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Fantasy Dark Eden: Epilogue | Characters Archive

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Dark Eden: Epilogue

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What had become of the Hero of Eden? Since his venture to the Throne of the Demon God alongside his companions, the paragon soon dubbed himself the Dark Hero of Eden, having dealt with the demon Astaroth by sealing him beneath the frozen lake of Cocytus, in a savage example of punic faith. Little did humanity know, having arisen from its two-hundred year sleep, that the Dark Age of Solitude had begun.

Vying for survival against the beasts, without the capacity to entreat the gods, who had disappeared, they disappeared until the Hero had returned. Having subsumed the demonic realms unto himself and rendered the gods low, wrought physically into the Astral Armaments upon his person, the Hero fashioned himself Ruler of Vragathia, a state melded together from the tattered remnants of the Five Great Nations as a means to vitiate the royal families of those now defunct nations.

Yet, humanity is not without hope: Yutera Kriemhild, former fiancé of the Hero, leads those former companions of the Hero before his fall lest he corrupt humanity forever more.
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Xethyrion

Xethyrion

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A place for characters involving the roleplay Dark Eden: Epilogue.​

sirus thorvein
THE KING OF ASTRAL ARMAMENTS
FULL NAME：
Sirus von Thorvein
AGE & BIRTH：
341 (Actual), 25 (Physically)
GENDER：
Male
RACE：
Augmented Human
HEIGHT：
6'1" (185 cm)
ALLEGIANCE：
Remnants Soulbringer
CITIZENSHIP：
Sartauron Empire
DESCRIPTION：
Before joining the Remnants Soulbringer under his own terms and conditions, Sirus was the former ruler of the prominent Sartauron Empire, until its inevitable downfall after the hero's interference. Sirus was gravely wounded during his battle against the Hero and lost the majority of his treasures and Astral Armaments to his opponent, stripping him from his title as the King of Astral Armaments afterwards. Due to Sartauron traditions and beliefs, Sirus was forced to flee from his throne and have since lived his life hiding in Aeslengard, under the protection of Yutera Kriemhild.


gunther
THE KNOWLEDGE SEEKER
FULL NAME：
Gunther Kraulis
AGE & BIRTH：
359 (Actual)
GENDER：
Male
RACE：
Demi-Human / Marsupial
HEIGHT：
3'0" (91 cm)
ALLEGIANCE：
Remnants Soulbringer
CITIZENSHIP：
Imperial Providence of Aeslengard
DESCRIPTION：
A lovable member of the Soulbringer who seems to have a good relationship with nearly everyone. Gunther provides the organization with knowledge and newly obtained information regarding the movement of the world's politics. He seems to own an Astral Armament that can summon mini chibi versions of himself, that is able to hide in small spaces while remaining undetected. He is otherwise jokingly known as the "Master Eavesdropper", which tends to irritate him often. He was formerly the Hero's contract familiar, but expressed turmoil even during the days of the joyful adventures.


scarletta knightsin
THE CHEVALIER OF VIRTUE
FULL NAME：
Scarletta Knightsin
AGE & BIRTH：
17
GENDER：
Female
RACE：
Human
HEIGHT：
5'6" (167 cm)
ALLEGIANCE：
Integrity Knights Division
CITIZENSHIP：
Sovereignty of Vragathia
DESCRIPTION：
Scarletta is one of the many Integrity Knights that serves the Vragathian Empire with honor and gallantry. As an individual who was disciplined and warped by the Dark Hero of Eden, Scarletta seems to have an insane amount of corrupted values as she represents Virtue. She remains to be one of the Soulbringer's greatest enemies due to her never-ending thirst for "justice", which she claims to be the reason behind Man's existence. Her class is slayer, maintaining a higher-than-average threat level to the Soulbringers.


 
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DARK EDEN: EPILOGUE
Zeviene Malda


REMNANTS SOULBRINGER
KINGDOM OF VOLCANIA
◈ hierarchy: soulbringer
full name
Zeviene Malda
age & birth
21 (Physically)
gender
Female
race
Human
class affinity
Armorer
astral armament
Cintamani
GENERAL DESCRIPTION
Zeviene Malda considers herself a researcher before anything else, uninterested in combat and slaughter as a solution for anything. In a reincarnating world, where immortals parasitize newborns, death is no meaningful solution, after all. What she seeks are new answers in a world without gods, methods that could circumvent or remake the twisted rules of the world. The secrets of the Astral Plains, the curse of the Origins, the unfairness of the Classes, the functions of the portals.

Perhaps the memories of a past life has guided her to where she is now, but as an immortal, as a philosopher, Zeviene wants nothing less than to make the world where the living can be free of the dead, where the present can flourish beyond the restraints of the past. And, to start with, she will uncover how exactly a ‘Class’ is bestowed upon a mortal.

In an era of demigods and devils, however, even a self-proclaimed researcher must step upon the battlefield when the occasion forces her hand, and Zeviene, if nothing else, is a talented Armorer. Though possessing all the standard capabilities of an Armorer, she has a heightened ability with the manipulation of motion, enabling her not only to redirect objects, but the very energies that power them. Through fine manipulation of kinetic and magical energy, Zeviene can disperse, concentrate, twist, and absorb the energies behind objects, enabling feats that appear almost like that of a Mage. Arrows can be drawn towards her, then slingshot back towards the archers.

Spells can be absorbed into her, then released out in another direction. Melee strikes can be blocked by her, then repulsed in a way that shatters the body of the one who dared strike her to begin with. In her eyes, the movement of all things can be read as flowing streams, and with her hands, those streams can be guided in any way she wishes. Thus is the nature of Zeviene’s Art: the Cycle of Departures and Deliverance. Perhaps one day, these hands of hers will be able to pull at even the strings of Fate.

Though often one who steps into battle empty-handed, there is one weapon that Zeviene, for all her combat-avoidant nature, carries with her permanently. The Astral Armament, Barren Endeavors: Cintamani, is a substitute heart made of an ever-pulsating crystal that’s embedded upon Zeviene’s chest. Formed from the regrets of those who’ve died before accomplishing anything despite all that they have trained for, Cintamani allows for the transmutation of matter and energy from one form into another.

So long as one has intimate knowledge of what they wish to create, anything can be shaped out of anything else. The wielder’s blood is used as a catalyst for this transmutation, and a side effect of Cintamani is indeed the manipulation of blood. Sanguine tendrils slip out from Zeviene’s sternum when she invokes her Armament, dancing around her body like wisps of flame.

Though Cintamani’s transmutative capabilities are potent, there are still three laws that must be observed: the law of states, the law of mass, and the law of the living. Transmutations cannot change a solid into a liquid, cannot transform a small object into a big object, and cannot transform the living. The smaller the object, the faster and less costly the transmutation, and when it comes to transmuting one form of energy into another, Zeviene’s proficiency peaks. Heat becomes sound becomes light becomes force, and by combining energy conversion with the energy manipulation of the Cycle of Departures and Deliverance, many wonder whether Zeviene actually is an Armorer or not.

PERSONALITY
The forms of government are corrupt, the cycle of reincarnation is archaic, the class system is cruel, and the world is unfair. These are the beliefs that Zeviene carries within her artificial heart, and these are the beliefs that drive her forward. Because while many may see this unfairness as absolute, in a world where even gods can be usurped, there must be ways for the rules of the world to be rewritten as well. This is the special sort of madness that has grabbed hold of Zeviene’s life, an ardent, insane belief that the world can change on a fundamental level through the ingenuity of a single human being. An unshakeable conviction was birthed from this, and her ability to empathize with the others has been lost as a result: there is nothing in the world that can’t be helped, so why do people surrender so easily in the face of tribulation? She can pity them, but only at a distance, and such emotional distance is something that has won Zeviene few friends and many enemies.

For all her lack of empathy and single-minded pursuit of her goals however, Zeviene’s still an incredibly animate person. Exhaustion and tedium are her true enemies, and she deals with them by always striving to eat three hearty meals, sleep eight hours, and exercise two hours a day. Being serious about pursuing any goal means making sure to replenish one’s stock too, and while she cares little for those without passion, she cares too much about those with passion, habitually mothering them in a weirdly aggressive, sarcastic manner. It’s probably annoying and even insensitive, but it’s the only way Zeviene really knows how to tend to others. She straddles a weird line between being rude and caring, and cares little for things such as the segregation of genders or the boundaries of individuals. After all, they’re all centuries year old fogies in an apocalyptic, godless world. Who cares which changing room is for which gender?

This excited, irreverent personality melts away in combat however, replaced with a tranquil, restrained front. Though she may deride battle as brutish, inelegant, and intensely idiotic for any individual with even a lick of diplomacy, Zeviene truly wishes to avoid having to take the life of another human being. Vile beasts are one thing, but any human death she causes is another curse she places upon the future. Only a permanent death offers salvation, but when contentment forces immortality upon you and regrets turns you into a weapon of slaughter, such death cannot be found. So she stays her hand whenever possible, at least until she remakes the cycle of life, death, and rebirth in its entirety.

HISTORICAL BIOGRAPHY
Hercules had a friend. A friend that saw the man’s crimes and the man’s atonement. The passing of the Hero, his funeral, and the promise of his reincarnation. That friend remembered the anguish of an individual whose birth alone was enough to cause the world to bless and curse him, and resolved to do one thing: remove the system of fate-determined Classes from existence. So his friend could rest in oblivion, rather than have his legacy stained once more, to suffer under the demands of the masses once more.

Thus, the Fate-Opposing Origin Infinitarium was born and as generations became possessed by that ardent desire, more and more resolutions were grafted upon it, the lives of philosophers, scholars, sages, scientists, idealists all ardently pursuing their dreams, all pushing for something to change in the long, stagnant history of Eden. They all knew, from the memories of their predecessor, that the world remained unchanging, no matter the centuries that passed. They all knew, from the structure of the world they stood upon, the society that shaped them, that something was impeding any impetus for change. They knew. They died. And their wills were passed on.

Zeviene inherited this Origin...and was immediately disgusted by all these alien memories, these ancient lifetimes trying to drown out herself. This fucking Fate-Opposing Origin Infinitarium was basically just another tool for Fate to exercise her grip upon humanity at this point, another twisted structure meant to give the dead control of the living. The Class system was fucked. The Hero was fucked. Your life was fucked, and your death was fucked too. Oh, and every single form of government was varying degrees of fucked. As a little toddler, she had nightmares of the weird, creepy shit she saw in her transplanted memories, and as she grew older and older, the creepiness of all her past incarnations just made her pissed off. Like, ew, she did not need to see the love life of a fat, alcoholic shitstain that spewed out drunken poetry to his crowd of adolescent sycophants. In her adolescence, her family undoubtedly thought that Zeviene was going through a phase, but no, she was just getting fired the fuck up.

The girl began to put in work, empowered by a mixture of her own talents and tenacity, guided by the memories of all those old-ass smartasses that populated her skull like the world’s shittiest sauna. She obtained an Adventurer’s License for the express purpose of being authorized to head out into bumfuck nowhere for her experimentations. She became a Priest of Words, solely so she could get funding from the Kingdom to pursue her own interests. Her parents, of course, were weeping over how quickly their little girl grew up, but Zeviene didn’t care for that. So long as the world continued to churn through time as it did, more parents would have more children possessed by the specters of the increasingly-aged dead. And that? That could not be allowed to stand.

So she worked hard, rested hard, and occasionally fought hard, sparing little attention to the Hero’s Journey as she pursued her own dreams of reshaping the world.

Then Eden fell asleep and woke up two hundred years later, surrounded from all sides by devils and tyrants. And rather than despair, Zeviene found herself laughing. If the Gods themselves could be displaced, and the ruler of Hell could be chained, then it’s become more reasonable now, no? Whether or not it’s possible to change the rules of the world.

Four years after the awakening of humanity, Zeviene found Yutera Kriemhild and offered herself to the traitor.

“Give me your trust, and I will ensure that none will be burdened by past desires again.”

CODED BY XETHYRION | HERRSCHER#8119
 
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DARK EDEN: EPILOGUE
CURRUID COINCHENN
THE DARK ENFORCER


REGALIAS OF QLIPHOTH
SIGURD'S MONSTER
◈ hierarchy: high lord
full name
Curruid Coinchenn
age & birth
221
gender
Male
race
Astral Monarch
class affinity
Nephilim
astral armament
Donn & Lugh
GENERAL DESCRIPTION
The hulking visage of the Hero's favored enforcer alone is often enough to cause even veteran Soulbringers to waver, and any who would resist Sigurd to cower in fear. They're right to be afraid, Curruid's form has been twisted to the point where he is barely recognizable from his human form, rock hard scales cover the majority of his body, while razor sharp spines located on his armored carapace turn even his body into a weapon. His Demonic spear, Donn, is a reflection of himself, savage barbs line the shaft erratically like the stalk of a blood dyed rose, and the spear is rumored to cause immeasurable pain to any who are struck by its carmine blade, most are lucky enough to be killed in one blow, if you could even call it luck.

There are whispers of Curruid possessing a second state of being within the higher echelons of Vragathian society, the claims are still unsubstantiated as no one has actually seen if it is indeed true that he can change his form, that Curruid can become a demon in every sense of the word. His already impressive strength, speed, and durability multiplied tenfold, his rage and hatred driving him to even more depraved and sickening levels of violence as his very body becomes a living weapon. Due to the drastic physical and mental changes that afflict him, none but those who were closest to Curruid are able to identify him as he is to his former appearance, to keep his anonymity intact he is only referred to by his true name behind closed doors.


PERSONALITY
Originally a lighthearted and jovial member of the Hero's guild and Sigurd's best friend, Curruid was known for being the fool of the group, always ready to lighten moods and bring smiles to the stoniest of faces with a song or joke always on hand. Curruid's well meaning and levity is probably what led to him being written off as simply another member of the Hero's party, despite being one of the only people in the adventurers guild that was about equal in terms of skill with the hero, his continual disregard for overarching consequences and intrigues in favor of simply encouraging others to live life in the moment free of worry, and to be happy.

Curruid's fierce protectiveness of Sigurd stemmed from the Hero's treatment by the various kingdoms as a tool rather than a man, Sigurd's stunted mental state was one of Curruid's worst enemies, constantly trying to reinforce the fact that he was his own person, and that a past life shouldn't dictate his future. However, during the tail end of the heroic journey Curruid and the friendship that he and the hero shared changed drastically. He became bitter towards Sigurd, the fact of all the praise and renown was heaped on Sigurd and he was only considered a mere sidekick to the hero. Curruid would have been able to let it go, to sacrifice his pride in order for his friend to flourish, but Yutera and Sigurd's engagement was the last straw. Curruid was hopelessly in love with her, his affection for both turned to barely contained hatred for both.

Curruid continued to fight alongside both out of a sense of duty, Curruid followed Sigurd down his dark path, despite the bitterness he held for Sigurd, he couldn't help but still think of him as a brother and still helped him. After his transformation into a high lord, Curruid chose to remain isolated from the other high lords, his previous disgust for authority remained, and he chose to vent his now boosted demonic rage on whatever he could get his hands on rather than rule. Despite becoming more animal than man, Curruid still obeys the command of Sigurd and Elizaveta to a lesser extent.


HISTORICAL BIOGRAPHY
ShlL04n.jpg
Born into a small village on the outskirts of Aeslengard, Curruid always knew he wanted to be a remembered, he knew he was meant for a life of adventure when he and his family found that his class was rare, a Nephilim that posed demonic as well as standard divine mana. This development drove a wedge in his household, his mother being a very religious woman. Curruid had tried as hard as he could to show that things hadn't changed and he was still her son, their relationship never recovered and despite his insistence that it didn't bother him like it once did his insecurities about being tainted, a failure, and a mistake in the world plagued him constantly.

Curruid's development as an adventurer was unrivaled in his and the neighboring towns, his martial skill along with his skills at driving others made him a valuable member of the guild, solo or in a group. Curruid had heard that in an independent village had claimed that someone among had the Origin Infinitarium of a hero, and that he was going to Aeslengard proper to train with a knight grandmaster.

Curruid had planned on traveling to the capital in time, but challenging a hero would definitely get him noticed in the capital. After travelling the capital he finally caught a glimpse of the hero, the imagine Curruid had formed in his mind of a pompous egomaniac, he found a sullen individual not much older than himself. After more observation he could see the same ennui that had taken Curruid when his mother had all but abandoned him. After a few adventures the two quickly became inseparable as Curruid simultaneously became his best friend as well as the one of the only people to see Sigurd the man, not Sigurd the hero.

The rift that formed between was caused by another of Sigurd's close friends, Yutera Kriemhild. Curruid had become fond of her over the years as he had come to know her. The night he had planned to confess his love he saw them together, at first he thought it coincidence and planned to go through with it despite his anxiety, He realized why they were together when he saw them kiss. Three seconds the world seemed to stand still for Curruid, painful understanding dawned on him, and after those three seconds his world was over. Tears stained his cheeks that night as the old insecurities came flooding back as he ran down the empty streets of Aeslengard.

Anger, outrage, and despair flowed through him as he cried alone. Maybe he was just a cursed waste of breath as his mother would say whenever she thought he was out of earshot. One thing was for certain though, things never would or could be the same between the three of them. When Sigurd's journey to the demon lord's throne, Curruid accompanied him still, for all the hatred and resentment he held for Sigurd, he still carried a sick sense of brotherhood for him. After the demon lord was defeated Curruid spent the next 200 years felling the vile beasts that refused to fall under Sigurd's control in Sitra Achra. Now that the Soulbringers have become too much of a threat to be left to the Vgrathians, Curruid has emerged from Sitra Achra to bring his demonic fury to bear against the Soulbringers and his former love interest.

CODED BY XETHYRION | HERRSCHER#8119
 
DARK EDEN: EPILOGUE
HÁKON STRICKLAND
THE COILLE CUSTODIAN


REMNANTS SOULBRINGER
COILLE CUSTODIAN
◈ hierarchy: soulbringer
full name
Hákon Strickland
age & birth
231 (09/12/1000 EC)
gender
Male
race
Human/Sapient Forest
class affinity
Armorer
astral armament
N/A
GENERAL DESCRIPTION
Hákon can appear as your stereotypical human however upon closer inspection, the growth of forests can be seen on him. All the way from the wooden helm that began to root itself in his neck to the prosthesis of leaf, bark, and heartwood that is moved by his will. The prosthetic arm has begun to dig into his body. Despite the encroachment of his body, he still retains his human attributes through strenuous physical exercises, not just to retain his humanity and strength but to also support his role as protector of the forests and part-time adventurer. His brown hair is never trimmed and thus grows downward, almost to his shoulder blades. Through the horizontal slits on the helmet, a glimpse of his blue eyes can be caught.

The leathers that were retrieved from the noble animals are expertly maintained, shown love as if they were still alive. A jade spark can be seen that flows throughout the tree arm. (For those of you curious as to how Hákon eats/drinks, he grips the helmet tightly then pulls upwards, the roots will relent and “slither” out, the holes do not perforate any vital artery, nor do they rupture any cell. It seems to have a sort of sapience as it allows only Hákon or someone willing to aid him to be removed, hostiles will have a difficult time removing it.)

PERSONALITY
The Coille Custodian is a reserved individual, speaking rarely and only when needed. He silently judges others as the only thing that is beyond reproach for him is the beautiful greenery of Nature. Fanatical in his belief in nature, he will defend it against all foes, whether they be former friends or current allies. Yet despite the rigidity in his outlook, even Nature grants supposed commandments to be followed by him and all of Nature’s children.

Primum praeceptum – Defend Nature Above All.
Secundum praeceptum – Honour the Fallen’s Gift to You.
Tertium praeceptum – Even Man Is Nature’s Child. Do No Needless Harm.
Quartus praeceptum – When War Beckons, Nature’s Children will Heed the Call.
Quintus praeceptum – Suffer No Treachery.

Hákon strictly follows these precepts. He still displays certain characteristics from before becoming Nature’s Guardian. For example, his thorough enjoyment of music (specifically from single bards or large choirs), draughts (aka checkers), swimming, stone-skipping, lifting logs, and other activities. Despite being literate, he does not prefer to read too often, preferring to let the others read as he is a good listener. He REALLY likes it when somebody insults nature, really you should try it sometime.

HISTORICAL BIOGRAPHY
To know of the protector’s history is sacred, only two beings hold such intimate knowledge. The protector himself and Nature. Yet that does not stop men and women from speculating, theorizing, or gossiping fictitious tales. Some whisper the tale of a noble son that was driven into the forests by a jealous uncle. Others claim that he is a butcher of men that hides under the guise of druidism. Even one vocal minority stubbornly profess that Nature birthed this man. Why there are tales that he is/was a mad man who worshipped a false idol. All wrong, but he does not fault them for their idle theory-crafting, curiosity after all isn’t the fault of man.

However, let us turn to the tale of his first interaction with civilization. It was his younger years; he has been the Coille Custodian for three years. He does his task dutifully, not even venturing into the tiniest of villages. In fear of abandoning the forests. But whether he wanted to or not, humanity found its way to him one day. A travelling merchant family had made the journey through the protector’s current protectorate, but he does not mind as most simply travelled through this path, rarely stopping to harvest any resources.

However, vile vandals hid amongst the shrubbery and greenery, lying in wait for prey to wander into their kill-zone and plunder the riches. They spotted the caravan and waited. Then sprang their cunning caper into action. Instantly, they injured one of the horses and stopped the family. They held up the family with swords and daggers, beginning the plunder. The screams echoed to the guardian’s ears who instantly began running to see what caused this commotion. Perched atop a tree, he spotted the mongrels. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve left the family to their fate, seeing it as the fate of predator and prey but. . . the bandits lit a torch. His eyes widened, they were plotting to burn carriage and the family which would then spread to the forestry and disturb the natural cycle! Immediately, he rushed into action, bolting down from the tree with predatory quickness, instantly impaling one of the bandits through the back, severing his spinal cord and rupturing his heart.

The bandit’s mouth dripped blood as he rested himself on the hunter’s spear. The others were startled and angered at their companion’s death and rapidly rushed to his side. With not enough time to dig the spear out, Hákon dived back into the hiding place that they not too long ago occupied. Seamlessly disappearing. The others were puzzled by his elusiveness. The one with the lit torch decided to toss outside the path but before he could even dare such a thing. A green blur caught his wrist, twisting it uncomfortably to drop the fiery wood. Hákon did not let it touch the ground, catching it mid-air before forcing the torch into the neck of the bandit.

The resulting roar of pain and display of brutality frightened the others. Most ran away except for one. This one was braver or perhaps angrier than most and charged at the protector. This caught him off-guard as he found a blade lodged in his abdomen. The bandit mouthed a “got you” but underestimated the remainder of Hákon’s strength, his hands wrapped around the man’s throat and clasped so firmly, they might as well have an iron ring around it.

With the bandit’s life choked out of him, the guardian collapsed. Later he would find that the family nursed him back to health within a few days. Grateful for their kindness, he thanks them. Before they set off on their road, the little child amongst them suggested (ignorantly or playfully) that he should register with a “guild.” Curious, the druid asked about it and seriously considered the boy’s request. Nature could use a liaison and the guardian did not know of any other forest protector.

And the rest is history. Reclusive, the guardian rarely participated in a lot of quests but participated he still did in the few that interested him.

Now perhaps the greatest threat presents himself to Hákon, will he triumph with the other soulbringers or meet an early grave, or something more? Who knows.

CODED BY XETHYRION | HERRSCHER#8119
 
DARK EDEN: EPILOGUE
ENDYMION AURELIMERE


REMNANTS SOULBRINGER
AESLENGARD EMPIRE
◈ hierarchy: soulbringer
full name
Endymion Aurelimere
age & birth
23 / 223
gender
Male
race
Human
class affinity
Mage
astral armament
Velificatio Selene
GENERAL DESCRIPTION
Endymion is an Aeslenardian-born astronomer and mage. He is largely skilled in elemental magic, favouring hydro, and despite his lack of penchant for causing harm, he is ruthless in battle and can bring many a beast to its knees. He specializes in offensive magic, in contrast to his sole Astral Armament, the defensive-oriented Velificatio Selene.

Velificatio Selene takes the shape of a fabric cloak, but offers protection like that of chain maille. Its pattern is constantly shifting to reflect the current state of the sky at any given time, and it can be willed in and out of existence by its owner. Endymion came into its possession at an early age -- the cloak was born from the internal desires of those who wished to ‘disappear completely,’ in metaphorical terms, and reveals itself only to those of similar desire (not that Endymion would know this, of course).

PERSONALITY
Endymion is curious, passionate, and will stop at nothing to uncover the truth or do what’s right. ...If it’s a subject that interests him. Otherwise, he can come across as quite scatterbrained and unmotivated. The same can be said about his approach to human relationships, though he can become quite attached to a person once he deems them worthy of his attention. He has been described kindly as “marching to the beat of his own drum” and perhaps less-kindly as “eccentric and oblivious.” The pursuit and mastery of knowledge is the single-most important thing in his life -- everything else comes after, which means he often neglects his relationships and basic self-care in favour of his research. He is chronically sleepy, tells bad jokes exclusively, and prefers sweet foods. His handwriting could make even a doctor weep. He finds plants easier to understand than people and grows orchids as a side hobby.

HISTORICAL BIOGRAPHY
A lot of Endymion’s early years are a blur to him. He grew up in a larger village along the border of Aeslengard; that much he remembers, at least. He was a weak and sickly child,

(“-since birth,” his mother would tell him, without looking up from where she was chopping vegetables for their dinner. He could hear the chnkt chnkt chnkt of her knife from where he sat at the table across the room, crushing cloves of garlic under the back of a spoon. “You’ve always been a fragile little thing. So much unlike your father.”)

and so he grew up quite isolated, often resting indoors instead of roughhousing with the other children outside. His mother cared for him alone -- his father died before Endymion’s birth. While she worked long hours to support the two of them, Endymion turned to his only other source of company: his studies. His coping mechanism for negative emotions (such as loneliness, inadequacy, estrangement) has always been to immerse himself in knowledge -- turning his focus to a subject that makes him feel confident and in control, instead of acknowledging his underlying anxieties. Endymion was inspired to study astronomy partially for this reason, and also because whenever he was confined to bed rest for days on end, the stars and sky were always visible from the window in his bedroom -- and were something that nobody could ever deny him or use to hurt him.

(It’s late, it’s so, so, late, it has to be, that’s why his whole body feels so tired and full of lead, but Mother nudges him awake anyways, urges him into sitting upright (-or, something close to, at least) and when he makes a little tired noise in the back of his throat, she shushes him, and presses a- something into his mouth, quickly, and she pushes down on his throat with her fingers to get him to swallow. It’s so bitter and it burns going down, and he tries to cough and splutter and twist away but his body is so heavy, and Mother clasps one hand over his mouth and the other on his shoulder to push him back down and he goes with the movement like he’s a sack of stones thrown into the lake. It’s - whatever it was is making his body roil inside, and his head’s too full of fog to do anything now except make another sound, and Mother is saying something but he’s losing her words in the haze.

“-sh. shush, boy, stop fighting, you hear me? stop fussing and take it, i know you can--”

“...have to do this. you KNOW i have to, it’s what you deserve, it’s your f--”

“-’s’like a cruel joke, seeing you wear his face like that, you don’t deserve it, THIS is what you d--”

Sleep Something like sleep takes him, and that is that. In the morning he will remember nothing, but his fingers will all be numb and his throat will burn fiercely just like the rest of his fevered body.

“You’ve probably been pushing yourself too hard again, boy. Go back to bed for the rest of day or you'll get sicker,” Mother says, chopping herbs at the counter.

She doesn’t look up from her knife.)

Endymion began studying magic at a young age as well, and fell in love with water magic immediately. As he grew further along in his studies, it turned out he was quite gifted in the art of magic, and devoted most of his time then on to becoming a stronger mage. This worked to his benefit, as the stronger his mind and mana became, so did his physical body -- until he had become a person of health like any other (save for an occasional sensitivity to stomach bugs and sore throats). With age, he gained confidence and life experience, though he still retains some of his odd 'quirks' and probably always will. Around the time he was toeing the line between teenager and young adult, all while approaching near-mastery of hydro magic, his mother passed away. Endymion, spurred on by his sudden lonesomeness and now feeling more and more the need to accomplish something worthwhile with his skills, made the decision to join the Heroes' Guild ...is what he says.

(Endymion is taller than Mother, now. His mana is stronger, too, and burns right through the poisons she puts in his body. He doesn’t get sick anymore. He’s figured out the secret to it by now.

“Mother,” he starts, and his voice is wobbly on the inhale but strong when he says, “Mother, I’m going to join the Heroes Guild. I’m going to be an adventurer, like Father was, and- and I’m strong enough now that you can’t stop me. Even if you tried. You can’t hurt me anymore,” and he practically spits those last words.

Mother is silent for a long time. Endymion may have gotten stronger with age but Mother has gotten crueler. She's figured out the trick too, she knows why she fails now at keeping him ill and easier to bear to look at. It makes her desperate -- seeing him the splitting-image of his father now -- like a wild animal caught between self-laid traps of claws and fangs.

Mother turns around, and she looks up at him, finally, and she says in a cruel, tilted mock, “Then I hope you are gutted alive by beasts, just like your Father was, and I hope it is your fault.” Then she lunges at him with that godforsaken knife in her hand and Endymion sees white.

There is a burst of light, a shard of ice, and then Mother is bleeding on the kitchen floor. She’s breathing, but she does not get up again. He hopes it’s slow. He hopes it hurts. He hopes she dies after days of her wounds festering alone in that cursed house, but he does not stay and see. Endymion leaves to join the Heroes Guild and does not come back. Only once does he wish he didn't do it.

“Sickness,” he would say to anyone who asked, running a thumb absently over the knife-scar on his palm. “She was sick for a long time, and it killed her. I couldn't save her.”)

With his formidable magical prowess and analytical mind, Endymion was accepted into the Guild easily. Despite his occasional oddness he is genuinely good at what he does, and so was able to find a spot at the Hero's side like the rest of the Soulbringers. Though he is a man of science first and foremost, Endymion believes that all life is inherently beautiful and worth saving. For this reason, he devoted himself to Sigurd and to serving life on Eden with him -- and when the time came, he chose Eden, like he had sworn to at the beginning of it all. He was proud to call himself a companion of the Hero, and even now, Endymion could never say he regrets the time spent alongside him, though he forever mourns the loss of the man who helped him find his reason for living and the way it all had to end.

Quick Extras:
—Despite his near-constant state of tiredness, he often puts off sleep for as long as possible, due to the fear that he'll wake up and it will be 200 years later again.
—His favourite animal is the jellyfish. His favourite food is ice wine. It is irrelevant that this is a drink.
—He learned how to care for plants after being taught by his mother.
—As a magic party trick, he likes to sculpt water into the shapes of little animals, especially sea creatures.
—If he had never joined the Heroes' Guild and become an adventurer, he would have liked to be a librarian.
—Aquarius, INTJ, 5w6
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CODED BY XETHYRION | HERRSCHER#8119
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Last edited by a moderator:
DARK EDEN: EPILOGUE
REID ARMIENNE


REGALIAS OF QLIPHOTH
THE RED TEMPLAR
◈ hierarchy: high lord
full name
Reid Armienne
age & birth
222 (3/17/1009 EC)
gender
Female
race
Astral Monarch
class affinity
Hunter
astral armament
Aonaris
GENERAL DESCRIPTION
There are many layers to the woman that is Reid Armienne—similar only in that each is equally cruel. Little of her has ever been consistent, nor logical, but the bitter undercurrents that spear her seem to have always been there. Her stature is a mix of coldly intimidating and childishly villianlike, one that makes her a juxtaposition of weak and strong. But past her flittering attentions is a spiteful hellhound, driven solely by a cocktail of her own anger and goals. While she's far too easy to write most anyone off, those that pass her ever-changing set of criteria will be forever golden in her mind.

While she’s limited to the weapons a hunter can properly utilize, Reid prides herself on her prowess with those that she does have. Her favorite from her small arsenal is by far her single Astral Armament, Aonaris. Aonaris is a set of three short-bladed throwing knives, each identical in appearance. Each blade consists of crystalline blades and handles, the only opaque sections the garnet cross within each blade. While Aonaris can be handled and used to their full abilities by any party, only the attuned owner of the blades will be able to handle them without protective gear.

Despite the blades’ transparent appearance, each is superheated and will remain so until their attunement is nullified. Upon contact with a wounded living source, Aonaris has the opposite effect of a cauterizing blade, as well as inflicting excess pain from the heat. As long as the blade retains contact with the wound, bleeding will accelerate, and any signs of healing will recede. Once Aonaris ceases contact with the wound, bleeding and pain will return to normal, but any damage to healing will not be undone. However, Aonaris is only able to cause these effects on wounds that are already open and not caused by the blades themselves. When attempting to inflict a new wound, Aonaris will serve as any other blade, albeit somewhat duller.

PERSONALITY
There are little things that could be said to be 'good' about Reid, but she remains a harsh dichotomy: mainly between her self-proclaimed values and her own actions. It's clear to near anybody who crosses Reid's path that she is exceptionally spiteful, and not a choice pick to be around. Her spite manifests across the entirety of her life, driving her to be incredibly diligent in tasks and skills she decides to take on. In fact, she works tirelessly at nearly everything except people—it doesn't take long for one to find themselves on the receiving end of especially harsh words when around Reid. She, of course, sees this as nothing other than the virtue of honesty. But however much bitterness she may hold against others, those that she determines to be 'smart' will be nearly worshipped by her. Privately, of course.

HISTORICAL BIOGRAPHY
Reid had never understood the divine.

She was taught from what seemed like the beginning to pray, hands upturned to the sky and eyes closed in fast devotion. In the earlier days, she would dare to peek open her eyes, looking around at her classmates and wondering if they saw the same thing she did. She knew they were real, and in some way, she had seen their work herself. Even then, she couldn't bring herself to love them. But she had always known she could change things for herself. There were people, groups, who thought the same as her—if not about the gods, about the world—and one day she could surely make things better.

Her childhood and teenage years were marked only by an odd amount of independence. That was always Reid in some fashion: independent was a subtle word for what she was. Others may have seen it as charming, but Reid found herself unable to settle for anything her peers loved.

But there was still a glimpse of hope for Reid, one that sat in her far-off dream of the Heroes Guild. She was adept enough, both in combat and wit. That much she had made a certainty. She had always seen the Guild as the paragon of everything she found pleasing: for once, it seemed she had found people who made a difference. People who weren't useless. Her view of it had been unwavering, staying a steadfast golden up until the moment she finally lived through it herself. Joining, securing her spot, she had been yet to see the reality of the place. She was still fresh-faced and excited, no more than a naive little girl.

And when she finally came to know that place, that wretched place she thought she loved, Reid despised every part of it.

The people there were nothing like her, no. They were worse than her classmates, her peers, anyone else she had ever known. They not only failed at what they said they did, but they couldn't see that. She felt nothing more than a mouse in their presence, yet she knew she was better than them. Not so fervently blinded in piety. The worst part of it was that she was one of them.

From then on, she felt like a ship unmoored and left to sail on the sea. The adventures that she had longed after so long ago were nothing more than chores. Joining the Guild, for Reid, was about independence, yet she felt even more confined within its ranks. There was nothing to do except traipse around, scorching Vile Beasts before moving on to repeat it all again. She was nothing more than a footsoldier of yet another god: this time, the one called the Hero.

While she may have never found purpose amongst the Guild's ranks, her time there transformed Reid into a different person. It may have bored her, but she found herself delving into strategy and warfare. Her place was never on the front lines, but asides from her sullen demeanor, she was known as a proficient fighter.

But what didn't escape her, not by any means, was when the Hero switched sides.

Most would deny it, still clinging to his purity like they did to that of the gods. But it was plain as day in Reid's eyes. For once, the tide had turned in the right direction. The others slowly but surely stepped away, but Reid for once had an appreciation for him. This was a fight she wanted. A fight she craved.

The Hero of Eden—the Dark Hero—was Reid's real fate.

CODED BY XETHYRION | HERRSCHER#8119
 
DARK EDEN: EPILOGUE
SIGURD ALCAEUS
THE DARK HERO OF EDEN
"Most of the evil in this world is done by people with good intentions. Do I look like a man who has ‘good’ intentions? I have destroyed worlds and sealed the gods that protected us from their empyreal throne. For what reason, some may ask… to simply put an end to this vicious cycle that we call order."


REGALIAS OF QLIPHOTH
EMPEROR OF VRAGATHIA
◈ hierarchy: sovereign ruler
full name
Sigurd Alcaeus IV
age & birth
231 (01/01/1000 EC)
gender
Male
race
Astral Monarch
class affinity
Hercules
astral armament
Devanus Irius
GENERAL DESCRIPTION
Sigurd, otherwise infamously known as the Dark Hero of Eden, is the Commandant of the Regalias, Emperor of Vragathia, and the inheritor of the Origin of Salvation that formerly belonged to the legendary figure Hercules. He was primarily responsible for the events of the Dark Journey (1021 - 1023 EC), the Frozen Stasis Period (1023 - 1223 EC), the Demonic Catastrophe War (1223 - 1224 EC), and the Vragathian Usurpation (1224 - 1231 EC).

Before the Dark Journey and obtaining King Sirus’ grand treasure, Sigurd had two Astral Armaments: the Devanus Irius vin Hercules and the Destiny Forge: Excalibur. The former Astral Armament consists of a literal heart that make him immune to negative mana and corruption, a divine mana storage in his soul that enables him to use Celestial Magic, an amulet that allows him to speak to the gods directly, and a sword that is said to be rivaled only by the Excalibur. The latter Astral Armament is a sword that was given to him by the King of Aeslengard as an offering to Hercules’ fated reincarnation.

PERSONALITY
Current Year | 1231 EC: The Dark Hero is solely motivated by his ultimate agendas of raising humanity to surpass their limits, simultaneously making the Hercules class not required for their survival. It is well known by the Regalias that Sigurd is an individual of stoicism and dangerous sociopathy, who had lost his empathy since the beginning of the Dark Journey, showing no concern for despair and sorrow that he had caused during his lifetime. He often doesn't show much remorse in his actions and isn't a stranger to punishing the Regalias if they fail at their specific duties.

The Heroic Adventure | 1019 - 1021 EC: During the two years of lively adventure between Sigurd, Yutera, and their companions of the renowned Heroes Guild, the reincarnation of Hercules was respected and beloved by the people of Eden, returning their kindness by slaying the vile beasts that were terrorizing the mortal realm, saving defenseless rural villages and nobility alike, obtaining a good reputation overtime. However, Sigurd, due to his childhood life that consisted of his parents preaching the word of their child's bright destiny to the world, later lost the ability to smile genuinely as he was more comfortable with his stoic personality, preferring to stomach his hidden pain by nullifying his feelings in the matter. Most of his companions were aware of the Hero's situation via Yutera's genuine concern for her lover, and understood his pain better than anyone else, especially his contract familiar, Gunther.

However, by the time Sigurd's twisted insanity was starting to leak into his actions, it was already too late.

The Dark Journey | 1021 - 1023 EC: It remains to be a great mystery on why the Hero chose the path of tyranny instead of following the destiny that was laid in from of him, ultimately severing his ties with Yutera Kriemhild and the Aeslengard Empire. Most of the Heroes Guild refused to work with the Hero who was expressing a desire to rule over the world with an iron fist, except for six who remained loyal to the Hero until the very end, voiding their contract with the Heroes Guild to follow the now rogue Hero. During this journey, Sigurd remained the same as before—stoic and expressionless, vaporizing the vile beasts that got in his way without hesitation. This soon extended to the patrolling knights that were ordered to stop the Hero in his tracks, silently defeating them and knocking them out—and later, slaughtering them in dozens after becoming tired of showing mercy to those who couldn't understand his ideals.

One of his most infamous tactics that earned him the title "Dark Hero of Eden" was when he lured vile beasts onto rural villages to progress further into the Demon God's domain in Sitra Achra, which could only be opened by collecting 500,000 vile essence within his Astral Armament, "Collector". The Hero purposefully lured the vile beasts into the villages to mass them in a single location, and then later used a powerful magic to cast a large sea of flames onto the village, destroying the vile beasts completely while sacrificing the villagers for the sake of reducing the duration of their journey.

HISTORICAL BIOGRAPHY
Rebirth of Hercules | 1000 - 1009 EC: Since the day of his birth, Sigurd’s conscience began to develop at a rapid rate. Remembering the origin and of his soul that once belonged to the renowned Hero Hercules a thousand years ago, Sigurd’s maturity was noticeable at an early age, accelerating through his adolescent and childhood years like no other. He understood the concept of object permanence the moment he was born, could speak full sentences at the age of just two years old, and showed promise in his intellect near the same age. The anomaly that was Sigurd Alcaeus caused his parents to test their child early for a magical detection of an Origin Infinitarium, using an Origin Revealer device provided by the church in their village, only to reveal that he, was the reincarnation of Hercules himself, as promised by the Hero after his last days on Eden.

Solace3.png
The news of Hercules’ reincarnation spread like wildfire throughout the lands of Eden, each of the Five Great Nations playing their ace cards to obtain the future Hero of Eden through materials and fortune. His parents, who expressed guilt for birthing a child whose fate was settled before he was even born, desired no significant fortune from the other countries. For years onward, while Sigurd and his family would be visited by prominent figures from across the world in an attempt to recruit him into their ranks, Sigurd possessed an unusual amount of resilience to pampering and influence, finding their words of encouragement to be futile as he was not interested in heroic deeds and eminence.

After his ninth birthday, the young future hero’s village was visited by a single royalty of the Aeslengard Empire, whose name froze the village’s movements as they reverted their focus back to welcoming the princess of the empire that had protected them since the establishment of their suburb. Surprised by the lack of guards and servants, Yutera Kriemhild, the royal princess of Aeslengard, sought shelter within the village after her daring escape from the capital, and later explained her abandoning of her aristocratic status to the people of the village.

Sigurd, who was one of the primary targets behind Yutera’s motives, was the center of the attention once more as she approached him with a gleeful smile, speaking to him as if he was the person that she had been looking for since the dawn of time. Instead of glorifying the idea of an adventure and gratifying his powers to the point of stagnating the topic, Yutera never catered to Sigurd supposed identity, and instead spoke to him maturely about the reality of their situation, while explaining her own reasoning behind abandoning her royalty.

For once, Sigurd felt appreciated as a person instead of a hero. While he knew the complete and true history of Hercules, he never felt as if he was the true reincarnation of such a person, as like with anyone else who possessed an Origin Infinitarium. But instead of praising his current efforts and scolding him for his wrongdoings, the people from both inside and outside his hometown would nearly worship him as a deity and speak of fables that had nothing to do with him, tiring the young child to boredom until his destiny met with Yutera Kriemhild, who expressed how simple he had it compared to her, who didn’t filter her words about her frustration with the young Sigurd.

While merely a child, Sigurd, for once in his life, felt his heartbeat without having to lay his hand on his chest. He felt his fingers constantly twirling around with each other without his consent, causing him to become exceedingly embarrassed of even meeting eyes with the princess. After a while, the two spoke casually with each other for hours on end, ranting about their “important” status that they never got to decide for themselves, and how much they despised the world for putting them in such a tiresome situation since birth. As laughter erupted between them, the two grew more respectful of each other. Until finally, Yutera brought up an idea that would forever change their life.

To abandon their duties and become the denizens of freedom, venturing the world without a leash and disappearing from this world completely, and later fulfilling their duties of defeating the Demon God by themselves as the most powerful duo Eden would ever recognize, even instilling fear into the Gods during the progress. The idea, while it seemed reasonably unrealistic and quite idiotic, Sigurd decided to grab Yutera’s hand and accepted her proposal, all while unaware of the latter’s obvious jest. However, Sigurd’s strong determination turned the quip into an actual plan, later packing his belongings and apologizing to his parents through a written letter.

And then began the first days of Sigurd Alcaeus’ adventure into the wild, with his first real friend, Yutera Kriemhild.

Heroic Ascension | 1009 - 1012 EC: For the next three years, Sigurd and Yutera went on an adventure that would last until Sigurd’s awakening of his class, the Hercules. Without effort, Sigurd was able to swiftly defeat even the most troublesome of the vile beasts with just a rusty blade, thanks to his memories and skills that were transferred into his muscles by his predecessor. With experience, he became even more skillful with swords and weapons alike, easily taking on quests and rewards. It was a matter of time before they would take on high-tier quests with vast rewards, until later accepting one of the most dangerous quests that was available at the time - to kill a roaming Vile Orc within the Forest of the Matriarch, where the Greater Vile Serpent was said to inhabit.

The quest was simple, as Sigurd and Yutera were used to slaying demonic orcs. However, Yutera, for once disagreed with Sigurd’s choice of exploring the forest, understanding the true threat of the Greater Vile Beasts and how they are only second to the Demon God. And Sigurd, whose talent remained unparalleled when it comes to his sword, was regretfully lacking in his ability to use magic properly, due to his class being limited to slayer before the awakening of his Hercules class. But Sigurd, whose ego was starting to reach unexplored heights, gave in to the rewards pasted below the quest, immediately leaving the town to slay the vile orc. With the Astral Armament, Destiny Forge: Excalibur, Sigurd felt unstoppable, and had no fear in challenging the Vile Serpent.

Such a mistake would never be made by Sigurd as he approached the vile orc, successfully slaying the beast under a few seconds, until the real predator of the forest emerged from the depths of its domicile. Yutera remained terrified as she urged Sigurd to retreat back to the nearest town, but her partner was resilient to such a proposition. With his Excalibur in his hand and his adrenaline boosting his senses like no other, Sigurd dashed forward his “prey” and began his battle against the Vile Serpent, who showed absolutely no mercy to the ignorant child. Within minutes, Sigurd became the obvious prey. The Vile Serpent was simply faster and more powerful, with its multiple bodies attacking him at the same time, gravely injured in the process as he nearly lost his own heart to the monster, before Yutera’s rescue that cost her an eye in return.

Sigurd finally understood his mistake in the last moments and carried the unconscious Yutera back to the nearest town. He felt many unexplored emotions entering though his body as he carried his partner’s shaking body through the empty night streets, screaming for help as the people left their houses to aid with the child’s painful shrieking. But this was merely a beginning to Sigurd’s slow descent into madness, years before the beginning of the Dark Journey.

The townsfolk almost instantly recognized Yutera’s face from the posters that were left by the Aeslengard imperial guards to help search for their beloved princess, who was told to have been missing for years. However, instead of helping the bleeding young girl and treating her wounds, the townsfolk argued fortune and the splitting of the reward, angering Sigurd to the point of unleashing his rage on the entire community, proceeding to unlock his Hercules powers as he continually murdered them in cold blood, all while Yutera remained unconscious throughout the massacre.

This incident had no observers. No survivors came from Sigurd’s unending carnage. And before he would berserk through the next town nearby, a single armored knight stopped him in his tracks, struggling to calm the boy down before ultimately suppressing him with their sword, without mortally wounding Sigurd. The two children were soon taken to the capital of Aeslengard, where Yutera would be treated by the royal medical mages and Sigurd imprisoned, awaiting trial for the murder of hundreds of innocent lives.

However, a single man - whose position in the hierarchy allowed him to claim innocence on criminals, was willing to forgive Sigurd’s actions with a promise.

“Your rage is well understood by yours truly, Lord Sigurd. I am no stranger to Hercules’ old tales. Within my soul holds one of his greatest allies during the time, and while I understand the public’s reasoning behind their rebranding of Hercules’ tragedies, it still hurts to know that Hercules never saw himself as a hero. As such, I am one of few that can understand your pain. And your reason for using your sword for such malicious acts. But I encourage you, Lord Sigurd, to forgive the evil of man and just this once, listen to what I have to offer.”

The Grandmaster of the Imperial Rezivorn Chapter offered freedom in exchange of a promise: to defeat the Demon God and put an end to the vile beast’s terrorization of the world, reassuring the world safety for the next couple hundred years. The Grandmaster had no malicious intentions within his speech, even extending his words to explain what would happen after his accomplishment, allowing Sigurd to live peacefully for the rest of his life without having to worry about his fate as the Hero of Eden.

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The Heroes Guild’s Adventure | 1019 - 1021 EC: Sigurd trained under the Grandmaster’s guidance for many years to come, having his sentence voided by his master’s orders. The incident that had occurred in the town was covered in propaganda by the Aeslengard government, who had no choice but to listen to the Grandmaster, due to Sigurd’s status as the hero. In no time, Sigurd was quick to utilize his extensive class and became an invincible force, later graduating from his master’s endless courses with vast improvements. Sigurd later joined the Heroes Guild under the influence of the Grandmaster, as the guild gladly accepted his arrival and accepted him into their ranks, beginning the Age of Adventure.

With his companions and Yutera who joined the guild shortly after her love interest’s decision, Sigurd obtained love and appreciation from the people of Eden throughout his journey who returned his services through gifts of wine and lucky amulets. For 2 years, Sigurd - while showing obvious apathy for the people that he saved due to his nature, made a surprising amount of friends - including Curruid Coinchenn, who surprised Sigurd with their own fair share of power and strength. And with time, Sigurd became closer to his companions with the help of Yutera, who was officially engaged to him after the guild’s first year, enraging one particular individual to the point of madness, while the other drove themselves to insanity in jealousy.

The Dark Journey | 1021 - 1023 EC: No man knows of Sigurd’s struggles that led to him betraying the guild, including the Regalias. However, after the hero’s short disappearance from the guild after their fight against one of the Lesser Vile Beasts, the world was beginning to panic - as the hero was rumored to have been killed. As false information began to spread like wildfire across Eden, Gunther, the contract familiar of Sigurd returned to the guild covered in wounds, explaining that the Hero had betrayed humanity and had just decimated an entire Volcania Kingdom’s military brigade by himself. Afterwards, the guild - accompanied by the Rezivorn Chapter led by the outraged Grandmaster, left Aeslengard to search for the hero’s whereabouts, until locating him in the royal throne of Volcania, with the King’s corpse below his feet, and his offspring murdered on the marbled floor.

Sigurd did not explain the reasoning behind his turn and instead planned to destroy his former companions once and for all, summoning the primary weapon of the Devanus Irius vin Hercules, the Eurystheus. A sword capable of eradicating the Vile Beasts into dust, while doing the same to humanity and gods alike. It was the ultimate weapon that befitted the possessor of the Hercules class. But its existence did not inspire fear into the hearts of his former friends, as they refused to back down and allow the Hero to destroy the rest of Eden.

Until a few of the guild’s members gave in to Sigurd’s offer in desperation.

Destroying the rest of the guild and the Rezivorn Chapter into utter obliteration, Sigurd proceeded to raise his sword to finish the fight once and for all, before realizing that Yutera had casted a spell that would teleport those that were still alive in exchange for her own life, who used up the rest of her mana to cast such a divine spell. Sigurd remained speechless and ceased his movement, and stared into Yutera’s singular eye before making the final judgment to spare those that were still left breathing.

Leaving the mana deprived Yutera to Gunther, the Dark Hero proceeded to crusade against the forces of Volcania and collected vile souls into his Astral Armament Collector, which would conclude the Dark Journey after the complete destruction of Volcania and the sealing of the Demon God, leading the Hero to use the Demon God’s essence to freeze the world and cease the movement of time for the next 200 years, while he unleashed carnage onto Sitra Achra, then destroying the rest of Exelica and sealing the gods into the Final Damocles: Ragnarok.

CODED BY XETHYRION | HERRSCHER#8119
 
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DARK EDEN: EPILOGUE
Sariavyn Atlazeur


REMNANTS SOULBRINGER
AESLENGARD EMPIRE
◈ hierarchy: soulbringer
full name
Sariavyn Deanne Atlazeur
age & birth
28 / 228
gender
Female
race
Demi-Human
class affinity
Slayer
astral armament
N/A
GENERAL DESCRIPTION
Sariavyn is one of the later additions to the Remnants Soulbringer, a wildcard whose path has intertwined with the fates of a chosen few. She is considered to be one of the more untamed members of the group, and is oftentime reprimanded for her unsanctioned activities - which usually involve, but are not limited to, dragged-out brawls and pointless arguments. She is neither well-liked by the populace, nor despised by them, her reputation constantly fluctuating in between the two extremes.

PERSONALITY
Sariavyn is hot-headed, confident, and most importantly, quick to action. She is someone who sees the measures of a person by exchanging blows with them, a volatile outlier who enjoys being in the midst of chaotic strife - and it shows in her rather brash mannerisms and her tactless way of speech.

That said, she is not afraid to admit when the situation is beyond her capability, when she is confronted with foes far beyond the reach of her abilities. Still, that doesn’t mean she’ll back down from facing such tall challenges - in fact, she’d welcome it.

Sariavyn is adamant in her philosophies that mostly revolve around the individual rather than the world, mostly involving their capacity and drive for action. Still, she considers the slow and idle moments in life crucial, albeit not at the same level as the average folk would normally perceive it on.

HISTORICAL BIOGRAPHY
Originally, Sariavyn was one of the many nameless who was orphaned by the terror of vile beasts, her inconsequential birthplace brought to ash and ruin by the carnage that came with the mentioned monsters. Her survival was but a stroke of luck and a product of circumstance - when a small group of slave traders came upon her and snatched her right on time before the vile beasts could even notice.

Like many of the captured, she was sold to societies beyond the reach of the Five Great Nations - a civilization that was neither detached to Eden's culture nor relevant enough to be considered as a proper part of it. The place where Sariavyn was thrown into, once known as Ostraghiri, was a desolate land ruled through savage means - with its people governed by a philosophy wherein only the strong and the resolute have the right to live.

There, she was raised for a single purpose - to entertain the populace by partaking in gladiatorial combat against beasts. From a young age, she was exposed to a brutal reality where people had to fight in order to live. It was a miracle that she survived until she was old enough to move onto a bigger stage - where it was no longer a battle of man and beast, rather man versus man.

On the new battlefield, she earned her name through victories. Each death of the opposing gladiator adding another letter, another syllable, another word. It was during this time that she began to formulate her own philosophies, mostly developed from the ones that were evident in Ostraghiri, and gradually began to live by them.

It didn’t take long until Sariavyn earned her freedom through constant victory, when she finally left the shackles of her “hometown”. In the years of her new, nomadic life to revel in her freshly-earned autonomy, she came to realize that not all things lived by the same standards that she did - she met people who simply lived in solace, saw docile creatures that wouldn’t even dare look at her way.

She had lived in a certain way for so long that such occurrences made her feel uncomfortable, eventually developing her seemingly insatiable hunger for action. However, the timing of the self-proclaimed Hero putting the world into stasis came at a rather unexpected and unfortunate time.

Thus, when Sariavyn woke from the 200-year “slumber”, her desires had been amplified to the point where living normally was no longer an option. Hearing word of the Remnants Soulbringer’s goals and their ventures, she did not hesitate with her decision to join their ranks.

After all, what better way to scratch her itch than to join a group who is deliberately heading towards danger.

CODED BY XETHYRION | HERRSCHER#8119
 
DARK EDEN: EPILOGUE
SIARA ASHWORTH


REMNANTS SOULBRINGER
KINGDOM OF VOLCANIA
◈ hierarchy: soulbringer
full name
Siara Ashworth
age & birth
227
gender
Female
race
Human
class affinity
Mage
astral armament
Threads of Fate
GENERAL DESCRIPTION
As a battle healer, Siara is no stranger to combat despite her gentle nature. Entering combat at the age of 16, the young girl carried with her memories of many selfless figures who had fought and died for greater purposes, and easily she had set her mind to the torturous demands of war. Harsh was the blood-shedding to a gentle soul, but harder was a steeled heart, tempered by the abandonment of all personal comfort and loved ones to another life back in the village.

Though she avoids killing if possible, when the situation demands the taking of lives, she never hesitates. It weighs heavily on her mind, but also it is a sin she has resolved to bear, for the sake of others, it was the least she could do to take her share of the burden. Staying true to her conviction, she never has anyone else do the killing for her, but gritting her teeth, she drew blood if such is the black deed required of her.

Her astral armament, Threads of Fate, is in the form of a tiny spindle disguised as a hair accessory. The threads on the spindle are the materialization of the collective consciousness of millions of believers in the past and present of the Goddess of Wisdom, those driven by the desire to attain perfect harmony and enlightenment. It was given to her by a high ranking priestess, as one of the many astral armaments in possession of the Holy Kingdom of Volcania, to reward her ardent effort for the great cause. She treasures it to this day despite the Kingdom and the Goddess are no more, not only because it helps her immensely in battles, but also that it is the first official recognition of her labour, evidence and reminder that she is going down the right path.

The 20 ft long inseverable threads allowed her to “connect” with another living being, thus manifesting her magic directly upon the target, rendering all sorts of physical obstacles or defence useless. Though only being her secondary use for the astral armament, it helps her plenty in combat.

Her primary use of the device is to aid her healing magic. Her healing spells are more reliable when used on a “connected” ally, but most importantly, the Threads of Fate allowed her to transfer all wounds and injuries of an ally onto her own body and restore them to their pristine condition, a so-called “transfer of fate”. Using in conjunction with her divine blessing, Eternal Penance, this combo is one of the most overpowered moves during the war against the Demon Lord. Eternal Penance boosts her self-healing magic tremendously when her life is threatened, while completely compensates the amount of mana consumed by the time-reversal effect.

As long as someone is still able to cling to their life, she can transfer their fatal wound onto her body and quickly heal herself using her divine blessing. There are several downsides to this power: one, since the Gods are no more, so is her divine blessing; without it, her life is in great peril when taking on others’ injuries. Secondly, though the “transfer of fate” can be done partially, there is a great chance that only a fraction of a not very serious wound for a slayer or an armorer can still prove life-threatening to her, due to her weaker constitution. Using it constantly is also mentally taxing, as the effect of accumulated pains caused by fatal blows upon fatal blows is a threat on its own.

Unique moves aside, Siara is an above-average offensive mage, and a very experienced support mage. She can conjure wards to defend her ally, erase or lessen curses and other negative effects, and most importantly, mitigate pain and patch up her allies with healing magic. But she likes to think that her biggest role in the war is to raise her comrade’s spirit and morale using her conviction and positive speeches, and, if possible, fortify their morality and purge any seed of wickedness from their hearts.

PERSONALITY
The girl was born with a difficult condition, the kind said to nurture strong men and women. And tempered her mind and conviction it did. She holds dearly her belief in the just, the righteous, and above all, in employing compassion to fight adversities.

Siara has a savior complex, that is to say, she feels compelled always to aid others. This complex was a result of her constant exposure to her Origin Infinitarium, which comprises memories of many selfless individuals who’d sacrificed their lives for the people of Eden in various ways. As a matter of fact, she feels in debt even to people she had just met for the first time. The only restraint on her impulse to tear her arms and legs to feed the starved is the knowledge that she could put those limbs to better uses for more people. Consequently, the only things that delight her more than being able to deliver someone from any sort of suffering are the praises and gratitude of those she has given aid to. Fairly narcissistic it may be, but the girl is often in desperate need for apparent evidence that she had been doing the right thing.

Naturally, she is a hard worker. If not being kept in check, she may even push herself beyond physical limits and collapse. Though times and past experience have taught her to mind her own health, sights of suffering can still inevitably put her into a self-abandonment state of mind.

Before the change, or rather the reveal, of the Hero’s true nature, she was a kind and optimistic girl, always wearing a smile even in the most difficult of times, due to her strong belief that maintaining a positive attitude can raise her comrades’ spirit. She still does so now, but only as a façade, as she is now aware that things could always go wrong and even if one had given their all to fight it, evil could still triumph in the end. But those depressing thoughts she keeps as her own dark secrets, while maintaining an air of positive thinking during interactions with her comrades.

Likewise, she keeps her comrades at arm’s length, fearing the evil lurking in their hearts. And yet, she doesn’t mind that the people she saves isn’t entirely pure and righteous, as she offers her sympathy to every person, good and evil alike, so long as doing so does not potentially bring harm to others.

Her distrust of others is fairly apparent to perceptive people, since despite what she may think, Siara is not a very good liar, and her negative feelings are betrayed by her expression more often than not.

On the other hand, she has a sense of being morally superior. Often she feels that she is the only pure and stable person around. She is preachy at best and annoyingly condescending at worst in normal conversations, but can be overzealous towards the “realistic, morally grey, practical-minded” crowd. Due to her idealistic mindset, holding a conversation with her can be a bit tiresome, but if you happen to share her ideals and world view, Siara can be one inspiring and eloquent speaker.

One of her rare pastimes outside of aiding others is befriending animals. She has a way with them, and can get close to most wild beasts without much effort. Something about her benign aura it seems. She could occasionally be seen walking aimlessly in the woods with one or two newly acquainted squirrels perching on her shoulders, and the horses love her endlessly, though she can’t ride one as well as the knights, Siara never has any trouble getting from places to places on horseback.


HISTORICAL BIOGRAPHY
Her earliest memories, those prior even to her birth, were of suffering – human suffering. Famine, death, war, human’s epitomes of cruelty and suffering. She saw the helpless and with all her strength she reached out for them, but how could one tiny feeble hand touch that which beyond the faintest memories of a bygone dream? She had the most fortunate of all Origins, or so she was told, the memories of most benevolent saints and selfless martyrs, those who lived only to die, and solely, for the sake of others.

Distilled unto her was the philosophy of agape love, a love all living beings equally deserve. In her little mind were lifetimes of experiences, the kind that had driven her former selves to embrace various forms of ultimate sacrifices. And unpleasant ones that. Oftentimes, it was human suffering – so terrible sufferings that upon beholding one can only get on their knees and beg to be allowed to share the burdens, to take the places, and would that they can lessen but one-tenth the pain of those unfortunate souls. Certainly, it takes a certain type to be willing to suffer so selflessly for others, and without fail, in every single one of Siara’s past lives, she had lived a fully devoted life to the bitter end.

A saint who sacrificed her life to spark a revolution to overthrow a tyrant; a priestess who fed thousands amidst a famine; a noblewoman who built hospices and infirmaries for the poor, only to die starving on the street, unbeknownst to the people she had saved; a maiden who exhausted herself to death to provide for an orphanage...

Through her childhood, those tender times of a person, she was constantly tortured by a sense of inadequacy. No matter what she did, it never seemed to be enough, as if she could have done much more, but hadn’t. In the morning, she gave a ragged traveller her meal, in the afternoon, she cared for an old woman with a lame leg, then at night, she dreamed of her old lives and arose the next day knowing her deeds had been but a fraction of what her past selves have given to the world.

Eventually, however, she was able to repress her inner complex and came to terms with her limitations. She decided that she couldn’t keep on living for others for the rest of her life. A mere poor farmer’s daughter was only just that, there were limits even she could not break. And so she decided to settle with a man who loved her, a childhood friend she also loved. The wedding day drew closer and she found the prospect of a quiet and lovely married life with her future husband surprisingly desirable. But then, in the midst of those hopeful times, came the news of the Hero, who was told to be the chosen one by the Gods to slay the Demon Lord and end many’s suffering. Now, the soon to be bride was reminded and reproached of her selfishness. How could she put her own happiness above others when there was still so much sorrow to be lifted from the shadow of the Demon Lord? The sixteen years old maiden then left her fiance, her parents, her hometown, her whole life behind to enlist in the Heroes Guild and subsequently the Hero’s conquest.

She pushed herself to the absolute limit. Day in, day out she trained, ever looking up to the Hero of Eden with an admiration no short of idolization. It gave her the much-needed motivation: she too could do something to help, even if only a little bit for the cause. Eventually, she climbed the ranks by virtue of self-abandonment, hard work and tenacity and became one of the most skilful mages in the Guild.

But war is not kind nor fair to hard workers, countless were her encounters with great perils, next one greater than the last. Even then, the heart stayed pure, a sort of a miracle for someone who had been witnessing life slipping from their comrades almost every day – countless in number in the darkest of days. But what dangers and lurking death could not crumble, the cruelty of men did batter to the ground. The hero’s growing ruthlessness weighed heavily on her heart. She doubted and she wavered. Perhaps it was wrong after all, to seek happiness through acts of violence. And yet she reasoned that the Hero was merely doing what must be done, that surely it was difficult for him to make such decisions too.

The last straw was when her beloved idol sacrificed a whole village to hasten his quest. Her heart was left broken, disillusioned. The hero’s image was shattered and in terror, she realized she had been aiding a demon all along. It was at this point that her optimistic heart was crushed.

“ALL HUMANS ARE INHERENTLY SELFISH, CRUEL, AND WITHIN EVERY ONE OF THEM A DEMON DWELLS... EVERY SINGLE ONE, NOT EVEN A HERO IS IMMUNE TO EVILNESS...”

Now she was determined, a warped determination that, to abandon all desires to live for herself. Her goal was to ever be the only virtuous person, even if everyone else had gone evil. She would be the only fool in a world of cruelty, the only wretched light in the eternal blackness, having only herself to rely on, but no one else.

Her distrust of others grew, and so was her desire to martyr her life. She placed little trust in anyone, even her comrades, fearing one day they too would fall to wickedness. And so even as she worked alongside other Soulbringers against the hero, she kept her dark thoughts private, while devoting every waking second to a self-sentenced quest of martyrdom.


CODED BY XETHYRION | HERRSCHER#8119
 
Last edited:
DARK EDEN: EPILOGUE
ZUKRON ARVALSTAN
DESTROYER OF HOPE


REGALIAS OF QLIPHOTH
THE MAD KING
◈ hierarchy: high lord
full name
Zurkon Arvalstan
age & birth
635
gender
Male
race
Astral Monarch
class affinity
Armorer
astral armament
Nolite Maledicere & Veritatem Revelatam
GENERAL DESCRIPTION
Zukron, to most onlookers, could be rightly described as terrifying. His entire body, even his face, is littered with scars and deformities, brought about by years upon years of fighting with reckless abandon. He could order them healed-he does have access to excellent healers due to his position, but he insists upon not doing so. A man’s exterior must match his true nature, after all, and Zukron insists on being nothing but honest. This, coupled with his above-average height mean that he is incredibly imposing on all situations.

In battle, Zukron dresses in heavy armor, yet, unlike most other armorers, shuns a shield in favor of wielding a great weapon with both hands. Unorthodox, certainly, but the unpredictability itself is a weapon on it’s own right-and one too many now-dead opponents have assumed Zukron to be nothing more than a passive protector. His insanity also amplifies the strength of his nature a hundredfold, as he believes in his own, twisted creed without the slightest doubt-and with the astral magic, this horrible view of the world becomes truth for his opponents as well.

His two Astral Armaments, besides being powerful symbols of his creed, also act as extensions of his philosophy in combat, allowing him to both take the punishment off of his allies and onto himself, as is the role of a scapegoat, but to also force enemies to reveal their true selves-only the purest of heart can resist such a horrible curse. And yet, these souls are so exceedingly rare, Zukron is doubting they even exist anymore.



PERSONALITY
Zukron is, for lack of better terms, a madman. He often converses with individuals that only he can hear. Claims to have memories of people that did not exist. Sometimes, he can even see things that are not there, although, due to his nature, what exists and what doesn't is never assured. He also seems to exhibit intense masochistic tendencies, claiming that pain helps him remember who he is. As a result, he has become incredibly resilient to it.

One thing is for certain regarding him-nothing is certain. Tread very carefully. Maybe you’ll get on his good side, if you’re willing to sit through unending sermons. Or maybe you’ll do something to annoy him and he’ll devise a convoluted way to get back at you, most likely breaking you down psychologically first. Who can say?

Zukron is petty and often childish in regards to authority-although he obeys Sigurd’s commands out of necessity, he doesn't think of himself as adherent to any true structure, and thus often clashes with the bureaucrats and minor lords of Vragathia


HISTORICAL BIOGRAPHY
Zukron was born in a relatively well-off family in the Kingdom of Aeslengard. His parents, though cold and distant, ensured that they provided him with whatever he needed-well, whatever they thought he needed, anyway. He learned to speak, write, and read fluently. He learned etiquette and economics, geography and world history. And while he was lonely, there was no real indication that anything was awry.

That was, at least, until a horrible fire killed his entire family and left him without a penny to his name, as before even the ashes had cooled, a last will and testament of dubious origin gave away the entire family fortune to the boy’s uncle. Zukron was marked by this event. He swore vengeance. After all, his cause was just. The Gods encourage these actions, do they not? So he trained. Surviving in any way he could on the cold, unforgiving streets, he trained for years upon years, becoming an increasingly capable warrior.

The time of reckoning came. Armed with stolen weapons and with a heart filled with rage, Zukron attacked his uncle’s manor, carving his way through the guards and servants until he finally reached him. His pleas fell on deaf ears, his assurances and promises null and void. Zukron began hitting him and did not stop until the body before him was barely recognizable.

He was arrested and hanged a few days later, but he regretted nothing-his life’s purpose had been completed. His vengeance had been fulfilled. His story had ended, although it would seem in a cruel twist of fate, there would be no happy ending. The hangman pulled the lever. Zukron met an agonizing death.

Except...He didn’t. Zukron was reborn through the miracle of the Origin Infinitarium. And he thanked the Gods loudly for giving him this second chance at life, this time resolving to live a happy, quiet life.

His desires, however, were irrelevant-he was drafted to fight in a local baron’s army, against the provinces of another such baron-some petty squabble. Yet the conflict soon turned sour, and supply lines were cut-Zukron’s unit were forced to live off the land, extorting and killing the peasants for supplies.

In a stroke of misfortune, a powerful mage had decided she would come to the defense of the poor peasants. Without remorse she used roaring fires to kill every last one of the soldiers. Zukron died amongst his brothers-in-arms, screaming.

But once again, this was not the end. Yet no matter how hard he tried, no matter what choices he made, he always seemed to once again find himself in the role of the villain. Whether out of despair, anger, guilt, or sheer bad luck, he be at odds with the Heroes of the time. Even in times of relative peace and quiet, he just could never seem to “belong” amongst a peaceful society. He was always regarded with suspicion, mockery, and disgust, or, at best, pity and tolerance.

With every death, his sanity began to slip away. He now no longer possessed only the memories of his former lives, but the memories of other lives, too-lives of villain, madmen. Scorned, bastards, abusers-all the people that could never be a part of this world. It is unknown how much of it is due to the magic of the gods, and how much was forged by his own ravaged mind.

Eventually, after much pain and great effort for naught, he came to a horrifying conclusion-he was in this position not out of bad luck, nor out of his own choices. This was the role the Gods had assigned to him-The Villain, a setpiece against which the heroes of the world could struggle. A pig to be ceremoniously slaughtered for their entertainment.

Most men would’ve been completely shattered by this revelation, but Zukron had been conditioned to endure, no matter what. And his new, and final purpose, was made clear to him. If Villain was what the Gods wanted him to be, then Villain he would remain. He would search the world to find others cursed as he was, and he would unite them all under his banner. He would train them, he would equip them, and he would show them the meaning of their role.

They would inflict upon the world but a taste of the suffering they had been forced to go through.

The Damned, as this group became known, started out as a mild nuisance, but quickly grew in numbers in power. Entire communities or patrols disappearing overnight, the only evidence being strange reports of masked men in the area. And although many of them were caught, all of them defended the location of their headquarters to their final breath, convinced of the virtue of the cause that they were fighting for. Even rumors that their leader was killed were always apparently false, as he seemed to return time and time again.

Several years later, Zukron heard rumors of the Fabled Hero’s reappearance. Seeing this as a great opportunity to obtain intelligence on the power and numbers of his enemies, Zukron enlisted in the Heroes Guild under a false identity. Of course, initially things went as he had come to expect-those that did not actively ignore him largely treated him with disdain or fear. Had it not been for his great skills, he surely would not have been allowed to remain.

Yet in a very surprising twist of fate, as time went on, his fellow “heroes” began exhibiting more and more familiar signs that he would never have expected from them. Curruid’s heart was shattered, and Zukron was awed at how it was possible for a hero to grieve so. Reid became disillusioned with her faith in the same way so many heretics he had come to know also had before her. And finally, the crowning jewel, the tip of the pyramid-the Hero of Eden himself. Turned to darkness, to evil. Zukron felt joy unlike anything he had felt in his entire collection of lives. He gleefully helped the hero with his quest, taking vengeance upon the Gods and Devils that had cursed him and his followers since time immemorial.

The Hero rewarded him for it, and the reward was ample. And for the first time in memory, Zukron stepped into a world that accepted him. A world where he finally felt like he fit the big picture.

A world as ugly as he was.



CODED BY XETHYRION | HERRSCHER#8119
 
DARK EDEN: EPILOGUE
SEVA KAINE
THE MANY-FACED ONE




REGALIAS OF QLIPHOTH
VRAGATHIAN EMPIRE
◈ hierarchy: high lord
full name
Seva Kaine
age & birth
228 (1003 EC)
gender
Male
race
Astral Monarch
class affinity
Slayer
astral armament
Onna & Okina
GENERAL DESCRIPTION
An imposing figure adorned with a dramatic guise, Seva’s perpetual front dissuades others from discovering his true intentions. No matter the tone he speaks, his body language, his subtleties - it remains nigh impossible to get a good read on him. Nevertheless, his personal ideals and goals remain steadfast.



Clad head to toe in heavy, plated armor, Seva practically has no exposed skin - the only apparent visible organic matter is his crimson red hair. Secured to Seva’s face is a void-like black mask, providing a featureless faceplate which acts as a vessel for his Astral Armaments: “Onna” and “Okina”. These masks seem to be held in place by magical energies, suspended in the air a few centimeters away from his head - though, the amount of empty space between the faceplate and the mask is unnoticeable. Seva’s voice is filtered through this faceplate, letting out a gravelly, baritone voice that one would argue sounds mildly inhuman. When one of Seva’s masks is active, a large, illuminated ring manifests behind him.



This ring slowly rotates and has 8 small symbols that travel along the ring’s current, spinning in tandem with the ring itself. While Seva’s faceplate provides vision, the openings of the mouth and eyes of the masks appear to be bottomless pits, resembling a void Nevertheless, the user is able to see through these openings once they’re worn. Seva’s first Astral Armament, Onna, appears to resemble that of a young woman - possessing soft, rounded features and a deadpan expression. Once Onna activates, Seva’s movements and fighting style blossoms into a much more graceful, elegant form, with strikes that quickly flow into each other.



While the mask’s activation appears to provide baseline physical improvements, the most substantial change is Seva’s speed, which seems to rapidly increase between each of his strikes while using this mask. Along with this, the Onna mask’s power seeks to invade the mind of the opponent, suggesting that their movements grow sluggish and hesitant in the presence of the mask’s young, feminine innocence. Alongside Onna, Okina appears to resemble that of an old, wise man, possessing a beard and two apparent horn stubs on it’s wrinkled forehead. Unlike Onna, Okina’s mouth is shaped into a wide grin, expressing glee to those who dare challenge him.



As one would expect from the experienced elder, nothing gets through him. With janky, explosive bursts of movement, Okina provides additional physical power. While Okina does not lack speed, it is used in an entirely different manner. These movements are used in order to form an incredibly efficient defense: blocking, counterstrikes, and parries are the primary focus of the Okina, combining both his own and his opponent’s power to strike back. Okina allows Seva to read his opponent’s movements and see slightly into the future in regards to his opponent’s action’s, but there are conditions that must be met.



Okina is only able to predict the movements of those within his line of sight. Along with this, it can only foresee a person’s actions - not unrelated events, like a building collapsing, or the outcome of said actions. Third Astral Armament, Hannya, unaccounted for.. Maybe one day.



Seva’s primary weapon, besides his Astral Armaments, is a large staff. He wields this weapon with extraordinary skill and experience, even if he has an active mask - the mask simply alters in what fashion he uses it. The staff is slightly longer than his height in length.

PERSONALITY
One should hold independence in high regard. To follow without questioning cultivates foolishness. Seva keeps this concept at the forefront of his mind, especially considering his position as a Regalia. The faith that Seva had put into the Hero had begun to waver many years ago. While he still sees the merit in the Hero’s goals, there exists conflict within his mind.



In essence, Seva can be considered a corrupted, dark soul. Much like the countless past lives he had witnessed, Seva is an individual who, by nature, may be considered morally wicked. A sadistic being, he derives pleasure from the pain of countless others, though he seeks to overcome and channel his actions into a greater purpose. This purpose was granted to him by the Hero. Upon their return, Seva’s instructions were made clear - force humanity’s growth through conflict. Even so, refusing to acknowledge potential failure means ignoring one of the many possible outcomes. If all the effort was for naught, Seva will have failed himself. His ideals, his purpose. He seeks to overcome his nature. If all the pain and suffering caused leads to nothing, he will be forever wrought with guilt.



Seva is very taunting and talkative, especially in battle. He actively encourages and/or insults his opponents. While he seeks to bring out one’s potential, such jabs simultaneously satiate his lust for pain - not to mention the rush that battle provides for him. Even so, Seva does everything in his power to stay in absolute control - a skill which he’s refined to near perfection. Seva’s an incredible actor and is capable of being impeccably deceitful if he so chooses - not only that, but he can pick up on the lies that other’s spew as well.

HISTORICAL BIOGRAPHY
To overcome one’s evil nature requires great effort.



The Origin Infinitarium of Facade’s birth came into existence through the original soul’s attempt at redemption and subsequent death. Having been born into an abusive family, this soul had been maimed and set unto a path of destruction since the very beginning. Throughout their entire life, they showed tendencies of violence and inflicted pain unto others. They grasped for power and abused it at their leisure, embracing who they were - a murderer, an abuser, a vile existence. This was until a spark of realization. After indulging for so many years, maturation and stark interest in philosophy drove the soul to seek a greater purpose. To resist one’s nature is a difficult task.



Instead, you need to put on the mask - act like a good person. Redirect your urges and attempt to make use of them in a positive light. Bring harm only to those who threaten to harm the innocent. Joining a guild provided many opportunities to do so, thus, this soul had come to accept their past and who they truly were - they simply needed to hide it behind a warm smile. As long as a greater good could be achieved in the end, they would die happy. Thus, Facade’s soul had moved forward, manifesting as an Origin Infinitarium.



Seva, much like the original soul, possessed an immoral disposition that could not be helped. Not only this, but the countless memories of murderers, thieves, and other sinners slowly crept into his mind over time. These countless memories only proved to harm his mind more, forcing him to grow with such heavy burdens weighing him down. Possessing a nature he could not control, he assumed he’d end up living a life much like those who came before him.



As a child, Facade did not show Seva the memories of redemption - only the atrocities and unforgivable acts they had committed beforehand. Growing up in Aeslengard, Seva’s parents were, understandably, disturbed by the child’s actions and thoughts. They were worried about his future - the pain and suffering he may eventually inflict. They sought mental treatment for the boy, though no progress had been made. Accompanied by the memories of such horrible crimes, his mind was put into a position where the only person who could make a difference was himself. There would be no changing what he was. Luckily for Seva, age brought memories of redemption - though, this was only after he had committed so many sins himself.



Murder, abuse - he was 18 when the complete memories of Facade fell into place. Seva was shown that you may, indeed, overcome one’s nature - you can become a symbol for something greater. For every horrific memory his youth had introduced him to, he witnessed a redemption. A killer turned savior, a thief turned benevolent. While they still harbored immorality, they put on up the facade in order to serve a greater purpose. In the end, this provided much greater satisfaction than indulging in their personal desires. Seva understood that.



With this newfound knowledge, Seva sought out his greater purpose. Putting on the mask - both literally and figuratively - , he joined the Heroes Guild. Since his earliest days in the guild, Seva barely exposed his face to others around him, always wearing the black mask to hide his expression. With his face covered, they couldn’t see the pleasure that he had gained from slaughtering those that opposed them. Keep the smile covered. A good person isn’t excited as they kill. This deceit. These lies. It’s for the greater good. it’s necessary. Even as the Hero turned against the rest of the world after the encounter with the Demon Lord, Seva confided in the Hero - he provided sanctuary, a purpose.



Only after they returned to Eden did Seva begin to doubt his methods. If things failed, Seva wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. He’ll do everything in his power to ensure that their plan to empower the human race is successful, until his dying breath.

CODED BY XETHYRION | HERRSCHER#8119
 
DARK EDEN: EPILOGUE
YUTERA KRIEMHILD
INHERITOR OF THE HOPE FRAGMENT


REMNANTS SOULBRINGER
PRINCESS OF AESLENGARD
◈ hierarchy: commandant
full name
Yutera Rose Kriemhild
age & birth
231 (09/12/1000 EC)
gender
Female
race
Human/Minor God
class affinity
Slayer
astral armament
Executioner's Protection
GENERAL DESCRIPTION
Known to all as the notorious noble of Aeslengard, Yutera Kriemhild was believed to have influenced the “Hero of Eden” to succumb to the malice that slowly but surely gnawed away at his sanity. Amongst her wake from the Frozen Stasis Period, the princess of Aeslengard was granted the Divine Hope Fragment by none other than the Goddess of Hope, Yurtivel, in her valiant attempt to cease Sigurd’s assault against the gods. As her former fiance became forever lost in the chaos that consumed him, Yutera reined in some members from the now disbanded Heroes’ Guild as well as some willing and reliable adventurers to form the faction of the Remnants Soulbringer, in order to bring an end to her despised lover’s dark conquest, once and for all.

PERSONALITY
Yutera is the kind to show hospitality to those in need, lending a hand whenever possible, even to those who she believes should not deserve it. Once getting to know her, she can be quite amicable, although mentally she tries to maintain a small distance from others. The only person that Yutera had complete trust in was the Hero of Eden, but now that he had turned against his people, she has found it difficult to rely on anyone but herself— especially when some Heroes’ Guild members betrayed humanity to fight by his side. Despite this, the princess admits when she cannot defeat a worthy foe, and asks her allies for assistance. She maintains a stoic front and optimistic attitude, and does her best to salvage what remains of her reputation and status.

With a goal-oriented mindset and a strong resolve, Yutera sets out with the Remnants Soulbringer to slay the vile beasts, defeat the Dark Hero, release the spirits of the Gods, and maintain the social order. Deep down, she knows that Sigurd has become corrupted beyond the point of return and that the Soulbringers must kill him for the sake of humanity, but there is still a miniscule part of her that desperately believes she can bring him back to reality and help him regain his sanity. As feelings of hurt and betrayal gather in her heart, would she be able to look into the eyes of the Dark Hero as he currently stands?

HISTORICAL BIOGRAPHY
Part 01.​
In the golden age of Aeslengard, life seemed lively to those that were confined within its walls. The average citizen assumed a typical lifestyle full of vibrant discourse, light banter, leisurely footsteps, and a strong sense of national pride. Everyone went about their lives at their own natural pace. The inhabitants seemed at peace in their occupied minds, save for the princess of Aeslengard, who always seemed troubled for she felt she could never keep up with those immersed in their daily duties. She would often feel out of place amongst the commoners, the nobles, and even amongst herself, yet the feeling was not unfamiliar: it was a feeling that lingered throughout her life, even before she became the princess of Aeslengard— before she became “Yutera Kriemhild”.

Born into a life of abuse and neglect by an alcoholic ex-maid and her husband, the girl was always reminded of what she was: to her mother, a poor reminder of the failed relationship between herself and the King of Aeslengard, and to her father, the burden of a child that was not his. Constantly, she would be dissatisfied with her life, especially because it reminded her of the recurring torment that existed in the thousands of lives before her. The girl had not even a name; she was referred to only by general pronouns and degrading terms, as if she were an inferior specimen to the human race. She lived in fear and shame from her parents, so much so that she dared not speak of any thought, whether good or bad, that could result in further punishment than that which she was already given. The only source of warmth that sought to comfort her in times of utter despair was the strongest and earliest memory she had remembered of her previous incarnations— one that felt like a distant, dream-like folk tale; one that she held close to her heart.

There once lived a benevolent adolescent man who nurtured avifauna of all sorts. He was not obligated to care for them, but simply did, as he felt the world turned a blind eye to their injuries and poor treatment. When the man would see a bird with a broken wing, he would make sure to tend the wound as best he could; when a mother would lose its child, the man would bring the chick back to its nest to reunite with its family; when he would see one without food or shelter, he would made sure to take them in and keep them well fed and rested. In return, whenever the man was filled with sorrow, the birds would flock around him and sing and chirp until his spirits were lifted and his melancholy was no more. Life was well for the man and his aviary companions, until a tragedy befell upon him: while the man took care of the birds, there was no one around to ensure his physical wellbeing, leaving him to succumb to a terminal illness. Even on his deathbed, the man felt he had served a purpose in life, satisfied with the end he was to meet. As the being slowly lost consciousness, he made his final wish in silence: for those who were lost in suffering and loneliness to achieve freedom and peace by any means, as long as the outcome resulted in the good of others.​

On a hazy day slightly more peculiar than any other, two men dressed in heavy armor roamed the forests by which the small family resided, in search of Aeslengard’s lost young heir. Having searched throughout the empire night and day, the guards’ hope in finding the heir gradually dwindled until they caught sight of ivory locks which resembled that of the princess, and eagerly followed the child who seemed to be accompanied by a strange couple. At first, the guards believed that the young girl was trying to blend in with the common folk due to her meek stature and bulky rags. However, the raucous duo did anything but to help mask her presence, aside from causing her to cower, as their words became as sharp as daggers and fingers dug into her skin. Rushing to the girl’s aide, the guards were able to take a closer look at her. Indeed, she looked almost exactly identical to the princess of Aeslengard, the only differences being the bruises tattered across her body, the overly underwhelming clothes she wore, the length of her ragged hair, and a worn out expression on her face. It seemed as if this sort of treatment was something the child had become accustomed to. Was this, the guards wondered with concern, the same princess they were supposed to be looking for?

Whatever the guards thought, they believed it was only right to save the child from her misfortune. Besides, the princess of Aeslengard had not been found for what seemed to have been a little over a week now, so either this was her, or she was presumably dead and awaited passersby to find her body. The guards created a proposal to which the couple accepted with ease: to rid the girl from their existence by escorting her to the empire and allowing her to live as Yutera Kriemhild, princess of Aeslengard. The girl would no longer have to suffer under the wrath of drunken souls. Instead, she would live under the care and protection of nobility, and for once, she believed fate was being rewritten in her favor. For once, she had a real name to be called by, to cherish, even if it wasn’t truly her own; for once, she felt grateful for what life had to offer.

When the guards brought the girl back to the kingdom, they illustrated a false report to the King and Queen. They stated the following: The guards found Yutera wounded and battered by a savage woodland beast. Due to severe shock, trauma, and the instinct to survive within her time in the woods, she forgot the noble lessons and responsibilities that she was taught at a young age. Therefore, she was required to remaster the art of nobility. As a result of trauma, the girl would be timid around others and refused to speak until she deemed them trustworthy.

Although it took a few years for Yutera to adjust to her new life, she soon became the princess everyone expected her to be and fit into the mold perfectly, despite being quite young for her level of maturity and wisdom. At first, she would anticipate her scheduled meetings with other nobles, willingly walk the elderly across the street, and help the citizens with mundane tasks, all while making sure to remember the names of each and every person she came across. However, as the years went on, she became increasingly bored of the tasks that seemed to pile on day after day, and instead longed for a life that did not restrict her from the outside world. She wished to be free. Conveniently, it seemed she was given an opportunity for her wish to be granted, for news of the Hero’s rebirth had spread across the nation by the time of the Spring Equinox, which followed Yutera’s eighth birthday by a half year.

The tales of Hercules seemed awe-inspiring and heroic, but Yutera always wondered if the new Hero held the same beliefs and felt the same way as Hercules did. She wondered if he had also witnessed the memories of lives he did not remember. Through rumors and conversation of the new Hero, Yutera learned that the Hero, whose name was Sigurd, was in fact the same age as she was, and that he lived in a nearby village. If she was correct, then the two had similar experiences that hindered their freedom, and had similar desires to leave their current world behind— to slay the Demon God and be done with the overbearing tasks that dominated their lives, so they could live like average human beings. She had found a potential motive to incentivize the Hero to run away with her and flee from her duties, but the hard part now was to create a compelling speech that would seal the deal. Yutera spent months practicing in conversation while trying to find an efficient way to escape the kingdom without getting caught, and at long last, came knocking at the new Hero’s door, willing to face whatever came next.

CODED BY XETHYRION | HERRSCHER#8119
 
DARK EDEN: EPILOGUE
MEI AKAMONO
NINTH CHILD OF THE DRAGON.
"The Ninth. The final number that appears before the beginning of a new cycle-- aid or abet-- hinder or hamper-- no matter what, the absoluteness and absolution it brings is unstoppable-- but it remains mutable."

-- THE GREAT SAGE DELIVERING ITS PENULTIMATE UTTERANCE TO THE FIFTH CHILD OF THE DRAGON​



REMNANTS SOULBRINGER[?]
DRACOKAR'S EMBERS
◈HIERARCHY: CATHEDRAL GUARD
full name
Mei Akamono
age & birth
232, 19 (Appearance); DOB (03/21/999)
gender
Female
race
Dragon, Demi-Human(Pictured)
class affinity
Nephilim
astral armament
N/A
GENERAL DESCRIPTION
The Great Dragon King had Nine Children--

The First was the standard-bearer, who resembled the Great Father the most, they sing songs of glory and honor about him.
The Second was a general, a commanding officer of the troops, and a model soldier-- the Imperium's heir-apparent.
The Third was a wanderer, wishing to explore and see the wider world so that nothing escapes their sight.
The Fourth, a songstress, who weaves words and sentences together to retell the family history.
The Fifth was wise, seated in front of the Greatest Sage to hear its wisdom.
The Sixth was lonely and sad, wanting to find friends, they accompanied soldiers in their final moments.
The Seventh was an erudite, well-studied, and well-versed-- their attention to detail made them a chief legislator and litigant.
The Eight was distant, who serves under the Second as their eyes and ears, standing guard at the gates of the land.

The Ninth didn't have anything to be remembered by, for they casted her away, terrified their birth meant the end of their reign.

Mei Akamono, the named she was raised up by, and known by her birth mother as "Shianne Dracokar," was that abandoned child, left for dead in a remote village in the Aeslengard Empire. Equipped with only a spear that supposedly drifted along with her down the river she came in, she began to train in combat from and early age from one of the village elders. After becoming part of the local militia that protected their distant community from outside threats-- she was destined to live a plain and pleasant life free of any fate-binding difficulties and intricacies.

That is- until the Dark Hero froze time for two-hundred years. In that split second, something awakened within Mei-- a power that laid dormant and sealed away by her mother in order for her to blend in with the locals better had been unlocked. As a fight-or-flight reaction that both Dragons and Humans share, Mei manifested her Draconic Powers as fire and flames engulfed her lungs, spewing forth to create a ring around her as parts of her own flesh and blood became covered in plated scales. It was in that form that she remained locked in during the Frozen Stasis.

When the hands of time crept forward again, she was hardly recognizable. The villagers mistook her for a Vile Beast and tried to drive her out. She tried to explain the situation, however in the place of words and pleas were indecipherable piercing roars. She traveled through each house of the village, trying to find somebody, anybody who would stop and listen. However- it was hard to be amiable to a being that is burning down everything around them. She rampaged across the once-beautiful countryside, turning the green grass in smolder black ash before she was finally subdued and imprisoned under the Cathedral of Yurtivel high in the sky in Aeslengard by the Remnants Soulbringer.

After three years behind bars, she proved herself to be a capable warrior, and is currently posted at the entrance to the Aeslengard Cathedral, once more trying to have a go at assimilating herself into an strange land. However, the fear of being seen as vulnerable or triggering another transformation that would claim the lives of others-- she remains stoic and disciplined, trying to support the mental walls and barriers around her so that she doesn't have to be put back in the slammer. Of course-- this all comes crumbling down as tensions ignite on the world stage, and as she too must answer the call to arms.

PERSONALITY
The Unbending Blade of Azelhardt [1015-1023] EC | During the eight years of training that began as soon as she turned 16 years of age, Mei had a fierce spirit that seemed to come down from her Draconic ancestors. Despite being far from human, she was successfully raised as one. She well-known around town as the dedicated warrior that paid back their hospitality with diligent service and reciprocated that love and kindness with her own. But at the same time, she remained vigilant, knowing full well that a moments wasted become minutes, minutes become hours, and hours become days. As long as the sun remains high in the sky- she must continue to improve. This is mostly derived from a subconscious inferiority complex that stems from her being the only girl that stood out like a sore thumb.

Usually, she would feel slighted when people hesitate or are nervous around her. In her paranoid mind, she believes that they are beginning to doubt her place and whether or not she's really fit to stay. It then spirals into cracking open extra time to practice, upon where her excessive time put in would be noticed in spars, in defending the village, or in just everyday life, reinforcing the idea that what she just put herself through was working. And then another wisp of doubt would seep in, and the process would repeat itself over again.

Serving Time [1223-1228] EC | During this pivotal moment in time, was where Mei began to warp from this loving, kind, and caring figure to a shell-shocked, guilt-ridden mess. Having to bear witness to their own terror and rampage throughout the countryside you once lived in, hearing the agonizing screams dying out as the flames consumed their flesh-- it takes a toll one's own mental state. Even as she was subdued, forced out of her semi-transformation as a dragon and into the scared girl that she now was- she always spoke the same mantra-

"It's all my fault."
"All my fault."
"All my fault."
"My grievous, grievous fault."
"Why must I still live while everyone else is gone?"

She failed to protect the people she was supposed to protect, and in her own wake she could only find destruction and decay in what used to be a lively and joyful world. And while locked up in the Cathedral, she tried her best not to be an extra burden. Always cooperating with the chaplains, never speaking out against her captors, and never believing that their treatment of her was unfair-- as she could not accept anything better. But no matter the time and place, the soul and spirit she carried as her essence always stood with her. She found a small sliver of light and hope in practicing and sparring with herself, for that was all she had to go up against during that time. Perhaps better or for worse, being isolated from the world around her had its perks.

Cathedral Guard [1228-1231] EC | Her time spent as a guard for the cathedral allowed her to cool off any lingering temper left from her youth. She knew she is dancing on thin ice as a prisoner that's being used to bolster their security. One false move, one fall from grace-- and she's definitely going back into the slammer. She's become hardened and disciplined-- both to maintain the appearance of reform, but also out of that fear that always sticks with her-- that she'll be casted aside once again and left to burn herself out.

Deep down, she would want someone to hear her out and listen to her story-- to take interest in her for who she is, and not the toy soldier that she is currently being used as. But for those three years, she didn't want to break any of those walls down-- hesitant to think of or bring up anything of the past as to prevent any chance of transformation. But-- like with all things, it must come crumbling down eventually. How she deals with it-- is yet to be seen.


HISTORICAL BIOGRAPHY
"Humanity is a species of hairless apes, trying to create a wildfire out of mere sparks- as if consuming everything around it would justify their pointlessness. No one asked for them. No one benefits from their existence. And for sure, nobody would miss them."

"...I cannot fully refute that my lord-- but I can't also fully accept that conclusion. Even the tiniest spark can cause a blinding brilliance. It is because of their facsimile amount of time that is allotted to them, that they strive to be so bright. Can't you see? There is a lot to learn from such resolute beings."

That conversation echoed through the head of the Queen Dragon Mother of Dracokar as she raced as far as she could away from the Imperium Palace as far as she could on her own two legs-- believing that her only hope lied outside of her own race.

Whether it be the auspices of the stars or the mere whispers of some harlot, the Great Dragon King, had believed that the birth of their next child would mark the beginning of their downfall. However, fearing that the aging monarch would take drastic measures to avert such a fate, the Queen Mother fled off into the wilderness alone in commoner's robes as far as her feet
would take her. Ultimately, she would stumble and fall into a river that carried her away, evading her pursuers. She had drifted far off and away from Drackon land and into Aselengard and was taken in by the locals hoping that the woman and child were still alive. The woman, explaining how she fled to protect the life of her child, but also must return home to see her family- had left the small girl in Azelhardt to be raised by the couple that saved her.

It was from there, that this child was raised as "Mei Akamono," taking after the Fifth Child who-- in light of a vision that was brought to them, had offered the Ninth Child their ceremonial spear, the fabled Green Dragon Crescent Blade, a family heirloom that signifies the humble origins of their founder. Her mother left the spear and a golden bracelet bearing her own insignia before returning to The Great Dragon King with the story that in her grief and worry, she had a miscarriage- and that the child he so feared is now dead.

Now able to live, dethatched from the courtly intrigues that would have awaited her in Dracokar, she lived on as a simple village girl, free of the burden of being anything important.

Xiao_2.png
First Breaths of Fiery Air [999-1015 EC] | Dragons mature and age a bit differently than normal humans. They grow and develop faster in the early stages of life, but slowly age in adolescence and adulthood, owing to their longer life-span and differences in biological make-up. It came as much as a surprise to the Akamono family who had taken her in that their newfound daughter could walk upon its own two legs in a span of two months. It was from her fast development that she began to play around with the older children despite her young age. Being able to blissfully interact with those who were just as ignorant about the world as her was the time of her life, as she valued the freedom that comes with a lack of responsibility.

However, after this Golden Age for Mei passed, the seeds of her isolation began to take root- as children started to point out how "weird" and "unusual," she was-- or at least what their parents began to feed them in the back of their minds. Distraught at how the people around her appear to be moving on without her, she became more rowdy and rambunctious, accepting the role that they cast for her in order to draw back the attention she lost.

As a Blade to be Relied Upon [1015-1023 EC] | When she got older, she blossomed into a head-strong teenager, always getting in scuffles with the other children in her village. Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly-- she seemed to come out on top almost every time. The village elders, seeking both to prevent the ire of the parents of said children, and to put such strength to use- had floated the idea of placing Mei in the Village Militia and train with all the other older militiamen. She spent her time sparring and dueling even the Master of Arms to a stand-still, mostly in part due to her Draconic genes, but- at the time, it was defined as "raw skill" and "talent."

It was during this time that she became more grounded and welcomed in the community. After defending the village successfully against Vile Beasts, Bandit Raids, and other forms of external harm, she was once more earnestly welcomed in town. She was seen as the icon of inspiration by the younger children, and a diamond that just had to be roughed out a bit by an adult figure. Her fiery passion for fighting for acceptance and integration died down, as she fitted in as a normal "human--" finding friends, gossiping and cracking jokes, giving and receiving cryptic life lessons-- she would be more than content to live out as a bulwark for her home of Azelhardt for the rest of her days... until all hell began to break loose.

17a48d75a392f4701.jpg
Loss of Control [1023-1225 EC] | As time began to slow down in the world around her, something long dormant had manifested within her. As if it were a last ditch attempt to escape from the binding chains that would soon subdue her, she began to transform into her original draconic form. However- as plated scales began to cover her body, the transformation stops mid-way. While the rest of the village remains frozen in time fast asleep, she remains wide-awake but paralyzed for a couple moments longer. Panicked and not knowing what was going on with the world, she tried to struggle free of constraints placed on her body, only causing to light a flame that would begin to burn over two hundred years around her as she finally fell into a deep slumber.

After the hands of time crawled forward once again, she woke up to a blazing inferno and piercing shrieks both consuming the air. She tried her best to respond to the calls for help- but not a single perishing soul could recognize her in town. Driven by madness both due to the situation and the sudden release of her Draconic powers, she rampaged throughout Azelhardt, leaving it nothing more than a field of black ash.
Mei_EGO_4.jpg
"i'M huMAn! I AmM! yOu GoTt to BeLIeve! mE!"
"I jUst WanT to hElp! i Can! pLeasE! dOn'T ruN aWay!"
"i'M noT a mOnstEr! nOt a bEasStt!"
"pLeAsee! nEed hElp! eVeryThingg... oNn fiRe!"

She cycled through those battle cries as she hopelessly wandered through the countryside, looking for anyone who could help alleviate her suffering. She wandered through the roads, learning through the dying words of her victims the way to find more people-- and hopefully, the aid she needed. Eventually, her presence rang alarm bells for the Remnants Soulbringer-- whether for better or for worse, she got the immediate attention she craved. After a hard fought battle, Mei finally regressed back into her human form, scared for her life-- she spat out her sins on a plate for them to judge. Bracing for the worst, and expecting to be put down permanently-- she was surprised when they placed shackles on her and led her away.

Solitary Confinement [1225-1228 EC] | After being thrown into a cell, it became clear that she needed to be isolated from the other fellow inmates held at the bottom of the floating Cathedral. She saw her self as a walking corpse, and most certainly played the part. She didn't talk or speak, she didn't raise her voice when she was pummeled around like a ragdoll. She just accepted her fate and punishment, knowing that what she did was irredeemable and irreconcilable. She spent countless nights crying behind bars, muttering the names of the villagers that she killed and a few other names cried out as she made her tour through the countryside.

Seen as a noisy wreck to the other prisoners, she was tossed into solitary confinement, isolated away from anybody for the latter half of her time. After screaming her lungs out until her mouth was dry, she eventually started to pick up the pieces of her shattered psyche. Ironically-- while seeking the attention for others for help, it was only when she was off and alone with no one to watch the lost Dracokar Princess-- she became disgusted with her current self. She turned her sniveling tears into sweat- putting her body to work, once again relearning the once-forgotten motions of her form of combat. Before- she practiced haphazardly, as if it were a chore meant to occupy her time. However, with the weight of people's lives on the line, she sought more rigor and discipline in her training.

A wildfire blazes within her, but she was going to be the firefighter that controlled the blaze, pinpointing what the destroy and what to let live. Such improvement wasn't lost upon the guards who stood watch over her. Whether it be out of a show of respect for her determination in her eyes, or the pragmatic decision to put any abled bodies to use because of the coming storms of war in theirs-- she was made an offer she couldn't refuse:

A Prisoner on Their Best Behavior [1228-1231 EC] |
"Those who do not work, do not get to eat."
So she got put to work in the Cathedral. She was placed near the entrance, far away from anything important that would be missed if it were damaged. And-- if she were to transform fully again- she would have her cohorts around her to either suppress her, or would be able to get up in the sky to battle if she finally learns how to control her Draconic form. Regardless, she humbly accepted such a proposition-- once again repeating the cycle of reintegration and slow acceptance into their ranks.

But there are a few lingering questions that remain-
"Why did she transform?"
"Is she really human?"
"If not, who is she?"

Even if others have already found the conclusions, her constant crying made it seem like she wasn't ready to hear any answers. She longs for the day for someone to tell her of their findings. Those days waiting turned into weeks, months, years-- But anything that would identify her was lost back in Azelhardt, supposedly burnt away with everything else around her at the time. She once again is trying to find normalcy in an increasingly more ridiculous world. Of course-- the fate that's in store for her makes that almost near impossible as Aselengard inches closer and closer to all-out war which may drag Mei along for the ride.

CODED BY XETHYRION | HERRSCHER#8119

The face-claim used for this character is "Xiao," from Library of Ruina. I do not own any of the assets used in this Character Sheet.
Click to expand...

Spookyy- said:
7/10/2021: - Definitively determined Mei being affixed to the "Nephilim" Class. - Visual Update
Click to expand...
 

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DARK EDEN: EPILOGUE
ANNELIA LASTELLE DU LEMA
THE VEXKNIGHT
"I fight for true freedom. The tyranny of man shall not supplant the tyranny of gods."


REMNANTS SOULBRINGER
SOVEREIGNTY OF VRAGATHIA
◈ HIERARCHY: TURNCOAT
full name
Annelia Lastelle du Lema
age & birth
234 (02/12/997 EC)
gender
Female
race
Astral Monarch
class affinity
Mage
astral armament
Chrysopoeia, the Envious Eye
GENERAL DESCRIPTION

Tall, strong, fair of skin and fairer of hair, heavily armored and wielding a blade of Leman Pearlsteel, Annelia does not look the part of a Mage, yet such is in strict keeping with her true being. Her magic is deception, and deception is her magic; a swordsman in the strictest sense, Annelia's innate gift of illusory projections exists solely for the sake of the supplementation of her swordwork. When reality and unreality blend together, even the simplest of motions, the most minor of feints, parries, and strikes, are wound into deadly games of guesswork. Which wounds are real? Which strikes have truly struck? Feelings of fatigue and vigor--from whose mind do they stem? Foes fade into nothing only for new ones to take their place, all while creeping senses of fear give rise to the most damning illusions of all. Even a mere moment's hesitation, borne on the wings of fright, confusion, or miscalculation, can be spun into a fatal thread of fate by Annelia's hands.

Where her right eye once was, there is now the Astral Armament known as Chrysopoeia, an artificial eye birthed from the countless wishes of all those who wanted what they never had. When the Envious Eye lays itself upon an object of one's desire, it will materialize a perfect copy, one which will remain until it is no longer a focus of the eye-bearer's emotions, fading away in tandem with the wielder's fickle memory. Annelia uses the Envious Eye in tandem with her projections, gifting the unreal with fleeting flashes of reality, illusory feints briefly drawing blood just as well as their true-striking counterparts.

Above all, her secrecy is her greatest strength. Her Astral Armament spends the majority of its time covered by an unassuming metal eyepatch, and the true nature of her abilities and their interplay with the Envious Eye are known to very few. Those who she has hunted in the name of Vragathia report a dizzying blitz of vexing strikes, disappearances, trickery, and frights--assuming they return to speak the tale at all.

PERSONALITY

Annelia stands as the living embodiment of the Cliffs of Camille, her demeanor perfectly matching that of the rising stones that sit upon the border to the sea and her drive just as immovable. Grey and unfeeling is she, honed with focus that has yet to crack, and orderly in a manner bestowed only upon those who have known naught but barracks for all their days. Her mien, stern and dour, is the spitting image of the haze of clouds that hangs above the coastline, forever obscuring the gold of the sun, and forever bathing the Leman Mountains in their characteristic colorlessness. And yet, just like the region from which she hails, unearthed jewels sparkle in the darkness beneath the surface. Deftly hidden by her stony exterior is an untapped creativity, an ever-dreaming, contemplative mind, constantly waging a secret war against the pressures of the world and her station within it.

Annelia is not fun, nor is she sociable, but she is dependable, imaginative, and strangely knowledgeable. Perhaps, in another world, she might have been a bookish, quiet girl, a scholar and artificer through-and-through. A pity, indeed, that the world could not have been treated to her crafts in times of peace.


HISTORICAL BIOGRAPHY

In the lands that would go on to become the Sovereignty of Vragathia, there runs a roadway up high, high into the mountains. Along the climb, plants wither and die, those hardy enough to remain taking on a faded hue that nearly matches the endless grey of the peaks above. Mists set themselves low among the mountains, only to be blown to and fro by the wailing winds that shift and slither through craggy passes and along steep, death-granting cliffs. Go far enough, and this highway loses the form given to it by capital-laid brick, a decade of neglect rendering it nigh-invisible were it not for dangling lamps, rattling in the high winds, dutifully marking the way without their light. Nothing grows in these mountains save for the hardiest of root vegetables, and the meat from kills is gamey, taxing on the jaw and without a hint of pleasing flavor. Yet, if one climes that road far enough, through the fog and past dulled, sharp pines, all the way to the world's very end--the cliffs that tip forward and threaten to spill into the depths of the Crystal Sea--they will, to this very day, find Lema, the city of frost and fire.

Smokestacks billow upward, dissipating just before the white-tipped peaks of the surrounding mountains; half are great forges, roaring without end, whilst others are the hearths of the chilled and the hardy, struggling to stay warm in this inhospitable, barren clime. The depressing lands surrounding Lema always looked the way they did, all the way from the very beginning, when the first of the Lastelles staked their claim in this horrid place with a simple stone foundation that grew to support a cabin barely fit for three.

Yet there was coin in the hills; it was not long until that small family had struck glinting stones of all sorts; crystals, gems, metals both hardy and precious, all there for the taking. And so, generation by generation, their holdings grew; their cabin became a dark, vaulted chateau, the oft-watered plants in their glassed and covered gardens the only specks of green amongst their sea of grey. The mountains grew host to nigh-endless tunnels, winding back and forth with the burden of industry on their backs, and the empty valley below the peaks filled with settlers from throughout the western lands, caravan after caravan braving the climb to the dark, hollowed hills in search of work and riches. Lema grew prosperous, with even the smallest of houses sporting a hearty fireplace or well-wrought stove, homes and roads alike built with perfectly-cut stone. The warm glow of candlelight cast orange upon its sometimes-snowy streets, and despite its surrounding misery, the men and women of Lema grew content.

In time, a king and his entourage came, claiming the town in the name of his throne. The Lastelles, not ones for war, granted the king his wish, and in return for keeping their lofty stations as Duke and Duchess under the crown, bestowed upon him a great relic, the Highblade, said today to be the world's first Pearlsteel arm.

And, from there on, the riches continued to flow, with Lema providing the arms and armaments for countless generations of soldiers. The Lastelle lineage continued. Some sixty years before the fall of the Hero, Alfons Lastelle du Lema was born. In time, he was crowned the new Duke. He took a wife, the now-Dutchess Marielle Lastelle du Lema. He had three daughters, and no sons. He began to worry for the future of his house. Such was the hold in which Annelia Lastelle du Lema, the Vexknight of Vragathia, would be born.

---​

The fourth try at a son by Alfons and his wife begot another daughter, yet one with an extraordinary gift. From an early age, the girl was a fount of magic, her innate talent of trickery manifesting uncontrolled from her young consciousness. Illusions danced around her even as a baby, nonsensical warpings of reality birthed from a mind that could not truly comprehend its surroundings, yet nonetheless attempted to replicate them. Alfons, though he attended readily to his duties as a father, nonetheless felt in the back of his mind that the girl was a bad omen, a harbinger of ill upon his house. Her mother, meanwhile, saw the young Annelia as a joy among joys, all the world's beauty made manifest in a single being. The child was doted upon by her mother and siblings, a readily-accepted member of their household despite her father's estrangement.

Still seeking a boy for a child, the Duke called a meeting with the king, seeing access to his head priest at the kingdom's grand cathedral. If he were to earn the favor of the gods, he was certain, then he would surely have a son, securing the lineage of the Lastelles. Pulling the strings of favor came easily for neither the gods nor the king; Alfons, he was told, would have to offer a most admirable tribute were his wish to be granted. With only a moment's hesitation, he offered his youngest daughter, certain that her magic would be of great use to the king and his empire. It was thus that the young Annelia was driven away from her home on a coach bound for the imperial capital.

Annelia's new life in the imperial palace consisted of days spent refining her knowledge and skills in order to properly serve the kingdom, the king's advisors carefully plotting the girl's development. Seeking a link back to her home and days of freedom, she grew obsessed with the palace's guardsmen, taking stock of their arms and armor, and noting all those that came from a Leman forge. She grew obsessed with tales of knightly valor, and when it became clear that her magic was a clear benefit in her practice duels, she forced the advisors to finally let her choose her own path and become a soldier for the kingdom.

Now fully invested in her own journey, Annelia relentlessly trained and practiced. She took up the craft of her homeland, teaching herself in tandem with the king's personal armorer how to create and maintain her own arms. She became a potent strategist and an even more potent duelist, deftly shaping herself into a champion of the king's army. When the Hero and his guild began to rise in prominence, protecting the people and shaping the fate of the world, the king sent Annelia to join them as a representative of his empire and a show of solidarity with the Hero's just cause. Alongside many other valiant hearts, she followed the Hero on his quest to quell the world of demons and monsters, forever shaped and led by the thought that all men should be free from tyranny of all kinds.

During Sigurd's disappearance, Annelia continued the guild's work in his absence. Though she was initially shocked by reports of the hero's wanton sacrifices of the innocent, she began to put together more and more pieces of the puzzle through investigation and reflection. Sithra Achra and the Demon God had to fall for the suffering of humanity to truly end. There were few that could understand that particular burden; Annelia was one of them.

She stood by his continued atrocities, her eyes forever affixed on the final goal of ridding humanity of all those that shackled it, demons and gods both. As part of the Hero's two-hundred year plan, she used her knowledge of war and statecraft to aid in the planning and creation of Vragathia, becoming one of its primary enforcers and internal pillars of stability.

Yet, as the world woke up and the years wound on, Annelia was forced to reckon with the fact that those around her did not wish for Vragathia to fall.

To her, it had always been a temporary stopgap; the last weight humanity was to shed, a necessary yet temporary guide, a watcher to be abandoned by the living once they had realized and become certain of their supreme potential. Yet, the iron hands of the Sovereignty and its ruling guild never let go, never gave humanity the liberty it needed to recognize itself. The rule of gods was over, yet freedom never came. The Hero and his ilk had replaced the word of gods with the word of themselves, and Annelia was not free from that blame.

Disgusted, and now saddled with the greatest burden she had yet to carry, Annelia abandoned her position as an enforcer of the Sovereignty, disappearing into the wider world as she sought the sanctum of the Remnants Soulbringer. She did not agree with their ideals. She knew that were the Regalias of Qliphoth to fall, she and the Soulbringers would come to blows once again over the fate of humanity, and the fate of the gods. Peace would not come until humanity's ultimate choice was made.

Yet, she knew that were the Regalias to remain, such a choice would never come.

CODED BY XETHYRION | HERRSCHER#8119
 
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DARK EDEN: EPILOGUE
AUBERON NEACHNEOHEIN
"I do I, you do you, so long as we keep it real."


REGALIAS OF QLIPHOTH
THE KING OF FOOLS
◈ hierarchy: high lord
full name
Auberon Neachneohein
age & birth
228 (3/17/1003 EC)
gender
Male
race
Astral Monarch
class affinity
Bloodborne
astral armament
N/A
GENERAL DESCRIPTION
Auberon Neachneohein appears, for all intents and purposes, as a tall, lanky young man, most of whose visage is obscured by his hood and, if not that, his unruly hair. Flanked alongside his companions, he strikes a stark contrast from them. Known more for his schemings than his strength or power, his flamboyant gestures and mannerisms do more than enough to hide his intents and talents. He is most seen in a teal-coloured hooded longcoat which, like his disposition, is more of a chaotic mess of designs than bearing any perceivable pattern. The teeth-like ridges lining his hood’s rim and the wyrm’s eye that decorates the side of his hood, combined with his characteristic grin, calls to mind the image of a fantastical beast of whimsy.

Though a Bloodborne, Auberon hides his affinity by consuming Mage blood whenever he is prompted to display his abilities. A Mage who wields the four elements with some proficiency, having trained underneath a sorceress non pareil, he combines the elements for destructive effect, and is famed for leveling an entire town by himself with a spell of untold devastation. The stories do not tell of his extreme exhaustion after the act, but it is enough to strike some trepidation in the hearts of those who would challenge him. His true specialties, however, lie in the art of illusions. So potent are his illusory magicks that they remain long after he has worn out a Mage’s blood. He uses his illusions to bring to creation realms of his whims- the glamour of a giant castle with a burning hearth and a longtable lined with the most scrumptious foods in the midst of a ruin with sticks and stones upon a table of dirt is but one of his easiest creations. When he wishes not to be found within the stifling dreamfog that he conjures up, it will be a trial and a half, even for those who have seen past his smoke and mirrors, to catch a glimpse of him.

His proficiency in the other affinities, and his ease in slipping into any of them, makes him a strange creature in combat. Known more as a Mage than a Bloodborne, it always comes as a surprise when he erects a wall of nigh-impenetrable defense against the barrage of a sharpshooter’s darts, and shrugs off blows with barely any notice, before summoning a blade of coalesced energy into his dagger to gouge his target for every inch of their life. His strength lies in the sheer unpredictability of his actions, and, within the fae dreams he conjures up, he becomes nearly untouchable with his confusing, confuddling, and discombobulating labryinths of illusions upon illusions, always just out of reach, always something in the way. The king of fools will never be found within his castle, for he dances between the pillars of shadows and light, and once his opponent has tired themselves out chasing ghosts, the mirage will lift, and he will be gone.

PERSONALITY
Auberon is a studious man, who pursues amelioration with a passion. Not taken in with stagnancy, he strives to continue improving himself, whether be it his abilities as a Mage, or his knowledge as an ephemeral existence on this world. He seeks the same thing for humanity at large, a task given to him by his master before she left for places unknown, and he carries this duty with no small amount of reverence. No sacrifice, personal or otherwise, is too great for him, and this has been part of him since time immemorial. He is a thoughtful man who studies and plans accordingly before every engagement, all so that everyone he has grown to care for will keep moving ever forwards. He places himself at Sigurd’s side as one of the Regalias of Qliphoth purely so he can watch over all of them, and ensure none of them stray from their paths. He has deemed both the Regalias and the Soulbringers as the ones who would forge the future of this world, and to that end, he will utilise any means possible.

Having said that, being serious and brooding is not very charming, in Auberon’s eyes. While his master would have been happy to simply mutter darkly and shut herself out from the world, Auberon instead takes on the mask of a fool. Jests aplenty, songs delivered with aplomb, and limericks lined up to be limericked, Auberon presents himself as an easy-going, lackadaisical, careless fool, whose presence is supposed to brighten up the room some, though one’s mileage may vary. Before the turn of the two centuries past, he was but the ‘funny guy’ of the group, and sought to lift the spirits of his peers. He carried himself with grandiose and flamboyant gestures to mask his true intentions, but over time, that mask seemed to melt and fuse with him, and while he has his moments of contemplations, he became the fey trickster that everyone knew him to be.

Now, he continues to present himself as that very same fey trickster, but has since added dashes of his master’s personality. One could say, however, that it was the natural progression of someone who was willing to do anything to ensure the progress of humanity. His flamboyant behaviour is now coloured with a certain darkness, enacting Sigurd’s orders with his flair for the dramatic. He feels, truly, for those who will die, and not a day goes by where he does not offer a silent prayer for those who have gone, and those who will go, but his mission is still of the greater import. To counteract this, perhaps, he wears the mask of one who has gone mad with power, no longer interested in the lives of those beneath him, and wholly fascinated with the idea of destruction. It is notable that this particular mask has its cracks, and some days, he worries that some may glimpse past them.

HISTORICAL BIOGRAPHY
The Sorceress, as she was called by those she visited and those that consulted her wisdom, was an eternal being. To her, all lives are ephemeral. Even the draconic kind in Dracokar would never live to match her in years, and no mortal, ordinary or otherwise, would ever find themselves in her shoes, no matter how they tried. She had existed ever since the creation of Eden, or perhaps some years after that, cursed to wander the lands. Her memories, faded with time, did not give her the answer to this question. Her duty was unclear at first, and, once upon a time, she brought about countless tragedies, disguised as natural disasters, to sate the anger in her heart. Yet, she found no solace in the death and destruction, and over time, she grew to despise herself, and to love the world. With every tragedy she visited upon the mortals, they would rise up again, no matter what. In the ashes of the firestorms she conjured, farmers would till their lands, grow crops, and flourish. In the floods that swept away lives innumerable, they built houses on stilts, and subsisted off farming, and from there, fortresses upon water would be erected, and trade would flourish. The Sorceress found that she was, perhaps, the moving force of the world. Come time, she would dedicate herself to that very duty- to see the progress of the world, to see that it would never stop in its tracks. In war, in peace, in times of both, she would see that humanity would continue to move and flourish.

She would find company in the form of a young man, whose blood carried the rare affinity of the Bloodborne. Called in by a family of the Aeslengardian lands to train him to become their weapon, she discovered this nameless creature scrabbling about the dirt of their homestead for scraps of food. Less of a boy, more of a dog than anything else, the thing was. She had seen evils enacted across the world, and had once partaken in them herself- her heart had long frozen cold to its pangs of compassion. A job was a job, after all, and she first attempted to reason with the dog-boy. Little surprise- the thing was unable to even understand a single word she spoke. She snapped at his owners, wondering aloud how she was supposed to lecture a mindless creature driven by instinct if it could nary fathom a word she said. So she suggested that she would take care of this weapon of theirs for about five years to teach him some manners and some words, and then forge him into the monster that they wanted him to be. Unwilling to accept any other alternative, she took the thing under her care, and disappeared.

For those years, she did as she intended to do so. She scolded, beat, and forced down his throat teachings so that he could, at the very least, function as a normal human being, and over time, she eventually lessened the harsh treatments after he began to show traits beyond that of a subhuman. If anything, she began to treat him very much like her own kith and kin. Alongside basic chores and some survival skills, she began to hone his abilities to its earnest, teaching him first in her own arcane arts. He picked that up fairly easily, much to her own pleasure. He was quite taken in with the weaving of magicks, and his eyes shone with wonder every time he managed to conjure up his own spells. The naive wonderment at something so simple struck a dissonant chord with her. Was she perhaps feeling some attachment to this transient soul? That was her folly. She would have to be rid of him as soon as possible. The moment he could bind two elements to his name, she would return him to his owners, and then she would distance herself from him before he began to latch onto her. Or worse, before she latched on to him.

To commemorate his growth and eventual mastery of his elements, The Sorceress let the boy choose his own name, and, much to her own embarrassment and consternation, he chose Auberon Neachneohein. He must have been peeking into some of her books to know the name Auberon, but his last name was the thing that troubled her the most. Of all things, she chided, why would he rather be known as her daughter? He kept his silence, for he knew that she already knew his answer. He was honored to hold her name, no matter if it was as her son or daughter. He loved her as he would a mother, and there was no greater wish for him than to carry her legacy, no matter what came to pass. He was an ephemeral soul, destined to fade away over time, while hers continued to burn forevermore, and yet he would seek to carry her name? He was a grander fool than she had raised him to be. No matter, she allowed him to do just that. Surely, this was of no import, she thought to herself as she returned the boy to his original family. She would visit again soon, after he had readjusted back to his old life, to teach him more of his own abilities.

It was no more than a few days before he destroyed his home, transforming it into an inferno in the middle of the city that was said to rage for two days and two nights. The boy was the only survivor, and when asked to be directed to someone he knew, he pointed the officials in The Sorceress’ direction. She had barely gotten enough sleep, having been poring over her books, when he arrived back at her door, smelling of ash and smoke. She chided him and yelled at him for hours on end, but not for the massacre of a noble family- she could care less about them. Their lives were forfeit the moment they turned on a monster like him. No, she was more incensed that he would return to her. She would come to HIM, not the other way around, the fool, and now, with no other family to take him in, his fate would be chained to her until he decided to leave her side, or he died, whichever came first, and she was not about to throw him to the lions. The lions would become a charred mess anyway. With some amount of reluctance, she took him back under her wing.

That was how The Sorceress and her Apprentice came to be. She taught him her ways, and forged him as a weapon of its own soul and mind, unbound by the wills of others. She lectured him on the importance of her own wishes- to see mankind grow, prosperity be damned, and made sure that, if he were to follow her to his last breath, he was to keep that in mind. She reminded him time, and time again, as they bore witness to death and despair, that they were not heroes. They are merely a glimpse of hope and light, and no more than that. If they could bring in that hope and light without any perceived direct influence, then all the better. To scheme and plan for humanity’s good, that was their role. They will destroy and save those that they should, and no more. The boy did not argue- he understood what she wanted, and what she meant. He would do just that, and he swore to her true name that he would forge his own path towards that future when it came time, much to her chagrin. Once a pact had been made in her name, it would be unbreakable, and Auberon was not fool enough to disregard this. No matter, it was his life on the line, not hers.

Auberon made good on his word to leave her side when the time came. He finally decided that he would be better off learning the world of his own accord, uncoloured by the sour tint in her views, and would leave her side. Though it pained The Sorceress some to see him leave, she did not show it outwardly. She didn’t think she would have to do so. After all, they were daughter and mother, and Auberon seemed to be less of a monster than he was from all those years ago. She let him go, and let him wander. Never will they meet again, except in their memories. Auberon openly wept, and The Sorceress’ heart melted just a little bit, enough to embrace him for the first and final time in their lives. With that exchange, they parted ways, their paths diverging.

---

Now begins the tale of Auberon Neachneohein, daughter of The Sorceress. At first, the young man wandered aimlessly, taking in sights, and watching the people of Eden out of interest. He took on some mercenary work himself, just to earn enough coin to eat and sleep well, and wielded only the powers of a Mage to keep his Bloodborne heritage under wraps. He kept up his appearances as a Mage who was no better than his peers. Though initially quiet and watchful, with a hint of playfulness, he began to open up to those around him. He found that people reacted better to someone whose heart was more open, even if it was just jokes and general japery that he engaged in. He was fun to be around, and that was all that he needed. It let him observe the hearts of men and women around him, and allowed him to gauge their abilities and strength better.

His fate would intertwine with the man known as Sigurd during one of the days that he was playing at being a mercenary. It was no more than an ordinary hunt for monsters that roamed the lands of Eden, but something about his magicks brought Sigurd’s guild to him. His abilities would prove useful in their growth, and besides, his destructive record was nothing to be scoffed at, all because he had thought to experiment a little beforehand. Auberon thought to deny the invitation at first, but when he glimpsed upon the Hero and his guildmates’ faces, he saw something within their eyes and their faces. He was not prone to visions of the future, but his instincts told him that these were the ones who would play a bigger part in the world’s march towards that samesaid future. As The Sorceress had taught him, any progress was good progress. With a bow and a sweep of his hand, he politely accepted their invitation, and so, it came to be that he would become part of this guild.

He was with them through the thick and thin, watched as Sigurd fell in love with Yutera, observed Curruid’s growing insanity from the shadows, and stood aside as his feelings for his guildmates grew, especially towards some select ones, as a man would a woman. He hid his feelings well, or so he thought anyway. The Sorceress’s propensity for verbal abuse and cursing when she felt anything outside of misery and disgruntlement manifested in him as more jokes, limericks, and puns, and he found that quite worrying. Mayhap, she had rubbed off on him more than he expected. He shut himself away further with his merrymaking, but it did not stop him from growing ever fonder of his guildmates. Never being quite able to speak his true feelings, his mask became part of him, and the fool became who he was.

Even when it all fell apart, when Sigurd turned on the world, he never spoke of his love, not just for the ones he was fond of, but also for the others who did not follow Sigurd’s rule. Determined, however, to see the darkness growing under Sigurd’s rule, and to see the light that the Soulbringers brought into that darkness, he allied himself with Sigurd, going as far as to battle the ones he loved, to trap them within his grand illusions and rain hellfire and icestorms upon them with no mercy. In the frozen world, Auberon concocted his schemes and plans, saving those that he could, and slaughtering those that he must, all while wearing that mask of his. He was but a weapon for this age, and he expected Sigurd to wield him as best as he could. Though he would not ever become a hero, he would become a villain, just so that tiny spark of light and hope that the Soulbringers bore would come to fruition. He would watch over both Sigurd and Yutera, over Eden’s future, and he was determined to ensure Eden would grow, ever more powerful and resolute, even if it meant that his fleeting existence would be nothing in the eyes of those he loved. Was this what The Sorceress wanted him to do? He would never know, but he was sure that she would believe that he knew that he was doing the right thing in his own eyes. Pain would forever torment him, especially the departure of one guildmate that he had become fond of, but he would persevere.

For the progress of man, he must.

CODED BY XETHYRION | HERRSCHER#8119
 
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DARK EDEN: EPILOGUE
YULIANNA HOAG
THE INFIRM WANDERER


REMNANTS SOULBRINGER
THE ANCHOR OF VAGRANT
◈ hierarchy: soulbringer
full name
Yulianna Hoag
age & birth
227, 03/07/1004 EC
gender
Female
race
Human
class affinity
Hunter
astral armament
Banalis, the Vox Populi
GENERAL DESCRIPTION
The Infirm Wanderer! The Iron Arm of the Coast, The Layman's Might and The Anchor of Vagrant. Yulianna is a woman of many names and many reputations. First and foremost is her oldest title, The Infirm Wanderer. Brandishing a club longer than she is tall, and doing it while missing an arm no less, Yulianna strikes a memorable image if nothing less.

Yulianna Hoag is an adventurer in the most traditional sense of the word. You most often not find her doing battle, but on a lame-legged journey to some iconic landmark or cozy, backwater town. Her passions lay not in the slaying of demons or the banishment of extra-dimensional threats, but instead in the beauties of the world; the gentle churning of a river in the afternoon, the smell of grain, carried on the winds, the sight the awaits a sturdy mountaineer above the cloud tops, and all the sights both natural and man-made that lay in between.

She brandishes her Arm, The Banalis, then, not in the name of some grand ambition, but instead in the name of the mundane. Yulianna journeys across the land to serve two purposes, to experience as much of life as is on offer to her, and preserve those experiences for the generations to come.

At her side is her ever-present companion and Astral Arm, the Banalis, a narrow club of pure, black metal that measures two meters in length. The Banalis is a historied weapon and has been wielded by many other adventurers in the past. Its preferred owners are the poor and infirm, as the weapon is one born of the woes of the people who exist at the bottom of the societal food chain. Despite its simplicity as a club, the Banalis's magical effects are rather intricate.

The Banalis is able to physically interact with magical energy in all is forms. On a basic level, this allows it to back magicked fire aside as if it were made of stone, or shatter constructs of mana like a pane of glass. On a more advanced level, it can be used to absorb the magics that bolster a Slayer's fists, or harden a Armorer's flesh. Yulianna uses the Banalis in tandem with her usually paltry magical abilities, propelling magical projectiles with physical force rather than magical, allowing her to purely focus on power when weaving spells. This, in conjunction with her more expected wielding the Banalis as a club, makes her into a hybridized fighter, capable of effectively assaulting her foe from distances short and far.

The majesty of her Arm aside, though, Yulianna is hardly suited for her line of work. Testament to that fact is the litany of scars that Yulianna possesses, ranging from acid burns to stab wounds. The majority of the Banalis's previous owners have died quite young, either drowned in their own ambition or simply struck down by an enemy spellcaster, and it would seem Yulianna is walking down that same path. What is a man, after all, in a world of demigods?

It doesn't matter, Yulianna would say, because philosophy is for idiots.

PERSONALITY
A bonfire alight with the brightest shade of delusion, and a fool of the sunniest calibre. If there was a single word capable of capturing Yulianna's foolhardiness, it'd be her middle name. A woman of few inhibitions, Yulianna is quick to think and even quicker to act, stubbornly forging a path into the future with nothing but her grit and oversized iron club. The self-confessed fool of a woman is taken with a certain ideal. To adventure for the sake of adventure, to live for the sake of living, and to do for the sake of doing. If life is nothing but a set of transitory moments, destined to be turned to dust in the wind, then we should take that dust and build a castle. Things are only worthless if you let them be.

Yulianna's passion for the little things can only be matched by her stubbornness. As she is essentially a wild bull in a woman's body, there are few things in this world that can get between Yulianna and something that she's set her mind to doing. The only thing the woman seems to be afraid of is sitting still, well, that and centipedes. Her stalwart drive to keep moving forward is so intense that it's led some to speculate that she has some sort of deathwish, and is just determined to die in the most spectacular way she possibly can.

Evidence to the validity of that theory is certainly in abundance, too. Yulianna's body is painted with wounds and scars and scrapes in every shade of the rainbow, she's not exactly proud of them, but still can and will tell you exactly how she got them if you badger her hard enough.

HISTORICAL BIOGRAPHY
Of Demons and Gods, Devil Kings and Divine Heroes.

It always sounded so pretty, the life of a legendary hero. To strike down a tyrant or two, marry a beautiful princess, and then ride off into the horizon to live in the name of truth, justice and love, stories like that were enough to make any young girl's heart swoon. Yulianna's eyes, as they happened to belong to one such any young girl, sparkled brighter than the stars themselves whenever her father would tell her stories of the Legendary Hero Hercules, and she spent many a restless night dreaming of the day when she could become such a stalwart knight as he.

Yulianna's home, though, was a peaceful thing. Her parents, both classless peasants, led a simple life as farmhands under the rule of a noble liege. Appropriately, her childhood was one spent dashing through cornfields and tipping cows, frolicking in the frivolities of a simple life as any good child would. Every night her father would dye her imagination with her favourite stories of knights and heroes, and every day she'd act them out to her heart's content.

There was just one problem. The vigor of Yulianna's body could never keep up with the passions of her mind. She was born with a condition that harrowed the development of the left side of her body, leaving her with a permanent limp in her left leg and a stump for a left arm. Her ailment wasn't too much of a bother in her youngest years, but the older she got, the more aware Yulianna became of the rift that lay between herself and her adventurous ideal.

The young girl's parents were not blind either, and the more desperate Yulianna became to prove that she could be somebody, the more protective they became. The of the few things the pair had they held their daughter the most dearly, so they couldn't bear the thought of losing her to some childish delusions. The stories that inspired Yulianna so much gradually disappeared, replaced by ones of pretty princesses, living their life squirreled away from danger. She found herself with a curfew and her parents always seemed to be keeping an eye on her. It was stifling, but more than that it hurt. The protective embrace that her parents held her in confirmed to Yulianna one thing: She wasn't going to be what she wanted to when she grew up.

So, she decided to tighten her belt. If she couldn't be an adventurer, then she'd be the best darn farm that she could be. Yulianna toiled away, earning herself a solid reputation as the first on the field, and the last off of it. Whenever there was a job that needed doing, she'd be doing it, and whenever a hand was needed, she'd be lending one. After all, if she couldn't do this much, then how could she ever hope to strike down a vile beast?

Her hard work never paid off. There was no mystical trial hidden away by fate in the wheat fields that'd fix her limbs and set her free, and for all her efforts, her parents were only becoming more restrictive. Eventually, she decided that enough was enough. If there was one thing that her failed trials and pointless toil had taught her, it was that fate didn't work like how it did in the legends. It wasn't the sort of thing that came knocking at your door, riding on a sunlight-white horse to sweep you off into a life of adventure, it was an elusive something-or-other that you needed to wrest into place with your own hands. In the dead of the night, Yulianna packed a bag, scrawled out a note of goodbye, and then set off into the big, wide world, determined to do-or-die.

Literally. Yulianna was aware that the loaves of bread and wheels of cheese she packed for her journey would only last her so long but she figured she'd be able to rely on the kindness of strangers to scrape by after that. The more pressing issues lay in the apex predators of the world. The moment she ran into a demon or vile beast it was going to be the end of her, starving or stuffed. While Yulianna was not so infirm that she'd be deprived of her magic, too, but her disabilities did leave her rather inept. It was quite hard to aim with only a single arm, and even harder to dodge with a lame leg.

She spent a few years on the road, barely scraping by. From time to time she'd settle down in a single place for a few months, earning a pocketful of coin before setting off again. She did what she could, where she could, occasionally playing hero in small ways when she passed through a town. Finding stray pets, driving off wild animals, or dealing with a rowdy bandit or two. It wasn't exactly a life like in the stories, but it was better than wasting away on the farm for the rest of her life.

Yulianna walked and wandered. She gathered and told stories, and she made and lost friends. After a few years, her wandering took her onto a boat, and that boat ferried her onto a fishing colony by the name of Vagrant. Before it, the ocean stretched as far as the eye could see, and the horizon was smothered by a blanket of dense, dark grey. It was the sort of town where the world went to end. The waters had been fished dry, and so the only denizens who remained were the elderly and poor, those too stubborn or unfortunate to leave for a better life.

The whole town, then, was like peering through a looking glass and seeing another version of herself. Vagrant's people were not too different from her, had she made a different choice those few years ago, and stayed where it'd been safe. Some of them were morbidly sad, while others were perfectly happy, satisfied with spending their twilight years somewhere away from the world. Yulianna herself spent more time in the town than she'd meant to. Whether happy or sad, there was one thing that the people of Vagrant had in common, and it was the stories. Each of them had a different yarn to weave and a different tale to tell.

Yulianna spent a year there, doing petty work for the townsfolk and exercising what paltry magic she had in the name of the town's benefit. One of the elders put a roof over her head, while many others put meals on her table. It was nice there, not in a way too dissimilar to her life on the farm. She grew especially close to one of the residents, a wizened, retired adventurer, his journeys ended when the venom of a particularly nasty Vile Beast ravaged his body beyond repair. They traded stories on the daily, and before long their conversations started to remind Yulianna of the ones that she'd have with her father all those years ago.

Unfortunately, when the time came for Yulianna to depart, it did so with fire. Vagrant was an isolated town, invisible to most of the world, but not removed from it. On one fateful morning, a reminder of that came knocking. From within the bay which Vagrant had taken its namesake, a great and ugly Vile Beast reared forth, an eye rent from its skull and a cruel, purple venom dripping from its twisted maw. It was the very same beast that'd taken Yulianna's friend's vigor from him, and this was not its first visit to the town.

Vagrant's people were quick to flee, as they always did. Yulianna's mind spun with confusion during the chaos of the commotion, and it was only once the town sat almost empty that she'd be explained the full picture. Vagrant, as it now stood, was little more than a piece of bait on a hook. So long as the town remained where it stood and its homes remained full, the Vile Beast Malbythr would haunt its shores. Once a year it would assault the town, lay waste to its shores, and then settle for a year more, leaving the surrounding trade routes and holiday homes untouched. In turn, so long as the townspeople remained, the local lords and traders would keep their pockets thinly lined, as they could no longer afford to do so themselves.

It was the first time in years, nay, perhaps the first time in Yulianna's entire life that she'd felt her blood boil so strongly. Pure indignant rage flowed through her veins, and by the time the waters of Vagrant had settled, the young woman's mind had become a storm. She wandered through the wreckage of the town she'd briefly called home, and there she found the body of a man she'd once called friend laying limp and crumpled, his weapon still grasped firmly in his hands. That very night Yulianna departed Vagrant, her friend's weapon held tightly to her chest, and an oath sworn to the seas themselves. In one year hence she'd return to the town and free them from their curse, or she would die trying.

The next year became a journey of a different shade than the one that preceded it. Yulianna now walked with determination in her heart, and an Astral Arm in her possession. Lost pets became kidnapped children, wild animals became Vile Beasts, and rowdy bandits became criminal spell casters. Without even realizing it, Yulianna had started to become the sort of person that she would have admired so many years ago, and when she returned to Vagrant the townsfolk almost didn't recognize her.

Yulianna's brightness had returned to her since her departure, but it was joined by something that she'd previously lacked: A purpose. Even if it was only unconsciously, Yulianna realized that she had become stronger, and that meant it was now her duty to protect those who couldn't protect themselves. So when Malbythr rose from Vagrant Bay yet again, it was met with a surprise.

Harpoons fired upon it from each of the town's docks, slowing its movements and allowing Yulianna to assault it with her newly earned might. The battle raged on for two days and two nights, and while at its end Malbythr still stood tall, the town of Vagrant did too. Yulianna and the townsfolk and not managed to slay the beast, but they had managed to drive it off, so they joined hands and celebrated.

From that day on, the town would be visited twice a year. Once by Malbythr and once by Yulianna, and their battle would rage for hours on end. With each year that passed the sea snake grew more cunning, but Yulianna grew in tandem. What was once a day to be feared became a highlight of the year, and the townsfolk even joked that the world itself was likely to end before Malbythr and Yulianna's annual quarrel concluded.

Then the Hero ventured into Sitra Achra, and the world stood still.

When two hundred years passed and Yulianna awoke, Malbythr was quick to follow suit. Vagrant had been lucky in that Yulianna had been visiting at the time of the Hero's betrayal, and so when Malbythr rose from the seas they thought it was safe to be at ease. Instead, they were reminded of why they had feared the beast for so many years. In their slumber, the relentless serpent had grown stronger, and where it and Yulianna had once fought as equals, this time she was only barely able to fend it off. The town, too, stood on the brink of obliteration, and its folk were sent into a blind panic.

As Yulianna wandered the awoken world in the year that followed, she was mortified to learn of the crimes the Hero had committed. Even if she'd never stood alongside the man herself, she'd thought of him as the representative of an ideology not too different from her own, so to see him betray humanity so harshly filled her heart with grief. Vagrant was not the only place that had been warped by his actions, but the whole world over had been too. The Gods were dead, the wilds were more untamed than ever, and a tyranny worse than any she'd seen before now ruled over the lands.

As Yulianna wandered the awoken world in the year that followed, she was mortified to learn of the crimes the Hero had committed. Even if she'd never stood alongside the man herself, she'd thought of him as the representative of an ideology not too different from her own, so to see him betray humanity so harshly filled her heart with grief. Vagrant was not the only place that had been warped by his actions, but the whole world over had been too. The Gods were dead, the wilds were more untamed than ever, and a tyranny worse than any she'd seen before now ruled over the lands.

Even the quiet corners of the world that had shone more brightly than anywhere else were not untouched by the Hero's new order. Many of Yulianna's favoured locals, which had once held tranquil grottos and stunning vistas, were now haunted by Vile Beasts of new and dangerous breeds. Likewise, the backwater towns from which she had known for the warmest hospitality now greeted her with bolted doors and shuttered windows.

The newly forged Sovereignty of Vragathia oversaw it all. With the Ascendancy Guild at its head, and all the lands of the once-great Five Nations under its flag, the Sovereignty stood as a monolith, regardless of where Yulianna ventured, she could not escape its shadow.

Even her beloved ideals of heroism were not free from the Sovereignty's twisted influence. The Integrity Knights terrorized the land as the long arm of the Guild, all while being hailed as gallant saviours by the Sovereignty's faithful. It was almost enough to make one sick.

The deeper into the heart of Vragathia that Yulianna ventured, the starker the changes to the world's order became, and the deep her despair sank. But it was only when she found herself at the farmstead at which she'd been raised that her determination would truly be set in stone. Where once was a place that camaraderie had flowed freely, now was one that was cold and unfeeling. Silent workers toiled in the fields, kept in line by armed watchmen, their days of work only ending when quotas were met and the sun had sunk deep beneath the horizon.

It was dreadful, and the thought that the same fate awaited her new home of Vagrant made the sight all the worse. For now, it sat in a land so distant and useless to the Sovereignty that its denizens might have been able to remain hidden away, but what of in the years to come?

If Yulianna were of a weaker will, her spirit might have broken then and there. She might have retired to Vagrant for the rest of her days, simply twiddling her thumbs and waiting until the day when the Sovereignty came knocking, but her spirit was one that had been forged by tribulation, and it seemed that not all hope had been lost. In her travels she had heard whispers and rumours that not all had surrendered themselves to the Sovereignty's will, and that scant few brave souls were still fighting the good fight to this day.

So her journey took on a new purpose. She ventured into Vragathian cities and sought out any signs of resistance that she could, and had to make more than one speedy flight from city bounds under suspicion of conspiracy. She spoke with would-be revolutionaries, deposed nobility and conspiratorial drunks, and over the months two words escaped the lips of those foolhardy men and woman again and again.

The Remnant Soulbringers. A collection of the Hero's former companions who had not fallen into the temptations of darkness, led by the reviled woman who had turned the Hero to madness. Tales of them were scarce, and their reputation was hardly sunny, but they seemed to represent the only real hope to free the world from the Sovereignty's tyranny.

As Yulianna began to pursue the Soulbringers more specifically, the authorities began to snap more hotly at her heels. The time which she could remain within Vragathian grew shorter and shorter, and the citizens that dwelled grew more unwilling to speak with her by the day. That, she thought, was the clearest cut evidence of all as to the Soulbringer's existence. It took her many months more, but eventually, her search bore fruit.

It was within Aeslengardian borders that many tales of the Soulbringers found their origin, and once she entered them Yulianna's search reached its final step. She ventured from city to city, the Soulbringer's trail growing clearer by the day, until she finally found herself standing on the steps of the Cathedral of Yurtive and in the presence of the Aeslengardian Princess herself. On that day she swore herself to the woman's cause, but not to reap vengeance for the Gods or bring retribution upon the Hero and his dark companions, but for the sake of all she'd met in her journeys, and the future of those journeys themselves.
CODED BY XETHYRION | HERRSCHER#8119
 
Last edited:
DARK EDEN: EPILOGUE
ARVIN RHYS


REMNANTS SOULBRINGER
THE STALWART AVENGER
◈ hierarchy: soulbringer
full name
Arvin Rhys
age & birth
226, 03/07/1005 EC
gender
Male
race
Human
class affinity
Bloodborne
astral armament
Obsessio, A Lovers Protector
GENERAL DESCRIPTION
Cold, uncaring, a man of few words; While not exactly a shining example of heroism or an exciting person to be around, Arvin has developed a reputation of getting the job done and doing it well. In direct contrast with this attitude, his attire is colorful and carries an elegant aura around it and his sword - dubbed 'Peace Maker' - contains a bejeweled hilt. Both of these are relics of an Arvin from the days before the heroes rule, when he was still a playful and kindhearted young man. Those in the guild who knew him before would be shocked by this sudden change, though the reason for it would also be blatantly clear due to the lack of his partner by his side who he always clung to like a baby to its mother.

The way in which battles are performed has also changed for Arvin, quite drastically. Using his Bloodborne skills in the past to effectively adapt to the situation at hand and play a more reserved and defensive game, Arvin now rushes into battle aggressively, carrying vials of Slayer blood from his guildmates in excess compared to other classes so he can boost his speed to rush down foes. These blood vials are securely stored in box strapped to his hip, the contents safe from any fall he may make. His sword play and footwork is quite refined despite his aggression, though its form does suffer and is much sloppier than when it's used at its intended pace.

This aggressive style of fighting is assisted by his the Astral Arm Obsessio, a pink ring attached to his left hand. Originally owned by his lover and born from the desire to always be there to protect what one cares about , Obsessio allows the user to teleport within one foot of a target by simply looking at the desired person and reaching out ones hand. Arvin uses the Armanent primarily to instantly close in on a target and swiftly deal a killing blow, and used in quick succession against a group of unexpecting enemies it is a powerful tool, though it loses its effectiveness after failed attempts due to the telegraphing of the action. However, every now and then Obsessio will see its intended use be applied, as Arvin can teleport to an ally in need .

On his right hand rests another ring, one shining in silver with an andalusite gemstone embedded in the center. If asked about it, Arvin will simply say it works in tandem with Obsessio, though this is a lie. In truth it was meant for the one he loved before her untimely death, and he now wears it to remind himself of his purpose and reason to keep living.

PERSONALITY
A man whose passion and love for life was snuffed out by the cruel hands of fate, leaving only a cold shell of its former self. Arvin cares very little about the mundanities of life, only serving to remind him of what he lost due to the corruption of the hero. His one and only focus is on overthrowing the Vragathia empire and has devoted his life to the Soulbringers. Arvin's loyalty is strong and he will do what is told of him with few if any questions even if his task seems suicidal. Every now and then he'll take the lead if he feels it is necessary, but for the most part Arvin is a follower at heart. This loyalty could be seen as simply a way to bury away his emotions and fight himself into an early grave, and that's not necessarily untrue. With nothing left to lose, he'll do whatever needs to be done to avenge his losses or die trying.

Arvin wasn't always this way. Once a gentle, fun loving if not a bit reserved fellow with a love for the dramatics, his old personality has been buried deep down into his subconscious as a new, colder nature has flourished in its place. Arvin will rarely if ever interact with his other guildmates outside of necessary cooperation. He would much rather be left to his own thoughts, and any attempt at reaching out will be met with short and direct responses that can come off as cold and uncaring. This is exactly how Arvin wants to be seen, as he feels this is what he must be. Almost all his emotions are actively being suppressed and his desires to help others denied.

With the cruel hand he has been dealt, Arvin has concluded he can't let his emotions get in the way of his goal. He has to be cold. He has to be pragmatic. He has to keep others at an arms distance. Anything less will yield inadequate results. Even if he is not the most tactical thinker he'll try coming up with elaborate plans anyways, often being less than ideal solutions to a problem. Every now and then cracks in his armor will show, either with a smile, a helping hand, or a joke of some kind, but pointing out such cracks will simply result in it quickly being sealed shut and him denying it was ever there. He's already been gravely wounded emotionally, and subconsciously he fears that letting his feelings truly surface and facing himself will only break what little will to live he has remaining.

HISTORICAL BIOGRAPHY
"Fate is a sadistic and cruel mistress, and trying to alter her plans will only bring upon you her mighty wrath..."

Born by royal blood in the Aeslengard Empire, Arvin's fate had seemingly been decided before he could even walk. The Rhys family could barely be considered royalty by the time Arvin had come into the world, their fame and influence so little that few would even remember their name. Done in by a slew of questionable decisions by their ancestors and resting on their laurels too hard, they were sure that their current generation would be their last. However, hope had come in the form of Arvin, carrying the trait of Bloodborne. It wasn't much, but having a rare class bestowed upon their planned to be last child was the best hope they had. Seeing this as fate looking kindly down on the family, Arvin's mother and father put everything they had into turning him into something special.

Unfortunately for him, this meant that his youth consisted solely of strict tutoring, training, and beratement. Every waking hour Arvin faced harsh conditions as he was forced into becoming something that would make the Rhys name great again, and even the slightest step out of line was met with punishment, sometimes verbal and others physical. He was allowed minimal interactions with those outside of his own family, and whenever they'd go out either to the market or the local library he was to act exactly how he was told and not speak unless spoken to. Every trip outside Arvin couldn't help but longingly eye the smiles of others who talked happily between themselves and the smiling faces of children his age playing in the streets, though he could do nothing but grow more and more depressed of his designated fate as speaking out would garner him nothing but pain.

His parents weren't completely oblivious to their sons suffering, as it was quite obvious to anyone his mood would would decline whenever he was allowed outside. Their fear of losing their one shot of fame was great, but at the same time they knew Arvin would break if his leash was kept as tight as it was forever. So, on his 14th birthday, Arvin was allowed the privilege of going to the library by himself once a week for his designated studying as long as he promised to be studious and not get distracted. On his first day alone, Arvin could barely focus on reading as his anxiety was higher than ever. Despite not being watched, he couldn't shake that invisible hand around his throat that was always present, and he feared that even the slightest misstep would send him back under his tutors watch permanently under even worse conditions. These thoughts were pervasive for hours as he sat alone.

Then came a girl, and his life would change forever.

Her name was Calindra, and being the librarians daughter had seen Arvin come and go over the years with his tutor. She had grown fascinated by the boy her age, and upon seeing him by himself for the first time ever decided it was a good time to strike up a conversation. While he was hesitant and shy at first, the girl quickly managed to break down his barriers with her humor and sweet personality, and thus began their weekly hangouts. Every time Arvin would pop into the library alone they'd talk and get to know each other more, with Arvin slowly opening up over time. Sometimes they'd even go out back and play, making sure they wouldn't be seen by anyone that would spoil their fun. Even Calindra's mother, the librarian, made sure to alert the children if Arvin's family or tutor were coming to check up on them.

The years that followed were the happiest years of Arvin's life. The two developed an extremely close friendship, with Calindra even helping Arvin escape his claustrophobic and controlling family by letting him stay with her, and as the years went on love blossomed. Every waking moment would be spent together, and every success or failure one made would be the others as well. Arvin in particular was so infatuated with his lover that she was practically his whole world, with every thing he did circling back around to Calindra. So, when she said she wanted to join the Heroes Guild to help make the world a safer and better place, Arvin followed her without question.

Calindra brought a bright and enthusiastic energy to the guild, and Arvin a gentle but caring aura. Inseparable even as guild members, the two made a powerful and effective duo, taking any task they could with no desire for fame or fortune. Calindra only cared for the good she was doing for the world, and while he also enjoyed seeing the smile of those he helped Arvin just was happy he could be with the person he loved and help her follow her dream. Arvin wanted nothing more than to always be by Calindra's side forever, but as the years went on and people gossiped and inquired about the two, the more practical one of the relationship knew this wasn't feasible. She knew that they would need time apart at time and had to have space in order to have a healthy relationship. With this in mind, she proposed that they start taking missions separating the two of them every now and then to prevent a co-dependence from forming, and even though Arvin tried to argue otherwise he eventually relented knowing she was right.

Unfortunately for the two lovers, they couldn't have chosen a worse timing, and on their fifth venture apart from each other the world was lulled into a slumber.

Upon awakening and gathering intel on the situation at hand, Arvin wasted no time in abandoning the town he was visiting and leaving them to their troubles to go meet his lover. To quell his worries Calindra had been setting up rendezvous points that would be the shortest distance between the two during their missions if anything were to go wrong, and with neither sleep or rest Arvin made certain he arrived at their predetermined location. When he arrived Calindra was nowhere to be seen, but to afraid to leave and miss her arrival Arvin simply stayed at the town hotel for days, the whole time ignoring the troubled cries of its citizens, his mind a complete blur until the arrival of a messenger from the town over.

They had suffered numerous casualties and the loss of their village due to riots and monster raids since the awakening, with the few survivors seeking refuge. In his current state of mind Arvin would normally ignore the request and remain laser focused on meeting up with Calindra, but his paranoia and anxiousness had grew too much. What if Calindra was in the village when it was attacked? She's too pure hearted to ignore someone in need, maybe she'll be there. What if she was hurt. or worse?

Antsy and unable to resist his thoughts, Arvin took the day long trek to the village in need, and upon arriving his worst fears were realized. Buried under the charred remains of a collapsed house lay Calindra, lifeless and unmoving. At first unable to process what his eyes were seeing, Arvin collapsed next to the corpse of his deceased lover, sobbing and clenching her hand hoping against the world that she would somehow get up and everything would be okay. The shock had broken him, the one person he cared about and loved him as much as he loved her was gone, and unable to face his sorrow, Arvin emotionally shut down. Everything he cared about was gone; Nothing mattered anymore. If he let his feeling be as prominent as they'd always been he couldn't keep on living. Instead, he now has a clear goal to keep him driven, to keep him sane: Avenge Calindra and destroy Vragathia and everyone involved in the world downfall, and if he can't do so personally then he'll at least drive his sword through their lifeless hearts as many times as it takes for his thirst to be quenched.

CODED BY XETHYRION | HERRSCHER#8119
 
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