The Captain had taken the blame for what had happened. He claimed he was the one that wrested control from the Prince, who had upset the chain of command, struck the Prince, and thereby failed the mission. The Prince, unwilling to admit to his father that he had been beaten not just by a common soldier, but a woman, did not correct him.
  The Captain was executed with only a perfunctory trial. Marina was incarcerated by her platoon members when she attempted to storm into the castle to reveal the truth.
  Unsure of what to do after the death of her second father figure. The second person to give their life for her, she wrote his name down with as much love and care as she could muster, and slipped it into her locket, along side the picture of her and her parents.
  
  After many warning signs, bandits raising the dead not the least of them, war broke out between Othalan and Nortunda’s army of the dead. The Eleven Years War.
  Marina was eighteen and her platoon, which she had quickly risen through the ranks to become leader of, were sent north.
  It was a losing war from the start. Despite this, Marina managed to wrestle minor victories for her platoon time after time. She earned the name Silverheart, for the armor she kept to a polished sheen, for the locket shaped like a heart she always wore, and for the unquestioning loyalty she inspired in her soldiers.
  Wherever she went, victory followed. Small victories, drops of water against the tides of loss the rest of the Kingdom faced, but her victories brought hope, too.
  Her most famous achievement was the Battle of Hallan Heights, where she and a small band of soldiers survived a suicide mission to hold off an almost endless horde of undead.
  
  The Battle of Hallan Heights (This is a shameless plug for something I wrote! It’s not technically Canon, but this is the character I wrote that I based my OC on!)
  
  The Battle of Hallan Heights
  
  It was there she found that loyalty and devotion could stave off the curse of undeath for a time. Those with strong will or purpose turned more slowly, could destroy themselves before turning on their allies, or fight for a time beyond death.
  This discovery was brought on by the death of her second in command, a woman who was fanatically loyal to Marina and managed to keep her sanity well after she had been slain, instead rejoining the army to fight with her comrades once more.
  Marina realized that the people needed a symbol, a figure to look up to and fight for, as a counter to the curse of undeath. Someone they could believe was honorable and just and would always do the right thing. So she shed her name and became Silverheart for them.
  
  After the battle on Hallan Heights those who fell and were slowly turning asked her to be the one to slay them, and she did. Each time writing their names out and putting it into her locket. They had died for her. Died because she’d ordered them to.
  
  But her second didn’t want to go. She swore her will was strong. Strong enough to resist indefinitely, and Silverheart couldn’t help but give way to Marina, and Marina hid her companion, though she knew it was selfish and dangerous.
  But the tides began to turn. Silverheart took charge of large portions of the army, and with her as their symbol of honor, many of those soldiers that would have turned, if they were strong of will, instead kept fighting after death.
  Eventually the war was won thanks to efforts by Silverheart and other heroes like her. Silverheart was welcomed back with honor to her home in Arthal. But Marina’s second still shadowed her, hidden and slowly going mad. Still devoted to Marina, Her Second was yet becoming more and more violent, more and more unstable and, somehow, more powerful. This existence was pain for her, yet still she would not leave Marina’s side.
  Silverheart knew it would be right, would be merciful to end her friend's suffering. But she couldn’t. The war was over. She was a hero. She shouldn’t have to add another name to the locket. She wouldn’t add another name to her locket.
  This rotting hulk was her friend. “Don’t I deserve to be selfish, just this once?” She asked her second.
  Marina won out over Silverhearts misgivings.
  But nothing can stay hidden forever.
  Eventually the Templars discovered Silverhearts secret, and demanded that she turn her Second over for destruction. Silverheart refused and the Templars assaulted her manor home. When they made it inside Marina’s Second attacked the Templars, brutally killing all of them. Marina fled with her Second, but Templar reinforcements caught up with them soon after, bearing crossbows. They begged her to consider the damage something like this could do. It wasn’t falling apart, its longevity was somehow making it stronger. It was an evil, evil thing.
  “I can’t add another name to my locket!” Was the only response they could get out of Marina. “I can’t!”
  So they opened fire, and the bolts found their mark. Silverheart, the hero of a hundred battles, seemingly unkillable, was dead on the cobblestone streets of Arthal.
  But crossbow bolts posed little problem for her Seconds undead form. Now untethered, she tore through the assembled templars in anger and grief, and then fled the city, never to be seen again.
  
  Optional information:
  
• Positive personality traits: In his best moments Blumental believes in doing what is right. People get what they deserve, and while the world might not be fair you can always try your best to make it that way. Respect is a right he gives all men and women, unless they prove themselves, by their actions, unworthy of it. He’s always willing to help someone grow and flourish, and takes great pride in helping others do so. Insults and cruelties done to him are quickly forgotten if an honest apology is offered.
  
  Negative personality traits: Blumental doesn’t understand his own flaws. He places the lives of those he cares about over everything. So long as those he cares about succeed and grow, nothing else matters. If he feels a companion would do better doing something his way, he will unabashedly trample on their hopes and dreams in an attempt to ‘help them succeed’. The happiness of his friends comes in distant last behind success and growth. What’s more is that Blumental’s honour is often tainted by what he calls ‘practicality’. A practicality that sees him taking advantage of others, hoarding possessions and manipulating events all in the service of supporting those he cares about. Owing to recent events most of his positive personality traits have been quashed, and many of his negative ones, too, as in the recent aftermath of his betrayal and the destruction of his order he has become a shell of his former self.
  
  Loyalties/Groups: The Former Candle Knights
  
• History: Blumental Morren was an idealist born to a pair of farmers who had little use for idealism, practicality, or anything more complicated than the changing of the seasons.
  Enchanted by tales of knights and heroes, Blumental resolved to be one himself. A hard working boy, he nevertheless whittled his own wooden swords in his free time. While trading in town he would sometimes ask for books or stories as payment for their goods while his parents weren't watching. While watching the sheep he would narrate the fanciful adventures he would have to them, never deterred by the complete lack of interest they showed. He was often in trouble for challenging the other kids to duels when they picked on those weaker than themselves, especially if those ‘weaker’ were one of his myriad of siblings, because Blumental was quite a large boy and would often win the fights he picked.
  Despite his single minded dedication to everything he did, or perhaps because of it, Blumental was considered a troublemaker. He didn’t bend and he didn’t break. Not at this age, anyway.
  So when Blumental became of age it was no great loss when he told his family he would be leaving to find his own way. He was the middle child in a swarm of twelve. They didn’t need him on the farm, and many thought, wrongly, that Blumental thought himself too good for a place like this. This wasn’t true, Blumental had nothing but respect for the way the folk in his village lived, but felt that his true calling lay elsewhere. Respect was, in fact, Blumentals default. His village had its share of foolish and cruel people, but they were kept in check by small town politics, namely the fact that anything done was soon known to everyone. So Blumental encountered no great acts of evil or selfishness and so was little prepared for the dishonesty and cruelty that strangers could show on the road to elsewhere.
  His second night on the road he was robbed in his sleep by a family of four he had allowed to share his camp. His fourth day he found an old man who had died on the side of the road, who people were simply passing by as if were just another stone on the side of the road. His sixth day he was accosted by travelers who wanted the rabbits he had snared, and while he managed to drive them off thanks to his size and rudimentary sword skills, his faith in humanity had been shaken.
  Shaken, but not collapsed. Near Arthal’s capital Blumental fell in with a group of knights, the kind he’d dreamed about as a boy. The Knights of The Candle were a new band of knights looking to recruit anyone they found honest and true. Their stated goal, to help those in need, to pass on their light to those who needed it, and never turn a blind eye to injustice, was scoffed at by most passersby, but to Blumental it was everything he’d dreamed of.
  He quickly proved himself if not a skilled combatant, then a strong one who could be trained, and his starry eyed idealism and quick tongue surprised and pleased the knights who saw Blumental, at first, as only a hulking brute of a man.
  Blumental fit in quickly with his comrades. Always the odd duck in his family back home, he found people of a like mind. He took the phrase the Candle Knights often spoke ‘Brothers and Sisters in Arms’ to heart. He felt like he had found a new family, and what he wanted was for his family to thrive, survive and grow.
  The Candle Knights were as good as their word. They traveled across the Kingdom battling those who took advantage of others, their base of operations a small castle owned by their leader, a nobles son named Galder Troy. Galder was a distant cousin of the current king, Tomas Duper III and his lineage offered the Knights some protection from the varied enemies they made (For the Knights sometimes stood up against cruel local lords, as well as bandits and the odd monster) but Blumental noticed a worrying trend. The Knights died faster than they could be replaced, and this qas a source of great pain for him. What was more, it was dangerous to the success of his family at large.
  Standing up for what was right was good. It was necessary and honorable. He was proud to be in such esteemed company. But what the Knights of The Candle needed to do, was to grow. If they could do that, they would be more and more effective, Blumental’s family would grow larger and larger, and they could spread their light to the world.
  So he made it his duty to ensure that his brothers and sisters survived. That they were rewarded for their deeds, despite The Knights often asking for nothing more than a place to rest and the favor of those they rescued. And while Blumental had great respect for Galder Troy, his wealth could only last them so long.
  He never saw this as going behind their backs. Asking for money and rewards was just. He never took more than the people could stand, they deserved this reward, didn’t they? And if sometimes he did things that weren’t as honorable as he liked, such as cutting down enemy combatants on purpose rather than aiming to incapacitate, or hiding requests for aid from his brothers and sisters that he deemed too dangerous, he rationalized it as for the greater good over all. He was protecting his family.
  And for a time The Knights prospered. Blumental collected wealth in secret, presenting it as anonymous gifts to the order when it was needed. He was zealous in recruiting new members to the family, and soon they outgrew Galder Troy’s small castle. Fortunately, there were ‘anonymous donors’ that were ready to help out, buying them properties in the capitol, new weapons and armor where needed.
  Blumental had risen through the ranks, and while not Galder’s second, or even third in command, was part of his inner circle and quite liked where he was. He watched the Knights grow, and had designs on them becoming a kingdom-wide organization, untethered by politics, serving only in ways that were honorable and just. He didn’t need the spotlight, but he would orchestrate his family’s success from behind the scenes.
  As the organization grew, however, as they took in more recruits, corruption began to fester. No longer were only those with high ideals attracted to the Knights of The Candle, but also those who saw it as a route to power.
  One of these, a young merchants daughter named Serissa Indach, lauded by her peers as the second coming of Silverheart for her ability to inspire her allies, her intelligence, and outwardly honorable guise. She joined the knights and clawed up the hierarchy. She knew something was happening behind the scenes. These idealistic fools couldn’t possibly have created an organization like this. Someone had to be working behind the scenes to help them.
  And eventually she sniffed out Blumental. She wanted in. She wanted some of the wealth he had amassed, some of the power. But Blumental could tell she wanted it for herself, not for her organization, and he refused.
  So she began to work against him. Comfortable in his position, Blumental didn’t realize the threat until too late. His machinations were revealed to Galder, and in the worst way possible. Serissa revealed his amassed wealth and framed it as money put aside for Blumental’s own use, and revealed recent missives that Blumental had hidden because he considered them too dangerous.
  Blumental was banished from the order in shame. The look on Galder’s face almost too much for him to bear.
  But The Knights of the Candle were his family. They couldn’t be rid of him that easily.
  One of the missives asking for aid they had received, that Galder immediately accepted and went off to pursue concerned an area in northern Arthal whose villages were being raided, their townsfolk being dragged away in the night, by large bands of strange men in cold weather garb.
  With only a handful of Knights Galder set out. But Blumental trailed after them. To his mind, his job hadn’t changed, only gotten harder.
  As it turned out, the situation was much worse than even Blumental had believed. Men from Nortunda had made it into Arthal and were slowly collecting fodder for an undead army, and they’d acquired enough bodies to now assault the towns directly. A bloody siege ensued, where the Knights and many of the villagers fortified a small town called Dalburg and held out against the dead for days.
  The situation looked bleak, many of the Knights had fallen. So Blumental secretly parlayed with the leaders of Nortunda. He promised them all the gold he still possessed, quite a large amount, if they would leave the villages alone. The Nortundan’s refused. So he asked only that the Knights be allowed to leave. This the Nortundan’s agreed to, but only if Blumental could convince the knights to leave the villagers to their fate.
  So a few days later, after half the gold was delivered, he went up to the walls and told the Knights that he had come to an arrangement with the Nortundans. Gold for their lives. But before his betrayal Blumental had been a trusted ally, and Galder, always a believer in people, saw no reason that Blumental would lie. The knights left their fortifications, a few at a time, and when all was determined to be safe, they ushered the villagers out behind them.
  Only now did the Nortundans attack, slaughtering the villagers and capturing the Knights as hostages to ensure that Blumental delivered the rest of the gold.
  Blumental explained to Galder that his gold only bought their lives. Not those of the villagers. Horrified and well and truly revolted, the Knights all turned their backs on Blumental.
  That didn’t matter. All that mattered was he got them free. They were his family.
  Serissa, however, had escaped long before this, sensing that the Candle Knights were no longer relevant. She and a few of her loyal knights had escaped the siege and spotted Blumental carefully and secretly bringing the gold to secure the release of the Nortundan’s captives.
  They surprised Blumental, wounding him badly and stealing the gold before fleeing for parts unknown.
  Blumental with nothing to give, Galder and the Knights were executed and raised as undead.
  Stunned and confused by the world so suddenly and so quickly turning against him, Blumental became bitter and hateful, hoarding money, food and anything else he could get his hands on, nursing his hatred of Serissa, on whom he blames the total of his life's woes, little understanding what his own actions had wrought. His former honor turned into an all consuming drive towards ensuring the one that had betrayed him and his comrades got what she deserved.
  At least until the ragged, rage driven fool learned he was one of The Five. He doesn’t believe it though. How could that be true? For a man like him to be a hero reincarnated?
  
  
  Relatives: None of import
  
  Any thing else of note?:

 

[Melomania]

Evie Abernathy

• Basics
• Broken Saint
• Personality
• Background

• Name: Evie Abernathy
  Age: 19
  Occupation/Title: Rogue Thief
  Magic User? Yes, specializes in haemokinetic/toxikinetic combat -she is able to control the poison in her bloodstream using the black magic art Gu.
  Region of Birth: Talmer
  
  Height: 5'4"
  Body Type: Slim and scrawny, malnourished due to lifestyle.
• Their name: Gaia Abernathy The Witch of West Talmer
  Their age at death: 35
  Possessed the virtue of: Loyalty
  But fell to the sin of: Lust
  Their story:
  
  Gaia Abernathy, known as The Witch of West Talmer and earning the nickname "Medusa", was famous for many things -both good, and bad.
  The Abernathy family was heavily involved in the magic scene; the name being prominent amongst the many scholars and sorcerers across the kingdoms. But as high-up and respected as they were for being skilled magic users, the one who ultimately rose above them all was Gaia -her abilities surpassing many of her predecessors.
  She started showing her impressive aptitude for magic at an early age, being able to make chlorokinetic constructs, as well as manipulating hydrokinetic-type substances. As a young protegé, Gaia's childhood was practically nonexistent. Being forced into training to enhance her abilities as soon as possible left her unable to experience the things that a normal child of her age would, despite being the pride and joy of her family. She went to school alongside college-age students, treated as an oddity. The other students were jealous of her strong elemental abilities and due to the age gap, they wanted nothing to do with her -thus, causing her to become an outsider. Because of this, Gaia got used to relying on herself. She didn't need anyone, that is, anyone but Alice.
  Unlike her older sister, Alice Abernathy was unable to use magic, an abnormal born to one of the strongest magic-using families. Due to this, she was shunned by her family members, becoming the sort of black sheep -the disgrace who they were ashamed of, simply for her lack of magic capabilities.
  Gaia, being unable to relate to and avoided by the people around her, and the kind Alice who was rejected by her own family, only had each other to turn to. The two sisters bonded over the fact that they were both outsiders, the odd-ones-out -despite being for opposite reasons. Like yin and yang, the two were completely different. Yet, they stuck together like glue. The epitome of the saying, 'opposites attract'. Their loyalty towards one another and their strong bond made it seem as if they would never be separated. And they weren't...at least, until he came into their lives.
  
  The powerful Gaia Abernathy was soon the talk of the kingdoms, gaining immense fame due to her prominence in both the magic scene, as well as from her newfound contributions as a knight in the imperial army of Talmer. After concluding her magic studies and learning all that the magic scholars of Hamin Islands could teach her, she set out for the Kingdom of Talmer; her goal being to train as royal knight for the magic imperial army and eventually bring herself to the status of Commander.
  During her training toward becoming a knight, she met another magic-user -a man by the name Henryk Celeste. Henryk was beautiful, powerful, kind, and understanding; practically perfect. Needless to say, Gaia fell for him as soon as she laid her eyes upon him. To her, it was love at first sight. But of course for Henryk, it was a different story. The two of them remained close friends throughout their years of training. Despite her love, Gaia wasn't able to tell him how she felt; she instead stuck to fantasizing about them being together, acting out her lustful fantasies in the depths of her dreams. She vowed that no matter what, she would one day tell him her true feelings. Deciding that in order to do this, she would become so powerful that he would have no choice but to look her way.
  But, with all said and done, the clueless Henryk only saw her as a mere comrade -a dear friend at most. Gaia Abernathy had risen the ranks, defeating enemy after enemy, and becoming a celebrity to the people of her kingdom. She was practically royalty, and with her beautiful long dark black hair and bright green eyes, she was also considered one of the most desirable woman in the entirety of Talmer. No man would turn her down, begging for her attention. Yet despite all of this, Gaia still couldn't get Henryk to look at her. She had everything a man could want: beauty, power, magic abilities, strength, personality. What more could she possibly do to get the handsome Celeste's attention?
  Little did she know, there wasn't anything she could do...as Henryk Celeste's attention was already focused on someone else entirely.
  
  Similar to Gaia, Henryk had fallen for the girl at first sight. She was short, with fair skin, blue eyes, and hair the whitest of blondes. To him, she was an angel from the heavens, something so kind and so pure. It was almost as if his eyes were deceiving him, she glowed too brightly. They met on a sunny autumn day, where she wore a sunhat, and he wore a tight-knit scarf under his knightly armor. Henryk was drawn to her immediately, catching her eye and continuing to stare in awe. With a youthful laugh, she had introduced herself, thanking him for being her escort into Talmer...as she was here to meet her sister.
  It wasn't long before the two of them had taken it to the next level, silver engagement rings glittering on fingers as they linked arms. The girl wanted to tell her sister of her engagement to Henryk, and since they worked with each other, she figured that her older sister would approve of him.
  But, when Gaia laid eyes upon her younger sister, Alice, and the starry-eyed man of her dreams, she had felt something else entirely. What was there to approve of? The girl who had nothing and was nothing, her weak and non-magic using sister who had leeched off of her own success, was the one who had ultimately caught Henryk's eyes?
  The moment she took notice of the matching silver upon their fingers, Gaia Abernathy had changed. Rage, sadness, and spite welled up inside her, enveloping her entire body. But, what lead these desperate emotions was perhaps the most unstable of all -an overwhelming feeling of lust.
  If she couldn't have Henryk, then no one could. And she would do anything to have him, even if it involved getting rid of her disgusting excuse of a sister.
  
  It would be 13 days before the famous Gaia Abernathy would return to Talmer. And when she did, things would never be the same.
  The famous commander of West Talmer's Imperial Magic Army went missing before the final battle against Vilvex had even begun. Without prior notice, Commander Gaia Abernathy had completely vanished, abandoning her kingdom, army, and people who were left to fend for themselves in a crazed and panicked state -ultimately being wiped out by General Azella of Vilvex and her magic army (refer to her Broken Saint backstory under Mara Redfort's info page for more context).
  Things had already gone terribly with the tidal wave wiping the entire magic army fleet and Gaia's disappearance alongside the abandonment of her loyalty, but what was to come was much worse then anything they had experienced beforehand. When their commander came back, she had completely changed. It was as if she was a whole new person.
  Gone was the black hair and the captivating emerald green. Her eyes were now an unnatural glowing purple, clearly under the effects of strong magic; and the black hair had lost all of it's luster, turning to the whitest of white. Gaia Abernathy was now a shell of her former self, but she hadn't come out of her hiding place in some simple game of hide and seek. Not much is known about what happened in those thirteen days, but it is said that she traded her body in order to learn a forbidden black magic art, one that is not meant for even the strongest of sorcerers. Her lust for her sister's man was so strong, that she had willingly cursed herself in order to possess magic that would bring him over to her. The mysterious and dangerous black magic art of Gu involved venomous poison. An immensely strong poison that was fueled by strong and terrifying emotions that should've been kept deep inside her heart, never to escape through the broken cracks. But even her magic abilities weren't strong enough to control its full power, and thus, she lost herself. There was an estimated 193 victims that day. She had gone after her sister first, but she killed everyone who stood in her way -many of which were her faithful comrades and companions who showed no chance at stopping her. The only thing that drove her was Henryk, the man whom she had loved for years and years. The person whom she would live and die for in a heartbeat. Nobody and nothing else mattered if he didn't belong to her; she had gotten her way ever since she was little, everything she had ever wanted was given to her instantly, so why couldn't she have him. Just why did she have to go this far? Because of love. Lust.
  Alice Abernathy died in her husbands arms, her death miserable, heart-wrenching, and disgustingly horrendous. Gaia didn't even blink, she wanted to watch as the life left that disgrace of a family member's eyes. Eyes the color of the skies.
  But, she hadn't gotten what she wanted yet.
  Henryk Celeste didn't blink either. His eyes were frozen in horror, only making way for the tears that rolled in rivers down his greenish tinted cheeks. He turned and retched off to the side, finally able to peel his eyes off of his fiance's mutilated corpse, before he could manage to face his old friend again. No longer was she his friend, nor his colleague, nor his commander. She was a murderer of the filthiest kind. The kind that would stoop so low as to kill a member of her own family.
  He wouldn't succumb to her selfish desires, and he sure as hell wasn't going to die like Alice did. If his angel was no longer alive, then he wasn't going to live either. Henryk picked up his own sword and drove it through his own heart before Gaia got a chance to make her move, her painful screams of regret could be heard throughout the kingdom as he died practically in an instant. This was too much for her to bear, causing the black magic inside of her to consume her from within until she died alone, distraught, and filled with regret.
  How could she let herself do this? Was this all really worth it? Was she happy now?
  
  "Are you happy now?"
  
  
  Optional information: This aforementioned event caused by Gaia upon her return came to be known as one of the worst magical massacres ever caused by an inside person, one who was trusted and held a high position in their kingdom, proving themselves loyal to the Royal Family as well as to the Imperial Army. It came to be called as The West Talmer Massacre, and Gaia Abernathy was known as the main perpetrator of such an event, earning the nicknames Medusa, and The Witch of West Talmer.
• Positive personality traits: Despite her job, she is well-mannered and both caring and kind when it comes to those she is close to -which isn't many.
  Negative personality traits: Is borderline bipolar due to her harsh upbringing; she will be sweet and gentle one moment, and rip your throat out in another, resorting to the survival tactics and fighting skills taught to her by members of the Anthousai, as well as due to the nature of her inherited black magic art. Because she is unable to approach anyone in order to conceal both her cursed magic abilities as well as her identity, Evie lacks trust in those around her; thus causing her to become quiet, reserved, and have difficulties expressing her true emotions outside the battlefield, where she loses control and often goes berserk.
  
  Loyalties/Groups: Affiliated with the Anthousai Syndicate in Talmer, a member of the famed Abernathy family.
• History:
  
  From the moment she took her first breath, Evie had already become a murderer.
  Whilst she was brought into this world, the nurses watched in horror as cotton-like foam spilled from the near bluish lips of her mother, her body convulsing and thrashing around as bubbling pressure started to travel from her abdomen to her chest, pushing its way up with a sickening gurgling sound. In an instant, blood enveloped the greenish foam and spurted sickeningly from her already wide-open mouth. Eyes that popped from their sockets stared lifelessly into thin air, dark red tears streaking starch white cheeks of the lifeless woman. It seemed as if the tears wouldn't stop coming, even after her body broke free from it's panicked, uncontrollable state and fell limp against the now blood-soaked hospital bed.
  By the time her husband got there, Elyssa Abernathy was already gone; she was in a state that was clearly caused by some form of dangerous and deadly magic, leaving her in a nearly unrecognizable state. It was then that his feelings toward his newborn daughter changed, unable to believe that he was the father of such a thing. There is the corner alone, the nurses refusing to even go near, resided a monster.
  
  After the destruction caused by their ancestor, the Abernathy’s were banished from the Kingdom of Talmer and migrated to the slums of Hamin Islands -the only place that would accept their tarnished name. It took years of being unable to find work due to their ruined reputation and being stripped of their magic licenses for the famed family to blend back in with society, forgotten by the people who knew nothing but the tale of The Witch of West Talmer. But, after Evie’s birth, the Abernathy name was once again the talk of the town. There were already rumors of her being cursed after the horrific death of her mother during childbirth, but her looks practically sealed the deal. With her half white hair and strikingly unnatural purple eye, she was unable to go outside without facing heavy discrimination and causing more gossip to spread. Because of this, she spent most of her early life stuck in their rundown house, only being able to go out at night.
  Despite having a father, Evie and her older brother, Emory, practically lived as orphans. While their pathetic excuse of a parent gambled away their late mother's life savings and became a deadbeat drunk who pretty much lived at the local taverns, the siblings had to learn how to survive on their own.
  Emory was the only one who could go out during the day since Evie's looks were too distracting, only bringing more attention and rumors upon them. So instead, they moved together at night, stealing and taking whatever they could find in order to put food into their malnourished bodies. The desperation to survive caused the siblings to become inseparable, unable to rely on anyone but each other.
  But, much like the original Abernathy sisters, the sibling's relationship would not be unbreakable forever.
  
  Evie had not yet reached the age of ten when her sixteen year old brother went missing.
  In the blink of an eye, Emory had been illegally sold off by their own father in order to alleviate part of his gambling debts. Evie's recollection of the events that occurred upon finding out such news was hazy. But ultimately, she had lost control. Her hidden and suppressed abilities had come to the surface in the midst of her shock and rage and effected everyone within reach inside the local tavern where her father sat drinking and laughing away without a care in the world, even after selling off his own son.
  By the time Evie came to her senses, twelve bodies, including her own father, were left mutilated on the dirty wooden floors of the tavern. The walls had been painted with dark red, the blood splattered across the old peeling moldy wallpaper like some incredibly gorish abstract art. She could only gaze upon the deathly sight in horror as she tried to register what had just happened; but, it was then that she felt a large gloved hand place itself upon her shoulder. Compared to the burly men of the tavern man was tall and built like a soldier, his dark attire and long overcoat caused him to blend in against the night sky. He was like a living embodiment of her shadow, the one thing that had protected and concealed her during the dead of night, her version of the sun. Looking at the massacre in front of him, the man spoke; he offered her something that she wasn't able to turn down. Evie, now alone and afraid, had only one thing on her mind: to find her brother. And she was determined to do this no matter what.
  
  Accepting the man's offer, she became the first Abernathy to set foot in Talmer since the banishment of her family. The man, who went by the name Zyleros Anthousai, was the leader of the famous Anthousai Syndicate; the largest group of organized group of illegal crime in the entire kingdom of Talmer. He was a wanted man, but damn good at hiding amongst the shadows, something that Evie picked up on very quickly. Teaching her how to fight with her magic, Zyleros passed on his knowledge of rogue fighting skills and turned Evie into one of the most crucial players in his illegal plans. Her abilities surpassed his own, but he held the power to control her movements. Based on their agreement, she practically belonged to him -becoming his right-hand man after observing the dangerous extent of her magic abilities. She became his pawn, and in turn, he would provide her sanction and help her eventually reunite with her missing brother.
  
  Relatives:
  Gaia Abernathy (diseased): Ancestor (Broken Saint)
  Alice Abernathy (diseased): Ancestor (Sister of Gaia)
  Halreak Abernathy (diseased): Father
  Elyssa Abernathy (diseased): Mother
  Emory Abernathy (whereabouts unknown): Older Brother
  
  Any thing else of note?:
  Due to the nature of the curse upon her body, Evie is only able to control and access her magic with her right side (side with white hair and purple eye). Because of this, she took to weaponizing her left side with iron claws infused with her own poisonous blood in order to protect herself in close-range combat and cover her weak spots.

 

[Cerise]

Mara Redfort

• Basics
• Broken Saint
• Personality
• Background

• Name: Mara Syldove Redfort
  Age: 25
  Occupation/Title: Daughter of the Warden, Vilvex Institute of Magic
  Magic User? Yes. Primarily uses defensive magic and very skilled with enchanted weapons.
  Region of Birth: Vilvex
  
  Height: 5'6"
  Body Type: Slim and soft, evident of someone who's had everything handed to her
  Hair Color: Dark brown
  Eye Color: Green
  
• Their name: General Azella Ineas
  Their age at death: 32
  Possessed the virtue of: Courage
  But fell to the sin of: Arrogance
  Their story:
  
  The first woman to lead Vilvex's magical army. Azella was born to two poor merchants in the middle of a historical storm. Her mother believed her to have absorbed some of the energy of that night, as by the age of six she was able to conjure thunderstorms and torrential downpours. The first sorceress to have mastered weather manipulation, her strength earned her a full scholarship to the Vilvex Institute of Magic. The Institute was infamous for producing fearless soldiers and Azella chose to enlist as soon as she was of age. At the time, a border conflict with Talmer had twisted into a full-fledged war. Azella's strategic use of fog on the defensive and lightning on the offensive earned her the nickname "Stormstress of the Army". She quickly rose the ranks, and by the age of 31 was simultaneously the youngest and first female General of the magical army.
  
  Azella's fearlessness was revered. However, she was known to take uncalculated risks. Too prideful in her own abilities, Azella drafted a plan to conjure a hurricane in the final push against Talmer. The storm spiraled out of her control, and even after defeating Talmer's army raged for 13 days. The coastal villages of Vilvex were completely wiped out, and her own army turned against her and declared her a tyrant. Azella was executed by the State at the age of 32. The King declared magical warfare illegal, however to this day there are underground magical societies who secretly train soldiers in this craft. They claim in the event of the apocalypse, magic will need to take center stage on the battlefield once again.
• Positive personality traits: Fearless, willful, energetic, optimistic, creative
  Negative personality traits: Naive, haughty, close-minded, selfish
  
  Mara is her father's "little lion" for a reason. Ever since she was young, her bright and forward personality had earned a surprise from those who expected a high-standing woman to be complacent. She loved to pick fights with the boys in the courtyard of her town and ventured out on her own often. Nothing seems to scare Mara which unfortunately tends to instill fear in her loved ones instead. She would not know when to back away from a challenge, even in the face of death. Her boundless energy means she will never say no to an adventure and she seems to miraculously run on very little sleep. Her friends joke it all comes from food instead, as Mara could eat her weight and more in one sitting.
  
  One of Mara's greatest strengths is being able to rally a crowd. She knows how to command a room and get enthusiasm flowing when morale is low. The Institute of Magic is known for its brutal challenges and weaning out the weak. If it was of benefit to her, Mara would be the one convincing the less-skilled students to give the final push to the finish. She is definitely not one to give free handouts, however. Being the daughter of the warden has definitely given her a better-than-thou mindset, and she believes hard work is more respectable than status (even though she herself has never had to work that hard).
  
  Mara's talent for the arcane arts seeps into other areas as well. She's surprisingly artistic and skilled with watercolor and oil paints. As a child she would save up her allowance to visit the merchants in town who carried exotic art supplies and sublime canvases. Perhaps the only time you would see her still and calm is when she's painting. Her work is proudly displayed all over her father's office. Despite her energetic nature, Mara is terrible at sports and never participated in them. Her peers blame her fixation with herself, as she would always try to score rather than making an assist, no matter what the game was. For similar reasons, she also never did well in group projects at the Institute. Working with others overall is absolutely not her strong suit.
  
  Loyalties/Groups: Vilvex Institute of Magic graduate. Areligious.
  
• History:
  
  At the time of Mara's conception, Aline Redfort was nearing 50. She and her husband Morsan had been trying for a child for decades with no luck. Blessed to head Othalan's most successful school of magic, Morsan was devastated to have no heir to the Institute he worked so hard to gain back the public's trust. By some miracle, Aline found out she was pregnant on the day of her own birthday. She and her husband wept, both in excitement but also fear. Mature childbirth was dangerous and no amount of money could help Aline if there were complications. Their worst fears came true when she went into labor over a month early. 18 grueling hours later, Morsan held his daughter in his arms while his wife lay motionless in her bed.
  
  Mara, the spitting image of Aline, was her father's pride and joy. His protective nature, however, instilled a sense of rebellion in Mara from a young age. She longed to explore places outside of the Institute and her town, but she followed a strict schedule set by Morsan. He was traumatized by the death of Aline and it manifested in an irrational fear that Mara could perish at any moment. She became well known in the town for her bright spirit, and could often be found playing with the other upper-class children living on the Institute's grounds. Her aptitude for magic was very high and by middle school she had also learned how to make simple enchanted weapons. As her magic grew more powerful so did her aggression, even on the playground. At the age of 11, Mara grabbed a friend in a game of tag and to her surprise burned him. She watched as he lay, screaming in pain, feeling prickles of heat running up her arm. Simultaneously horrified and elated, she ran for help. The boy was fine, but all the parents stopped letting their kids play with her.
  
  Morsan sat with Mara and gave her 'the talk' of why offensive magic was not allowed to be used at the Institute, even by soldiers. It had taken so long for the King to once again trust the Institute, and it was imperative for Mara to not explore her gift. Of course, Mara didn't listen and has been practicing pyrokinesis in private every since. Without a teacher, however, her skills with fire have not grown very much and she would be useless with it in battle. Wanting to appease her father's worries, she toned down a bit by high school and gained back a healthy social life.
  
  Mara went on to graduate from the Institute with honors in defense and enchantment. She begged her father to let her enlist, but he refused. Morsan's attachment to Aline's memory gave way to resentment from Mara, who feels she will never reach her full potential as a magic-user without some exploration and adventure. Living on the grounds while teaching and learning to take over her father's position, she still couldn't shake the feeling she is meant for something greater.
  
  Then the note came. That she was one of the Five. That she was meant for something greater. Mara packed a small bag and left in the middle of the night shortly after, leaving nothing but a note. She knew her father would never understand or let her leave. Knowing he's aging, the guilt of leaving him behind still weighs heavy on Mara's heart. But having always done what's best for her own interests, her excitement is far greater.
  
  Relatives:
  
  Morsan Redfort - Father
  Aline Syldove Redfort (deceased) - Mother
  Luras Redfort (deceased) - Paternal Grandfather
  Brigot Redfort (deceased) - Paternal Grandmother
  Stefon Syldove (deceased) - Maternal Grandfather
  Marybel Syldove (deceased) - Maternal Grandmother
  
  Any thing else of note?: Marybel Syldove was a mercenary who practiced pyrokinesis. Morsan has never told Mara this, and to this day she doesn't know where her abilities came from. Aline was non-practicing and Mara has never seen her father actually use magic despite his endless knowledge of it.