Fantasy Ashes & Iron (CS Thread)

[Elenion Aura]

Ashes & Iron - CSes
Will be back to spruce this up and share the code for the CSes

 

[Elenion Aura]

"And Hell followed with them."

full name:

Silas Morrow

alias:

"The Hangman"

sex:

M

time of birth:

Winter, XX Years after Heaven’s Fall

birthplace:

Gallows Reach

race:

Human

height:

5’11" | 180 cm

weight:

165 lbs | 75 kg

hair:

dust-brown

eyes:

muted grey

personality:

A world-weary pragmatist; hardship and toil have aged him beyond his years. He’s cautious, but not cold, though he tends to keep his distance from others he meets along the road… Usually for good reason

At heart, a good man. The West has no shortage of Demons, but he refuses to become one

background:

Gallows Reach was purged

“Punishment for our sins,” the Smiling Demon had cried with wicked delight, eyes on fire as He pulled the Hangman’s cord

Silas can still see them

In his dreams, behind his eyes

Hanging there, his family

Mother, father, sister, brother

Swinging from that old tree

He can still hear the Demon’s laugh, ringing in his ears

His first lesson of the West: this world does not care whether you live or die

Despite everything, he survived. For what? He could not say

A drifter-child, he had scraped and clawed for every inch of life that the world seemed Hell-bent on taking from him, until he was ’The Hangman from Gallows Reach’

A tongue-in-cheek epithet. Bequeathed to him by older, meaner, madder hunters. As if to remind him of the home he had lost. He didn’t care. The West didn’t, so why should he?

Until one day a job took him East… He set out that way alone, but did not return the same

abilities:

➣ Gallows Lead

• Silas' main-hand weapon is a modified breech-fire judgment pistol, a heavy flintlock-style handcannon of Old World design

➣ Carrion Call

• Silas wears this lever-action, long-barreled, precision rifle slung across his back. He's a crack shot

➣ Dead-Man's Noose

• A long, wicked, iron-spined chain whip with serrated barbs and grisly, devil-forged hooks meant to drag and tear at flesh. Silas coils this (carefully) around his wrist. Useful for snagging somebody. In some cases, he can use the whip to grapple up and reach higher terrain

➣ Hatchet Job

• For close-quarters, Silas carries a jagged blade with a folding, serrated head, like an over-sized barber's razor. Silas deploys this implement with surgically precise violence

➣ Widowmaker

• Silas wears a bandolier of hexed munitions. He plucks one of them and loads it. When fired, it seeks out its target's heart. If the bullet strikes, and kills Silas' target, the round faithfully returns to Silas' hand, ready to be fired again

CODE BY REVERIEE

 

[ThatWhichShouldBe]

"And I saw heaven opened, and there I behold a white horse..."

full name:

'Adam'

alias:

"The Rider"

sex:

M

time of birth:

5 Years after Heaven’s Fall

birthplace:

A shallow grave

race:

Revenant

height:

6’4" | 193 cm

weight:

220 lbs | 99 kg

hair:

Muddy Red

eyes:

Piercing Silver

personality:

Blunt and driven. The way a train barrels down a railroad, thus he moves through life. A grim, zealous sense of fury has him hounding every 'sinner' he can find to the ends of the West. Those who are wicked will find themselves dead by his hand, and one day, so he says, the very gates of Hell will crack open to be purged by his hand. Listening to him, one can almost believe it. But there are bits of him that are all too human- hints of dry humor, a deep sense of empathy for the innocent and helpless. They peek through the shroud of his wrath like the sun behind the clouds. There is a man behind the flames.

background:

Kill. Kill. Kill. There are always more of them. A festering wound, filled with the pus of greed, with the poison of pride. The maggots fill the world. He steps on them but there are always more. He can't count how long or how many- He just remembers. The Fight. The Flame inside, that burns still. He remembers fighting and fighting and fighting and then- peace. Peace. He rested... For a time? Yes. For a time. Then he wakes up.

His iron is at his side. The world is as dark as it has always been. It is time to hunt again.

No rest. Not until Hell is empty.

abilities:

• The Crimson Hands:
  • David and Samson - Two weapons. Forged of a strange alloy- perhaps, one might recognize it from the metal of Heaven's Gates. Sometimes they're twin guns... sometimes they're twin blades. Their form seems to shift to be whatever is needed most. The gun never seems to need to run out of bullets to be reloaded with, nor the blade ever need be sharpened... But at their touch, even a Devil would know fear. Woe be to the sinner.
• Miracles of Wrath:
  • Fire and Brimstone, Burning Light and Holy Scourge. He calls upon the might of lost Heaven, and it answers with destructive power. For God is not always kind, and his wrath is a terrible thing indeed. The more he chants and focuses, the more of God's Wrath alights upon this world. He can also use his prayers to divine what kinds of Sin a person has committed, so as to better lay Judgement upon them.
• Miraculous Alacrity
  • 'Adam' moves like greased lightning. His weapons practically spring to his hands when he needs to draw them, and he reloads his gun with an impossible degree of ease. He's slippery too, able to duck in and out of cover and flit across the ground.
• Saint of Killers
  • Unfortunately for everyone he hunts, he's not alive anymore. Which means physics don't apply to him much. Instead, his body obeys his thoughts more than the laws of matter. He can 'phase' through walls with a bit of concentration, and through sheer force of faith and conviction, enter a brief 'trance' to regain stamina and knit together any damage he's taken. However, he's quite helpless while doing the former, so he must be careful about it.
• The White Horseman
  • The Wrath of the Lord Almighty cannot be stayed. 'Adam' enters a state where he is empowered by Divine forces beyond understanding- He becomes nothing less than an avatar of Judgement. Such a state can only be entered in a time of great need, for a worthy cause. His flesh cannot be harmed by bullet or blade, though perhaps cannons could slow him down. His eyes pierce through the material world to see all those around him, friend and foe, and the bullets of his guns pass through flesh and stone to pierce the soul. He can only sustain this state for so long, of course.

CODE BY REVERIEE

 

[RikuXIII]

"I’ve got to see this through one more time..."

full name:

Brigitte Gautreaux

alias:

"The Albino Witch"

sex:

F

time of birth:

Autumn, 18 Years after Heaven’s Fall

birthplace:

Deadwood Gulch

race:

Human

height:

5’6" | 168 cm

weight:

130 lbs | 59 kg

hair:

white

eyes:

yellow

personality:

Born into a barren world where you have to fight to survive, Brigitte learned to look out for number one. Her practice of the craft was always about her own enrichment and survival. Whether she could get what she wanted with gunpowder, her keen ear, or a little seduction, she was ready and willing to do it. She used to think anybody who didn't think like her were fools who would be used bu others.
Abandonment issues left her with difficulty trusting others. With the loss of one dear to her, she fears that way of life prevented her from an actual shot at happiness. She has the will to change, even if she has to move hell and what's left of heaven to get what she wants.

background:

Born in Deadwood Glutch to a desperate couple who's dreams for a better life led them to a tragic end, Brigitte was adopted by a coven of gunpowder witches. She grew up in the craft, finding power and worth in the path of a witch. A head strong and argumentative child, many an elder witch passed her along the sisterhood to find a teacher who could temper her. The longest was Mother Esme, who treated the young witch as her own child. But in the end, Esme cast Brigitte out for her selfish nature and misuse of the craft.
Left to her own devices, Brigitte began to travel. Her knowledge of the craft gave her an edge in most situations. She paid her way with trickery and thieving. Mostly petty crimes, until she got hired on with a bank robbery job as a look out. She buddied up to the safe cracker, learning everything he knew about the skill before setting him up to take the fall from some of her stealing from the gang. Before anyone could figure out she was actually the one behind it, she left them high and dry, surrounded by lawmen she had tipped off. Brigitte did this for years, partner up with someone new, have some fun making money, then screwing them over before they could do the same to her. But that changed with Remy.
Remy Gaston was a card sharp and smuggler. A rogue with a heart of gold, Brigitte thought him and easy mark when she arranged to meet him by "accident". The two hit it off and began an epic crime spree across the territories. While Remy was a little annoying with his insistence of sharing some of their ill-gotten gains with the less fortunate, he had a luck about him that Brigitte wasn't ready to give up. A level of flirting that was always between them progressed to a physical relationship, with Brigitte viewing as two players playing the game. That proved to be wrong during a river boat job where someone caught Remy's attempt to palm a safe key. Brigitte figured the dance was done, and was preparing to bail on Remy, but was picked up by the mark's goons. Beaten, the witch figured this was it when the door busted in to have a bloody Remy stumble in to rescue her. They made it out together, but with the mark on their tail. Brigitte was wracked with guilt that she had tried to abandoned Remy, but he hadn't abandoned her. She was forced to acknowledge her legitimate feelings for him that she had ignored or buried. But these feelings went unconfessed as the mark called upon his ties to Hell to hound the thieving duo. In the end, Brigitte and Remy tried a last stand in an old mine. Before she fully knew what was happening, Remy forced a lucky charm into Brigitte's hand and pushed her into an underground river before setting off some dynamite that killed him and the forces of Hell sent after them. Brigitte was borne along the river, the last of Remy's luck embued in the charm keeping her alive. She was spat out of the mountain near Hollow Point, badly battered and nearly drowned, but alive.
Brigitte spent the next few months recovering under the care of a former sister in the coven. Remy never seemed to leave her dreams, tormenting her with visions of what could have been had she confessed how she felt sooner. They thought of going back to her old life felt hollow, and some of the old lessons from the older witches finally got through to her. Survival and luxury weren't enough for a life. You had to make a difference. To honor the memory of the man that made that difference in her life, Brigitte resolved to help those around her. And maybe, just maybe, if she cleaned herself up enough, the demons of Hell won't have enough sins to use against her when she went to take Remy's soul back.

abilities:

Limit to 5

Ability 1. Elemental Lemat revolver rounds: Different enchanted ammo with basic elemental properties that can be "comboed".

Ability 2. Ghost Touch Rifle Rounds: Able to by pass physical matter to hit the main target. This includes walls, armor, even living shields.

Ability 3. Blackpowder Path: Vials of swirling black goo that allow a witch to teleport from one place to another in a swirl of sulfurous smelling smoke. Used by smashing the vial at the witch's feet.

Ability 4. Paints of the Craft: Topical concoctions that increase the abilities and senses of the user. While often applied with rich designs and variety of colors, this concoction can be simply applied to the correct part of the body to augment its capabilities. Most often used to augment eye sight and hearing, give a boost of strength in a tight spot, or even hard skin to be more durable.

Ability 5. Ghost Sight: A perception of the true nature of things, that pierces through cloud, shadow, earth and flesh. Makes the witch aware of everything around them and can be focused on farther targets. Used to see inside objects and spot hiding targets.

CODE BY REVERIEE

 

[Infab]

"I don't care why you did it. I'm just here because you tried to weasel out of it... Hell don't like that."

full name:

Sylvia Rose Harper

alias:

"The Rose of Alichino"

sex:

Female

time of birth:

Autumn, 25 Years after Heaven’s Fall

birthplace:

Willowpost

race:

Infernal-Touched

height:

5’8" | 172.72 cm

weight:

160 lbs | 72 kg

hair:

Dark Green

eyes:

Bright Green-Yellow, Slit Pupils

personality:

An Infernal-Touched huntress. Often roguish, sometimes sarcastic. Has a serious streak at times. Drinks often. Has a knack for hunting other Infernal-Touched, and seems to actively enjoy it. Morals got tossed out the window a long time ago. More than willing to shoot an unarmed man, or really anyone else. Has been called a snake several times. Deathly serious when it comes to deals with Devils.

background:

Sylvia Rose Harper doesn't talk much about where she was born. Most just know it was an old frontier town by the name of Willowpost. Supposedly got its name from an old weeping willow tree that sat at the center of town, near a small river that carved its way through the land. People would post notices and such on the side of tree, when the town was first sprouting up. Thus the name.

Most maps don't list Willowpost these days. She claims its because it was eventually abandoned after the fall of Heaven. No need for a town on the map if it ain't got any people in it. That's not quite the truth, but you wouldn't get the real deal out of her, of course. What she's said of her folks? Father was a blacksmith, mother was a seamstress. Now, they're gone. Lost to the rough life out on the frontier.

Others don't learn too much about her, really, because she often leaves town long before they can pin her down for a conversation. Her work as a bounty hunter keeps her on the move. Work brings money, money helps you live longer if used right. For her, though, its more about the targets. Alichino, her Devil, made sure of that.

(More to come later.)

abilities:

*Paradiso & Inferno

Paradiso and Inferno are a pair of converted Remington revolvers owned by Sylvia, chambered in .45 Colt. These revolvers have served Sylvia well over the years, having proven reliable compared to older model Colt revolvers. Thanks to their side-loading gates and metallic cartridges, they are also easy to reload compared to older model revolvers that use caps and balls. Supposedly, these two revolvers have also been enchanted by her devil, Alichino, and naturally feature the ability to combat supernatural entities in the event she should butt heads with any. Their names comes from older names for Heaven and Hell, and from their coloring: Paradiso features a stainless steel finish and obsidian grips, while Inferno features a case-hardened finish and pearl grips.

*'Cain'

'Cain' is a later model Winchester lever-action rifle, chambered in .50-110 Winchester. Its a rifle that Sylvia doesn't employ often, really only breaking the rifle out to bring down big or hard targets. It also kicks like a mule, and uses specially crafted ammunition: the lead bullet is soaked in boiling Devil blood as its cast, tinting the lead a faint red color. The rifle's finish bears marks of a different sort of blood, that being of human origin. The rifle bears marks on the end of its stock, as if it had been struck hard against something once along time ago.

*The Serpent's Tongue

Its certainly an interesting thing, being able to speak to animals. Its a known trait among certain beastfolk tribes, especially those that reside close to the beasts that they claim as kin. Though Sylvia isn't a beastfolk, her deal with Alichino came with a few perks. That slick, limbless, cold-blooded creature that slithers across the ground in a variety of environments? Sylvia knows them as friends. They're very talkative. Especially about things they may have seen, like people riding by or where people might be hiding. Sometimes they can even be convinced to... help out.

*Cleansing Fire

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. That's how the saying goes, right? Fire's the great destroyer, but also a symbol of rebirth and renewal. In Sylvia's case, its a tool of true destruction. Hell's fire is a bit more true to form than the fires that one makes on this side of the great Gates. Thanks to her deal with Alichino, she has limited access to Hell's fires, able to strike up a fire that burns eternal... at least until she puts it out or someone douses it in holy water. Normally, she uses it to destroy the bodies of infernal-touched she's slain. Sometimes, however, she uses it as a weapon.

*Her Black Wings

See she comes
On the eve of dusk
In another form
With a scent of rain upon her neck
She brings the lust
Supernatural
Ceasing never
On and
On and
On
Her stride is such
Mortals freeze
When she walks past
And she comes down to me
And she offers me sleep
Under her black wings

CODE BY REVERIEE

 

[Haze-]

"Little puppet made of pine, wake. The gift of life is thine."

full name:

Jack H. Churchill

alias:

"The Tin-man"

sex:

M

time of birth:

Winter, 18 Years after Heaven’s Fall

birthplace:

???, Imperium

race:

Beastman

height:

5’8" | 172 cm

weight:

140 lbs | 63 kg

fur:

steel-gray

eyes:

amber yellow

personality:

A heartless bohemian in the heartless west, trying to be a good man for the sake of those few who still carry a pulse drumming in their chest. Through whatever 'unlawful' means necessary.

Idealistic and uncompromising, Jack doesn't bend, doesn't fold for anyone, and this obstinate disposition of his has only cemented him as the de-facto leader of his ragtag gang of 'bandits' and 'criminals. He never had the charisma nor the sharpness to his words to inspire a crowd, but nonetheless, he reluctantly leads by example. The ideals of a liberator are fast unbecoming for a smooth-talker, and his inexperience shows, bleeds through him. So he doesn't 'smooth-talk' nothing. He lets his actions speak for themselves.

The woman he respected most on this earth, his mentor, once told him that great men aren't always the wisest. Jack's never been the sharp, witty outlaw his position as leader almost suggests he is.

To him, answering to any form of authority is to be bound by chains. And chains come in many shapes and sizes; hard to notice the ball and chain chafing against the gnawed skin of your ankles when you're forced to never look down. He knows that true freedom doesn't lie hidden in the small liberties granted by the Empire's rules, surrounded by railroads and choking on a factory's fumes. No, it's out there. I the wild, with his boots in the scorched soil and his fur to the wind. His opposition to control is radicalized, but surprisingly laisez-faire at the same time. He believes that any man, woman, child and elder should be allowed to experience a life without shackles, a life of individual freedom-- but Jackie doesn't enforce his ideals upon nobody.

That would be imposing control in of itself.

He lends out an unwavering hand to the frail, the weak, the shackled. But should they choose not to take it, to remain in chains, he will offer a tip of his hat, and solemn, quiet respect.

background:

In the absence of purpose, vitriol alone is often a good enough substitute for a reason to keep going despite everything.

He was a nameless cog in the machine, way back when. Dragging the 'debts' of his parents behind him long after they'd passed away. His first ever memory was that of work, endless labor, factory-smoke burning down his lungs and assaulting his nostrils. Nothing to his name but the brand burned into his neck and the sore callouses on his palms. The only semblance of 'family' he ever had were the frail, malnourished Beastmen that worked tirelessly beside him, knotted into the cord of chains. Men, women and children linked only by one 'purpose', to feed an old house's greed until their dying days. And long after they passed, some other misfortunate soul would take up their 'debts'.

Until the end of days.

abilities:

▶ Western Venom
TBA

▶ The Name of The Wind
TBA

▶ The Blood of The Land
TBA

▶ Puppet Loosely Strung
TBA

▶ One Bullet To Pierce The Heavens
TBA

CODE BY REVERIEE

 

[thebigfella]

"When they saw that throne empty they decided it was time to play god."

full name:

Bridgette Allensworth

alias:

"Manman"

sex:

F

time of birth:

Spring, 17 Years after Heaven’s Fall

birthplace:

Imperium

race:

Human

height:

5’9" | 175 cm

weight:

268 lbs | 122 kg

hair:

Brown

eyes:

Brown

personality:

A person is shaped by their experience. Manman Bridgette has had many. Scars both physical and mental has made a woman who can be defined as a matriarch. Flowery in appearance, and her soft and serene voice disarms any who don't know of her history. An opportunist , more aptly a vulture. If you're not one of her people, then you're useless or useful, whether that's for what you have or what you can do. She makes little time for promises, and forgoes things like honor. The world is cruel, you have to be crueler. The only ones who get her respect and mercy beyond those she claims as hers are the Beastmen who have suffered just as she has.

background:

Look at this picture, a monochrome capture of a time long past. Men and women stood together, children stood in front of them. They were bound into chains, marked for life, a generational curse that infected them. Markers had been placed around their necks, long forgotten symbols of the Old Houses, they no longer held any power. Only justification. None of the bound souls smiled, not even the girl who stood at the center of the picture. This young girl, with her delicate features, beautiful knotted hair and dark skin, her happiness had already been robbed.

More pictures, the shifting times. The streets shifted from brick and mortar to steel and smog. Ramshackle houses were built over, paved over to replace train tracks, demolished to place factories. The world changed rapidly, some things never changed. The next picture showed a street block in all its disheveled stature. Children walked in the streets with barely anything to cover their backs, malnourished, houses barely stood up straight. Filth covered the sidewalks, debris from above scattered around. Where were the adults? They were all at work.

The photos never did the factories justice. From above you could see the bodies sprawling to keep the machines turning, men, women, beastmen, all struggled together. Flames billowed out of furnaces, heavy stacks of slag rode upon conveyors. The conditions were miserable. You couldn’t feel the heat, you couldn’t smell the stench of sulfur and feel the burning smog within your lungs. You wouldn’t understand. In the midst of all this was a girl whose hair had been cut short, tangled on the top of her head, skin covered in soot and ash, not a smile to be seen.

No longer was she confined to pictures left scattered, now that woman’s face reached the front of newspapers. Declarations of unions, times uncertain of the fall of Heaven has caused many things to stir, changing grips of power. The page flipped to show her hand raised high as she stood upon a makeshift podium of scrap, her fellow workers with their own arms raised in solidarity. And on the next page, everything had burst into flames. A smoldering building acted as a backdrop as union busters had rounded all the demonstrators up, their bodies either unconscious on the ground or being held down with a knee to their back or an elbow against their neck. There was that woman again, her face shoved into the dirt, blood soaked into her fabric.

There was silence, and then a roar. No longer sealed within realms of snapshots, the revolution would not be televised. It came suddenly, factories had their supplies burned, their metals melted. Foundations were torn for parts, houses were raided, industrialists found themselves no longer safe in their own city. A fortress was built to defend from the outside but not within. For one night, there was no smoke in the sky, just the burn left from the scattered heavens. It was a respite, before things would continue. Nothing like that would happen again, those captured were punished, put through more to teach them a lesson, to make up for what was lost.

But the lucky few who escaped, had truly become part of a change, they had become part of a family. For once in generations these people could truly consider themselves free. And with that freedom, they ensured the Republic would feel their suffering. Years of subterfuge, stolen shipments, raided storehouses, kidnappings, murders. For a moment, there was terror within these border towns, but eventually Industrialist influences got the foothold they needed to bolster against them, their power was growing.

So, the family moved away. They kept moving, and moving, until they could find a place they could call their own. A place that marked one of the Republic’s biggest failures, they’d just be another part of that failure. Gate’s Jaw became their house of operations, a house they would turn into a home for all the weary travelers who would come through.

abilities:

❥ Girl's Best Friend
Bridgette's parasol. While from the offset it looks like its just a part of her decor, it's actually quite the useful tool. Its internal structure is made out of lead, giving it a large amount of heft as as a blunt object, also allowing it absorb impacts and bullets like a shield. Most people are surprised when they learn how heavy the thing is considering how easy she moves around with it.

❥ My Boomstick
By inserting a small tincture into top of her parasol, upon opening it fully the crushing force will cause a sudden explosion that decimates anything in front of her. With it's good share of kickback.

❥ Pack Tactics
While most of those in the Frontier might pride themselves on being lone rangers, that's never been Manman Bridgette's MO. She has people, she has connections, and she has power. She's never truly alone, and her ability to plan and have foresight gives her the uncanny ability to make use of her people. Ambushes can happen when least expected, and help can come in strange places. Things that would be hard for the average plain wanderer to get can already be in her hands. In situations of her control, she hold incredible advatnage. In contrast however, when Bridgette is left alone and dealing with the unexpected she is much less capable and prone to losing her confidence.

❥ These Boots Were Made For Walkin'
Like a cat, Bridgette always lands on her feet. While many would say that the best chance of surviving in this world is to be quick. Quick hands, quick feet, quicker mind, the matriarch of The Oldest House crime family instead decides to keep herself well-paced and sturdy. She's not one to let herself get overpowered, or let anything stop her. Lack of momentum is made up with her strong foundations, and impressively she can walk for hours without breaking so much of a sweat.

❥ Wonderful, Wonderful, End of the World
In a world with no gods and demons run rampant, what can you count on? Only the soil beneath your feet. Bridgette's connection with Beastmen and their culture has made her one of the few people who have been able to grasp their Old Ways of interfacing with the world. A gift she doesn't use lightly, and rather wouldn't use for violence. Yet when the time comes, her connection to the Earth and anger can rouse the slumbering soil, the ground cracks and distorts around her feet, erupting into a series of tremors. A mighty earthquake that can cause a whole town to fall if not stopped. A palm onto the ground and a prayer to the spirits is all it takes to turn the field into chaos.

CODE BY REVERIEE

 

[suzumu]

"By man shall his blood be shed."

full name:

Eliza Paige

alias:

"The Sister"

sex:

F

time of birth:

Summer, 30 Years after Heaven’s Fall

birthplace:

XX

race:

Human

height:

5’2" | 157 cm

weight:

XX lbs | XX kg

hair:

deep taupe

eyes:

teal

personality:

XX

XX

background:

XX

XX

abilities:

Limit to 5

More information on abilities to come

CODE BY REVERIEE

 

[Breadman]

"I'm better than you and you know it."

full name:

Maximilian Wilson

alias:

"Mean Machine"

sex:

M

time of birth:

Fall, 60 Years after Heaven’s Fall

birthplace:

The City of Dominion

race:

Clockwork man

height:

200 cm

weight:

200-350 kg

hair:

none

eyes:

Glowing yellow

personality:

An egotistical clockwork man working as a bounty hunter. Maximilian believes that his mastery of both blade and revolvers puts him above those who surround him, and the fact that he is in an immortal shell only backs up that claim. When they will rot in the ground, he will walk the earth forever more. He cares for three things. Amassing a fortune that will be the envy of the republic, finding that one worthy opponent and getting his payback.

background:

There once was a man from Dominion who fancied himself a duelist. Be it gun or blade, he would challenge anyone he thought would make for good sport. After a trail of bodies left in his wake, he would meet a new opponent. A fine gentleman came into town offering a deal. Beat his man for a large sum of money, or lose and become a new bodyguard. Thinking this was easy money, our duelist friend agreed and all his arrogance got him was a bullet through the heart. As he lay dying, the crooked man transferred his soul into a shell of a clockwork man.

His body was a prison for a decade, serving a master that wouldn't keep him forever. Not if he had anything to say about it. He picked his moment and broke free, but in the chaos, the Crooked man and his meathead guard escaped his wrath. This was fine by the duelist. It just meant that their paths will cross again and when they do, he will have his revenge. In the mean time he will sharpen his skills and stack his fortunes.

abilities:

*Jane & Cristy
Blade forged from the steel armories of Dominion. A special gift from the Crooked man once Maximilian was conscripted into his service and keys to his freedom. Their handles are adorned with notches for the bounties he rememberes fondly. Either from the large payday or from a fight he enjoyed. These targets came close to fufill his desire for a worthy dueling partner. Close, but no cigar.

*Johnny & Daniel
A pair of revolvers that were taken from the Crooked man before he could escape. Although, they are not his main weapon of choice for duels, they recieve the same attention to detail and care as his swords. They bare the same decorations as his swords. Each one a memory of a notorious outlaw, a deadeye marskman or one very large bounty.

*Drawl!
Man or machine, his soul yearns for the thrill of the duel. Before the change, he had gone through many challengers on the streets of Dominion. As an enforcer of the Crooked man, he turned many more into victims of his talents. Now as a bounty hunter, he goes through bounties seeking for his that one coveted opponent to give him the feeling of fufillment only a worthy opponent can bring. Many have tried and some have come close, but they always fall short.

*Screw you, I have money!
Always a man of wealth, even when he was under servitude. Maximilian always found ways to flaunt his riches or to use them to get ahead. His business mind is as sharp as his blade and the money he carries is just another tool in his belt. Many gangs, outlaws and riders would conveniently let by-gons be by-gons. Provided that they were smart enough, didn't get too greedy or didn't try to out-fox him. Many more loosened their tongues or open their doors for him. Its a great pain to prepare the right currencies or items to barter for his outings, but you have to make your money work for you.

*Predictable!
His body is as much of a weapon as the swords and revolvers that he carries. The machine's core has the capability to go into overdrive, allowing him to move quicker. For a short period of time, he can predict and act on what his opponents will do, letting him parry and counter their attacks, to devastating results. Once that ends, it would take some time for the core to recharge itself. This is the final test for his targerts. Half of the notches on his weapons have made it through, but they didn't get away in the end.

CODE BY REVERIEE

 

[The Regal Rper]

"Karma without mercy for all."

full name:

'Crimson'

alias:

"The Crimson Angel"

sex:

M

time of birth:

Summer, XX AFH

birthplace:

Grim Haven

race:

Infernal

height:

6''| 182 cm

weight:

XX lbs | XX kg

hair:

deep black

eyes:

Crimson Red

personality:

Reputation exceeds expectation. The definition of looks can be deceiving. As charming and regal as he looks, his reputation speaks for him and it normally says the opposite of his disarming beautiful features.

The Crimson Angel is the most famous of his aliases, blasphemous it is to attribute a Infernal, a cold killer and a sadist with it. His enemies that call him by it however tend to not care though. The name was created in mockery but now carries a degree of respect in private gatherings. Since the name Crimson Angel became famous on the wind, there's plenty of gossip to go around. Some call him the personification of malicious justice, but the common pattern on the wind is a brute attracted to the vile. He's known to have a theatrical flourish, impeccable inconvenient timing (for his enemy), and a taste for music but beyond that there's often minimal known about Crimson that doesn't relate to the lives he's taken since his name has spread beyond that of a dying mortal's tongue. It's unknown if he is a Infernal, a righteous Angel, a Witch or a man with a lot of tricks, the rumors just vary that much. Some theories are more accurate than others. What is known is some people are drawn to his relaxed charm and violent streak, and it's gradually built something of a following.

background:

Every now and then I hear the 'The Crimson Angel' pop up. When I first heard of it, I thought it was a child's story. Some thug creating a ruckus to get attention. I first heard the name through city folk talking bout a stranger with a posse picking fights with other outlaws and gangs years ago in a distant town, some say he walks alone now. If there ever was a rumor greater though, it was the one that brought Red Bandits to my station speaking it to me and my fellow lawmen as we rounded them up.

I've never seen something stranger than a Red Bandit agreeing to be arrested in exchange for safety from trouble out in the wild. If I hadn't heard it myself and my men hadn't done the investigating to corroborate it, I would never have believed the Red Bandits were finally gone. Even a criminal running away from something has a reason to lie, but seeing traces of evidence myself I can't rightly say I don't believe some of the story the survivors of that now dead gang were spouting.

While there was no sympathy to spare for rotten folk like the Red Bandits, there was plenty of surprise to the news of their fall. Enough so that I'm glad Crimson did the hard work for us.

The Red Bandits were known for attacking and robbing anyone they saw as doable targets along east city paths. A gang of slippery looters. Certain roads were guarded because of them, certain paths were avoided at night. Always causing trouble in some shape or form. Some of their members had bounties, especially after a few of them targeted a well-liked group of celebrities years ago, cancelling a whole grand tour lots of folks were looking forward to. Shot up a member and ruined the fun for everyone. To me, it seemed their comeuppance had finally come years later.

They say Crimson likes to punish those that piss him off and since he's a bounty hunter, I don't doubt that. Gossip is he has a taste for vengeance or is a Witch with a love for battle, some rumors call him an Infernal, looking for glory in his own way. Some say he's a lowly devil that hunts for the damned souls living on earth.

As far as I'm concerned, as long as he stays out of my town and brings no trouble, the bounty some put on his head is of no concern to me. I'd buy him a cold one myself for the assistance with the Red Bandits, if he ever swung by on peaceful terms.

Then again, gossip never matches reality these days, does it?

~ Sheriff Williams.

abilities:

Defiant Flesh: Crimson's body may look human but it no longer behaves like one. The greatest power it provides is immortality. If he is killed, he will revive shortly no matter what weapon does the damage. It also grants him a supernatural healing factor that boosts natural healing to paranormal speeds. This healing factor has to be activated at the cost of an intense burning sensation that he must merely power through whenever he uses it.

Ethereal Source: Crimson descends from otherworldly heritage. It is partly to blame for his graceful charm but the real benefit it provides is giving him access to energy he can channel into attacks, weapons, for healing or physical boosting purposes. His awakening however also makes him easy to pick up on to those sensitive to the paranormal. His heritage manifests (for now) as a symbol on the forehead that shifts in appearance to the viewer but can only be perceived by the spiritual or magical. Devils and powerful Demons will recognize it is a mark speaking of strong Infernal heritage but other entities are unlikely to understand its true meaning. A Witch might feel a strange magical sensation from him, an Angel might sense a shifting force, a mortal of Faith or Arcane understanding might feel a faint aura.

Clarity: Enhances Crimson’s eyesight and sixth sense. He can see in the dark or low light for instance or sense the magical or spiritual clearly if they enter a range or fall into his line of sight. This ability makes him keenly aware of the magical and spiritual energies in his environment, making him capable of tracking entities or beings that use those sources, or pick up on the faint traces of lingering energy.

The WITCH LIGHTS : Are two semi-sentient arcane channeling weapons that belonged to his unknown biological father. The Witch Lights vibrate with a life only their user can perceive and according to them, were gifts from his father to be passed on to the son as their new master. With the power to turn into various weapons provided you can infuse magical or spiritual energy into it to do so. If you can't channel any energy into it, the weapons stay in base form and are useless. Every form carries the innate ability to convert energy into elemental frost or fire.

CODE BY REVERIEE

 

[Remembrance]

"We will be known forever by the tracks we leave."

full name:

Wind-Taken

alias:

"Ell"

sex:

M

time of birth:

Winter, 19 Years after the Cloud's Fall

birthplace:

Plateau of the Banadatio Mountains

race:

Beastfolk – Winged

height:

5’7" | 170 cm

weight:

90 lbs | 40 kg

hair:

light brown

eyes:

bright blue

personality:

Wind-Taken was shaped by solitude. The years alone made him quiet, cautious, and wholly self-reliant. He does not waste words or effort. He does not trust easily, nor does he expect trust in return. In his mind, survival is a personal burden—each man, woman, or beast must carry their own weight. He respects capability over sentiment and sees no use in dwelling on things that cannot be changed.

The struggles of the Beastfolk are a story told in bitter voices, one he listens to but does not feel. He was never driven from his home, never saw the lands burn, never felt the weight of exile. The past does not guide him, and the future does not call to him. He moves where the wind moves, not for purpose, not for vengeance—just to keep moving. But for those who earn his trust, his loyalty is quiet and steadfast. He will not speak for you, will not promise anything, but when the moment comes, he will be there.

background:

"Must we leave the boy?"

"The Man-Tribe move with the wind behind their backs. We leave, or we die."

"The boy will fly in a few summers, we must wait, then we may take him to the Chief and give him his--"

"You know our laws, our rules. Why our tribe has outlasted the rest. This boy was meant to die. The Godsky will not tolerate a child bound to Land."

"I will stay. I will see the child to flight."

"Then you are lost as well."

abilities:

“The Five Winds won’t listen, if they don’t know who you are.”
The Five Winds of the Old Ways are sacred to those who walk the Sky’s path. The winds do not obey commands but may answer a genuine plea, or stir when the Great Cycle allows. Each Wind carries its own nature, and each grants one gift to those it favors. Only those who have been recognized by the wind may call upon them; a privilege given to those who have taken the pilgrimage to the Skystones and made an offering to each of them. There are five Skystones scattered about the New World once used as gathering sites for beastfolk tribes, now defaced by Men and their unearthly pursuits. For Ell, he has uncovered and journeyed to three Skystones and restored their appearance with the runes of Beast-Tongue. There are still two to be found, and Ell will stop at nothing to reclaim his wind.

The Wind of Reason – The Whispering Breeze

They say the Whispering Breeze was once the voice of the world itself, carrying truths and secrets alike across the land. It is the wind that listens and the wind that speaks, drifting unseen through the words of men and beasts, gathering their whispers like fallen leaves. Those who earn its favor find their ears sharpened to distant voices, their steps drawn toward places otherwise hidden. It is the wind that carries warnings from afar, the wind that unmasks deception, for falsehoods crumble when laid bare before its breath. Yet, the Whispering Gale does not serve blindly—it does not offer knowledge freely, nor does it tolerate those who seek only to deceive themselves.​

Plea to the Wind:
"O wind that hears, O wind that knows, carry to me what is spoken, and let the truth reach my ears."

The Wind of Passion – The Rising Gust

The Rising Gust is the breath of the sky at dawn, the sudden lift beneath a bird’s wings, the exhilaration of flight. It does not move the sluggish nor stir the doubtful; it is for those whose fire burns bright, whose hearts race with purpose. When it answers, it grants swiftness beyond mortal limits, letting feet carry one farther and faster than their own strength could allow. It lifts the body as it lifts the spirit, granting leaps that defy gravity and a lightness of step that dances across treetops and rooftops alike. But this wind does not wait—it rushes forward, and only those willing to move with it can hope to follow.​

Plea to the Wind:
"If my heart is true and my fire unquenched, carry me swift upon your breath!"

The Wind of Fury – The Raging Gale

The Raging Gale howls with the wrath of the storm, wild and unyielding. It does not answer the weak-willed, nor those whose rage is empty. It stirs only for those whose fury is just, whose wrath burns not for cruelty but for purpose. When it answers, it grants a strength that shakes the earth—a single blow striking with the force of thunder, a kick sending foes sprawling like leaves in a tempest. Wood splinters, stone cracks, and bone shatters beneath its might. But this wind is not kind, nor is it patient. It demands resolve, for once loosed, its storm cannot be easily called back.​

Plea to the Wind:
"Storm-born wind, if my wrath is just, let my strike shake the earth!"

The Wind of Kindness – The Gentle Current

The old ones speak of a wind that carries warmth, as soft as a mother’s breath upon a fevered brow. They call it the Gentle Current, and they say it does not come to those who demand it, nor to those who seek to steal its gift. It is a wind that lingers at the edges of campfires and settles over the wounded like a lullaby on the breeze. There are stories of warriors who bled in the dust, only to find their pain eased, their breath steady once more. But the sky does not grant miracles, and the wind does not turn back the tide of death. Those who chase it will find only air between their fingers, but those who ask with open hands—well, they say the wind might listen.​

This wind will not heed Ell's call—no matter how genuine his plea—until he finds the Skystone associated with it.
Plea to the Wind:
. . .

The Inside Wind – The Unseen Stirring

There is a story, older than memory, of a beastman who walked unseen—not because his form was hidden, but because none thought to look. They say he moved through war camps without raising a single eye, that hunters lost his trail even when his tracks lay clear in the dirt. Not because he was swift, not because he was silent, but because the Inside Wind had taken hold.
The elders say this wind does not dance in the open air, nor rustle the trees—it stirs within. It is the breath before a word is spoken, the doubt before a blade is drawn. Those who call upon it do not vanish, but the minds of others slip, their thoughts shift, their certainty wavers. A pursuer might hesitate at the crossroads, unsure of why their feet refuse to follow. A warrior might find their fury dulled, their reasons suddenly unclear. Some say even the wind-touched can steady themselves with it, quieting fear, sharpening thought, making their mind as still as the sky before a storm.
But the Inside Wind is fickle. It does not answer those who seek to control it, nor does it grant power to the reckless. It is a whisper, never a shout—a wind that bends the unseen, if only for a moment.​

This wind will not heed Ell's call—no matter how genuine his plea—until he finds the Skystone associated with it.
Plea to the Wind:
. . .

CODE BY REVERIEE