Fandom DS3.5: Ashes of Astora CS

[Unbreakable Patches]

Template

Name:
Age: (Youthful, Adult, Elder)
Class:
Description:

Bio:

Alignment (optional):
Reason for Alignment:

Burial Gift
(you may choose one thing that has sentimental value to the character.)

 

[Karcen]

Name: Jaune
Age: Young Adult
Class: sorcerer
Description:

Bio: Jaune was an old undead very very old, she claims to have walked the world when the gods did. It is hard to tell just how truthful she is given almost no records for the things she claims exists in more than almost forgotten legends shrouded and distorted in myths. Jaune claims to have been around the first item the fire dimmed having been made undead then, but she didn't link the fire then. She instead lingered on the fringes hiding her state somehow keeping her mind through the ages till the fire dimmed once more. She didn't link the fire then she didn't steal it either she just walked away seduced by the dark and willing to wait for the age of fire to end. It never did and always Jaune found herself drawn into the ritual over and over countless times over the endless ages every time she walked away someone else lit the flame and darkness never came. in time Jaune grew tired of it and for once went to the fire to burn, but at the last moment she hesitated as the flames lept to her and consumed her finding her wanting she was no lord.

Alignment (optional):
Reason for Alignment:

Burial Gift : A crown seemingly made of four different parts from anceitn kingdoms long fallen.

 

[Unbreakable Patches]

Name: Saul of the Swamp
Age: Adult
Class: Pyromancer

Description: An up and coming pyromancer, Saul may not look like much at first glance. His somewhat punitive size in comparison with the great knights surrounding him never seems to help these notions anyway. However, his mastery lies in the controlled combination of pyromancy and hand to hand combat. Wielding it at times can be a challenge, but that is where the true fun of the art lies. At least in Saul's eyes, of course.

Bio:
Saul was raised from a young age to study the traditional teaching of pyromancy, given that he was born in the great swamp itself. When he came of age, his master sent him into the world to find a student, as was their way. However, Saul was overcome with disease and died in his birth home after a short lifetime of teaching.

Reincarnated as part of a sinister curse, Saul finds the disturbing of his sleep rather jarring and completely unnecessary. After all, how the hell was HE going to stop the crazy undead lord? It seemed too mighty a task, but Saul, unbending to the challenges of the world, did not say no to the quest.

Alignment (optional): Neutral
Reason for Alignment: He tends not to care, staying on the sidelines simply because it "wasn't his fight."

Burial Gift: Old Blindfold
A curious piece of cloth soaked long ago in the poisonous waters of Farron Keep. By sacrificing eyesight, one may truly see the flame.​

 

[Zaikeiil]

I'm adding things that I didn't think to put in.

Name: Mara the Exile
Age: Adult
Class: Pyromancer
Description:
Mara is 5'9" tall, pale skin, white hair, and has pale red eyes (albino). She wears simple black robes that other people tends to mistaken her for a sorcerer or a cleric, despite not having a visible catalyst or chimes on her person. Her hair ends at the center of her back, and it is woven into intricate braids despite the braids being matted from a long time of neglect. Her robes are lightly burned at the ends of her sleeves, and has a permanent smell of smoke. An axe can be seen at the left side of her belt. As a old habit that she kept is that she doesn't wear shoes. Old burn scars litter the lower parts of her arms from small mishaps when learning pyromancies.

Bio:
Mara was raised by her father in the Great Swamp with her two brothers and three sisters. Being too young, at the time, to be studying pyromancies, her mother gave her a part of herself, when she gifted her Pyromancy Flame to Mara before she passed away. Fire, and even the First Flame had always been an interest to her to the point that her own father didn't want her to learn pyromancy. During her teenage years, Mara became a student of an well learned pyromancer and started to follow in her mother's footsteps. One day, she found old tomes talking about poison based pyromancies, made by a banished pyromancer, and took it on herself to learn them. The elders of her village banished her for trying to learn the blaphemious spells, and she became a exiled wanderer. After a few months of wandering, Mara found herself in front of the First Flame. She knew what it is, that it hold back the darkness. Her teacher's warning that you must always have a fear of fire came to the front of her mind. Without thinking, Mara's hand brushed against the Flame. The fire started up her arm, with it an intense pain, and then darkness. How many days had past, she doesn't even know, other than she was cursed with undeath that had affected so many others, when she woke up suddenly in a coffin.

Alignment (optional):
Reason for Alignment:

Burial Gift
Her mother's Pyromancy Flame that was given to her before her death when Mara was too young to start learning.

 

[GrieveWriter]

Name: Montimore Lourose
Age: Elder
Class: Herald
Description: A portly man of tall stature, Monty can strike an imposing figure over most undead, especially given his choice of weaponry, but that hesitation can often be diminished by the kindly smile he sports under the hood of his robe. Clad in an odd mix of tattered robe and salvaged armor, none could be faulted for thinking of him as a scavenger rather than one of the faith. Despite his appearance, he's able to move faster than would expect, but his speed on foot never seems to extend to the swings of his hammer.

Bio: Montimore had quite a standard life. At first a simple historian who found great interest in the tale of the gods, the assault of bandits upon his hometown eventually drove him to a life of wandering. It was during these wanderings that he found his understanding of the gods and their tales transferring well in the usage of miracles. He began relying on these miracles, hunting for more of them, becoming more entrenched in his faith as he learned more. And when the time came for one to link the fire, he knew what he had to do. At first he planned on linking it himself, only for doubt to settle within. He recognized that his goal was merely a hope to prolong the time of the gods. The flame only required the best of heroes, ones who could hold claim to the title of Lord. If he wasn't strong enough, then his sacrifice would be in vain.

He settled for a better solution, used his knowledge to track down the first flame and settled in wait for whoever came seeking it. Whether their intentions pure or villainous, to take the flame or preserve it, Monty wouldn't be satisfied unless the hero who came was powerful enough to strike him down. And after slaying several of the false heroes, he was. He died with a smile, content that his slayer would be suitable kindling to fuel the flame.

When he arose, his smile arose with him, as the gods undoubtedly had more need of his abilities.

Burial Gift
Waylander's Chime- The Chime Mony wielded for the majority of his life and the rest of his undeath.​

 

[DrabberRogue]

Name: Arcturus Avenza
Age: Youthful
Class: Knight
Description:
Tall and lithe, at first glance Arcturus isn't the sort of man one would envision as the type to don an imposing suit of armor. However he is also an athletic young man, more than capable of bearing the weight of steel. In fact he often does so with a regal bearing, carrying himself with an elegant posture that defies his violent profession. Justly so, for Arcturus hails from the old land of Astora. The blood of fallen royalty flows through his veins, as evidenced by his appearance. A boyishly handsome face, golden blonde hair, and icy blue eyes. The very face of nobility.

The time when his ancestor's pedigree held sway has long since past, however, as evidenced by his armor. For Arcturus does not wear the armor of his homeland's elite knights. Instead he bears the armor of a fallen order. Knights who disbanded and fled from the battlefield, shedding pieces of their battered protection such that they might more easily escape. Arcturus, however, still retains his full set. Beaten and chipped in places, perhaps, but still intact. It bears resemblance to the armor of a common knight both in form and function, only differing in its appearance. The armor is a solid black, with gold filigree decorations. Ironically extravagant decoration for knights who would become drenched in the mud and misery of flight. This same pattern is reflected in his shield, a common knight's shield embellished with a golden crest upon a black field.


Bio:
Although his homeland was no more than a shadow of its former self, Arcturus was still born into a noble family all the same. As such he was afforded the many privileges of a noble boy. Education and luxury, teaching him both academics and etiquette. He learned many things from both books and mentors. The most notable of which was history. Specifically the wars of history. From the endless conflicts of Mirrah to the world spanning conquest of Carthus, he was fascinated by the glorious tales of brave warriors and cunning generals. It was only a matter of time before the boy was inspired to take up the sword himself. For several years he trained in the art of knighthood, at first aiming to become an elite knight. After all, history was riddled with noble knights of Astora who played important roles in the events of their stories. Even if they often weren't the main character.

However as he grew older, Arcturus began to think otherwise. To become a knight of Astora was to take up the mantle of a dying legacy. Proud though he was of his heritage, the now young man knew he could not cling to it forever. So when he caught wind of a different order, a group of knights clad in breathtaking black and gold armor, he jumped at the opportunity to leave the nest of noble Astora. Quickly proving himself to the band of warriors, the newly anointed Sir Arcturus was finally established as a knight. He had a suit of armor, a shield, and even an ornate sword made in their style. The latter of which reflected a family heirloom which had sat on display for generations within his family's estate. Alongside his new comrades, the eager young noble soon proved himself as capable on the battlefield. Years of passion had finally paid off, and Arcturus swiftly earned a reputation for his martial prowess

Alas it was not to last. Ironically the noble warrior had chosen the wrong side of history, a mistake that revealed itself far too late. One day he and the order he served found themselves in a battle they had little hope of winning. Their formation broke and the knights scattered to the wind. Fleeing deeper into the forest within which the battle took place. An unmitigated rout. Some among their ranks, however, did not abandon their positions. After all someone had to be the rear guard so their fellows could escape. Arcturus was one of these forsaken men, caught out of position and fighting a desperate delaying action against a superior enemy. From strong point to strong point they fell back, always on the verge of being overrun, falling one by one.

Arcturus would like to think he had been the last man standing, however in all honesty it was impossible to tell. For his last memory was that of a lucerne swinging into his face. His only knowledge in the wake of his death was that he had apparently been buried afterwards, judging by the fact that he had awoken in a graveyard. Surrounded by coffins and hollows. How rudely jarring. However as the strange voice rang through his head, calling upon the tragic black knight to strike down the lord, the newly awoken undead couldn't help but breath a heavy sigh of relief. That blood soaked forest had not been his end after all.


Burial Gift
Arcturus' Side Sword: An ornate straight sword in the same style as his armor and shield. Its blade is of a similar length to the common longsword and holds comparable striking power as well. Where it differs is, as with the rest of his equipment, in its appearance. The sword's steel is black, with intricate gold filigree running all the way down the blade. From where it meets the hilt to where the edge tapers into a tip. The hilt itself is decorated with a golden spiral coiled around the grip, inspired by the alleged weapon of an ancient Astoran prince, and is accented by a similarly colored pommel. Protecting the hand of its wielder is a golden cross guard that elegantly coils up around the base of the blade and sweeps down over the grip.

The weapon is based off of an heirloom that had been passed down through the Avenza family for generations. As he had an attachment to and admiration of the original, Arcturus commissioned his own sword to have a very similar overall design. It was the weapon he had wielded in his final battle, and whoever buried him saw fit to do so alongside the sword he had died with.