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Fantasy AEON OF HEROES ― Characters

AEON OF HEROES

AEON OF HEROES

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PROJECT AEON
An expansive, narrative-driven roleplay focused on telling a unique story loosely inspired by various other animes and games.
This is a collaborative project that strictly maintains a small group for the sake of consistency and detail.

For potential invites, please contact Novelight through direct messages.
Discussions are held on a private Discord server.
Linked contents
AEON OF HEROES ― Interest Check AEON OF HEROES ― World AEON OF HEROES ― Characters AEON OF HEROES ― Application AEON OF HEROES ― Lobby Aeon of Heroes: Forging Ahead - Arc 1
Index
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Arkangel

Arkangel

경례
Yurisvild Evernight
General Information
Race
Divine Spirit (Currently), Human (Formerly)
Gender
Female
Role
Herald of Ragnarok
Altruistic Erudite
Many centuries have passed since the Altruistic Erudite was last seen in public, such that her prominence in the world has diminished, and stories about her influence on the world have been reduced to old folktales. Many know of her through word of mouth, but none speak of her, nor are they certain whether she still exists. Theorists surmised that the Altruistic Erudite, who went by the name 'Yurisvild', had confined herself within a sacred garden of an unknown name and location since the end of the Third Divine Conflict, and would remain there for all eternity. Her period of solitude, followed shortly after by the Godslayer's celestial massacre, gave reason for some to speculate that she may have some correlation to the unfolding of the Fourth Divine Conflict.

The Prince Evernight himself has explored the realms of Paymonia to find the Erudite, but as his efforts proved to be fruitless, he had passed the task down to his younger sister, Solara Evernight, in his will. As one could assume from her epithet, the Altruistic Erudite is known to possess a great wealth of knowledge. From the history of Tythos' corruption to secrets of the world that only few would know of—perhaps even that of the Godslayer—she would be able to answer almost all inquiries that one could think of. Thus, it is imperative to the Ashen Knights that she be found as soon as possible, as the Altruistic Erudite could unveil information that would greatly expedite their mission. Though, there is one thing that the knights must be aware of upon reaching her: as kind and easygoing as she may be, she believes that it would be in everyone's best interests for most things to be kept to herself.
Daedalus
General Information
Race
Pure-blooded Aerouant
Gender
Male
Role
Empyreal Architect
Insular Emeritus
The Insular Emeritus is a weary individual whose hopes of fulfilling the Bifrost Prophecies had been shattered by the Godslayer's betrayal of the Aerouants. Initially a renowned hero, known for being the Architect of Avalon and protector of the city, the man has since retired from his position, and is now a recluse who lives far away from the rest of Paymonian society. Only his thoughts, those filled with skepticism and despair—which replaced what ideals he used to hold—accompany him in his voluntary solitude.
Lyuria
General Information
Race
Human
Gender
Female
Role
Regional Navigator
Lionized Liaison
The Lionized Liaison, otherwise commonly known as Lyuria, is a bright and chipper girl who tends to bring out the best in everyone around her, inspiring joy and modesty and respect from her community. As the daughter of the village chief, she is known by many, has an extensive amount of knowledge regarding the history of Stadtholm and its people, and her amiable spirit does well to maintain good business between other parties. In Umbral Stadtholm, Lyuria stands out from the crowd, and it is uncertain as to why or how, considering her father's stern temperament...
Idalia Eluard
General Information
Race
Divine Spirit
Gender
Female
Role
WIP
Credit
WIP
WIP
Beyond the castle walls, very few are aware of the existence of Idalia Eluard. Those who do recognize her know her as a family friend of the Evernight heirs. Prior to her current role as Princess Solara’s right hand, Idalia was the late Prince Wilhelm’s subordinate, as well as Princess Solara’s childhood caretaker and confidant. However, the fact that she is the daughter of Vanhela remains a secret known only to those closest to her. Most first impressions of Idalia are that she is stern, guarded, and work-oriented, as one should expect from the knightly guard, who acts mostly in the best interests of the princess. Those who know her on a personal level will acknowledge that she has not only the aforementioned traits, but that she is equally pleasant-mannered, compassionate, and empathetic–if not more so–to those she cares deeply about.
Reymond Heracles
General Information
Race
Divine Spirit
Gender
Male
Role
WIP
Credit
WIP
WIP
WIP
The Godslayer
General Information
Race
Arterion God (Currently), Human (Formerly)
Gender
Male
Role
Emperor of Exultius
Destroyer of the Divine
“His former glory was heroic. Downright fictional, even, if you are to look at him now. A man whose righteousness was governed by his hatred against the authority that was bestowed upon by the gods, he built a nation of equality and fairness, beloved by all. Until fate had decided that his sins were too heavy to be dealt with a soothing death. He is the true definition of the undead, walking amongst us, pretending to be the man he once used to be. How anticlimactic. An unforetold tragicomedy.”

The Godslayer, whose real name has been lost to time, is the man who committed deicide against the gods of Terra into near extinction, missing only a few who live beyond the walls of Aeslengard, recovering their strengths after barely escaping the wrath of his might. After executing his son with his bare hands he fell into a mana-deprived slumber, giving Solara the chance to leave the empire with her Ashen Knights.

He is the final antagonist, and the fortified steel wall that is preventing Solara’s progression from reaching new heights.

Compared to that of the others, while his reasoning may have faltered, his immeasurable powers are still feared throughout the world of Terra.
Piersilva "Archangel" Venezio
General Information
Race
Nephilim
Gender
Male
Role
Archbishop of Pythia Ordaesterium
Credit
Honkai Impact 3rd (CG)
Decorum of Insanity
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Regulus
General Information
Race
Nephilim (?)
Gender
Male
Role
Dux Imperatus of Chapter VI
Credit
Sinister Prevaricator
“He is a cold, calculative bastard whose loyalty is himself. He relies on the game of trust, and dishonors that trust whenever it suits him best. You best stay distant from him. His lethality comes from his charm and astronomical wealth in the art of betrayal.”

A deceptive enigma whose face lacks features aside from his macabre mask, Regulus is the well known military lieutenant from Aeslengard whose notoriety reaches even the edges of the world. His personal history before his ascension into his rank is shrouded in mystery, but one thing is for certain: He is feared by many of the common villages folks.
 
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Tang-Ruo // Bestiard, Vanguard
  • Index
    • Chen Tang-Ruo
    Aeon of Heroes
    Profile
    General Information
    Race
    Bestiard
    Gender
    Male
    Age
    34
    Height
    191 cm / 6'2
    Class
    Vanguard
    Origin
    Mutou-Kagyou City
    Description
    Crucible and Crucifix
    What was it that he sought?

    The Godslayer brought forth a new era for all in Calvalon, but was felled by age nonetheless, his mind twisting into mania. His subjects knew this, of course, but the blade of the tyrant remained unmatched regardless, so they bow their heads regardless, as the golden era turns to pyrite. How fragile of a thing it was, the human mind. How unfair the laws of lifespan were, that the gods themselves established. To be laid low by divinity from beyond the grave, while other creatures were blessed with minds that could withstand centuries of experience and simulacra without end.

    And the Godslayer was not alone.

    War, that wonderful thing, leaves its mark upon the psyche, more certainly that it left marks upon the body. How could one appreciate peace, when the blood feuds of millennia dwelled within one’s marrow? How could one seek forgiveness, when the memory of oppression remained within one’s flesh? How could the future flourish, upon blood-soaked fields and a lineage of corpses? How could one heal the world, when Arts existed only to heal the most violent, so that they may thrust themselves into the maelstrom of combat once more?

    Do one thing. Do it well.

    He wielded sword and shield and did so to protect the nation.

    Yet a sword did not erase the marks of past transgressions; a shield did not protect from the rot that ate at one’s insides.

    So, he gave both away, in order to free his hands.

    Tang-Ruo would always be a Vanguard. His Chaos Root had already been set into foundation of his soul. It is no longer his choice to make, when he activates his mark and becomes a tempest of carnage once more.

    With open hands, however, he could choose whether he strikes or grabs, whether he pushes or pulls, whether he throws or restrains.

    With open hands, he could dig through the dark earth, one handful at a time, in search for what was lost in the Third Divine Conflict, when the alchemical and medicinal arts of the Bestiards were at their peak.

    With open hands, he would create elixirs to soothe the torment of the mind, to return one to the alacrity of their youth.

    He would fulfill his duty as a knight. He would bring back the brilliance of the Godslayer.

    EXTENDED BIOGRAPHY
    Personality
    Devotion and compassion. That is what Tang-Ruo strives to hold onto now, stained as he is by transgressions both perceived and genuine. He is a resilient individual, one possessing empathy and the emotional capacity to hold onto that empathy in an unkind world. Such traits are driven by a regretful and reckless core, one that knows very well how few years he has left upon this world. There is so little time, after all. If he sought to accomplish what aeons-old beings could not, he had to apply himself with a single-minded doggedness. It is a kinder world that he seeks, a world where the scars of war and injustice fade away, where the man he saw as a true God either regained his lucidity or perished with dignity.

    That is what Tang-Ruo strives to be, and that is what he forces himself to be.
    Before the Ashen Knights
    But he had only played at that persona for a handful of years, and though he sought to chart a new path, his feet are still far too accustomed to walking down the old.

    There remains that valiant soldier, a hero of martial combat, an army distilled into a singular entity. He is of tempest and rage still, and though he derides his past as that of a cleaver wielded by those who saw lives as only numbers, Tang-Ruo feels no guilt even now. He is kinder, but the burden of mass murder is one that he places upon himself willingly. Half of him is a beast, after all, a lone tiger who had partook of so much blood and flesh that it was the banality, the pointlessness of it, that ultimately drove him away from battle.

    It is his humanity that keeps him in check. It is the discipline of the military that keeps him in place. But when it comes to matters of violence, Tang-Ruo finds himself too willing to volunteer. Because at the end of the day?

    He remains a Vanguard.
    INVENTORY
    Primary Equipment
    A set of apothecary's tools, crafted by Bestiard tribes in the outlands. It can be used to synthesize a variety of alchemical concoctions, limited only to the materials present and the knowledge of the apothecary in question. Due to the prevalence of Nephilim within the Ashen Knights, Tang-Ruo often has more than enough elixirs of healing for post-battle recovery. His current subject of interest is that of medicinal liquers, however, so his particular set of tools comes with additional vials and devices for the brewing of alcohol.
    Secondary Equipment
    A portable kitchen, handmade by Tang-Ruo so that everything he needed could be fit into a cast-iron cauldron. Though it's 'portable', it's still far too heavy for regular people to carry. It comes with a variety of blades, a rolling pin, extra pots and pans, a flatiron grill, and even a stone oven. Bundles of spices are rolled in parchment and stored inside, as well as well-padded jars of fermented foods or sauces. An army marches on its stomach, but that was with regular food. When one could eat as good as they did while traveling with Tang-Ruo, however? That was perhaps a 'buff' just as potent as that of a Healer's.
    Extra Equipment
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    COMBAT STATISTICS
    Chaos Root
    Roots sink deep into the soul; even after uprooted, the furrows and tunnels remain, leading him back to the days when he wielded a sword.
    List of Abilities
    Claws, The Cleaving of the Firmament: The effects of a strike, projected over a space beyond the instrument that dealt such a blow. With this, one can strike at a beast from a hundred yards away, or separate the heads of a hundred men in an instant. To withstand the Claws, one must bolster their own physical resilience, rather than relying on armor craft of steel or magic, for there is no force to block or parry. There is only a strike to endure.

    Fangs, The Endpoint of the Fallen: An instant movement, but movement nonetheless. The Fangs lunge out, a pounce that scatters all in its wake, so that in a singularly powerful foe may be ripped apart at the terminus of this charge. Thunder roars in his wake, the air itself having become void in his passage, before force enough to warp the world is delivered onto a singular point, piercing through all else.

    Roar, The Dominion of the Feral: A breath, and then the expulsion of air. The Roar resounds, shattering the wills of the weak, silencing the words of the learned, replacing all thought with the presence of an existence that cannot be ignored. Eardrums rupture and knees give way, while the Archon Arts are disrupted, broken by this savage proclamation. It is the rule of nature, not civilization, that persists here.

    Penitence and Peace: What else could it be, except for physical empowerment? Strength, amplified to the point of self-destruction. Speed, acceleration enough to ignite the air. Every capability of flesh and mind, maximized to rival a catastrophe. Here is the Fang of the Godslayer, who sat upon a mountain made of corpses. Here is the tool of the tyrant, the apex of military violence, a monster breaking out of its material shell. Here is Tang-Ruo, in absence of his beliefs.

    Wine and Wheat: Every life taken while the engine of carnage roars serves only as fuel to further empower, to further extend the rampage of the Bestiard. Blood and flesh are like wine and wheat. So long as there is more in supply, the feast never truly ends.
    BACKGROUND
    Act I. Infancy
    War, what a wonderful thing!

    To raise one’s status through training and valor, to bathe freely in the blood of the enemy!

    His father had gained the right to purge Paymonia of the detritus of the divine, had fought side by side alongside the Godslayer during the worst of the Fourth Divine Conflict, where mortals were stacked up seven feet high and farmlands turned arid from the lakes of blood that ran. But his father had lived, lived to fight once more, earned through violence and war the right once more to progress his lineage with the wealth and accolades earned through greatsword and fang, through Chaos Root and inborn strength.

    He chose to do one thing, and to do that one thing well. That was what Tang-Ruo’s mother spoke of, as she raised her child. Both his parents had survived the Nephilim hunts, both of them knew of how a single Vile Beast could end a tribe. They had travelled far to be graced by the protection of the Godslayer, that benevolent warlord who upended the arrogance of the gods and brought for a new era of prosperity and power. To them, even when mention of divinity was banned, they still worshipped, worshipped the immortal Godslayer, who gave them all the opportunity to rise above the roots and the mud, to become respectable even amongst other races.

    Was there any other path in life for Tang-Ruo, except to follow in his father’s footsteps?

    Was there any greater calling, than to serve as the knight?
    Act II. Adolescence
    He was a Fang.

    So, even as he questioned the commands of his King, he remained silent, obedient.

    And when it was over, he was the only one left standing, drenched in blood and guts, a broken claymore in his hands as he watched the sun rise to give light to the madness of that frenzied knight. It was a silent daybreak, the breeze cooling the bodies as flocks of scavengers descended to pick off the softest parts of a mortal's face.

    Yet it should have still been but an ordinary day.

    ...

    If the Prince had not brokered a peace, Tang-Ruo would have never understood his own heart.

    If the Prince had not been imprisoned for that act, Tang-Ruo would have continued as a butcher.

    Yet all such things happened, and now, he knew naught of tarnished glory, only of the sorrows and tragedies sowed upon steel.

    ...

    Do one thing. Do it well.

    For three decades, he had not understood what that meant.

    But now he did.

    And the weight of those wasted years bear upon him like a boulder upon a hill.

    He must push, and envision happiness regardless.
    Act III. Maturity
    He chose to do one thing, and to do that one thing well.

    And his duty as a knight saw him relinquish his title as a knight.

    Tang-Ruo, where everyone saw the rise of another Fang of the Godslayer, gave up his sword and his armor, his Chaos Root and his career. He did this in quiet, offering no explanation to his family or his comrades, then disappeared from Exultius.

    Some thought him mad. Others wondered of the corrupting influence of that peace-making Prince. Still more decided that the vacuum he left meant greater possibility of promotion and glory for themselves.

    His father disowned him. There were other sons and daughters of the Chen family who could fill the gap he left behind.

    But deeper roots remained.

    And his loyalties had yet to fade.
     
  • Index
    • Saran // Bestiard-Human, Caster
  • Index
    • Saran Qacaye
    Aeon of Heroes
    Profile
    General Information
    Race
    Bestiard-Human Hybrid
    Gender
    Male
    Age
    28
    Height
    182cm
    Class
    Caster
    Origin
    Eastlands
    Description
    Open Sky
    With plenty of green behind his ears, the young Bestiard still has a lot to learn. Sometimes his sheer positivity gets the better of him, forcing others to reign in his leash and drag him back to reality. Saran always has the best of intentions when it comes to others, especially those close to him, though the consequences of his careless actions sometimes say otherwise. Currency is still rather foreign to him, and fulfilling certain cultural aspects fills him with dread. Although Saran has a great deal of dexterity and flexibility with both his wings and his claws, even he can't perform miracles and eat in a way that doesn't leave a mess on himself or his plate. He has tried, and he is truly sorry for all the broken plates he has left behind in his attempts to improve and prove himself.

    The world needs a change, and even if he may not be the best at it, he wants to be a part of it.

    EXTENDED BIOGRAPHY
    Personality
    A hopeless optimist who has fallen in love with the world and its inhabitants, despite the cruelty they often portray. Every day, Saran strives to be better than he was before, lending an ear and a shoulder to those who desperately need it. The softness in his touch speaks of the compassion he feels for his comrades, as their emotional wellbeing has always been his absolute priority. He sees them as an extension of himself, and he'd rather give himself up than see them hurt.

    Violence is not something he's comfortable with, but it's the lesser of many evils he's become accustomed to over the course of their journey. Saran accepts that change can't come with kind words, not when people are used to bloodshed clouding their vision. It was a delicate balance he had to find within himself, where the guilt of taking lives didn't stop his abilities in their wake. He is not quite there yet, but hesitation no longer binds him.

    Saran has carved out a place for himself in the Ashen Knights, a niche that satisfies him in the grand scheme of things. At times, restlessness still makes him yearn to flee and abandon all responsibility, vanish in the horizon, but it's easy to suppress knowing that his true place will always be with them.
    Before the Ashen Knights
    His convictions and actions were not always backed by certainty and confidence. It's painful to admit, but for a long time Saran could only pursue his goals so long as they didn't compromise his own freedom. Far too rigid in his own beliefs, he imposed them on others. Meaning well, but forgetting that history is not easily buried and that grudges neither age nor fade. His lack of experience fuelled his naivety, and he did more harm than good in his quest for greatness.

    In his attempt to become a hero, he ended up playing the fool.
    INVENTORY
    Mooncrest's Silk
    An unassuming leather pouch filled with his tribe's greatest treasure. One of many parting gifts. He has carried it ever since, hoping never to face a situation that would require its use. Rumour has it that the material is a miracle, but it's anything but.
    Boneflute & /-staff
    Trophies carved from the remains of his first hunt; a vicious blood hawk that terrorised their livestock, tearing apart their sheep and cows. His father insisted that Saran help, and in the end it was he who delivered the fatal blow. Despite his conflicting feelings about the animal's death, he takes good care of the memorials. It's now one of his few possessions that remind him of home. Some nights he takes out the flute to play some childhood tunes. They come out mostly on key and never fail to fill him with a warmth that rivals an open campfire.
    COMBAT STATISTICS
    Chaos Root
    It's a mother's embrace that warmed the gift, and though he'll never show the grace or skill she achieved with the Chaos Root, he cherishes it nonetheless. Though she didn't know his reason for leaving, it was this act that told him of her unwavering support. Every time Saran uses it, he can feel her by his side, guiding him through his chant as he unleashes its power.
    List of Abilities

    Safety - Prelude to the Hunt: Breathing life into images of small animals, they swarm around him like fireflies. Instinctively reacting to foreign sources of mana and fast-approaching physical objects, they hurl themselves into their path. Any damage they absorb is reflected back with double the force before they disintegrate into thousands of harmless particles. They can be commanded to follow an ally and shield them if necessary.

    Fatigue - Hunt!: Let them stand, let them rest. Wolves to an elk, chains to the enemy. The restraints burst from the ground, enveloping their targets in a tight embrace, forcing them to their knees. Every second spent in the shackles slowly drains stamina and mana. Some of the energy returns to nature, while the rest fuels the caster.

    Acceptance - End of the Hunt: Feathers, enchanted by mana, detach from his plumage and rain down on his targets. When in range or at his call, they explode. While immune to all damage from other Purification Arts, they can be dissipated by physical attacks. Not safely, as destruction triggers their explosion.

    Prey's Final Gambit: Focusing the energy of the moon, Saran releases its concentrated essence in one direction. It takes the form of a giant jade rabbit and dashes towards its target at great speed. A strong gravitational pull draws the weak into its path, unable to distinguish between friend and foe. On impact, whether it hits its intended target or not, it unleashes a shockwave that stuns and injures anyone nearby. Consistently, the power of this ability is strongest at night and on full moons.

    Bird's Eye: Nothing escapes his watchful gaze as he soars above the battlefield. It's almost as if movement seems slower when his focus is at its peak, making his reactions appear immensely faster in return.
    BACKGROUND
    Act I. Childlike Innocence, Broken Trust
    Mooncrests were birds native to the Eastlands. Named for their greyish plumage and crescent-shaped tufts of hair, they were notorious for being difficult to handle. More often than not, they would rather starve to death than comply with their keepers' wishes. A hindrance, which only further increased the demand for the bird - or rather, its by-products.

    Instead of trilling or calling to attract potential mates, males built nests to prove their competence. Using a special spit, they would weave the fluid into massive structures that would harden overnight. Material that, if properly harvested and processed, could be diluted in healing potions to increase their potency. In its natural state, however, the silk was still vulnerable to the claws of predators, so the birds built their homes on the undersides of narrow cliffs. A place only the moonlight and the cautious talons of Saran's tribe could reach.

    His people were hunters and gatherers at heart. As many of them were blessed with the privilege of being able to soar through the skies, they scouted and obtained resources inaccessible for most hands. They were self-reliant, rarely seeking the help or contact of larger communities. Instead, they actively chose to produce most of their own necessities and send the few humans under their roof out to trade for everything else. Though they had a various methods for acquiring financial goods, their most profitable sale remained the processed silk. A rarity they could only obtain in limited quantities each year.

    The tribe was by no means rich, but life there was free. It was something that Saran cherished, all the more so when he realised that it did not apply to everyone.

    One day, a group of adventurers appeared on the doorstep of the tribe, begging for help as one of them was suffering from the poisonous bite of a lesser wyvern. A wound that would prove fatal if left untreated. Their healer and potions were of no use, but whispers of a miracle ingredient had them eyeing the rare silk. But as many merchants as they visited, they received as many refusals. So, with their last hopes gathered, the group made the arduous journey to the source, ready to empty their pockets for their lifelong friend.

    However, their prayers would go unanswered, for as soon as the tribesmen saw the wounded one, their goods were locked away again and any treatment refused. No Nephilim deserved their work, and no elder could ever change their minds. Forgiveness was fickle, and all the more so when hearts still ached for the lost. They allowed the adventurers to rest on beds for a night, but that was the end of the tribe's mercy. They had to leave the next day.

    Saran, who had seen the glimmer of hope in the strangers' eyes fade and die, could not stand idly by. That very night he sneaked into the warehouse, snatched a skein of silk and hurried to the guesthouse. Expressions of eternal gratitude were exchanged for a small piece of thread. The memory of the warmth in their smiles lulled the little child into a blissful sleep as he returned to his bed.

    The next morning, the chieftain's son awoke to the sound of angry shouts and hateful accusations. Flying out, he arrived at the scene to see the tribal warrior surrounding the adventurers, with the Nephilim in the midst of them, guarded by their friends. The whispers of the nearby onlookers told Saran what he needed, replacing his earlier drowsiness with overwhelming guilt. Unsure of the trust he could place in these strangers, and having seen the desperation in their eyes the day before, his father decided to search the group's bags before they left. An inspection that proved worthwhile, for they found the potion Saran had left in their care.

    No word from his own son could stop the leader in his wake. His attempts to clarify the situation fell on deaf ears as the battle began. Thieves could not escape unscathed, and the presence of the Nephilim only added to the sentiment. In the end, the adventurers were no more. Exhausted and injured, they were no match for the overwhelming numbers of rested Bestiards. Soon the sounds of celebration echoed through the tribe as the bodies were looted and promptly tossed over the cliff.

    Saran watched as his father and his advisors made their way to the nearest water source to cleanse themselves of the blood. Disgust settled in the pit of his stomach, blinding him to everything else. What did the freedom of the sky mean if they were shackled to the hatred and prejudice of the ground? How could they not feel the guilt of their injustice weighing them down as they flew?

    It was that moment that would be etched in the young hybrid's mind, even if he was the only one to remember it. Saran may have later given his father the excuse of wanting to discover the world as he prepared to leave the tribe, but in truth it was his inability to forget. Staying in a place where cruelty could so easily happen spoiled every good moment he could experience.
    Act II. Mirror to the Face, Shattering

    It was his first time in Mutou-Kagyou City.

    It was also the first time he had been pickpocketed.

    An unassuming boy was pushed to Saran's side by the relentless crowd of merchants and busy customers. He stumbled, leaning onto the taller figure. A curt apology later and he was off in the direction he had come, squeezing through the small gaps between the legs of the pedestrians. Moments passed before Saran noticed the lack of weight on one side of his belt and patted his belongings as the dots began to connect. Just fast enough to look around and still see the thief's back disappearing into the intricate system of alleyways that connected each end of the city.

    Unfortunately for the criminal, he had to choose a victim who could actually follow him, despite not knowing an inch of his surroundings. Intentionally chosen corners, meant only to be passed by a child's figure, were rendered useless as Saran utilised the skies in his pursuit. He was used to the patterns that fleeing creatures took in their panic. Eyes sharpened since birth.

    So it was not long before the man had the boy cornered, only waiting until the gaps between the rooftops were large enough for him to descend with ease. What surprised Saran, however, was the ferocity with which the thief defended his stolen property. Despite the obvious unlikelihood of keeping it. But when he noticed the state of his appearance and the trembling hidden beneath the layers of filthy clothing, his eyes softened visibly. Saran offered the boy to accompany him for the day. "Like a guide," he said. The boy was wary, but with no other choice, he accepted the offer.

    The day passed without incident. Their time together peeled back layers of doubt to reveal the childs's inner curiosity. His smile grew brighter the more gifts Saran gave him. From snacks to toys he had dreamed of. In return, the man was shown the secrets of MKC. The curiosities in the strangest corners.

    Their paths parted at the sight of the moon, the child now carrying fuller pockets and Saran's blessings for better times.

    They would find each other again on the last day of his stay. At the same market, of all places. But what distinguished this encounter was the collar wrapped around the boy's neck. It adorned him in mockery, proclaimed his lack of will, and at the same time showed to whom exactly he now belonged. For a moment, as their eyes met, hope blossomed within the child. The kind soul who could be his saviour. After all, what else were wings good for, if not to reach places no captor could touch? Yet seeing the grimace on Saran's face, that spark soon faded.

    The consequences of failure haunted the hybrid's mind. What if's which kept him from tearing the metal apart with his claws. The hopeful smiles of a group of adventurers turned to the blank stares of their corpses. Could he put the same burden on this youngling? More doubts filled him as he glanced at the collar. Another fear that cornered Saran like prey. What if the punishment for trying was to suffer the same fate? His wings twitched in pain and so he closed his heart and looked away.

    As they passed each other, one with no freedom left and the other unwilling to risk his, they were strangers once more. Only now, far more personal insults stained the air between them.

    A young slave and a guilty coward. The start of a joke that would never end.
    Act III. Renowed Hopes, Push of Confidence

    It was hard to cling to a dream that many called foolish. For every step he took, the winds fought harder to push him back. There were times when it would have been easier to turn back and return to his tribe. Admit defeat. When the cold treatment at the mere sight of his unusual appearance made him feel worse than any actual crime could ever do. Children told by their mothers to avert their eyes as he strolled through the streets, shushed for expressing their curiosity too loudly. Rooms too crammed for his features, pulling his feathers in all the wrong directions.

    These moments made him want to crawl to the furthest point above the ground. The only reasonable explanation for why he found himself on the top of a mountain one morning. Talons dangling over the edge.

    Through the fog, Saran could catch glimpses of the city in the valley below. Towers jutting up into the sky, the villagers nothing more than tiny dots. It was the same settlement he had tried to visit, only to fail miserably. A careless gesture that set off a chain reaction of terrible interactions. His attempts to prove them wrong only made matters worse. It was this embarrassing shame that caused him to retreat into the comfort of familiarity. To the untouched nature.

    His journey had not even begun and it felt as if it was already coming apart at the seams. How could he work for something as grand as world peace if he couldn't even manage some sarcastic remarks?

    The sudden touch of a cane poking him in the back jolted him out of his self-pity. Turning, Saran's second surprise was seeing the milky eyes of a priestess. Her pupils unfocused in the distance as she asked him to move so she could harvest the herbs growing beneath the trunk on which he rested. He offered his help for the inconvenience, she agreed, and their conversations began. Friendship blossoming somewhere along the way. From then on, Saran visited her daily. With her, he felt safe enough to share the vulnerabilities he had accumulated on his lonely travels, while at the same time revealing the visions of his dreams. He wanted to get settled into this new routine, but their time together would end as quickly as it had begun. One day, she announced that she had to return to the capital.

    Anxious at the thought of having to continue his travels as before, Saran asked if he could go with her. She refused. He didn't understand. The priestess looked at him, as best as she could in her condition, and replied, "You still have dreams to fulfil."

    These would be the last words they exchanged, but they were more meaningful than a simple farewell could be. Not only did she remind him of his original reasons for wandering the land, but the absolute faith in her voice made him realise: It was not the words of a stranger that should influence his actions, but the trust of a friend. That night, he parted from the mountain, more confident than when he first landed.

    Saran was still searching for a way to create harmony between the races, where the question of "What" had less sway than the "Who". However, now he knew it was not something he wanted to do alone. It would take time, but one day he wanted to be doing something he loved surrounded by people he could trust.

    A team, perhaps even a family.
     
  • Index
    • Kyreth // Azelthyrian, Healer
  • Index
    • Kyreth Ranolus
    Aeon of Heroes
    Profile
    General Information
    Race
    Azelthyrian
    Gender
    Female
    Age
    249
    Height
    171 cm
    Class
    Archon | Healer
    Origin
    Avalon
    Description
    The Culture of a Few
    Kyreth had been among those who had lived through and survived the fall of the city of Avalon. Though their community is almost non-existent and their city is in shambles, the few long-lived citizens who had survived carry on the memory of their lost kingdom. Even among her group, only herself and two others had lived through it all.

    Her Aerouant companion told her once, "With us lives the memory of the city of Avalon." He pressed a hand on her head, comforting in its own way. "Avalon has not truly fallen yet because we still live."

    And Kyreth took that to heart. Like her mother, like her companions, like those who had fallen during the times she was still a child, Kyreth wished to be someone worthy of calling herself a citizen of Avalon. And perhaps, maybe, she could become powerful enough to reclaim the place they once called home.

    EXTENDED BIOGRAPHY
    Personality
    Kyreth appears to emulate her mother in most aspects— selfless and kind with the will to lend a hand and a shoulder to anyone who needs it regardless of the reward given. The experience itself is something that Kyreth finds gratifying and, as such, she seeks no compensation most of the time. In a world of adventurers, this makes her quite the oddball but she tries to uphold the values of how she had grown up— to work together as a community to foster peace and unity among the people of Paymonia.

    Witnessing the mortality of many of your closest companions and loved ones has a lasting effect on people. With Kyreth, it manifested as a certain difficulty in forming long-lasting relationships with others. To open up to others is to open your heart to the pain that would come with losing that connection. She's cautious about whom she chooses to align herself with and who to befriend, all so that she would not have to go through the pain of grief again.

    However, among the ranks of the Ashen Knights, Kyreth found herself making a concentrated attempt to be with them. For them, she would be a reliable ally on and off the field until their mission was complete or her last breath, whichever would come first.

    Before the Ashen Knights
    A soul who travels across the land, almost aimless in her pursuit of experience and power.

    A soul who would extend her services to any adventurer who needed it, provided they allow her the experience of bettering herself as a combatant and as a healer.

    The Azelthyrian moved across Paymonia, witnessing many cultures and differing views and meeting others who would challenge her perception of the world and expand it. Or those who would challenge it to convince her of the cruel nature of reality— as if she had not gone through that herself. She became a mercenary of sorts and traveled with groups of adventurers most of the time.

    She made many friends, leaving a good impression with most of the adventuring parties she helped; yet none that truly made her want to stay. She would always bid them farewell eventually, giving them her well wishes before she would part ways with them.

    And so, she would go back on her lonesome adventure.
    INVENTORY
    Kon, the Hellhound | Tier 6
    The Vile Beast named Kon takes the form of a hellhound that averages around the size and build of a pony. Kyreth had tamed Kon since he appeared as a pup, a low-tiered Vile Beast, who had gotten far too close to their camp in the Abyssal Dungeon. Hellhounds are common within the Abyssal Dungeon and typically hunt in packs of three to four. They possess a biting power that can crush metal and even melt it with their innate fire. This makes them extremely capable hunters and fearsome enemies when caught off-guard.

    Kon appears to be at the height of his life— which makes him appear hyperactive and, oftentimes, a bit too playful for his own good. Kyreth had managed to reign in these sudden bursts of energy by making him exercise when need be, putting him through training for combat or just other harmless activities. It appears that Kon and Kyreth share a familial bond and are extremely protective of each other.

    Abyssal Dagger
    An item that has been passed down from mother to daughter. The dagger was forged inside the Abyssal Dungeon when the Azelthyrians still lived there and it has been in the hands of the Ranolus family ever since. Dearly maintained by Kyreth, the dagger has seen much use but maintains its durability and strength. Kyreth often uses it to collect her ingredients for alchemy but it has seen its fair share of the battlefield in desperate times.
    Medicinal Pack
    Kyreth always brings a pack that is constantly replenished with ingredients for elixir-making when the opportunity presents itself. Alongside these are ready-made elixirs to be dispensed on the battlefield should the others have already used theirs up. Her alchemical journal is also stored here and it contains a culmination of everything she has been taught as well as comments from fellow alchemists she had encountered over her journey.

    Another pack is placed on Kon but it is kept light enough so that it would not hinder with movement.
    COMBAT STATISTICS
    Chaos Root: Healer
    The warmth of life ebbs through the Mark— pulling beings away from death's door and giving them another chance at life. The practice itself is not systematic, more instinctual than anything, but Kyreth had managed to mold her Arts into something fitting for combat. Fast-paced with the ability to cast it from a distance, Kyreth's healing focuses on keeping combatants on their feet for as long as possible on the battlefield. It seeks out the most fatal and most pressing wound and stitches that first before anything else— a precise, efficient and practical Art.
    List of Abilities
    “Reflect”, A Tale of Karma: Twisting mana into a singular point in her immediate vicinity, it becomes a shield and a weapon all at once. Absorbing the impact of the attack— whether it be from something physical or magical— and redirecting that energy back towards the attacker. This is a delicate art as it has to be activated at the correct moment for it to take full effect and it relies mainly on her being able to see or sense the attack in question.

    “Restore”, A Tale of Rest: An art that is in almost every healer's repertoire with slight variations. She weaves mana and sends it across the battlefield, seeking out wounds to repair as quickly as possible. As long as she is within distance of her allies, she can freely heal them without much problem unless someone disrupts the flow of mana. Mobility within the battlefield is important for her due to this.

    However, for more grievous injuries, time and distance is a factor. The quicker and farther she is, the less potent the healing can be. As such, she is at her most effective when she is by an injured person's side and focusing on them in particular.

    "Bond”, A Tale of the Fated: Perhaps one of her oddest arts, it is used to link two targets together. Using this, any healing, buff, debuff and damage that one of the targets incurs is transferred over to the other target and vice versa. The bonded targets must stay within a certain distance from each other or else the bond will be severed. This can be used on both willing and unwilling targets as her arts force their essence to become one.

    However, she notes that these effects are still dependent on the target's own defenses and physicality. While one may be able to walk off a hit without a problem, the other may keel over in pain.

    “Rally”, A Tale of Victory: The art takes a full mark to activate and can target up to three beings. This essentially reverts the physical condition of the target to their body’s peak potential— healing both their injuries and fatigue as if they had just entered the battlefield. It enhances their physical attributes and increases their regeneration rate until the end of the mark. This can be used in conjunction with another mark for other abilities.

    Caducean Sight: To become an effective healer, her mother told her that she needed to learn how to be able to diagnose her patient with but a mere glance. With the chaos root comes the ability to make such a thing easier. She has the ability to see the taint of an injury, disease, or otherwise negative effect that someone has on their “aura” by simply looking at them. The more severe and threatening the effect is, the more widespread and darker the color of the taint is. This allows her to make split-second decisions on who requires aid more in the heat of battle.

    This sight also extends this effect to other organic material— such as those used in alchemy and cooking. It is useful for brewing new elixirs if need be.
    BACKGROUND
    Act I. To Survive the Fall
    Born in the rare days of shaky peace, Kyreth opened her eyes in the City of Avalon— built to protect those who had been slain and driven away by the arrogance of the Aeslengardians. Despite the horrors that her parents had witnessed, barely having escaped with their lives during the initial massacre of Azelthyrians in the Abyssal Dungeon, they continued to soldier on. They didn't quite coddle Kyreth and allowed her to grow into her own.

    It was an oversight. To be lulled into the feeling of safety and peace. Kyreth was young and bright-eyed but this would be taken swiftly from her in the form of what would be known as the Third Divine Conflict. The Nephilim, in their endless greed, came upon the city, bringing with them death and destruction. There was no safe area to flee to and so her parents bravely pushed forward to help with the protection of the city, taking up arms they had not touched in years to fight for their right to live. It would all be for naught, Kyreth would find out, as the fall of the City of Avalon would be finalized the moment their Ukrethian allies had pulled back.

    Kyreth hid with other non-combatants in safehouses; though how safe they would continue to be was debatable. The next events were a blur to the young Kyreth but her mother had returned, bloodied and harrowed, but alive. There were others with her and they were ushered away— run. The city was destined to fall but the people must survive. They had to. And so, the group weaved their way through the battlefield, using passages Daedalus had hidden away across the city as a form of escape. This would not be a foolproof plan, however, as the group became smaller and smaller— either because they had become separated in the chaos or because someone had to stay behind to cover their tracks or buy them time and simply never came back.

    The escape was successful but the danger was still present. Kyreth overheard the adults talking during the night about how the war had overtaken the entirety of Paymonia. There would be no place to hide where they could be safe; their only option was to keep moving. If they made themselves scarce and unnoticeable, there would be a chance for survival. Kyreth's mother suggested a return to the Abyssal Dungeon. They could use the Vile Beast activity as some sort of smokescreen from the Nephilim. And so, they set out to a hometown Kyreth had only heard of from stories. They hid and ran, fought with everything they had and every child in that group would learn how to fight quickly or else become dead weight.

    They arrived soon enough and Kyreth's mother led them inside, using her old memories of her childhood home to guide her. The Vile Beasts were problematic but they hadn't grown numerous just yet— not in the upper floors at least. The group settled down there in hiding for the remainder of the years, only leaving when they needed to for resupply. Slowly, her mother molded Kyreth as a healer just like herself and the holder of the chaos root before her and so on. Her mother taught her of what it means to be one— the way that they could control magic to allow others to thrive but to also protect when necessary. And Kyreth listened. She listened and practiced rudimentary medicine while she did not have access to the chaos root. She was in no rush to lose her mother so she strived to make do with learning about elixirs and tinctures in the meantime.

    However, the time came far too soon for Kyreth's liking. She, her mother and another gatherer left the dungeons to resupply, hunting in the forests around for herbs, plants and meat when a Nephilim had tracked them down. Thankfully, there was only one of them, armor gleaning with wicked intent. They had managed to take the Nephilim down, thankfully, but her mother had been injured in the process— seared by the blood of their enemy and its holy nature. Kyreth wished she could have done something but anyone with sight and a brain would have known that nothing could see her mother— she was on borrowed time.

    So, thinking fast, Kyreth's mother transferred her chaos root to her daughter. Carefully, as the light of life drained out of her slowly, her mother left one last kiss on her forehead and apologized for leaving her but entrusted her with the belief that she would survive this ordeal.

    And so, Kyreth remained.

    It would be decades before the group left the Abyssal Dungeon after hearing about a new war— this one waged by someone who had actually slayed gods. Still, their extremely wary nature had caused the group to not settle down and keep among themselves. Still, their little nomadic group had learned many things during their travels. Once the war had seemingly passed, however, the group found themselves in a relatively smaller village in Exultius that they decided to make their home. The villagers readily accepted them— though appeared wary of their Aerouant companion— but allowed them to stay nevertheless. It would be here when they would continue to thrive, a small seed left from the ashes of Avalon.
    Act II. Paving One's Path
    Perhaps it was a sense of wanderlust or a deep sense of responsibility and longing, but Kyreth was not able to feel content like the others once they settled down in the small town of Plian. She watched as they slowly but surely integrated themselves into the town that welcomed them with open arms yet she could not do the same. With the blessing of her elders, Kyreth set out on her own adventure.

    She spent years on the road with only Kon as her company before finding herself falling with a band of adventurers. They were in need of a healer and Kyreth was willing to accompany them temporarily. They were young but not inexperienced— though their way of fighting was sloppy, the enemy had been low-tiered enough that it was possible for them to win without much fanfare. They thanked her profusely and paid her her dues before inviting her to join the party permanently. She turned them down and that became the norm.

    She would find herself helping adventurers time and time again, yet never joining them. Kyreth learned everything she could— asking bestiards about their alchemical expertise, or seasoned adventurers about danger spots, and so on. Strength came from knowledge, even more so for healers like herself. These adventures became learning experiences— from successful ventures to a team wipe. Kyreth would escape with her life and she simply had to move on. Keep going.

    Even when the road in front of her was dim and she was uncertain on where she will end up, she will just have to keep going.
    Act III. A New Dawn
    Meeting the Prince had not been in any of Kyreth's plans— but she goes along with the flow of time and fate. He comes to her as an employer, at first, to accompany him and his entourage to a specific area while they search for something and at that point, she was not privy to the details. Only that they needed another healer to ensure their safe travels. He had presented her with a hefty amount as compensation for her services but she had decided to only take half of his offer before joining them as a temporary healer.

    The adventure itself took longer than she had thought but it had gone swimmingly enough. The prince was a good leader and his group, the Ashen Knights, were loyal to his cause. She observed them carefully at first. It was just out of curiosity. After all, most seemed to be disciplined soldiers and royalty moving across the continent wasn't all that common. It had not taken long before she expressed her own interest in what their goal actually is— why go through all of this trouble when he had the seat of the king waiting for him? So, they came to that discussion and Kyreth could not help but admire him for it.

    When he extended the invitation to join, who was she to refuse?

    And so, the travels continued and stories were exchanged among the members of the then-Ashen Knights. She held no loyalty to Exultius as a kingdom nor the Evernight family, but rather only to the prince. As such, when the adventure concluded and the prince had to return to the capital, Kyreth remained in an inn for however long they needed to stay there. Her connection to the prince and the other Ashen Knights was kept under the table— she preferred to only be known as a passing adventurer.

    This worked well for her when the prince's execution was announced.

    Kyreth was there to witness the death of a short-lived leader— but his will continued on. She returned to her hometown soon after and spoke with her family. Only two had remained since all those years ago, only two could remember their homes for what it was, and they were getting older. Her fellow Azelthyrian was already close to the grave, having lived out his life fully in three different homes. Their Aerouant companion and herself remained by his side until the very end.

    When he had taken his final breath, Kyreth bid farewell and the dragon took flight— both severing their connections to everything else but each other.
     
  • Index
    • Alexander // Human, Elemantalist
  • Index
    • Alexander von Styrmir
    Aeon of Heroes
    Profile
    General Information
    Race
    Human
    Gender
    Male
    Age
    33
    Height
    173 cm
    Class
    Elementalist
    Origin
    Orichalcos / Exultius Sovereignty
    Description
    A Light Spark in Darkness

    "Raymond von Styrmir, Orichalcos’ previous ruler, was an important figure in the Fourth Divine Conflict and fought alongside the Godslayer in the war against the divine, though he would not live to see the outcome of its final battle."

    "As comrades in arms, the Godslayer had confided in him plans of establishing a new nation; Raymond, in turn, promised the Godslayer Orichalcos’ allegiance. The promise was kept, and in the wake of the Fourth Divine Conflict’s end, Orichalcos was subsequently absorbed into the Exultius Sovereignty."

    "Giving up dominion over Orichalcos meant relinquishment of rulership for the von Styrmirs. But, to honor an old friend, the Godslayer allowed them to still act as Orichalcos’ overseers, granting them peerage."

    "Nowadays, most refer to Orichalcos as simply a region in Exultius: the von Styrmir Demesne."

    Alexander knows his family's history like the back of his hand. Ask him about a related topic, and he can likely recite the facts without so much as a stutter. His powers of memorization aside, what people find most impressive of all are the profound insights that he can provide about the events he speaks on. If it wasn't for his youth, you would have trouble believing that he didn't live through those events himself. Having direct access to the people involved certainly helps, and Raymond von Styrmir was, after all, his grandfather. Still, as privy as he is to his family's chronology, what has previously eluded his understanding is how Orichalcos — a small enclave of civilization in the midst of much larger ones — has survived all this time. A vessel steered even by exceptional sailors would surely capsize in the face of waves big enough. Orichalcos is little more than a footnote on any map of Paymonia. So how has it managed to keep itself afloat, especially among giants?

    It turns out: all Alexander had to do was dig.

    Hidden beneath the rich soil of Orichalcos lay even richer deposits of various metals, ranging from iron and copper to mythril and obsidian. It was through trade with the other nations that Orichalcos leveraged these resources. Guided by the von Styrmirs’ diplomatic acumen, Orichalcos prospered, and its denizens enjoyed the luxury of a comfortable life. Over time, after making known their worth, the von Styrmirs even formed alliances with Orichalcos’ neighbors, which elevated further Orichalcos’ status in Paymonia.

    Trade was certainly one way Orichalcos demanded respect from its neighbors. Another way was through the biological relic coursing through the veins of its royal family: the "Thunderbrand." Bearers of this Chaos Root are known as formidable warriors across all of Paymonia and have defended Orichalcos' borders since its inception, striking fear into the hearts of any would-be invaders. All who inherit the Thunderbrand are Elementalists by class. While they cannot harness the other elements besides the lightning element, their affinity for lightning is increased to herculean levels. They can manipulate lightning at a granular scale, and their efficiency allows them to perform wide-ranging lightning arts with minimal exertion.

    Alexander von Styrmir, the second-born of Baron Albert von Styrmir and Baroness Sylvia von Styrmir, is the Thunderbrand's current inheritor.

    A Captain in the Imperial Knights and future heir to the baronship of the von Styrmir Domain, Alexander is certainly not left wanting for titles. Unlike the hulk of a man who is his father, Alexander is comparatively small in body and lacking in physical presence. His boyish features do little in the way of inspiring intimidation or fear. In the past, such things stood as points of insecurity for him. But, as he grew older, he cast this adolescent mindset aside. To those who know of Alexander's work ethic, it comes as no surprise that the young man already shoulders some of his father’s responsibilities. His friendly visage a familiar sight in Exultius’ politics, he has even represented the von Styrmir Domain in his father’s stead. Alexander can still clearly remember the first time he did so. A trial by fire, his initial foray into the political frontiers exposed him to self-serving nobles and the verbal pyrite their lips readily spat. Reading intentions is a skill developed through encounters with deception, and Alexander certainly encountered plenty of it in Exultius' royal courts. Doe-eyed and woefully inexperienced, he often fell prey to the half-truths that people who purported to have his best interests would whisper to him. As with all living things, however, to survive is to adapt. After thoroughly playing the fool, Alexander finally learned his lesson. Now, to pull the wool over his eyes, one would require more than just a silver tongue.

    "The Vile Beast Whisperer'' is a moniker that Alexander gained in his time as a lowly squire in the Imperial Knights. His lightning arts were already a thing of wonder to his peers; he further boggled their minds by taming a Vile Beast before their eyes. A desire to carve out his own legacy led him to studying the physiology of Vile Beasts, which he could not normally harm with his lightning arts. This forced Alexander to turn to books, of which he was a voracious consumer. While fully engrossed in one of his tomes, Alexander was struck with an idea. He realized that, by using conjured electricity to interface with the mind, he could exert control over any living being, and in particular, the Vile Beasts, his greatest enemies. And so, he brainstormed, taking matters of ethics into consideration, as well as the means by which he would carry out his scheme. Eventually, he came to a conclusion: rather than forcing the Vile Beasts to heel, Alexander would instead domesticate them. He learned their habits, observed what made them tick, and essentially got to know them. Of course, the ability of telepathic communication made the endeavor easier for him than most, but ultimately, the process of domestication was still not without its ups and downs. With time, his efforts shone fruit, and one domesticated Vile Beast soon turned to 2, which no sooner turned to 3.

    EXTENDED BIOGRAPHY
    Personality

    Alexander’s essence is one of innocent but insatiable curiosity. A mind that seeks to discover and explore for the sake of it and a drive to see things through to completion have gained Alexander the labels of “maniacal” and “scholarly.” While it would do any individual a disservice to be described in such a curt and reductive manner, both “maniacal” and “scholarly” certainly lie at the core of Alexander’s character. In fact, Alexander himself approves of all this talk about his eccentricities. He is indeed maniacal in his chase after knowledge and scholarly in his review of tomes. “Quirks are like colors in a palette,” he often regurgitates, quoting his mother. “A painting flush with different colors is surely more interesting than one that is monochrome.” In truth, Alexander never saw his mother eye to eye on this. He much preferred the brooding shades of silver and ebony over the pomp of pastels.

    People can mistakenly ascribe shyness to introversion, and while Alexander exhibits traits indicative of an introvert, he is by no means the shy sort. Intellectual pursuits often see Alexander locked up in his room besmirched by scattered papers and books. But when the opportunity to mingle and socialize comes knocking, Alexander is not one to deny it entry. “An all-around fun guy” is how his squires speak of him when he is off-duty, as rare as this was. You can always count on Alexander to be among the first to cut a rug on the ballroom floor. And without help from the inhibition-releasing effects of alcohol, no less.
    Before the Ashen Knights
    Before the Ashen Knights happened upon his doorstep, Alexander served as a captain in the militaries of Exultius and Orichalcos, making names for himself in both. The Vile Beast Whisperer. The Stormbound Luminary. The Wyvern Rider of Lightning. Through grand displays of magic, Alexander developed quite the reputation in battle. Inheritors of the Thunderbrand were, after all, historically feared for their arts. And Alexander, treading on the path of his ancestors, was no different. The activation of his Chaos Root and the crackle of thunder that heralded it were sometimes enough to compel his enemies to surrender. Before the warmongering of the Godslayer, Alexander was set to succeed his father in leading Orichalcos. But life — that turbulent ebb and flow on the axis of time — seemed to have other, grander, plans for him.
    INVENTORY
    "Minerva" — Mineralizing Wyvern, Tier 6 Vile Beast
    A Vile Beast that frequents Orichalcos’ various mines for sustenance, Minerva was the first of Alexander’s non-humanoid companions. She also displays the fiercest loyalty towards Alexander. Minerva grows in proportion to the number of different rocks or metals she has consumed. With these resources so readily available in Orichalcos, it’s no surprise that she is noticeably bigger than the average wyvern. Vile Beasts of Minerva’s classification also have the ability to manifest the different minerals that they have eaten on their bodies, mainly as protection from their natural predators. By batting their wings, they can hurl sharp rocks towards their foes if they feel threatened.

    On the whole, Minerva is rather mild-mannered, but when she forms a deep attachment to anyone, she tends to express this attachment through physical means, which sometimes spells trouble. She is large, after all, and even the slightest touch from her can knock a person down. Alexander has scolded her about this, and it has taught her to be more mindful of her strength.
    "Cell" — Mitotic Chameleon, Tier 6 Vile Beast
    A type of chameleon Vile Beast that is native to the climes of Orichalcos, Cell is perfect for scouting and reconnaissance, which Alexander regularly uses him for. Being able to refract light to create a veil of invisibility allows the chameleon to scurry around unnoticed, at least by sight. Though he cannot fly as Minerva can, he possesses a tongue that is both sticky enough and long enough to catch and trap her from the skies.

    Mitosis is a vital physiological process that occurs on the micro level, but for Cell, it can be performed on a macro scale. The chameleon can — quite literally — split up into tinier, independent versions of himself. Comparable in size to Minerva, Cell is capable of creating a hundred smaller copies before the principle of mass conservation dictates he can no longer do so.

    Unlike the more serious Minerva, Cell is a trickster through and through, to the chagrin of Alexander’s constituents. As a habit, Cell frequently skulks in wait behind potential victims, poking at them with his tongue the moment their guard is lowered. His prime victim is Alexander’s sister, Isidora. For better or worse, her screams still reverberate clearly in Alexander’s ear... Owing to his outgoing nature, Cell easily gets along with everyone.
    Cimerulite Pendant / Adamantium Ferrofluid
    A fanciful pendant with a neutralized Cimerulite Merazurine crystal at its core, it was crafted on Alexander’s request by a blacksmith family who have served Orichalcos since his birth. By manipulating the polarity of the Cimerulite Merazurine crystal at the pendant’s center, Alexander can use it to store objects as well as spit them out.

    Though he thought the idea ingenious at first, he quickly realized that the crystal’s force proved to be too strong for most things. Anything he sucked in or spit out was crushed beyond recognition: swords, lances, and all manner of weapons were instantly reduced to dust. Enter adamantium. During a routine expansion of one of Orichalcos’ mines, Alexander stumbled upon large deposits of it, which was a welcome surprise. Deposits of adamantium were not too common to begin with, but this particular form of adamantium was exceedingly uncommon in that it was a ferrofluid: it possessed both the malleability one would expect from a ferrofluid and the toughness of solid adamantium when Alexander forced it to cohere with his arts. At present, the crystal holds enough adamantium to craft multiple sets of weapons with some surplus.

    Through magnetism, Alexander can shape the ferrofluid into many different forms, turning it into an instrument for attack or defense at a moment’s notice.
    COMBAT STATISTICS
    Chaos Root
    The people of Orichalcos view the Thunderbrand as the preeminent symbol of the strength of their nation and its royal family. What Alexander sees, however, is a means to an end, a vehicle by which he could carry his hopes and aspirations to the next generation and beyond. Ever since he learned of the City of Avalon, Alexander began to dream of democracies and republics, and of futures in which his people can collectively decide their destinies. Alexander knows that the scale of his ambitions far exceeds the capabilities of a human like himself. After all, to bring about such a change would mean dismantling the very institutions of monarchy that run deep in Paymonia. Still, Alexander persists. Because why dream in the first place if your feet never leave the ground? And so, wingless he may be, he chooses to soar.
    List of Abilities
    [Ability] Sundering Terpsichorean: An application of the Thunderbrand that makes use of Orichalcos’ very lifeblood: its various deposits of minerals, particularly adamantium. After releasing the adamantium ferrofluid stored in his pendant, Alexander magnetically adapts its shape to create a pair of rapidly-rotating chakrams that are further accelerated by lightning. Possessing immense speed and cutting power, they can slice through the more bulky, defensive-oriented Vile Beasts with relative ease.

    [Ability] Empathetic Spark: Bioelectricity is Alexander’s specialty, and his studies into the mind have allowed him the means to interact with it. A feat of utmost magical precision, Alexander weaves an imperceptible thread of electricity, through which he can facilitate telepathy, exchange sensory information, and more, once a link between him and his target is established.

    By principle, Alexander refrains from reading minds, as he considers it an intrusive facet of his ability that compromises privacy. Nevertheless, it is still something he is capable of. Not infallible by any means, it can be guarded against, and if the electrical tether created by Alexander is severed, so too is Alexander’s mental foothold on his target.

    Cell usually finds himself on the receiving end of this ability, as Alexander deems him the most suitable for surveying unfamiliar frontiers. Cell diffuses into smaller chameleons, and Alexander sends him out to explore. Through extracting the Vile Beast’s memories, Alexander can see what awaits him without ever having to step foot into the unknown.

    [Ability] White Fulgor: In essence, it is white lightning, leaving Alexander’s fingertips with a piercing screech. Alexander heats up the charged particles to their apex, which gives the resulting lightning a blinding white color. Whereas most Elementalists require additional casting time to achieve the requisite temperature, for Alexander, the process is near instant. This is due to the Thunderbrand’s passive effect, which minimizes the casting time of lightning arts, especially the simpler ones.

    [Ultimate] Thunderbrand’s Avatar: Through the electromagnetic manipulation of weather, Alexander can create conditions for a roiling thunderstorm. With natural lightning now at his disposal, Alexander no longer has to expend mana to conjure his own; he would simply need to orchestrate the lightning that nature affords him.

    [Passive] Voltaic Benediction: Inheritors of the Thunderbrand can only access the lightning element. In exchange, they are granted special mastery over lightning that is generally unachievable even through strict training. Compared to other Elementalists, they can also cast lightning arts quicker, and with greater power and efficiency.
    BACKGROUND
    Act I. A Shared Life's Purpose
    Responsibility. Duty. Obligation.

    Associated with these words was the grand task of successorship placed upon young Alexander’s tiny shoulders. Such a burden will no doubt prove heavy for anyone, let alone for a still-developing child. But as the young Alexander casts an inquisitive gaze on the setting sun, the scene that greets him stands as a reminder of an important lesson he learned later in life: that no burden has to be carried alone. During Alexander’s youth, his father often brought him atop one of Orichalcos’ many mighty mountains. It was the baron’s way of unwinding after a busy day. While perched on the man’s back, Alexander would look out to the sky and — with fingers trembling with excitement — gesture at different landmarks in Orichalcos.

    The Orichalcos Railway System, a complex network of tracks that run even through Orichalcos’ treacherous highlands, transporting freight as well as people.

    The Orichalcos Office for the People’s Advocacies: that castle-like structure sowing the first seeds of democracy in Orichalcos.

    The Orichalcos Triumvirate, military fortresses built on the largest mountains along Orichalcos’ borders, burrowing winding tunnels into the peaks themselves, forming communities in the earth.

    As Alexander cycled through the sights, the baron would always underscore the collective effort of the Orichalcos people. While most kingdoms attribute exclusive credit to the ruling family or the government, the baron would instead direct the praise to his subjects. Such was the view of Alexander’s father.

    “Even our ancestors, in all their eminence, cannot build a nation on their own. You would do well to remember that, my son.” These words ran laps in Alexander’s mind. At first, Alexander took them as an estimation of his abilities. Had Father thought him inept at leading? Was he not worthy of inheriting the mantle of baronship? In his pride, Alexander failed to see his father’s meaning — at least, initially. Alexander made matters about himself and his abilities; a fixation on the self rendered him blind to his father’s message. Experience would be Alexander’s teacher, and he would eventually realize: why attempt to move a boulder on his own when there are others around him willing to help? To rule over Orichalcos was a responsibility that he bore with the people, not for them.
    Act II. A Polished Diamond
    As a small nation that relies on its mountainous geography for tactical advantages, Orichalcos struggled to fend for itself at first. Growing pains and a military still in its infancy left Orichalcos unable to properly contest its aggressors. But despite the titans that threatened to swallow Orichalcos whole, the founder of this commonwealth was persistent. Until the fledgling nation could stand on its own feet, Erik von Styrmir, from whom the Thunderbrand emerged, would take rulership by the horns. He would manage all aspects of government, and even serve as the High General of the Stahlritters, the de-facto name of Orichalcos’ elite forces. In the wake of Erik’s death was a legacy of rapid development, upon which future generations would build.

    Among the many values that Erik von Styrmir espoused, one of self-discipline and might prevailed over the rest: “The mind, sharp as the blade’s edge; the body, sturdy as a shield’s surface.” The adage rang clear and true in Alexander’s ears. From an early age, Alexander would start to swing the sword, learning basic stances and techniques. When he would finish his drills for the day, he would bury himself in books, studying tactics and formations through the night.

    Of course, the baron himself — the Slayer, Albert von Styrmir — oversaw Alexander’s training. Alexander trained intensely under his father: from the martial arts to the art of diplomacy, there was little pertaining to the duty of rule that the baron did not teach him. Despite his advanced age, many still consider the baron to be capable of putting even Exultius’ strongest fighters through the ringer, though his time in the sun is certainly behind him. These days, the baron can still swing around the Astral Armament called “Heavenshaper,” a greatsword bequeathed to Orichalcos by the Godslayer, one-handed. With eyes wide with expectation, young Alexander saw his future in his father. He would follow in the baron’s footsteps, learn the way of the sword, and, with time, have the Astral Armament passed down to him. But it quickly dawned on Alexander that he was all too different from his father. No matter how hard he pushed his body, or how often he pushed himself to his limits, he knew he would never achieve his father’s heights.

    Alexander grew frustrated. And for the first time, he questioned himself.

    Orichalcos — a piece of once-independent territory in Paymonia that was absorbed into the Exultius Sovereignty following the Fourth Divine Conflict; Alexander would, in succeeding his father, be tasked to protect it. But was he truly the right person to take up the mantle of “Baron”? To be the very shield to the land his ancestors have built from the ground up, out of nothing? Alexander feared his inadequacy. With his slight constitution, he was not at all the commanding individual that members of the Imperial Knights would describe his father. The thought of relinquishing his heirship took root in his mind, and he wondered: if he were to ascend to the baronship now, would the people welcome him, someone so far removed from the person his father was, with open arms?

    When Alexander reached the age of enlistment, he joined the Imperial Knights of the Exultius Sovereignty. While he was but a mere squire, Alexander acted under the orders of a quiet and stoic man by the name of Reymond Heracles. Though the man fancied himself no conversationalist, he of all people was able to cut to the heart of Alexander’s worries. “You attempt to mimic your father, who is a respectable warrior.” He would comment during a sparring match with Alexander. “Yet, take care that you do not lose sight of yourself in the process.”

    Sir Reymond had the right of it. If Alexander was to be Baron, he needed to stand as his own person — not as the second-coming of Albert von Styrmir, but as simply Alexander. It was Sir Reymond’s silent encouragement that spurred Alexander to truly step out of his father’s shadow.

    “The Vile Beast Whisperer.” This was a nickname that Sir Reymond christened him, partly in jest. Following his appointment to the Imperial Knights, and taking Sir Reymond’s words to heart, Alexander would devote himself to a period of self-discovery, starting with his Chaos Root, the Thunderbrand. A deep exploration on the inner workings of the Chaos Root led Alexander to develop a form of psychometry, which he capitalized on to great effect. As an Elementalist, Alexander understood his weaknesses keenly: against Vile Beasts, his conjured thunderstorms were useless, and without backup, he was effectively a sitting duck awaiting demise. An old proverb says that in times like these, it is best to think outside the box. And so, in a state of deep pondering, Alexander came upon an epiphany: why not turn his greatest enemies into his allies? He would accomplish this through domestication, and he would be the first human in all of Orichalcos to do so.
    Act III. A Steel Heart

    The scars of war are ones that never fully heal. Most times, they are passed down from generation to generation, like old grudges. In that sense, one could say they are immortal, forever walking the earth, animated only by the memories of people long gone. Leaving no room for the enemy to lick their wounds, the Godslayer launched yet another large-scale campaign against the neighboring theocracies, the most notable of which was Aeslengard. It seemed the man was not content with simply stopping at the extermination of the Gods. Sitting near the geographical edges of Exultius, Orichalcos was one of the first to feel the new war’s effects.

    Alexander received word that a scouting party from Aeslengard was spotted close to the settlement of Platina, a chief mining city in Orichalcos. Prompted by his unease at the situation, he set out with a squadron in tow. He had hoped to temper his fears and chalk them up to delusions induced by his anxiety. What he discovered, however, would instead validate them.

    Kept safe by fortified walls, the city settlement of Platina also lay in close proximity to a member of Orichalcos’ mighty triumvirate, the military fortress of Adamas. With the finest soldiers that Orichalcos had to offer at their beck and call, the people of Platina could scarcely imagine an attack catching them off-guard.

    But even the most stalwart walls crumble at some point, just as even the most seasoned veterans prefer to be prepared than not.

    The scouting party was but a diversion by Aeslengard. Alexander had been primed to expect an incoming siege. All the while, the armies of Aeslengard were already at their gates, hidden by concealment arts, lining the Adamas. The moment Alexander realized their ploy, it would be too late. Determined to raze Platina to the ground, the Aeslengardians gathered their best Casters and Elementalists. Once they revealed themselves, so too did the celestial mass that they conjured in secret, hanging over the city like an emissary of death, parting the clouds as it descended, blotting out the sun itself. Chaos unlike any other would erupt in the city, as people scrambled for escape.

    The Adamas had been all but seized by the Aeslengardians, and Platina was on the verge of being wiped off the map. Still, despite the odds, Alexander would not simply resign himself to fate. With trembling hands, he would create a sweeping thunderstorm, blanketing the city in a canopy of rain. Lightning roared in the background, and Alexander would gather it all in a single, concentrated strike, splitting the conjured mass in half. Dropping to his knees, he panted, reeling from exhaustion. Damn. Even with his most powerful attack, Alexander failed to destroy the mass completely, and the bisected parts were still en route to the city. With time running out on his current mark, he would have to use up another mark to deal with them somehow. Magnetically change their trajectory, perhaps? Worse, he could see hordes of Vile Beasts now in the city square, the walls keeping them out reduced to piles of scorched earth. But Alexander could do nothing about them, or the Aeslengardian Chaos Root users that massacred his troops. His hands were tied.

    Though Alexander saved many lives that day, he also let many of them slip through his fingers. He was only a man, after all — one already in the middle of putting out a fire, no less. Aeslengard would start several fires that day. If it weren’t for the timely intervention of his father and Sir Reymond, Alexander figured he too would have been among the dead. Alexander felt… conflicted. With stained hands, he asked himself: for what did he fight? The Fourth Divine Conflict was still a freshly-written chapter in Paymonia’s history. Yet, in spite of the wet ink, the Godslayer had already begun to pen the fifth, and Alexander was powerless to protest it. In the face of such a legend, what was Alexander to do? Unable to make a stand, Alexander could only quietly acquiesce to the Godslayer’s call for war.

    That was, until an invitation to the Ashen Knights landed on his window sill.
     
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  • Index
    • Aldricor // Nephilim, Elementalist
  • Index
    • Aldricor
    Aeon of Heroes
    Profile
    General Information
    Race
    Nephilim
    Gender
    Male
    Age
    31
    Height
    178 cm | 5'8 ft
    Class
    Elementalist
    Origin
    Aeslengard
    Description
    First Apology

    The Nephilim exudes kindness that wasn’t often associated with his kin. Aldricor's compassionate nature drives him to make a positive impact in hopes to build a bridge—or at least the foundation of it between his people and the rest of the world. Whether it's through small acts of kindness such as donating his gold to an orphanage, or by joining the Ashen Knights in a dangerous quest to take down a god.

    A stain to the pristine history of his people, a Nephilim without mask and armor, walks the land in hopes of atonement.

    EXTENDED BIOGRAPHY
    Personality

    Aldricor's every action stems from a profound sense of remorse, a constant desire to make amends for a past he cannot change. The Nephilim could often be seen offering a helpful hand to those who would accept, though most would simply curl their lips in distaste thanks to his heritage. Still, he doesn’t take it to heart—in most cases at least—as he viewed the world through a lens of hope and optimism.

    Being stuck in a cell for most his life, Aldricor yearned for a lot of things and developed a sense of wanderlust. He hated nothing more than being stagnant, and he’d usually stray from the path at hand to closely examine something that caught his interest. Alongside this, Aldricor was driven by a deep-seated desire for connection, something that he was deprived at an early age.
    Before the Ashen Knights

    After deserting, Aldricor would immediately experience firsthand what a Nephilim outside their home was subjected to. Still, he wanted to see the world. He wanted to feel the air beyond the suffocating walls of Aeslengard, to see the land without the lens of the past. He wanted to meet different people, to know their name and to say his in exchange.

    Thus, he wore the mask of a human as he travelled Paymonia.
    INVENTORY
    Wooden Box
    The path of a traveller was an arduous one, and Aldricor didn’t have much in terms of material things as it was a hassle to carry. All he had was a makeshift wooden box with straps that he uses as a backpack. Inside a variety of trinkets he has picked up along the way. A couple of pieces of acorn that was gifted to him by a child he helped find their way home, and a bottle of liquor from a merchant he saved from thieves amongst other things. The box itself used to be a darker brown, evident by the darker coloring at the bottom and on its edges, but time under the sun has turned it into a paler complexity.
    COMBAT STATISTICS
    Chaos Root
    Aldricor's chaos root was passed down to him by someone he didn't know. Even now, to see the mark at the back of his hands was a little unnerving. To use it for his own benefit felt wrong, thus he vowed to use his newfound abilities to help others, much like how the chaos root has helped him.
    List of Abilities
    The wind's grace, Zephyr – Wind was the first element Aldricor used. When he decided to leave Aeslengard behind, and his chaos root responded in kind. Unburdened by the weight of an armor and instead wrapped by the gentle grasps of the wind, Aldricor felt free.

    With the element under his command, Aldricor is able to summon whirlwinds in the middle of a battlefield or simply command a gust of wind to ruffle his companion’s hair in jest. One of his favourite uses however, is surrounding himself or his allies with the element, effectively increasing their movement capabilities.


    The earth's embrace, Terra – Earth provided Aldricor with the stability he needed after he deserted. The land became his refuge, offering shelter from the harsh elements and a sanctuary against the perils of the wilderness. In moments where he was truly alone, Aldricor could always lean on the earth’s embrace.

    Aside from erecting defensive walls and providing him and his companions room to breathe, Aldricor is able to command the ground to
    retaliate against their adversaries. With a focused mind, he can cause the ground to tremble and shift, surrounding his enemies in a makeshift tomb rendering them useless.


    The water's tranquility, Undine – In times when Aldricor was filled with doubt and fear made its home inside his heart, water would help soothe his mind. He would often find lakes or rivers and simply float as his problems slowly seeped out of his body. The sound of rushing waves pushed everything else at bay.

    Water is malleable and Aldricor can effectively adjust its temperature or form to suit his needs. Water is the source of life, but Aldricor cannot use it to heal. Instead, he’s able to purify various ailments that may befall him or his companions to a certain degree.


    Summon Elemental     – During Aldricor’s journey throughout Paymonia, he was able to meet multiple people from different parts of the world. From a casual conversation with adventurers like him in a tavern, to a dinner table with a family of farmers he helped against a pack of wolves. There, he found the camaraderie and connection that a part of him craved—now fulfilled.

    With this ability, Aldricor is able to summon an elemental to aid him. From a towering golem to when he’s outnumbered, to little helpers that he asks to dance in the middle of the town square for children to watch. It was a testament that he was never alone. However, Aldricor can only summon an elemental of the elements he’s proficient at, and the number of marks needed to summon one depends on its scale.


    Equilibrium     – Thanks to Aldricor’s mastery over the elements, he can regulate his body’s temperature as he wishes. He can endure the harshest of winters with minimal frostbite as well as intense heat without the worry of a heatstroke. This ability also gives him some semblance of resistance against elemental attacks, though to a lesser degree.
    BACKGROUND
    Act I. Shame

    Pride was something innate to Aldricor.

    His people were blessed by the gods, the divine coursed through their veins, and the power of the chaos root was as natural to them as breathing. The boy was regaled by the stories of the old and the now, how they sought to rid of the impurities that soiled the land. Thus, the Nephilim couldn't contain his excitement as he counted the days leading to the inevitable manifestation of his chaos root. It was by their god's design.

    Cheers and chatter filled Aldricor's ears on that fated day. It seemed that everyone in his group was blessed by a chaos root and he, the exception. Instead of a mark on his hand, something else—something entirely new manifested inside the boy. He could feel it at the pit of his stomach, slowly clawing its way out of his body to make itself known. Aldricor's face was flushed deep red despite the cold sweat that covered his body. It was shame. He was but a stain to the pristine history of his people.

    Before he knew it, Aldricor was put inside a cell with no hopes of getting out anytime soon, but he found that he didn't mind it as much. The boy could tolerate the stale bread and dirtied water, the cold floor and insects crawling about. Even if a mark failed to appear on the back of his hands, Aldricor could still be useful. He'll be a willing sacrifice to help his people get closer in resurrecting their god. This was his punishment and repentance.

    The thing he couldn't stand, however, was the other occupant of the cell. A Draculus greeted him with a smile when he first entered the room. It was Aldricor's first time seeing someone that belonged to another race, while the Draculus was more than familiar with the Nephilims. Feelings of distrust and disgust immediately sprang up and filled the small room.
    Act II. Conversations

    Aldricor knew what he was signing up for—not that he had a choice in the first place—when he agreed—it was the only way—to be a part of the Nephilim’s research. He’d like to say that everything was a blur, but it wasn’t at first. He could feel every excruciating second he had spent under the hands of his kin. The first one burned like he’d never felt pain before, the second he hoped would be better, but fate liked to see him hurt, and his faith to their dead god was the only thing that kept him alive after the third. Aside from the torment, the only consistent thing was the Draculus welcoming him back every time he was dragged back to his cell, with the same smile they wore when they first met.

    Aldricor didn’t have time nor the space to lick his wounds. If he wasn’t strapped on a table hearing the ways his body was going to be taken apart, he’s on top of his makeshift bed hearing about the Draculus talk about every single thought they had. It annoyed him to no end but interacting with them was worse. The only time he listened was when they were talking about their family.

    ‘The entire world was against us, but we had each other and that was enough.’ Aldricor unconsciously turned his head slightly towards the Draculus, ‘Still, the world is against us,’ The Draculus’ eyes met his and he immediately looked away, ‘and had us separated once again.’ Aldricor slept uncomfortably after that.

    Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into-actually Aldricor didn't know how long it had been since he was put inside the cell. What he knew was that he was going senile. The first and only proof he needed was that he was starting to not mind the Draculus’ stories and even had to stop himself from replying occasionally. At night, when the Draculus inevitably talked themselves to sleep, Aldricor found himself staring at them at the corner of his eyes. Under the dim lighting of the cell, he couldn’t differentiate their body underneath all the grime and dirt. How their blood flowed and seeped through the cracked floor just the same.

    ‘I’ve been here for so long that I feel like I can understand what the rats are saying. Do you think I can ask them to sneak us the key to the door?” The idea was absurd enough that it was comical and Aldricor let out a huff of laughter before he could stop himself. ‘I honestly think it could work!’ He could hear the Draculus smile.

    ‘You’re dumb.’ he whispered back.

    Whispers turned into sentences, and sentences turned into conversations.
    Act III. Spontaneity

    One day Aldricor was rudely awoken by a guard, though that was the norm. What was weird was that instead of leading him to one of the laboratories, he was quickly ushered outside the facility. Aldricor hasn’t felt the sun in ages and the first time its light hit his skin, it burned. His eyes took a while to focus and when they did, they landed on a bloodied figure on the ground. It was a Nephilim, given by their armored—though one could barely call it that with its condition—body.

    ‘Congratulations.’ The guards that dragged him out said, and it was the last thing Aldricor remembered before everything went black.

    The next time he woke, it was to the sight of the Draculus towering over him, face scrunched up in worry. This was the closest they’ve been, but Aldricor didn’t mind it as much as he minded the splitting headache that assaulted him the moment he opened his eyes. Once everything settled down to a manageable degree, he looked at the Draculus in confusion, hoping that they knew what happened. All they did, however, was look at his hands and Aldricor followed.

    What greeted him was a mark of Nevrys. He quickly tried to rub it off to no avail. Aldricor thought it was a joke, until he felt it. He was instantly brought back to the beginning. It was something entirely new, and unlike the last time, it wasn’t shame that greeted him. It was power. Similarly, it felt just as foreign—wrong—as before.

    That night, Aldricor recalled the stories of the old and the now, how he’ll be a part of their history, and wept.

    It took a week—he dreaded every second—before Aldricor was led outside, officially this time. The sun greeted him first, then everything else at the same time. There were more people than he was used to and sounds loud enough to the point of overstimulation. Everyone had a different destination, but their feet moved just the same. Aldricor was lost the moment he made himself known. He was quickly escorted to another building, his steps in a hurry, out of beat. He was promoted from a test subject to a foot soldier. He was given an armour, but its weight was unfamiliar, and the helm felt as suffocating as his cell.

    Aldricor’s life was filled with spontaneity, and on his third day, he disappeared only leaving his discarded armor behind.
     
  • Index
    • Mintha // Nephilim, Healer
  • Index
    • Mintha Lamiaceae
    Aeon of Heroes
    Profile
    General Information
    Race
    Nephilim
    Gender
    Female
    Age
    317
    Height
    168cm
    Class
    Archon
    Origin
    Aeslengard
    Description
    Fool’s Gold
    Brainwashed would be an apt term for this Nephilim. Born within the kingdom of Aeslengard, she was brought up in their religion. This included the exaggerations, lies and inflated sense of being that came with it. Meaning the twisted racial superiority was alive and well in Mintha at one point. Genuinely, did she believe that her race was superior. All this to say, this nephilim was like all the others. She believed in their righteous pursuit of religion and the acts her nation would commit. Those who didn’t have chaos roots? They were obviously unfaithful. Slaughter or jail them. Did someone question the religion or perhaps they didn’t follow the cultural training to the T? Slaughter or jail them.

    A devout follower of the church, Mintha rose to be known among its members. She was fearless, relentless and determined. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for the Theocracy. She was determined, often putting the church before her own health, to the point of her own degradation in ability. Though she was simply praised for her show of loyalty and dedication to the church and their religion. In fact, she regarded herself and her health so little that she made herself sick often. To the point where it was endangering her life. Mintha was as devoted to the cause as anyone could be.

    Though, that was all in the past. Over a hundred years ago, in fact. Mintha now, is attempting to atone for past sins and mistakes. Guit still haunts her, and has a drastic effect on her life. She’s harsh on herself, and pessimistic about anything to do with herself. Mintha’s temper is easily lost and tends to lead to one of two things. Explosive anger or silent internalization. The girl knows loss, and has seen the terror of who she once was. The reptile-looking girl now offers her healing services for free to any and everyone. In a vain attempt to repay the pain she’s brought to others.

    At present, Mintha is someone who is quiet and reserved. She keeps to herself for fear of being hurt by the people looking for her. Or those people in question hurting anyone around her. Meaning Mintha is slow to open up to anyone, and is suspicious of anyone who is interested in her. The girl keeps the fact that she is a Nephilim hidden, as doing otherwise could easily end her existence. The fact that she has animalistic traits means it is easy for her to pass herself off as a Bestiard.

    EXTENDED BIOGRAPHY
    Personality
    Distant and cold are the traits this Nephilim emanates. Until someone can get close enough to break down those walls, Mintha has little reason to interact with others. She does so for work, now a part of the Ashen Knights, she knows she has to learn to better work with a team. Though those flaws are still there and very evident. Mostly quiet and observant, she often volunteers for the most dangerous tasks. The most observant of those in the knights would realize it’s not for valor or honor. Mintha just simply doesn’t value her nearly as much as others do. Guilt and a far off dream of atoning for past sins drive her forward. Though her temper plays a part in everything as well. When emotional the girl often acts recklessly or without thinking. It will take some time and effort to get her to come around, but when that happens, Mintha will gain a new sense where she belongs, and hopefully, a sense of family she’s never had.
    Before the Ashen Knights
    A healer who learned to treat all kinds of injuries, curses, and magically inflicted wounds within the church. Mintha was moving up within the church and ranks, with devotion like no other until a friend told her the truth. Heresy, lies and betray left her lips. As time went on and Mintha didn’t believe this girl, she would grow fed up and leave without Mintha, but would return in a coffin weeks later... However, as the years went by, the lies her friend spoke gradually came true, and it turned out she was right, that was the final straw. Mintha would leave.

    Absolutely devastated by her own stubbornness and inaction, Mintha became a wanderer. A nomad. She learned about the world from her own view, not the tainted lies the church had told her. The more she found out what Nephilims had done, and continued to do, the more and more guilty the girl became. The more worthless she felt. The further her hatred for herself and her kind was pushed. For over a hundred years, she would wander all over all the kingdoms with no goal in mind besides helping anyone in need she stumbled across in a vain attempt to atone for her sins. Sins she doesn’t think can ever be atoned for. If anything, it is more of a selfish desire, to feel like she is doing some good after all she had helped enable and participate in.

    After all, who could ever forgive someone like her?
    INVENTORY
    Primary Equipment
    A staff that was crafted specifically for her many many years ago due to her commitment and outstanding work for the church and her kind.
    Secondary Equipment
    Medical supplies. Ranging from the normal first aid supplies, to tools for surgery and making pastes out of plants, and even elixirs and potions.
    Extra Equipment
    A set of armor from the Nephilim society. Once her everyday attire, it’s not only worn when Mintha knows she’ll be traversing dangerous areas where conflict is likely.
    COMBAT STATISTICS
    Chaos Root
    Born with her Chaos Root, Mintha became a healer early on in life, and has honed not only her abilities, but her learned skills and even career around mending wounds. Whether that be by magical or non-magical means.
    List of Abilities
    Mintha’s Mending: A simple spell that allows Mintha to instantly heal any wound she can treat. As an example, if someone gets a deep laceration, and Mintha treats it by disinfecting it, cleaning it, and stitching it, it will nearly instantly heal up as if a long period of time passed in just a couple of seconds. Though this does require time to do depending on the wound, meaning battlefield use is dangerous. The worse the injury, the longer it takes to heal, the more mana it takes.

    Propaganda Placebo: For the duration of her mark usage, any wounds, damage or pain will be ignored and nothing will happen to whoever this is used on. Though, once the duration of the mark is up, any wounds/injuries that the person would have sustained before will now all appear at once. This affects fatal injuries, poison, and any negative effects. The longer it is active and the more wounds someone takes while active, the more mana it drains.

    Brainwashed to Believe: Anything Mintha cannot see will not be able to affect her. Meaning when she closes her eyes, she is essentially invulnerable. However, it means moving or getting out of danger suddenly becomes alot harder. It drains more mana the more hits Mintha takes.

    Let Me Take Her Place: Mintha can instantly switch places with any of her teammates.

    A gentle gaze: Mintha’s right bandaged eye will slowly mend any wounds she can see passively. At the rate of how a normal Nephilim would heal their own wounds. However, it comes at the cost of feeling the pain herself and draining her energy and stamina. Hence the reason for her covering it.
    BACKGROUND
    Act I. Brainwashed to Believe
    Aeslendgard. Possibly one of the worst places to be brought up in, especially if one wasn’t a Nephilim. Which was just the case for Mintha. Being a human, she was second class. This didn’t stop the brainwashing and propaganda she was brought up in, however. While humans aren’t at the top of the pecking order, they were second; and in Aeslangard, they were exposed to just as much propaganda. Humans were higher than all other species, besides Nephilim. Mintha’s family fully believed this lie. Therefore, it was passed right onto Mintha who believed it just as much as anyone else in the country. There wasn’t much to her early life besides the proliferation of propaganda as she grew and could understand more and more of it. This girl was a straight A student, excelled in her social skills and with her abilities. By her late teenage years, she was already being put to work within the church and studying under nurses and doctors near conflict zones.

    This girl would get first hand experience healing with and without her marks and abilities. She was devoted to the cause, and had no time for anything besides learning, studying and working. This meant she was seen as an excellent member of society, and left little to no time to ruminate, give thought to, or critically think about her situation. She’d spend some years doing this. Learning anatomy of Nephilim soldiers and humans. Treating people through magic means, and traditional non-magic ways. This time in places of conflict would help acclimate her to the sights, sounds, and horrors of war.

    After some years, she would come back to the central church of Aeslangard for further education as a promising pawn in the kingdom. She was educated in the ways of the clergy, Aeslengard’s history and the church in general. Something humans normally weren’t privy to. However, unbeknownst to her, there was a reason for the special treatment she was currently receiving.
    Act II. Mintha’s Metamorphosis
    Seeing the potential and drive in the young woman, there were some high up who wanted to test something. If it worked, then it would elevate Mintha, and possibly even many more into something more. A higher species than merely human. When told about the plan, and given the chance to participate, there was no hesitation. If she could become something else, something higher than human, become the most superior race… Well, there was quite literally no choice. Saying no would simply be a disservice to her kingdom, would it not? Not only that, but she would be turning down the leader of the Sacretorium and one of her idols. So Mintha would partake in the experiment. The program. Whatever one wished to call it. It turned out to be a success. Mintha was no longer human, but Nephilim. In race, in blood, in spirit. She was something new. However, with one side effect. She had gained some kind of Bestiard traits. Something thought impossible to Nephilim. But they were here, on her body and proof of the contrary.

    Now, the girl could fully participate in the church. She was no lowly human anymore. More freedoms were afforded to her. Further education and insight into many things in their society was afforded to her now. Many aspects of her life changed, and they were for the better. She was now the dominant species. God’s chosen race. How could things get any better? For almost 200 years, Mintha was content in her life. Still driven and hardworking, she would slowly move up within the church and continue to improve her abilities and knowledge about everything to do with Aeslengard. Slowly, she would become more aware of other influential figures as she herself rose within the church. But, it seemed the more people she would get to know and find more out about, the more nerve wracking work and her job became…
    Act III. Driver of Disillusionment
    During the last 50 or so years, Mintha would meet another woman within the church. Another Nephilim that seemed very similar to Mintha. Hard working. Someone that dedicated themselves to their work and the Sacretorium. The two would work together on certain projects, and get to know one another. This Nephilim was one of the first people Mintha could connect to and call a friend, as the two seemed to share hobbies and work ethics. However, after a few years, the Nephilim would bring up something shocking to Mintha. She’d ask what Mintha would think if those higher in the church were doing unspeakable acts. Mintha didn’t even need to think. She wouldn’t believe it. This Nephilim seemed saddened by Mintha’s answer, and nothing more came of it. Until months later, it was brought up again, but as an accusation this time, not a theory. Mintha denied these lies with all her heart and defended the people within the Sacretorium. As time went on, she would try time and time again to convince Mintha of the sins of those around them, but the girl would always deny and defend them. It to a point where the Nephilim would tell Mintha that with time, she would see, and then she left. Mintha was a lost cause. She’d gotten the information she needed, so she would leave.

    Only for Mintha to see her one more time, in a coffin. At first, it was a numb sadness eating away at the back of her mind. This one person she had finally managed to connect with had not only tried to leave, but had died somehow? It definitely hurt. But as the years went on, what the Nephilim told Mintha would gradually begin to come to fruition. Whether it be time, slip ups, or wisdom, Mintha would see more and more of what her friend had been talking about. The more she opened her mind and looked into things, the more truth she saw in her friend’s words…

    So Mintha did the only thing she could think of doing. She would pack a bag and run. She just straight up disappeared one day. Leave the kingdom with no direction in her life. She had no goal to devote herself to. She would feel empty and worthless. The sadness over losing her friend would come back with a vengeance, much stronger than ever. Mintha would begin to blame herself for not listening. She would travel around, only to have more guilt, more regret sink into her as she learned of what the Nephilims were really like. What they had done to other races and still continue to do. All these feelings from all these different sources began to weigh on Mintha, and eventually she would break as it all became too much.

    She would assume the name of her deceased friend. Mintha. She would begin to act like her. Dress like her. Become the friend she’d lost as a way to keep her alive. A desperate way to make up for the sins she’d inflicted upon others. Mintha would become a wanderer, and a nomad. Selfishly helping others in the hope she herself would start to feel like she was doing good. But it never feels like enough. No matter what she does that is good. It never feels like enough. After wandering around all the kingdoms for roughly 100 years, Mintha still has no goal and no drive. She has no care for herself or her life. Truly someone just wandering with no purpose. Until, she was once again given a purpose. With nothing else, she latched onto this new chance…
     
  • Index
    • Jacoliene // Human, Hunter
  • Index
    • Jacoliene De Gunst
    Aeon of Heroes
    Profile
    General Information
    Race
    Human
    Gender
    Female
    Age
    Twenty-Eight (28)
    Height
    181cm or 5’9”
    Class
    Hyreus, Hunter
    Origin
    The Capital of Exultius
    Description
    The Soul of The Sightless
    A simple human soul born among many.

    Except she was born with impaired eyes. Her sight is filled with pure void and abyss. The light remains utterly ineffectual upon Liene’s empty gaze. Marks can be seen on her right hand from when Jacoliene was born. The child remained oblivious to the fact and stayed unknowledgeable regarding her status as a chaos root holder for most of her childhood. She became more acclimated to her status as the Duke of Prelidius’ only daughter.

    The De Gunsts continues a long line of noble Dukes and Duchesses. From the small village of Prelidius, where the first gun was developed, an engineer constructed the weapon that would accelerate bloodshed in the trenches of war. At first, the firearm was used to protect his family and the village. When push comes to shove, humanity truly has its own way when it comes to its survival. His craft was created in retaliation to the Nephilim’s overpowering brutalities that stained the world with red during the Third Divine Conflict. The Godslayer gave them the title of “Duke of Prelidius” for the weapons they cultivated and manufactured that greatly aided the man in the battles his army fought.

    That was the story her father taught her. How great and blessed she came from a prestigious family with a sophisticated background… Too bad nobility simply wasn’t for her.

    For a while, she thought her soul sought out the grand balls, the satisfying clicks of her heels, the joyous tunes of the quartet, and the lively chatter among the people. But a dark secret was hidden from her in the world of womanhood among the nobles. Women were property, something to be owned, controlled, and possessed. She should’ve known that from the way her father treated her.

    If there’s anything Liene wouldn’t want to feel anymore as a blind person, it would be the dreadful feeling of being more powerless than she already is. To fully show her refusal to this lifestyle, she left her lofty lifestyle to pursue freedom.

    But her freedom came at the cost of her humanity and morals. From one cage to another.

    Throughout the land of Paymonia, whispers of the Bloodguards stretch from the trading docks of MKC to the private courts of the priests in Aeslengard. But there is an even tiniest sliver of whispers regarding the rising assassin of the Bloodguards. She is known to eliminate and dispose of a body as swiftly as she came, the young prodigy of an infamous and feared assassin, “The Red Angel”. With her fine training with the Bloodguards, Liene became a deadly myth, a lethal blade at the Bloodguards' disposal. Like her ancestors, the Bloodguards designed their weapon of secrets, blood and death in the form of a blind maiden.
    EXTENDED BIOGRAPHY
    Personality
    Elegant. Confident. Composed.

    These are the words that would describe the blind maiden. Born from an aristocratic background, Liene learned to be a sophisticated lady and applies this to every interaction. She acts with grace, composure, and poise. Even after she left that behind in her past, her mannerisms stayed with her, and this can also be said when it came to her movements. Her steps have a particular sway, and the way she achieves acrobatic feats indicates her elegant nature.

    Liene would sometimes mistake her pride for confidence; though her confidence is something to be admired, it can turn into pride when she senses a remnant of pity toward her. She hated feeling weak and being seen as so, so she would reply with petty, passive-aggressive actions when her pride was poked at. Despite Liene’s rough past, she managed to gather the little bits of confidence she had under the De Gunst residence and mould it into something much better under the guidance of her mentor. Her confidence only grew once she fled her nest and studied the way of death and secrecy.
    Before the Ashen Knights
    After Liene ran away from the De Gunst household, a hand from an infamous assassin guild reached out their hand for her, providing her with everything she needed as she cultivated her skills and potential as an assassin. All was well until she had a change of heart. Deep within her core, she knew she would need to change her profession to maintain her sanity. It would be tough to leave the Bloodguards with her tongue and limbs intact, but it would be better to inform her mentor about it rather than be hunted down by her comrades. She received multitudes of venomous words when she presented her needs to her mentor. However, to Liene’s surprise, it was only the tongue-lashing she received from her mentor, along with a strange invitation to join the Ashen Knights.
    INVENTORY
    Mobility Cane: Winter’s Thorn
    This item could be perceived as a simple silver cane with an obsidian-coloured handle in plain sight. Ever since she was young, she has used a cane in her daily life, and it contributes to the majority of her mobility. During her time with the Bloodguards, Liene would typically use this to feign her dubious intentions; her cane alone gives the simple passerby a sense of innocuousness. But there is a secret this cane hides: in the press of a button, the sheath unlatches itself from the handles, revealing a long and thin sabre. Subtlety is one of the critical lessons she learned while being with the Bloodguards; her choice of equipment dictates that. And in a way, she enjoys the art of subtlety.

    Winter’s Thorn was derived from the only book she had read dutifully. There were not many books she could read, but Winter's Thorn was different. It was in braille, a language only taught and known to those with impaired eyes. Her father spared no expense on her education to help her become an educated young lady. Among the items that ensured her academic spirit was the book itself. It was about a young heroine struggling to find her place in society and her grandiose adventure with her friends. It was the only book she found captivating. Her sabre represents both her pasts and at least the pleasant things she experienced from it.
    A Ruby Promise Ring
    An intricately designed ring of ebony metal wraps around her marriage finger and is decorated with shiny ruby stones. One could easily mistake this item for a promise ring—a promise of love, a promise to be married, and a promise to be together with the one who gave it. Unfortunately, that promise is false and remains unfulfilled. Liene fell in love once; it was fleeting but true. And the remnants of her innocent love remained in that ring alone. The ring itself holds sentimentality to her, and it was one of her most valuable items. It was a gift from her very first love; it was a brief companionship since the man she fell in love with died in a mission that continue to haunt her in her nightmares.

    However, the promise ring is no ordinary ring. She commissioned a particular type of jeweller from the Bloodguards to add a few sly functions to the ring. When the ring is flicked in a certain way, there is a hidden blade capable of scratching and being used to cut ropes. The beautiful scarlet gems could be mistaken for rubies; however, the minute gems are toxic when consumed and could cause death. It could easily dissolve in water, leaving no remnants, except if a perceptive person notices a slight hue of red in their drink. At the moment, three “ruby” stones have yet to be used.
    COMBAT STATISTICS
    Chaos Root: The Art of Assassination
    Liene is born with marks already present on her right hand. Since many people believe that one’s Chaos Root is an extension of one’s soul, and if Liene’s soul was meant to lack eyesight, her Chaos Root only aided her in other departments regarding her senses. For Liene’s survivability, her Chaos Root is something she is deeply thankful and blessed for because if she didn’t possess such powers, Liene would possibly not be capable of the feats she can do today.

    Her family prevented her from knowing about this and kept her from sharpening her skills. It wasn’t until she chose to leave her noble background behind to join the Bloodguards that she was allowed to spread her wings. During her twelve years under the counsel of her mentor, Leyola, Liene refined her killing instinct and her senses. The gruelling training regime required her to train day and night. Leyola only expected the best for Liene, and it bore fruit when she became a formidable hunter of blood.

    The Bloodguards adhered to three fundamental principles, affecting their methods and techniques when carrying out their contracts. Contracts are what kept the Bloodguards afloat and valuable. These are the tenets that have cemented themselves in Liene’s beings, as well as the Bloodguard’s existence:

    Tenet One: Only kill your target.

    Tenet Two: Never get caught.

    Tenet Three: Never bring harm to the Bloodguards.
    List of Abilities
    The First Tenet: Good Night, I’m Only After One
    This ability allows the user to transfer some of their mana to other people, briefly disrupting the flow of one’s mana. The interference of the user’s mana leaves the target vulnerable, precisely attacking their eyesight for a limited time. An essence of Liene’s Chaos Root often lingers in the mana she passes, which explains why this ability preys on one’s eyesight. Once she is within the radius of her target, this ability can be activated. This would often be used to stun civilians or innocent people momentarily who are not their primary targets.

    As the first tenet states, no innocent blood shall be shed. A stun ability allows the user to limit the harm the user causes in their mission. Though this can be used for whoever comes in their way, it would simply stun and shock the target momentarily due to their lack of vision. This ability is prone to those lacking eyesight already.

    The Second Tenet: Never Blink, Never Seen
    Drawing from the power of the aether, this ability allows the user to disguise their presence with others' smell, hearing, and perception. The user manipulates their mana to prowl for their purposes as silently and as slyly as possible. By controlling one’s breath and easing one’s heartbeat, they can rapidly reduce the perception of the user’s mana and, therefore, their existence as a whole.

    The second tenet entailed the importance of an assassin’s most important asset: stealth. This ability boosts the chances of remaining unseen and prevents provoking civilians, which could cause potential problems during a mission.

    The Third Tenet: One Lunge Forward, Two Steps Backwards
    With complete control and manipulation of her mana, Liene utilises the energy to strengthen her limbs to handle the speed and mobility her body is capable of. At least more than the usual speed she is capable of. This movement ability relies heavily on the user’s wit and intelligence to determine how she would utilise it. This ability can be used to either engage or dodge. It allows the user to increase their speed and movement to dash towards her target. While using this ability, she could also pull or push those within the radius and length of her dash.

    The third tenet can be done in several ways; for Liene, it is the ability her mentor taught her that almost broke her. In a way, Liene honours her fellow Bloodguardians and mentors by using this ability. Liene continues to refine this, and even to this day, she holds this ability close to her heart. If an assassin’s first important skill is their stealth, then the second most important ability that is crucial in their skillset would be their speed. And this ability simply enforces that.

    Ultimate: “X” Marks The Spot
    Liene focuses all her arcane energy on teleporting herself above her target. For a brief moment, she can mark her target and deal a lethal blow. Remnants of aether remain to stain her blade as she blinks away from her previous position; the aether provides a coat of protection to her blade. If the attack succeeds, it can cause a powerful shockwave around them that knocks nearby people away. There is only one thing that this ultimate has to achieve: to eliminate a single target.

    Passive: Guardian of Blood
    Every successful hit on her target gives her a speed boost, as her hits add up to five. Once her hits continuously stack up, her chance of getting a critical hit increases. It will start over again if she misses her target or gets apprehended. When she spilled blood, she was taught and trained to keep enticing that adrenaline within her. It helps her to survive and keep her true nature as an assassin. No matter how much Liene tries to eliminate it, this will always linger within her soul: a thirst to kill, a thirst for survival and a thirst to be free.
    BACKGROUND
    Act 1: A Glimpse In Virtue
    In the year 3912, Jacoliene De Gunst was born. Liene was born in a time of unsteady order, and remnants of the recent war are still evident in the hearts of those who surrounded her during her delivery. On the eve of her birth, her parents were ecstatic to have a little girl. As the baby mewled in her mother’s arms, her father looked at the newly born with calculating eyes as if he was already planning the rest of her life in the coming twenty years. In the eyes of Liene’s father, The Duke of Prelidius sees every living being as a pawn to him, even his children.

    The Duke, Rikkert De Gunst, is renowned for his undying loyalty to the Godslayer. At some point during the Third Divine Conflict, one genius, De Gunst, developed a weapon now notably named after his family: the gun. As each generation of De Gunst grew, so did their loyalty to their sovereign. Each De Gunst offered something valuable in every war, and Rikkert was no different. He used his reputation and connections to ensure his sovereign was satisfied. For Rikkert, the Godslayer is someone to be worshipped like a god and an obedient servant; Rikkert followed every command blindly.

    The Duchess, Eveliene De Gunst, is a woman from a refined family. The Duke was first drawn to her with her beauty and the prospects she offered. Her family business handles the most extensive distribution and the making of weapons. From gunpowder to steel spears, Eveliene was meant to inherit it all. Until Rikkert decides to welcome himself into her life and propose marriage, with his family’s well-known status and Rikkert’s charismatic skills, Eveliene entirely belonged to the De Gunst family. And all her inheritance immediately went to Rikkert and his future successors. Liene’s mother became her primary example of what her future would look like as a noblewoman. Miserable, submissive and chained at the hands of the man who manipulated her to get what he wanted.

    The Heir, Albert De Gunst, is the most eligible bachelor among the ton. They are sought after by the power-hungry noble daughters of Exultius. Because of his status, mothers and daughters flock to him like flies, creating a cocky and entitled brother for Liene. The children of the De Gunst family are born with a golden spoon in their mouths and have been handed to them on a silver platter. Pampered with attention and suffocating, strict training, they are expected to bear the responsibilities of the previous dukes before them. Hubert is precisely that child, the perfect son and the perfect heir.

    The Spare, now known as the greatest disgrace to have ever stained the De Gunst name, is Jacoliene De Gunst. From the moment her perfect brother became suitable to inherit their father’s place, Jacoliene knew she was utterly disposable. Jacoliene was better off than most of the citizens of Exeltius, being part of the high society. Some say you were born to be in a family you were supposed to have, but Liene begs to differ. Behind their polished reputation and pearl-white uniforms is a a miserable life of pity and overbearing expectations. She dreams of escaping her dull life in exchange for a glorious adventure, like her favourite character from her most valuable book in braille, “Winter’s Thorn.” Purchasing a particular book like that came with expenses, and Liene was somewhat surprised to hear that it was a gift from her father.

    As a young girl, born from noble blood, she wore expensive dresses. Not that there would be any point in donning these heavy ruffles if the child couldn’t exactly see how beautiful she looks. It would be during these times that she developed a sense of disinterest when it comes to how she looks. Clad in her armour of fabrics, her household knew her as the helpless, weak and fragile little girl who was utterly dependent on her parents and maids. Something silent stirred inside Liene as they continued to fuss over her.

    From Liene’s protected and sheltered life, she knows little of the world and would want nothing more than to experience life in her way. However, with her parents’ protectiveness and perception of her as their weak little girl, Liene finds herself in an unfulfilling situation. No matter how much she protested and proved herself, she would always be met with dismissive looks and sharp grunts that let her know one thing: “This brat is very ungrateful.” It was at that point that she thought to herself that it would be better to give up.
    Act 2: A Glance In Bane
    At the age of fifteen, her father had started compiling numerous suitors for her when she came of age at eighteen years of age. As her father did so, Jacoliene became bothered by her inevitable fate, and she soon found ways to find solace and peace away from her household. It started in the silent nights she would spend on the roofs, and as each night went by, the nearby noises enveloped her senses and intrigued her significantly.

    During these times, she would develop her art of stealth, picklocking, and escape. The challenge and thrill she received from doing that were addicting. Something in her just feels complete when she does that. Every night, she finds relief whenever she's out of her estate. After years and years of ignoring her chaos root, burrowing it deep inside her for golden ruffles, silver pearls and her father’s demands, she felt an overwhelming amount of happiness when she finally rebelled. Mingling among the ordinary folks and joining their festivities was new and magical for Liene.

    During those faithful nights, she found a friend named Leyola Briyis. When Liene obliviously took food from a stand without paying, a woman cloaked in black stepped in to help the blind girl. And since then, each night the blind maiden would slip away, a fellow peasant woman would always be waiting with her. Unbeknownst to Liene, their meeting was no fate. Since Liene had stepped foot into the capital’s famous festivities, Leyola saw an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. Through Liene, Leyola could successfully infiltrate an impenetrable vault and gain a capable student. Leyola saw some potential in Liene and hoped to recruit her for her guild, The Bloodguards. That is if she succeeds in what Leyola has to offer.

    The Bloodguard started as a ragtag group of petty thieves who grew to be a formidable group of fine assassins and spies. Leyola knows about everyone in the capital; as one of the guild's founding members, her influence and wit are crucial to the Bloodguard’s survival. Her vast knowledge and the secrets she keeps are far more valuable and enough to topple nations or put a virtuous family into a deep and shameful scandal. Even with her years of experience as an assassin, the De Gunst vault continues to be impenetrable.

    Leyola’s mission is the De Gunst’s collection of blueprints, one in particular: the original blueprints of the first gun would fetch a sturdy price for some of Exultius’ finest vintage collectors. At first, Leyola was only meant to use Liene solely for the mission, earn her trust, steal the original blueprint, and leave. But as the two spent more time together, Leyola saw potential in the girl and proposed an offer she could not refuse: steal her family’s greatest protected secret for a membership at the Bloodguard. It was a test to prove her loyalty and put her stealth skills to proper use.

    It wasn’t much of a decision for Liene; it was precisely what she had wished for, and something in her lit with excitement and perhaps with slight naivete. But as she retrieved the parchment under the glass that stood atop a pedestal, Liene sealed her fate. Once she handed that piece of paper over to Leyola, it further cemented her future as an assassin.

    Her time with the Bloodguards was one of her most horrific periods in life. As she entered the rat-infested sewers under the Capital of Exultius and dove deeper into the labyrinth-like path, Liene’s unease only increased. After all, she was only a child at that point. And when they arrived in front of a maiden's statue, Leyola pulled out an intricate-looking dagger with particular jaggedness. Leyola pushed the knife key into a slot behind the maiden, and the statue would do a quick 180° turn, revealing the Bloodguardian’s secret hideout. Despite its stark difference from the residence she grew up in, Liene swallowed her situation like a colossal lump and learned to be satisfied and grateful for what she was given.

    Being surrounded by calculating killers did not bode well with Liene’s moral compass. Except for one playful assassin who stole her heart, Isaac Snippe. With him, she felt full and normal for once. Fate has a funny way of showing Liene how she was meant to be alone for the rest of her life by taking the one person that brought light to her life. The two received a contract that required the two of them, and the mission would’ve been successful if Isaac hadn’t triggered the alarms. As the two aborted the mission, Isaac got caught in the chase, and it didn’t take Liene long to realise that her lover was no longer with them when she heard the familiar click of a gun, followed by a loud ‘Bang!’ she was all too familiar with.

    Without Isaac to keep her sane, she drowned herself in contracts to busy herself. She learned and carved their principles deep within herself. During these times, she only saw pain; her experiences with the Bloodguards have given her a rather dark and grim perspective about the true nature of her world. Driven by money and greed, the Bloodguards are no different than the rest. The blood she shed continued to complicate her moralities, and each time she spilled and killed, the guilt weighed her down deeper as if the souls she took were trying to drag her into the deeper levels of the Abyssal Dungeon and further into Sitra Achra to have her soul cleansed.

    There’s not a day that goes by when Liene doesn’t feel that guilt inside her.
    Act 3: A Sight To Look Forward Today
    The horror of the prince’s execution is still present in the minds of the Godslayer’s subjects. Uncertainty, terror and dread filled the whole country. Some of Liene’s colleagues even witnessed the deed with their own eyes, and from what Liene could hear, her comrades had undoubtedly enjoyed the blood spilled that day. It bothered her how only she seemed disturbed by the gory details given to her ears.

    As Liene continued to live under the expectant eyes of Leyola and the Bloodguards, she proved to them her capabilities and, through their guidance, honed and perfected a Bloodguardian sister. Liene upheld the ‘Three Tenets’ and kept them close to her heart. Despite the principles she led by, her guilt slowly corroded her mind in an unpleasant way to the point she craved to be free from the profession.

    It was when she was twenty-seven of age when she officially renounced her membership to the Bloodguards. The thought of simply running away, leaving without a word, has crossed her mind first and foremost; however, after realising that her comrades are skilled stealth warriors, she realised that the best solution is for her to leave as peacefully as she can. One thought occurred in her mind: it is critical to leave the Bloodguards on reasonable terms, or else there will be a chance of her name tainting her comrade’s contracts. And that could prove problematic in the future she is trying to build.

    When Liene approached Leyola about the idea, the woman became furious and almost lashed out at the blind lady. After all, Leyola spent blood, sweat, and tears perfecting Liene to follow in her footsteps as the next Red Angel. To Liene, her anger was expected. After all, only a few have managed to leave the Bloodguards with their tongues and limbs attached. They valued their secrecy, and one could not take any chances. The survivability of the assassin guild and its confidential info relied on heavily punishing the deserter for the sake of everything the Bloodguards uphold.

    Or at least, that was what Liene thought until she was given a chance to leave without risking any of her limbs. In exchange for her freedom, she had to accept an invitation from the Ashen Knights.

    She wondered if this would be another cage she would leap into or if she would finally get a taste of true freedom.
     
  • Index
    • Tsunbuyla // Draculus, Vanguard
  • Index
    • Tsunbuyla
    Aeon of Heroes
    Profile
    General Information
    Race
    Draculus
    Gender
    Female
    Age
    289
    Height
    191 cm
    Class
    Vanguard
    Origin
    Italas
    Description
    Solipsistic Edict
    What is Fate? Scoff at its declarations and laugh in its face. With the entirety of her existence, Tsunbuyla utters a single proclamation: to live freely and to live well. For if life is destined to be a fleeting, unjust thing, then she will break it underneath her blade or die trying. After all, what’s the use of surviving if it’s with her freedom leashed? A life not her own is a meaningless one.

    Haha, so never again. Never again will she be bound to another’s will.

    Until one day, a cause. Tsunbuyla may not understand the Ashen Knights nor the peace they fight for, but she slays their enemies all the same. Yet in that time that she fights at their side, she comes to understand their dreams of liberty and find kinship among their numbers. Perhaps they, too, are destined to be a fleeting memory, or perhaps one of the knights will be the first to shatter her apathy.
    EXTENDED BIOGRAPHY
    Personality
    Brash, unfettered, and fearless even in the face of death. Look through the sea of all such descriptions and choose one of many. Worry not about which one you take because Tsunbuyla possesses them all in spades. She’s all rough mouth, headstrong will, and impervious bravery, yet strong and steadfast in all the ways that matter. Of which, there are admittedly few, but promises have only ever been possible to keep when they are small in number. And the number that Tsunbuyla has made is small enough to be counted on one hand. Instead, she keeps true only to her declaration of enjoyment, to all the greater and lesser vices—good food and smoke ranking high among them.

    Ranked highest of them all is her pursuit of strength, her first devotion. Honed through combat, it guides Tsunbuyla to seek strife and to clash amidst conflicts not her own, despite her detachment. In the same manner, it guides her towards a strange morality, one that detests preying on civilians if only for their lack of challenge. After all, there’s not much use trying to whet herself on those who’ve never learned to fight.
    Before the Ashen Knights
    As for Tsunbuyla, she learned from the beginning. After all, the criminals who raised her made no effort to mask the laws of the world, to hide their ways of banditry and the triumph of the strong over the weak. And so she grew amidst an environment of apathy, acceptance, and enjoyment, with no law and no mourning. Nothing but the simple thrill of combat and its aftermath. Even after their deaths and the enslavement of her kind, Tsunbuyla has yet to find another statement so true. So, looking back to those days before the Third Divine War, to that city which came so close, all Tsunbuyla can say is that Italas just managed to teach her better ways to enjoy bliss, that’s all.
    INVENTORY
    Paired Great Swords
    A pair of simple steel swords, first handled by the clumsy claws of a bumbling cub just learning to swing and since wielded across Tsunbuyla’s long years dyeing the sands. Despite their age, they’re in good condition, resulting from her meticulous maintenance. After all, the world has yet to truly reinvent a blade. In such a manner, even weapons made from the simplest materials remain harvesters’ sickles. Under the influence of her arts, they become a force even nature must heed, with an eternity of cuts stemming from her decades of practice.
    Aromatic Vials
    Numerous small containers, each filled with a homemade amber liquid. This batch smells of herbs and anise, though she possesses the skill to create others of differing scents. Typically, their effects are rather minute, with a few dabs being just strong enough to add a sense of culture. However, when burned, these aromatics change, becoming strong enough to mask a Bestiard’s stench from nearby Vile Beasts and a Nephilim’s blood from distant ones. Additionally, their familiar scent weakens the bloodlust of Tsunbuyla’s Nightwalker form when it rises, helping her maintain her lucidity.
    COMBAT STATISTICS
    Chaos Root
    The Shattered Mirror. In its many faces, time and space shift, layering atop each other in a single, impossible moment. Under the crux of its arts, memory becomes reality, and history becomes your greatest weapon. So face the earth, face hell, and face heaven, and split them under the weight of your gravitas.
    List of Abilities
    Blade Convergence - Ability: One attack becomes many, and many become one. Reality bends under the weight of mana’s will, space folding into itself in an argent prelude. Moments later, the past becomes the present and seven echoing strikes surge out from history. Layer them, and she falls upon her prey with a dragon’s fury. Divide them, and she slays those who would devour her with a regiment’s armaments.

    Image Defining - Ability: Echoes of history linger in Tsunbuyla’s reflection. She wraps her will in mana, she looks back, and she becomes. Fingers sharpen into bloodied claws, and flesh sinks into a Nightwalker’s grotesque hide. A full becoming. Time is deceived, and her memories enforce themselves onto the world, distorting her into the likeness of her past self for the duration of the mark.

    Refraction Emitter - Ability: Images dance, leaping from curved angles and distorted space. Attacks are projected onto mirrored projections of mana, part of their energy dissipating between their conversion. In exchange, arts work to bend them around corners and bypass obstacles, directing them to strike true. And so, wild swings of the blade flicker away, their reflections projecting forth to strike across space and armor.

    Waltz of Sterling - Ultimate: Consumes a mark on use. Mana reaches out and touches up to two nearby reflections, subjugating them under its domain. Through them, the Shattered Mirror reaches backward, and shadows of the past begin to writhe. Gleaming weapons and polished armor turn against their owners, becoming catalysts for flurries of glaring silver, releasing twelve strikes each. In cases where one of the mediums has a sufficient history with its owner, the mirror may instead replicate one of the target’s recently used physical techniques.

    Looking Glass - Passive: Reflections shift under Tsunbuyla’s gaze. Fixed views become shifting panoramas, bending to her will to reflect images from impossible angles, and enemy lenses distort, showing scattered blurs and setting her off to an interloper’s presence. In her domain, you’ll see exactly what she wants you to see.
    BACKGROUND
    Act I. Come Sin
    From the grasp of ignorance, something simple. From that simplicity, chasing nothing but the most instinctive desire, something like freedom.

    In the chaos of the Second Divine Conflict, shattered prisons and evacuated cities led to the escape of many convicts. Yet they fled not into the arms of freedom but into the maws of death, their bodies ravaged by a crawling disease that clung to their fading vitality and settled deep into their flesh. In the face of their own destruction, no one had bothered to warn the dredges of society of the plague. One gang of such individuals, formed after years banded together in the name of escape and survival despite old grudges and hidden blades, happens upon a trio of Nightwalker children orphaned in the wake of disaster. Their faces are warped and their hearts uncaring, but they are not entirely cold-blooded. When they take the fledglings from the ashes of war, tucked inside a nest of old clothing within their packs, it’s with names not in a mother tongue but in the primal voice of the forest: a click, a hiss, and a howl.

    They are raised with the most indulgent of vices, as much beast as man. When hungry, they eat bread stolen from the packs of travelers and meat cut raw from slaughtered men. When angry, they bare their fangs and sharpen their claws, venting their frustration with pumping adrenaline and purpling bruises.

    They are raised to be as criminal as the rest, with blood splatter staining their grotesque bodies and stolen supplies strapped onto their backs. Devoid of shame, devoid of sin.

    Until that perverse reverie is swept aside by the edge of an obsidian-limned blade, dancing like flowing waters and scattering petals as it cuts through the perpetrators of a most immoral life.

    The swordsmen return to the home of the Draculi with bounties in hand and the surviving child in tow, passing the child through the altar of flames before submitting her to their mentors in the Yamamoto Clan for reeducation. Like all who walked through its gates, to learn the blade was a process spent as equal parts servant and student, learning to seep tea for tranquility and sweep floors for humility. Standing in a lakeside pavilion, watching as the blossoms fall from the surrounding trees to ripple the waters below for the sake of tradition. Adopting a new name and reciting ancient verses over an exchange of wine bowls for the sake of culture. And most strange of all, dedicating the sword to an order that proclaimed freedom for their people, even as it passed judgement on those declared to be beyond salvation.

    Perhaps Tsunbuyla could be content there amidst a life of luxury and purpose, however strange. Even with expectations possible only for those who had learned to live before being whetted on blood and rust. War had always coursed thick through her blood, but here, there was always someone leading, guiding her to believe in another's utopia. Yes, perhaps she could have.

    Realization strikes on a night, just as average as the rest. There is an annoyance, as always. An unannounced Nephilim, half-dead and destined to pass by the light of dawn. But as the Draculus waits for the death of the sojourner, they reach out a shaking hand. Crimson eyes witness a final plea and ignore it like one of many. At that moment, a promise is sealed by the brush of a blood-smeared palm and the rush of mana through once-barren veins. Memories and a final message.

    "My people are coming. They seek to fall upon your city, to wipe it out and devour it whole."

    That night, obsidian blades fall from the sky like treacherous rain. A warning meant to save turns out to be nothing more than sadistic amusement, the last game of a cat toying with its prey.

    That night, Tsunbuyla ushers off the last remnants of a village. No, perhaps by the time dawn came, the last refugees of a dead race.

    At that thought, the embers of sorrow flicker in her chest, a strange glimpse of something she has yet to understand. But time has been most unkind, and those embers have been stamped out before they could ever catch aflame. Now, she is unbound all the same, unfettered by emotion even in the face of her dawning enslavement.
    Act II. or Come Sorrow
    Loss is not hard. Perhaps it should be. Perhaps the shades of her grief should color her gaze, her voice, her stature in the mourning grays she sees stretched across the others.

    But it does not, and her memory stretches, dips, blurs, burying those days under the thump of her heartbeat. Because she is alive, and she is leashed, and she is restless.

    Ah, there it is. All those memories of culture swept underneath the rug in the face of that looming impatience. Because this is not unfair when it is simply the rule of the strong. Even as the plate dwindles, the needles sting, and crimson pools around her fingers.

    Though the latter is by no fault, save her own. When she looks into the Shattered Mirror, it reflects a monster, claws sheathed against its own palms as it waits. Gathering strength for a slaughter soon to come.

    How does freedom taste, she wonders.

    The gates break open before she has time to find out; the prisoners liberated by the armies of Exultius. Finally free, once more, to pursue their desires, if only they could remember what those desires are.
    Act III. I’ll Cut ‘em All Down
    So what, exactly, did Tsunbuyla desire?

    She loved the pleasures of the mortal world, learned from her time in Italas. The warm curl of smoke in her lungs, drifting from a lit cigarette. The taste of roast meat and barbeque on her tongue, settling warm in her gut. And most of all, the dedicated study of the blade.

    What she desired, however, was freedom.

    So she walked the earth, settling wherever her blade could earn a blood price. Until the very crux of her Arts was stained with the same fervor, the same indolence.

    "One sword to split the seas; two to sunder the skies."

    Yes, that would do well. To become a weapon of slaughter, daring to defy whatever stood in opposition, whether they be beasts, kings, or the very heaven themselves.

    For there is no need for blessings, nor masters, nor higher existences. And in such a scenario, what need is there to bend to the will of another, no matter how brilliant, how noble it is?

    So if she ever were to be leashed again, it could be by nothing, save for her own desire.
     
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  • Index
    • Vinestria, Nature's Whisper
    Aeon of Heroes
    Profile
    General Information
    Race
    Aerouant
    Gender
    Male
    Age
    224
    Height
    132 CM
    Class
    Hyreus - Hunter
    Origin
    Avalon
    Description
    The Duty of a Survivor

    A Warden does not speak; expect to nature and to those whom share a lifelong bond.

    A Warden does not kill without clear purpose and intent.

    A Warden is unseen and unheard--a whisper in the woods.

    A Warden shall protect the balance of nature above all else.

    Such are the tenants under which Vinestria lives his life. After all, they are the teachings that gave him the strength to overcome the tragedies of his past. Like many of the surviving members of his race, Vinestria had lived through the fall of Avalon. It was during this time that he had experienced a totality of loss; including his family, his home, and the many critters of the city whom were his only friends.

    Perhaps, it was simply luck or fate that had led him to the forest where the Warden lived--a human elder who would nurse his broken body; who would train him in the ways of a Warden; and who would ultimately gift him with the path of a Hunter--but in Vinestria's eyes, it was not luck which kept him alive.

    To those who seek the teachings of nature, blessings from the Mother will come.

    To study, preserve, and protect the earth which surrounds him--this is the path Vinestria has walked since the day of his birth. And this is the path he shall continue to stride, till the day he returns to the earth once more.


    EXTENDED BIOGRAPHY
    Personality
    On the surface, Vinestria is best described as quiet, awkward, and unfit for social situations. Not only is he muted by his pact, but also, the centuries of living alone in a forest has left him with very little social talent. To make his social presentation worse, Vinestria's physical appearance is often described as fragile and soft; a child, rather than the centuries old Hunter that he is. Even as an Ashen Knight, he presents himself in a rather brusque manner, to avoid the company of others. Though for anyone willing to dive below the surface, a much gentler soul awaits.

    While the preservation of nature is his paramount objective in life. Allies whom he can instill his trust into, are blessed with the same level of care and devotion. With Vinestria by your side, you can ensure that he will linger with you until his very last breath.

    After all, his deepest, buried desire is too once again have a place to call home, and the friends and family to make it so.
    Before the Ashen Knights
    For the century following the departure of his mentor, Vinestria adopted the cabin in the woods and continued to live his days in solitude. During this period of time, he dutifully honed the powers of his Chaos Root, using hostile monsters and humans as the prey of his Hunt. However, for those who lacked ill-intent, Vinestria became something of a local fable--a mysterious draconic protector who might appear from the shadows and guide you to safety. Unfortunately, such rumors only brought further danger to forest, as they had painted a target on his back.

    Unwilling to risk the integrity of his home, Vinestria made the conscious decision to begin traveling the world. Rarely, did he ever attend any cities or towns; preferring to stick to the wilderness of the land. For several decades, this journey continued, during which, he documented the state of the earth. There were clear signs of the irreparable damage vile beasts and consistent wars had done to the land. Numerous species were now extinct, ecosystems were left barren and destroyed, and all across the land, villages and towns were left struggling to survive.

    Given the history surrounding his childhood, Vinestria was not one to put in his faith in humanity, but there was only so much a single Warden could do. Upon hearing of the Ashen Knights; of someone who was willing to take a stand against the corruption of the world. Perhaps to that someone, he could offer his services and hopefully bring balance to nature once more.


    INVENTORY
    Gnarled Stave of the Warden
    The Gnarled Stave of the Warden is another heirloom left behind by his former mentor. It is a rather special stave made from the wood of a mystical tree with unknown origins. Not only is it incredibly study and capable of holding up in combat against monsters and steel; it is also naturally regenerating. Knicks or splinters will gradually repair themselves over the course of a day, and any larger injuries over the course of a week.

    In addition to its regenerative properties, the stave continues to flower every spring. It produces beautiful blooms of pink and blue; though, Vinestria has yet to figure out how to successfully nurture the seeds that it produces.

    Vinestria uses the stave as a means to aid his mobility in rough terrain, an assassination weapon through its pointed end, and an all-round combat device when necessary.
    Wilderness Bundle
    Vinestria always carries a knapsack filled with various supplies. The sack includes a variety of materials such as harvested herbs, insects, and foraged remains of animals. These materials are primarily used for his shapeshifting rituals; however, they can also used for various concoctions of medicinal or toxic value. Vinestria will never replace true medical care or a healer, but in a pinch, he might keep you stable enough to see the next light.
    Vex - The Raven
    Vex is an incredibly intelligent bird who is capable of understanding a significant number of gestured commands. Nevertheless, she is still an ordinary raven without any special properties past that. She was found as an injured fledging who was nursed back to health by Vinestria. Since then, she has remained by his side as one of his closest companions over the recent years. More often than not, she accompanies him on his journeys through the wilderness, where he uses her as a low-profile scout or a way to retrieve and deliver small items and goods.
    COMBAT STATISTICS
    Chaos Root: The Warden of the Woods

    To those who seek the teachings of nature, blessings from the Mother will come.

    The Mark of the Warden is a symbol of Vinestria's devotion to nature. Over the course of his lifespan, he has observed the damage the state of the world has wrought--species culled into extinction and ecosystems pillaged by the fires of war. For every year that passes by, more and more humanity continues to trample over the blessings of the earth. Thus, it is through the power of his Chaos Root that Vinestria vows to bring change.

    To mother nature Vinestria prays, and with great power, she answers his call.

    List of Abilities


    Ritual: Friend of the Forest
    With this ability, Vinestria gains the immediate trust of all nearby animals for the duration of the skill. He can also use this ability to directly converse with them in a common animalistic language. This ability also works on flora and insects, though at reduced efficiency, allowing him to glean minimal pieces of information from a targets.

    Ritual: Nature's Wrath
    Vinestria brands a target with a cloud of his mana. Branded targets become an enemy of nature--ensuring that any animals, insects, and even plants within the range of the mana cloud will be compelled to attack with empowered strength. Vines would wrap around their target, branches would swing in attack, insects would swarm to bite and string, and predatory animals would hunt them as prey.

    Ritualistic Shapeshifting: Floral Claws
    This ability may include an additional price to be paid upon activation.

    Vinestria manifests the claws from his dragon form onto his human hands. If he consumes a piece of plant material as a part of the abilities activations, his claws are then imbued with a physical appearance of the plant and any unique attributes of it as well--this includes toxins, medicinal values, and elements if the plant was of elemental nature.

    Ultimate - Ritualistic Shapeshifting: Totality
    This ability requires an additional price to be paid upon activation.

    To shapeshift, Vinestria must consume something from the animal, insect, or plant he wishes to become--this could be anything such as a tuft of fur, a feather, or simply their meat. Upon shifting, Vinestria takes on all characteristics of the entity--including its appearance, smell, and mannerisms. Furthermore, the full strength and durability of his draconic form is blended with the natural abilities of the entity he becomes.

    Passive: Nature's Whisper
    Rough terrain does not impose any movement speed penalties on Vinestria, nor does his movement causes any terrain-based noise, such as twigs cracking, branches creaking, and so forth. Furthermore his natural stealth is heavily heightened in areas of noticeable foliage and cover.
    BACKGROUND
    Act 1: Observation


    The boy who does not speak. He is far too small and frail to have a future in this world. Furthermore, what Aerouant rejects his true draconic self?​

    Vinestria had always been a peculiar hatchling. He was far too quiet and shared little interest in any bonding activities with his brood. Instead, his days were enjoyed in solitude, observing the various forms of flora and fauna which lived around and within Avalon's walls. From mentors' perspectives, Vinestria was considered a failure--an avoidant, unresponsive child without any means to contribute to society. But, it was only behind the closed doors of his home, did his true personality shine.

    Night after night, he would come home to the hearth and gush about his findings of the day.

    "Look ma, pa, this fat racoon I sketched could move really fast for its size. It could even climb walls." He began moving his arms and legs to demonstrate the racoon's movements. "I practiced its movements and now I can climb really well too!"

    Some nights it was about the animals he had stalked, others it was about the various plants he had studied and even ate. Every night was the narration of a new adventure, which in turn, shed light on his true talents and growth. Both parents knew; Vinestria did not need a standard mentor to succeed. When it came to his investigations of nature, their child was a genius.

    Physically, however, Vinestria remained much less impressive over the years. While his peers exploded in both size and strength, he was seemingly cursed with the body of a child. “Frail little baby boy, too scared to grow up into a real dragon.” The others would mock in passing, some even attempting to bring violence into the mix. But to the latter, he was immune. What he lacked in strength and size, he made up for in nimble speed. Vinestria was like a mouse. He bounded over impassable walls and zipped into alleys where he could vanish into the shadows. Nonetheless, agility did nothing to protect his heart.

    Maybe it was the years of emotional abuse weighing on his emotions; or maybe it was simply an overabundance of hormones leaving him fragile for the day; whatever the case, his parents knew something was wrong when they came home to find their son curled in bed sobbing. "Is it a sin to not be like them? To not enjoy their competitive games? To not enjoy a form which only brings terror to the creatures I love? Does this make me a failure as an Aerouant?" He whimpered, once cuddled into his mother's arms. There, she began gently caressing the horns on his head, until finally, his father answered in a firm, yet comforting tone.

    "Never change who you are." He bent over to stare his son in the eyes. "You are special, Vinestria. You are blessed by mother nature, herself. Soon, our world will be turned upside down, and it will be you who survives the turmoil, not them. They may be strong in society's eyes, but you, my child, you are strong in the ways of the world. You must surv--..." His voice trailed as he carefully contemplated his next words. "No...you will survive."
    Act 2: Solitude

    The young man who does not speak. With a body and mind broken and marred, he has accepted his weakness.​

    As Vinestria crawled towards the door of a cabin, his expectations of seeing the next light were low. But with his body shattered, conscious fading, and open wounds filled with maggots and muck; there was little he could do but put his faith in hands of a stranger in the woods.

    Nightmares plagued his addled mind--bloodied bodies lying in the streets, screaming mothers who begged for their children's lives--all a far cry from what he understood of death. For a brief moment, a memory pushed past the terrors and reminded him of what his mother had once said.

    Death is like a warm light which guides you the great beyond. It is something that should be embraced, not feared; for when it is your time, you will know only peace.

    Perhaps the lack of peace was what gave Vinestria the strength to fight for his waning life. To fight against the memories of the masked men who continued to haunt his dreams. Over and over, he remembered the chase through the forest. Their cursed roots, arrows, and steel which pierced his body and left him unable to escape into the shadows. In the end, it was the durability of a dragon, a torrential storm, and an accidental slip into a river ravine which had enabled his freedom.

    When his eyes opened, Vinestria was still laying at the foot of the cabin door. His body was still broken, but his wounds had been treated and wrapped. By his side, a jug of water and loaf of bread rested on the dirt, though the latter had been partially tainted by the denizens of the earth. All in all, though, he was alive.

    "Ah. I'm alive." He uttered with a smile on face.

    "I'm alive." He said once more. However, this time, his voice wavered and cracked.

    "Alive..."

    For the second time in his life, tears began to flow down Vinestria's face. A guttural wail erupted from his chest.

    In the end, all the skills he had learned over the years of observation, meant nothing at all, when all he could save was himself. When it meant that now, he was truly alone.
    Act 3: The Hunt


    The Hunter who does not speak. With scales of bark and the steps of a shadow panther; he is the true predator of the woods.​


    A Warden does not speak; expect to nature and to those whom share a lifelong bond.

    A Warden does not kill without clear purpose and intent.

    A Warden is unseen and unheard--a whisper in the woods

    A Warden shall protect the balance of nature above all else.

    Such were the tenants under which Vinestria learned to live--albeit rather painfully. For each word he spoke, five lashes to the face. For each step that was heard, ten lashes to the feet. And heaven forbid he step on a plant or spook a critter of the forest; the beatings would last the day. He did not hate his new circumstances, though. If anything, it suited him far more than life in the city. Here, he was free to engage in the lifestyle he loved, so long as the tenants were obeyed and his studies were completed.

    His mentor, an elderly human, did not ever speak, nor did he allow Vinestria into his cabin home. All instruction was done through paper, or through physical demonstrations which gradually began to shape his aptitude over the years.

    First, he learned how to move; to become a ghost who was unseen and unheard by the denizens of the forest. Then, he learned how to use a stave; a peculiar weapon for a stealthy hunter of the woods, but one that made sense given its dual purpose as a mobility device and weapon. Next, he learned about the flora and fauna; specifically, their value as medicine, food, or toxic ingredients. And finally, he learned how the kill; the hardest step of all.

    Tears flowed down Vinestria's face as he hovered over the family of wolves; his claws marred with crimson. It had been a necessary task given the damage they had caused to the local population of prey, but such justifications were merely a means to an end. For countless decades, animals had been his only source of friends, and now they had been slain by his very own hands. In this moment, his training no longer mattered. Vinestria began to sob. Yet despite the noise he made, Vinestria was not struck.

    "You, my child, are Nature's Whisper."

    It was the first and last time, he would ever hear his mentor speak--a kind, soothing tone which exuded the love and pride he had for his pupil. Without a sound, he would vanish into the shadows, never to be seen again. Perhaps, he had known his time was nigh and had chosen to save Vinestria the pain of further loss, or perhaps he had merely wished to live his life in solitude once more.

    Whatever the case, the vial of mana he left behind was the greatest gift he could ever leave--the strength to become a true Warden of the Woods.
     
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    Rubiliaxx, the Crescent Blue
    Aeon of Heroes
    Profile
    General Information
    Race
    Aerouant
    Gender
    Female
    Age
    864
    Height
    162.6cm (humanoid) 769cm (dragon)
    Class
    Vanguard
    Origin
    Avalon
    Description
    Stories in Scars
    A child of Avalon, Rubiliaxx bore witness to the wonders of the greatest mortal city in its golden age, and the tragedy that brought it to ruin. As one of the few survivors of the great Aerouant slaughters, the scars of conflict and loss run deep. There is an old and long forgotten saying among her dead people, that a dragon's scales hold their story, just as the rings of an oak speak its silent tale. Scarred and battered, Rubiliaxx's hide speaks only of a long and bloody history of survival and grief.

    The most telling of all is the damage to her head, faded with time and yet gruesome to any familiar with the weaknesses of the Aerouant. Long ago, she suffered a near-fatal blow at the hands of a Chaos Root. The resulting damage left one eye partially blind, nearly shattered her horn, and left half of her jaw as a broken mess. Although she managed to heal her horn and bones, the events of that day haunt her more than any scar. Perhaps that is why her horn never healed right, losing its beautiful glow, or why her jaw still aches when she breathes flame.

    Broken in both spirit and body, Rubiliaxx spent most of the last great age in seclusion. She had completely given up on this world and its violent people, even losing her will to protect her dying kin. She spent her days rotting in a cave, slumbering in troubled thoughts as she waited out the call of death. It was only when a young mortal, over the course of their little young life, that challenged her nihilistic thoughts. Moved by the burning glow of their dying hopes and dreams, Rubiliaxx seeks to carry on the mortal's legacy and give this world, and its mortal denizens, one last chance.

    EXTENDED BIOGRAPHY
    Personality
    Though centuries have passed since the failure of her sacred duties, the embers of Rubilixx’s role as a broodmother still cling to life. Although she usually comes across as quiet and reserved, her strong maternal instincts drive her out of anxious solitude. She is generous in providing either care or wisdom should it be required, and if not, her ability to be a non-judgemental listener can often put a troubled heart at ease.

    As gentle and nurturing as she might be, this alone does not make a broodmother. Even retired as she is, Rubiliaxx is one of the last examples of the raging inferno that is a matriarch's wrath. When charged with the defense of another, you will find no fiercer opponent than this old she-dragon. The tenacious will to protect another turns her into a vicious, near monstrous opponent. When in the heat of battle, she is one of the first to throw herself into harms way should it mean sparing those she cares for.

    Paradoxically, while Rubilaxx may be one of the oldest knights, she is not the most street-wise when it comes to modern civilizations. She never quite got accustomed to the customs of the younger races and can be a little naive when it comes to them. She keeps an open mind, and is curious to learn more about the short-lived races.
    Before the Ashen Knights
    Rubiliaxx was in a sorry state before a young human happened upon her lair. The promising vanguard, Cynrad Whitecliff was the one originally chosen to take the mantle of Ashen Knight, but his tale was cut tragically short when bounty hunters ambushed him en route to visit Rubiliaxx. His last action was to pass on his chaos root, along with his hopes and dreams, to the aerouant he considered a dear friend.

    While Rubiliaxx once had little hope for the future, she seeks to honor her friend's memory and find out the reasons he was so willing to die for a cause she considered folly. Perhaps there are still things worth dying for in this world. Perhaps her friend was right, and tomorrow can be better than yesterday...
    INVENTORY
    Claw, Fang, Flame
    A testament to her age, Rubiliaxx is quite traditional in the sense that she prefers to fight in her draconic form. While she can defend herself in humanoid form if nessisary, she is more comfortable using her supreme might as an adult aerouant to decimate opponents by flame and claw. She was born stronger than most, with thick scales and broad horns. Once upon a time she was proud of this strength, but now she prefers to avoid conflict unless needed.
    Shield of the Fallen
    A heavy tower-shield given to her by her late friend, Cynrad. It is made of a thick, dark metal and is embedded with a faintly glowing gemstone. Engraved into the outer rim are the words, "Honor outlasts those who embrace it".

    The shield has an unusual energy, though Rubiliaxx is quite oblivious to it due to her ignorance when it comes to matters of magic. Her friend never mentioned how he obtained it, and now she will never know. She is unaware that is it a Fragment of Divinity, and unable to draw out its potential. It serves as a physical memento of her friend, and a weapon on the rare occasion she finds herself in combat and cannot transform into a dragon. When not in use, it is slung across her back.
    An Old Gift
    A bracelet fashioned from melted Avalon gold coins. It has tarnished from age and has been scratched, but it is Rubiliax's most prized possession. There was some engraving on the inside of the bracelet, but it has worn away to the point of being illegible.
    COMBAT STATISTICS
    Chaos Root
    Grief burns hotter than any flame, even after the ashes have long settled. The chaos root is a reminder, an ember she refuses to let burn out. For within it are the fragile hopes and dreams of another, a thing more precious than anything this world can offer. Tired as she may be, she shall carry the torch for all who came before and light the path for all who come after. Until the day her flame is snuffed out, she shall let this borrowed power blaze like a second sun.
    List of Abilities
    A Broodmother’s Calling: Rubiliaxx rushes swiftly to the side of an ally in need, moving between them and harm to possibly intercept a blow or projectile. When not in dragonic form, ghostly apparitions of her wings will carry her to them.

    For You, I Shall Bleed: Whenever Rubiliaxx is guarding another, attacks (including projectiles) will gravitate to her rather than the shielded charge. So long as she is actively guarding someone or something, Rubiliaxx’s natural defenses and resistances are increased. Scales harden, glancing off lesser blows, and tolerance to pain and other effects are heightened. She can sometimes forget her wounds -- a blessing and curse.

    For You, I Shall Kill: Rubiliaxx’s protective nature makes her into a vicious combatant, one that is as relentless as she is reckless. The ferocity of her blows are made monstrous for the sake of protecting a nearby ally, enhanced with flames and she experiences higher endurance. The use of stamina will catch up with her once the threat has passed, sometimes incapacitating her.

    ULTIMATE - For You, I Shall Die: Consumes all remaining marks on use. An ability that is only activated whenever Rubiliaxx is in a near-death state, fueled by the remaining lifeforce in her body. Her willpower transcends death itself, igniting as blue flames upon her body and making her immune to all killing blows for a short duration (dependent on number of marks consumed). Once the effect ends, all damage she sustained will catch up with her. If she is not healed, she will die.

    PASSIVE - She Who Swallowed the Sun: Fire runs through her veins, making her immune to its bite and filling her with an unnatural heat. Her blood is volatile to the point that it will ignite if exposed to flame, either her own or other sources. It is hot to the touch, even when not burning, but will lose most of its combustibility once it has dried. This unique trait can be both useful or dangerous depending on the situation.

    BACKGROUND
    Act I. Torn from the Heavens
    Rubiliaxx saw Avalon in all its glory, for she was born before the time of its conception, and lived to see the day it fell. The memory of it haunts her in vivid clarity, and in her dreams she can faintly smell the blood and gore that littered the once peaceful streets. What had been a beacon of hope and cooperation had withered into the site of tragedy and betrayal.

    She and her beloved fled from the chaos, whisking away as many survivors as they could carry in claw, fang and back. Even after centuries have passed, one of her greatest regrets is not the fall of the city itself, but the faces of those who were left behind.
    Act II. Twin Peaks
    While Rubiliaxx had saved Avalon refugees of all races, the aerouant hunts put this trust to the test and ultimately drove both her and the surviving aerouants to abandon their fellow survivors and seek the safety of the wilderness. As respected matriarchs, Rubiliaxx and her beloved Solsong led the small group of aerouants to a secluded valley that would become their new home. Together, the colony built a hidden village that they believed would be far from the horrors of the Hunts, where they could live in peace. It was named Twin Peaks, after the two mountains that converged to form the isolated valley.

    Rubiliaxx and her beloved became the community’s broodmothers, and together took countless orphans under their wings. In those days, there were far too many. Although Rubiliaxx opposed the idea, Solsong eventually convinced her to seek out other groups of Aerouant seeking sanctuary from the hunts. Slowly, the community grew, and Rubiliaxx’s might was only needed on rare occasions. As always, she ensured that there were no witnesses left alive. Brutal, yet necessary.

    As time passed, the children lived without fear, and some dared to believe that they could outlast the age of darkness in peace. That is until one day the hunts found them.

    Rubiliaxx arrived as soon as she saw the flames, but at that point the hunters had overrun the place. She did not know how they found the community, and she never would, but she did not care. As her kin were slaughtered around her, Rubiliaxx carved a bloody path to the nursery. All she wanted was to buy the children and her beloved time to escape. If the young could survive then their race still had hope.

    She fought desperately, but one aerouant alone was not enough to stop the hunters. They breached the nursery, attacking both Solsong and the young ones. In one last attempt, Rubiliaxx threw herself at the leader of the hunter. Rubiliaxx was met with the full might of a chaos root, shattering her jaw, blinding one of her eyes, and nearly shattering one of her horns.

    As she lay dying and broken, the last thing Rubiliaxx heard was the terrible screams.
    Act III. From Ashes
    Much to her regret, death had not claimed Rubiliaxx. She awoke in a pool of dried blood, surrounded by ash and death. Half her vision had gone dark, and the remaining half wished to have been blind as well. She burn and ate the carrion birds that dared to scavenge among her kin and forced her broken body to rise and honor the bodies of her fallen friends as best she could.

    Once Solsong and the rest of her kin were laid to rest, Rubiliaxx dragged herself into the mountain caverns and languished there for years, waiting for death to claim her. A some point a human settlement was made in the lands below the valley, but she cared little. At least until a young boy happened upon her lair.

    The boy, some sort of squire named Cynrad, challenged the “Great Dragon” to battle. Rubiliaxx refused, but after much whining, eventually accepted, defeated the boy, and then deposited him outside her territory. Peaceful silence returned, until a few weeks later. The boy returned again, and again, and again until Rubiliaxx could count the passage of years by the frequency of his visits. At first she found it to be a minor annoyance, but eventually she grew to anticipate the visits. Some days she would lay outside her cave and watch the winding road of the village, keeping an eye out for the human.

    The boy grew up into a young man, and that man grew into a warrior capable of bearing a chaos root. Eventually, he even managed to best the old ‘dragon’. A fine warrior he had become, one that was selected to become a member of the Ashen Knights. This news is what prompted him to return one last time to Rubiliaxx's territory, to say a proper farewell before his travels. It was on the path that he was ambushed by a group of bounty hunters, seeking to claim the prize for slaying an ashen knight.

    By the time Rubiliax arrived and slaughtered the attackers, the damage had already been done. All she could do was hold the human in his final moments, watch the life bleed away as he shared with her the great vision he shared with The Princess. There was so much hope left in him, smiling even as he lay dying. He entrusted Rubiliaxx with these fragile hopes, giving her his chaos root in exchange for a vow to stand as an Ashen Knight in his place.

    After laying Cynrad to rest, Rubiliaxx took his shield and set out to join the Ashen Knights in his stead.

     
    Igris Chalara Raywood
    Aeon of Heroes
    Profile
    General Information
    Race
    Human
    Gender
    Male
    Age
    20
    Height
    178cm
    Class
    Hyreus (Hunter)
    Origin
    Exultius
    Description
    Scorching Inflorescence
    If there was one thing Igris learned throughout his lifetime, it was that no one could dictate his life more than he could his own. All his years of obeying the commands of others had led to nothing but trouble, but the downfall of those he followed without question. He used to believe that if he was born as nothing, he would die as nothing. However, due to a near-death experience, Igris now believes that not only does he have a life calling, but a life of his own: a path that he must make for himself, instead of taking the path predetermined by others and ruining himself in the process.

    In reclaiming his life, Igris aims to prove to himself, and by extension his father, that he truly does have a life worth living, a life filled with purpose. What purpose that may be, however, he is still uncertain. Maybe, he hopes, he provides a valuable set of skills that could be useful to another, or that he was meant to carry the will and the legacy of the late Prince Wilhelm. Maybe his purpose in life is simply to outlive the expectations of his father, which was to measure up to nothing. When he does inevitably perish, however, maybe someone would remember him enough to recognize what he contributed to the world, no matter how little—it just had to be enough.

    EXTENDED BIOGRAPHY
    Personality
    Others view Igris exactly as he would like to be seen: reticent, aloof, and when he deems it necessary, assertive. Igris does not value companionship like he once did; instead he prefers to seek comfort in solitude than to flock to others. Due in part to the prince's departure, he is slow to trust, and slower to accept the nature of those around him. Thus, Igris tends to rely solely on himself and avoids building connections with others, in fear that they, too, may one day be removed from his life. If there is a kind heart that exists beneath his frigid exterior, it has been submerged by the atrocities of life, remaining to be seen.
    Before the Ashen Knights
    Igris was never one to believe in heroism. It was not the fictional aspects of valor, but rather, the idea of hardening one's will to prevail against peril that, to him, was an unthinkable action, especially considering that he never felt the need to die for anyone or anything.

    He knew he was born selfish. He knew, coming into the world, that he was a good-for-nothing boy who fell prey to the world's crooked system. As such, he envisioned—his future as clear as day—to be enlisted into the frontlines of direct combat, only to die a forgettable death. At least then he would have some likeness to his late father, who left him to suffer in a world that gave solace to no one, all for the sake of seeking a blind glory that Igris could never understand.

    However, there was one truth that remained ever lucent: no matter the pain one had suffered, no matter the struggle one would face in an arduous attempt to manifest change, the chances of succeeding in their endeavors were scarce.

    Even so, at the very least, in death one would be remembered; the blood of one spilled would never truly disappear, for there would always be those who would honor existence through remembrance.

    There was no beauty in death, but there was comfort. That alone was enough for Igris to ignite the flame in his soul, to relinquish his burden from the person who would require his help the most.

    Until the blight that rooted itself deep into his being would rot away his heart, he shall make use of his remaining days to walk the path of impenitence. For far too long had he idled away in indifference, in wait of an impending doom that would inevitably engulf him.
    INVENTORY
    Horseman’s Axe
    A greataxe taken from a suit of knight’s armor. Although not a sentimental item of personal value for most, Igris cherishes the weapon as a symbol of protection, particularly for the Late Prince Wilhelm. During his adolescent years, as Igris grew to idolize the prince, he would fantasize about becoming a common footsoldier to keep the Prince out of harm’s way. Once he realized it would be a reality never to come true, with the Prince’s beheading, the fantasy turned into mourning, and his will to fight would only grow strong enough to match his will to die.
    COMBAT STATISTICS
    Chaos Root
    With but two years to hone the skills of the Chaos Root handed to him by his unknown, unseen, unspoken savior, Igris still has much to learn. At his current level, his proficiency with his Chaos Root is determined to be within the lower-intermediate range, barely surpassing the beginner range. Igris has yet to ascend his Chaos Root. Perhaps due to the near-death circumstance that he had experienced before coming into contact with the Chaos Root, his skills appear to be closely related to bloodshed.
    List of Abilities
    Ability 1: Using his own coagulated blood, Igris conjures a crow that can be used to surveil and collect information from within a fifty meter radius, notably objects that have come in contact with blood.

    Ability 2: Upon lacerating a target, the victim’s pain from the wound heightens to a point where one reaches a state of intense agony. For up to ten minutes, the target is unable to sate their pain and eventually undergoes a state of frenzy. As a result of their madness, they will attack the nearest target they see, friend or foe alike.

    Ability 3: Igris may summon a beast that acts in his command, assisting him in attacking and taking down nearby targets. In order for this ability to be executed, at least two pints of blood are required, either from the user’s body or from spilled blood.

    Ultimate Ability: The criteria for this ability to be activated is rather unknown, and much to Igris’ chagrin, seldom under his control. Once a threshold of bloodshed has been met and bloodlust from the user grows, the Vile Beast that has infected its host, Igris, begins to assume control over their shared body. The initial form of the Beast begins to jut out from the skin, sacrificing the condition of affected appendages in order to enhance the instincts and brutality that the user holds. In this state, mobility and endurance are greatly increased, and the adrenaline from within temporarily increases resistance to pain and inflicted damage.

    Passive Ability: As compensation for the blindness inflicted upon him by the Vile Beasts, the Chaos Root provides the user with a mode of perception in which they can detect the mana of all living organisms within their peripheral vision. This ability helps the user orient and maneuver oneself in relation to other objects.

    Since concentrations and purities of mana vary between the multitude of classifications of organisms, the user is typically able to distinguish between fauna and flora, as well as different [pureblood] races from one another. However, these organisms may still be obscured from view if hidden by material that is absent of life, e.g., a wall or box.
    BACKGROUND
    Act I.
    In the early days of his newfound youth, Igris was anything but outstanding in character—the silent child who was oft seen peeking from behind the comfort of his father's form, intrigued yet intimidated; analytical yet acquiescent. With an absent mother who succumbed to maternal death, the widower was left to take care of his child in his lonesome.

    Born and married into the working class, Igris’ father struggled to make a decent living for the house of two. With hardly enough money to make ends meet, the father, who would return home just to rest and provide the bare necessities before returning to work, grew weary of life; the only thing that kept him going was the memories of his late wife, the warm, gentle lover whom he wished to raise child and grow old with, and the byproduct of their consummation, who came to symbolize the source of his problems. A constant reminder of death, misfortune, stress, the father could not believe he would grow to resent him as much as he had. As a result of the ever-accumulating stress from bills yet to be paid and overtime shifts, the father's temperament became volatile… yet even as the root of his misery, he could not—would not—take away the life that stole his beloved’s. She would never allow it.

    The next best option he could think of was to join the military, and so he did. Perhaps the financial support he would receive would mean that he would no longer have to slave away every day to survive, and he could take a lucky break from having to look after the pesky kid. Despite his shame as a father, he could no longer care about what would happen to him. He knew that his child would be in better hands under the care of another. All he needed to know was that Igris would, undoubtedly, be taken care of. What happened to himself was of no matter.

    If he died, then he would die knowing he did all he could in life, and if he died, he could finally reunite with his wife. How he longed for her so.
    Act II.
    Igris, left to the hands of the military, was brought to the Evernights to assess the situation. The Godslayer paid him no mind, but the eminent and kind Prince Wilhelm was quite the opposite. Not wanting to turn his back away from a child so impressionable and so young—young enough to be his sister's age, a potential playmate—who lacked parental supervision, the prince offered for the child to be under the care of the palace aides until his father returned from the military.

    That day never came, but to be honest, Igris didn't care either way. In fact, he preferred things the way they were.

    Several months had passed. Occasionally, the prince too would check in on him, hold conversations with him, and take him out to play in his free time, things his father never did. Because of that, the effortless acts of care that were second nature to Prince Wilhelm, a kindness that Igris had never known prior, the child quickly grew attached. On an unfortunate day, word came that Igris' father was killed in action, but it mattered to him not. To him, Prince Wilhelm was more a father than his father ever was, despite the fact that Prince Wilhelm was barely a teenager himself, and a busy one at that…

    But, he, too, fell victim to death, decapitated by none other than the King Godslayer, who by this point was corrupt with madness. ‘Why?’ Igris asked himself. Why him, too? Was it some dumb stroke of luck, or was it fated that those around him were meant to die before their time was due? Was he the trigger, the catalyst? If so, surely it meant he, too, would be no exception. Then, he figured, all he had to do was wait for his time to come. So he did.
    Act III.
    For days on end, which dragged to weeks, to months, he waited idly, occasionally performing mundane tasks that were asked of him. Then one fateful evening, on his way to gather some wood from the forest, with no one to accompany him, two Vile Beasts would lunge from the darkness, taking advantage of Igris’ distracted state of mind.

    At last he could depart from the mortal realm, he thought, as they began to tear at his flesh, starting with his eyes. However, not too soon after, he would hear sounds of wailing, hissing, blood squelching, bodies thudding to the ground. He noticed the Beasts’ movements had ceased, and a strong hand would bring him up to his feet. Before the mysterious figure—a man, he presumed, by the weight of his fingers—released the grip on his wrist, he placed an item with his other hand into Igris' palm. By the feel of it, based on what he had heard from the Prince, it must have been a Chaos Root. How he had obtained it, Igris' did not know, and by the time he had opened his mouth to speak, he was already gone.

    Once again, Igris was alone. However, the thoughts of death that consumed him moments before were replaced with adrenaline, the rush of feeling alive for once in his life. Perhaps the fact that he was saved by another meant that there was still some meaning to life after all. Whatever the case, it was a wake up call for Igris to stop waiting for death, especially when there was something, maybe someone, out there waiting for him.

    There was no time for him to be a coward.
    When he was called for duty, he answered with more than just honor. An inferno burned within him hotter than any other day. His heart blazed in absolution, and he left his home without regrets or shame. A final chance to carve his way into doing the right thing.
     
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