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Fantasy For Astoria! (Reboot) - CS

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FireMaiden

FireMaiden

Grade A Bitch
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My Interest Check
Hi there and welcome to the For Astoria! character thread! A like or love means your character has been accepted, and it's need before you start posting. You also need to send me a writing sample! Please DM that to me here or on Discord, but post your characters here!

BASIC INFORMATION
Name: (Their true name.)
Aliases: (Other names, titles, nicknames, and aliases.)
Age: (Biological age. How long have you been there?)
Gender: (Male, Female, Genderless, or Hermaphrodite depending on Race.)
Race: (Please pick from the playable races. Also, be creative. I don’t want to see just a bunch if elves and humans)
Hometown:
Class: Fantasy Character Classes - TV Tropes


PERSONAL
Sexuality: (Ships gotta sail, then sink each other.)
High Concept: (Sum up your character in a sentence, if possible.)
Religion: (if they have one or follow a god/goddess at all.)
Backstory: (At least a solid paragraph, but go as detailed as you wish. Put very long ones in a spoiler pls and thank you)

PHYSICAL
Appearance: (Written, or a picture. If written, then at least a detailed paragraph of text.)
Weapons & Armor: (Anything that the character uses for protection, or attack during combat.)
Items & Personal Belongings: (Any other items that the character has, or belong to them.)
Skills & Abilities: (Not magical. Include things like bartering, or the ability to pickpocket.)
Spells & Magic: (Magical. Spells and magical abilities that the character has.)
Weaknesses: (Weak sides of a character. Fears, inabilities, inexperience, emotional issues, mental issues, etc. Only ones that could be said to negatively affect the character.)

FLUFF (Optional)
Hobbies: (What does the dark lord do in his free time, when not vying for supremacy over the world?)
Favorites: (things like favorite weapon, town, drink, food, etc, etc.)
Quote\s: (Notable things that the character has said, that may show off their personality or speech type.)
Theme: (Musical theme.)
 
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BASIC INFORMATION
Name: Merin Twostone

Age: 40
Gender: Male
Race: Dwarf
Class: Knight

PERSONAL
Sexuality: Heterosexual
High Concept: A calm, quiet idealist who wants to make the world a better place in any small way that he can.
Religion: Follows the teachings of Cignir, God of the future. Especially interested in Cignir's aspect as protector of those yet to be born.


Merin was born in the inner city of Odelun to a caste of warrior dwarves called the Hands of The Earth.

Merin never met his parents. The Hands of the Earth, seen as extreme even by other dwarves, believed in raising children communally. They replaced the ‘soft’ love and affection of a parent with the strict discipline of a drill sergeant. Though the Hands of the Earth is considered, amongst proper dwarvish society, to be a fringe, extremist group, thanks to their penchant for producing the most skilled warriors in all of dwarfdom, most dwarves tread lightly around their members, and the leaders of The Hands of The Earth hold considerable power in Odelun.

As a child, Merin followed the teachings of his clan closely. He focused on learning warcraft, as his elders recommended, and grew in martial prowess. He was to be one of the elite shock troopers in the dwarven army, for situations when a normal band of armored dwarves wouldn't cut it, and his training reflected this. Harsh, demanding, Merin did what he was told to do, and did it competently. It was all he knew. It was all he was taught.

When Merin was old enough, however, he was assigned a new duty. A duty many of the older children had to preform. That of training and taking care of the needs of the even younger children.

It was there that he noticed Hrist.

She had the same blond hair, the same crooked nose, and green eyes just like his. He had no evidence, nothing beyond a shared hair color and a vaguely similar face, but Merin decided that this could be his sister. Someone he shared blood with. It shouldn't have mattered. The hands of the earth discouraged family ties. The clan was your family.

But nevertheless, a favorite past time of his had always been deciding who his mother and father were, amongst the older generation. He read into hair and eyes color, tried to discern parental concern or anger in the faces of the elders he interacted with. But he knew all younglings were sent here, and his parents were likely somewhere else fighting monsters and bandits, if they were alive at all. And even if he met them, they'd deny it, as mandated by clan laws.

But now, here, there was someone who looked so much like him, he even thought her mannerisms were similar! Though honestly nothing more than a mere flight of fancy, he took Hrist under his wing and they grew close, despite the disapproval of their elders. Soon it didn’t matter if they truly were blood related, Merin would do anything for Hrist, and Hrist would do the same for Merin. Merin watched her grow into a blacksmith for the clan with the pride of an older brother, and he realized something he’d never considered before.

The care they showed each other, the love, made him better. It gave him a reason to be, something to look to the future for. The Hands of the Earth focused on loyalty, duty, honor. Merin agreed with all of these things, but felt that there were other things that they could fight for. They could fight for the next generation, to make the world better for those who came after, for people like Hrist. He decided that enough people devoted their lives to the god of the past, Udona, in the hopes of becoming ancestors and protecting the culture and traditions of the dwarves, but they were in sore need of those who would stand for Cignir, god of the future, of those yet born. So he decided he would stand for all that would be, all that could be. It reinvigorated him. Instead of dutifully training because he was told to do so, he threw himself into his work. He went from unexceptional to one of the most promising young dwarves in the clan.

As a trial to become an adult, Merin was required to go far afield, and far afield he went. Usually this meant heading into the wilderness and surviving the monsters therein, but Merin, as a now exceptional example of martial dwarfdom wanted to do something different. Curious, the elders allowed it. And so Merin traveled Into the lands of the humans and elves and orcs. What he found there were… people. Good and bad. People that could be reasoned with, people that couldn’t be. Who had similar problems and joys as Merin did. It shook his world view, as he had expected these people to be radically different from him and his race. When he came back, his head was full of ideas. An open hand was just as valuable as a fist closed for war. It could be better, often times. Those Merin met on his journeys that had it in them to be kind in the face of adversity seemed stronger, to Merin, than any warrior who met their foe with a blade. Those who looked to the future seemed wiser, to him, than those steeped in tradition.

The Hands of the Earth were very traditional, however, and did not like this young dwarf 'looking into the future'. When he finally came into adulthood and he took public vows to Cignir, to protect those who came after him, to make the world a better place, rather than vows to Udona and the traditional vow to protect dwarfdom and dwarven culture, he caused quite a stir. None of this was illegal per say, but it made the elders uncomfortable when he came to the warriors table encouraging communication with their foes, and using violence as a last resort only. He wanted, in his naivety, to completely reinvent a culture.

So they sent him away. Not exiled, thanks to his martial prowess that the clan did not want to lose, but his duties were in places far from home. But these duties put him in contact with a wide variety of different people, and only ‘radicalized’ Merin further. Hrist, swiftly becoming an extremely respected blacksmith in her own right, protected her brother from the political machinations of those who wanted him out of the way as best she could. But their 'familial' relationship was hurting her standing in a place that thought family weakened the devotion to the clan. As a result, Merin became less and less attached to the clan as a whole, as they pushed him away.

When the dead rose in the Chasm, and his people decided not to tell the outside world, a decision heavily influenced by the prominent members of The Hands of The Earth, Merin was extremely dissatisfied. What was dwarven pride when measured against the lives of their peoples futures? Their unborn loved ones? Those future generations they would never meet but could have loved? Why not try to stand together with the other races to combat this existential threat?

Merin wouldn't go against the wishes of his kingdom and clan, but he left his position and struck out into the world. He would be an ambassador for the Dwarven Kingdom. He knew his people were exclusive and not always viewed kindly, and wanted to change that so when the time came and the Dwarves asked for aid, the other nations would look more favorably on them. He would not reveal his peoples secret, but since the Dwarves were so focused on the Chasm, he would look elsewhere for the source of the dead. Sometimes you could solve your problems by looking in, but sometimes you had to look without, as well.

He was a drop of water, just a single dwarf, but even the ocean had to start somewhere.

So he set out, leaving The Hands of The Earth, taking the surname Twostone, and eventually fell in with a band of knights that called themselves ‘The Candle Knights’. With no formal command structure save their leader, Artur Dragonheart, the knights mission was to provide aid to those who needed it and ask little in return, to be strong, honest, self sacrificing and kind. Smitten with their ideology Merin asked for membership, quickly proving himself with his extreme martial talents and good nature, and being admitted into the knights.

The Knights, however, were in dire straits. Their membership was failing, not many wanting to devote themselves to a life of danger and sacrifice, and with the knights selflessness came a sort of poverty. They wouldn’t take grand rewards for their grand deeds, and so they had little money. What was more, many of the knights died in the service of good, and Merin lost many friends because they refused to back down against injustice, even when the odds were stacked against them.

But the members were determined anyway, and while money was nice, it wasn’t something they needed. They didn’t have a centralized structure, they just had the Dragonheart Castle where they met, a knowledge of all the other members, and a common symbol. They went off alone, in pairs or small groups and did good where they could.

Merin made a name for himself as one of the deadliest and most efficient members of the knights, even achieving some regional fame around Halamead when he and his comrade, the half elf Lilia Crantz, managed to drive off a pack of Wargs by themselves. Crantz was badly wounded in the attack and was sent back to Dragonheart Castle, but Merin has stayed in Halamead.




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PHYSICAL
Appearance: Merin has a long, blond beard and broad nose. The hair on his head is cut short, as was the style in Odelun when he left. (The short hair on your head was thought to make the length of your facial hair stand out more) Merin has an extensive network of tattoos along his hands and palms indicating that he belongs to the Hands of the Earth clan.

Weapons & Armor: Merin wears heavy armor and a Shield whose face depicts Cignir (or one of Cignir’s champions) Engaged in heroic deeds. He wields an axe he’s named Gudrid, and has a War Hammer he can use with two hands on his back named Karl. In addition, if range is needed, he also has an array of throwing axes. All of these items are dwarven made, nigh impenetrable and works of art, gifted to him by his blacksmith sister, Hrist.

Items & Personal Belongings: Merin has his smoking pipe, a wood carving knife and a flute, as well as camping gear.

Skills & Abilities: Merin knows the basics of metal working, and so can repair armor and weapons given the right tools. He can carve very well, and knows how to play the Lute well enough that he’s been able to stay for free at taverns, on occasion, when he plays for the customers.

Merin is an extremely skilled hand to hand fighter, trained in a clan where combat was everything. Combine this with his armor and it often makes him nigh unstoppable. His comrades in the Candle Knights nicknamed him ‘Canonball’ for his ability to launch his heavy, metal clad body at the enemy and tear them apart like they might be if a cannonball had hit them. Merin has met very few people who have been able to match him in melee martial prowess.

Merin is also surprisingly diplomatic for an armor clad dwarf. He likes talking to people, and he’s quite good at it. He is well liked by most who meet him for his calm, kind demeanor. He isnt an expert conversationalist by any means, however, relying on straightforwardness, earnestness, passion and utter honesty to sway others.

Spells & Magic: None.

Weaknesses: Merin will harm himself to protect another, even if that other isn’t someone he knows. He’s selfless to a fault.

He’s slow. He wears heavy armor and a lot of weapons. Merin can deal with this, he is extremely strong and has high endurance for even a dwarf, but there’s no getting around the fact that the armor, while it protects him beautifully, also slows him down.

Merin is also extremely poor at subterfuge. Even without his armor, he hasn't quite figured out how to move silently. Deception in general leaves a bad taste in Merin's mouth, and he has difficulty lying. Even when he does so, it's often very obvious. Merin was not built for the shadows.

He has very little understanding of magic. He comes from a land where no one can use it, and as a result he’s never seen it or been particularly interested in it.Because of this, he doesn’t know how to combat it.



FLUFF (Optional)
Hobbies: Merin enjoys playing his lute and working with wood. Many people expect him to enjoy metal work, but he only knows it to take care of his weapons and has little love for it.
Favorites: Merin's sister made his weapon, Gudrid for him and made a matching axe for herself. His axe is very important to Merin as a reminder of the ones he left behind in Odelun.


Quote\s: "Kindness is my way of telling the world that it can’t break me. In the grand scheme of things I am small and I am weak, but I can be kind no matter what I face. Nothing the world does can take that from me unless I let it, and nothing the world can do will stop me from trying my best.”

"Carry a big axe, but speak softly."

"I'd rather be the type of person to extend a helping hand and be burned, than to be the type of person too afraid to extend a hand at all."

Relationships:
Hrist Twostone: Merin’s beloved younger sister and Master Smith
Artur Dragonheart: Ostensibly Merin’s ‘leader’ in the Candle Knights. The informal nature of the group means he is more of a friend. First amongst equals.
Lilia Crantz: Merin’s closest friend in the Candle Knights. Is currently badly wounded, but will hopefully recover back at Dragonheart Castle.

Theme: Greg Laswell Comes and Goes (In Waves) - Google Search
 
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BASIC INFORMATION
Name:
Ophelia Barrows
Aliases:
Wolf-Tamer, Snowpea
Age:
23
Gender:
Female
Race:
Half-Elf, Half-Human
Hometown:
Antiva
Class:
The Scout

PERSONAL
Sexuality:
Bi-Sexual
High Concept:
A bubbly girl with a bow.
Religion:
Somewhere between agnostic and belief in a few of the elven gods, she's never been one for worship
Backstory:
Ophelia's story begins with a love story like any other. A human seamstress living in Antiva was kind to the noble elf who passed through every few weeks to do business with the human royalty and his way back home. One drunken night of fumbling romance and a hay bale resulted in a surprise pregnancy. Of course, the noble was long gone when the seamstress learned she was with child. Not that he purposefully abandoned his love, but he wasn't allowed to be done from his duties for longer than a few weeks. So, for the first few years of her life, Ophelia was raised by a single mother. Their lives were simple, confined to a small shack near the orchards of Antiva, her mother mending and washing clothes for the people of the town, with occasional payments from her father to help support his new family. When she was five, however, a strange sickness took over the town.

It claimed the lives of many people, her mother included. In fact, Ophelia's life was nearly claimed as well. During the peak of the plague, a group of warriors happened to walk into Antiva. Among their numbers was a cleric who convinced the rest of them to investigate what was going on. It turns out a group of bandits had moved into a nearby cave system and had been dumping the bodies of their prisoners in the water, which fed into Antiva's well. The heroes defeated the bandits, cleaned out the water, and then purified the river. The cleric then, while the rest of the town celebrated, went through and helped heal the sick. Ophelia was among them. She was the youngest survivor, and so that cleric started asking her questions. And she answered them, telling him what happened to her mother and who her father was. At least, to the best of her ability, one of her mother's friends had to answer fully. And unbeknownst to that friend or Ophelia, the cleric had left with a plan.

A month later, her father arrived in Antiva. At first, he was concerned with how he would get his daughter into Eve Thelmar. He lived in the capital and half-elves weren't allowed on the holy ground. In fact, if anyone knew he had a half-breed as a child, his reputation would suffer. You see, her father was still a noble. He was the head of a prominent trading family in Eve Thelmar, and...well, his wife wouldn't be too pleased about this either. His original plan was to stay in Antiva for a week, and then ask one of the local women to take her in. But, something about the way Ophelia showed an interest in the stories he shared, followed him around like a little puppy. She even tried to use his bow, even though it was taller than her. Her father can to a conclusion by the end of the week. He was moving to Antiva. Under the guize of overseeing the set up of a trading post, he moved a few of his belongings to the old home Ophelia had shared with her mother. A life he wasn't use to, but Ophelia couldn't be happier.

He started teaching her the basics, how to read and write, simple math, as well as giving her a small practice bow so she could learn archery just as he had. She even had her own little target. As she grew older and stronger, that bow grew with her. He moved on to teach her how to forage, what plants were safe to eat and which weren't, how to throw knives. Ophelia's world was small, limited to Antiva, but because of the opportunities she had inside of it, the girl never wanted for more. She was happy. In Antiva she never felt out of place, the other children and adults in the town loved her. She would race the bows up trees and through the mud, she would help with the harvests in the orchards, she and the other girls would help with mending clothes and labeling the cider. And her father was there for her no matter what.

On the eve of her 8th birthday though, something strange happened. The town was having a celebration, one that would last until midnight as they did for every child's birthday, a few elven dignitaries came out of the trees. Her father's blood ran cold as he saw not only his wife but his grown children. It was...a tense situation but one that had a surprising outcome. Turns out, the woman knew. She had known for years now and hadn't come to start a fight. Instead, she came to celebrate with them. They bore gifts, rare elven treats, and a few choice wines that only brightened the party further. As the clock struck midnight, Ophelia felt the warmth of the entire town, her family, it seemed like even the moon was smiling down on her.

As she continued to grow, her training with her father continued, she grew more proficient with her now, with her knives, and a sword once she was finally strong enough to wield one. Or, willing rather. She was 15 the next time something very interesting happened. Her step-mother had come back to Antiva, and her father has packed them each a bag. They were off to Eve Thelmar. For two reasons actually. At 15, most elves received a tattoo, either for their family or something important to them. And a mount. Something half-elves scarcely had access to, her step-mother had pulled some strings. Their first stop was to get the mouth, one Ophelia had to pick out herself. Among a litter of small dire wolf pups was a small gray one that most people would have ignored. Ophelia fell in love immediately, and picked him, naming him Fen'dral. After that, it was time to get her tattoo. Or, tattoos in her case. On her face, she received the one marking her for her father's family. The same one he, his wife, and his children all had. And the next, a wolf's head on her thighs, knowing already that she and Fen'dral would be close.

After she and her father returned to Antiva, life returned mostly to normal but now on top of continuing her training, she was also training a wolf to listen to her commands. She settled on a few different whistles and elven phrases, and Fen'dral quickly became her closest companion. Life was...wonderful. when she turned 20, she started hunting for Antiva, going out with her father and some of the other men from her town, started helping with defense and Fen'dral helped scare bandits and thieves away, it's a repetitive life, but it was her life. That changed when one morning she awoke and her father was gone. No note, nobody in the town had seen him...it was just her luck a man who could help was passing through town and agreed to help her.

Suddenly, her life wasn't just in Antiva anymore.

PHYSICAL
Appearance:
Ophelia is a young woman of short stature, standing at five feet, two inches tall. And she weighs just a small 120 pounds, maybe 125 soaking wets. It's clear she's a half-elf, her light brown hair and shorter ears evidence of this. But she still benefits from that elven beauty. Her pale complexion and eyes that resemble amber, a smile that can light up the room. She has very feminine features and a neat hourglass figure that still holds the lithe elven build. Her body has a few scars here and there from training and childhood adventures, such as the time she fell from the top of an old oak tree. She also has two tattoos. The one's on her face, the mark of her father's family, and a wolf's head on her left thigh. Both are done in black ink.
Weapons & Armor:
  • Armor: Ophelia's armor is a combination of both human and elven design, custom made for her at the request of her father. The bottom layer lightweight chainmail suit, over top a thin cotton to help with chaffing. On top of that is a long, dark green cotton tunic, puffs of great bear fur attached to the shoulders. She also has a silk scarf she'll use to hide her identity when needed. Protecting her arms is more of the same material used underneath her tunic, and lightweight brass bracers, which match the small details of her armor protecting her legs are what she affectionately calls half-boots. They are frontal, thigh-high leather pieces that connect to her leg in four places. It leaves the back of her legs exposed, as well as all but the tops of her feet. Ophelia prefers it this way.
  • Break-down bow: A handcrafted, one of a kind bow. Made of ash and iron, brass details dotting the wood with was a knuckle guard, Ophelia's bow is special. She can break it down into two parts for easy storage or concealment, it was gifted to her by her father, a special commission from the bowyers' in Tomur.
  • Short sword: A steel short sword of very little remark, it's Ophelia's secondary weapon. Used for when her bow isn't the best option, she says she bought it. The human royal insignia on the hit says differently.
  • Three throwing knives: Kept on her thigh, these are used as split-second weapon choices, distractions, and emergency tools. They're very handy.
  • Fen'dral: Not exactly a weapon or a belonging, Fen'dral is Ophelia's trusted companion. He's a large dire wolf, an elven mount who Ophelia has trained herself. He's fiercely loyal, deadly in battle, and a giant baby who likes belly rubs.
Items & Personal Belongings:
  • Rucksack: A worn, leather bag that holds her bedroll and tent tarp, extra clothes, a pan, and her two utensils, some elven spices, a journal, a map, her soap, some dried rations, a few blacksmithing tools such as a portable anvil, a hammer, and some feathers as well as her other belongings.
  • Lock picking tools
  • Runes: Three light runes, two fire traps, and one rune of disguises. She also has the tools and know-how to make more for herself and others
  • Jerky treats for Fen'dral, not for humanoid consumption
  • Basic First Aid Kit: Bandages, needle and thread, elven herbs, salt-water, and some non-scented soap. Ophelia has dissolved the soap in water to make a disinfectant of sorts.
Sills & Abilities:
  • Lock picking: Still improving upon this skill, Ophelia can get through a wide range of simple locks in just a few moments and more complex ones within a minute or two.
  • Stealth: The art of sneaking through the shadows, Ophelia is like a little ghost. She's small and quiet enough to sneak past guards and into rooms right behind someone, but she really thrives in the trees where she moves like she was meant to live among them.
  • Archery: Ophelia is confident this is the one skill nobody can beat her at. Having been trained since the time she was just a wee babe, Ophelia is on par with the other Archery experts in the world. Skilled enough to still remain accurate while moving at full speed, and able to hit a target up to 300ft away, there are few she has met that bestowed her in the ways of the bow.
  • Swordplay: The basics and enough to know how to defend herself and use the blade properly, swordplay was an afterthought compared to Archery. Ophelia can hold her own when the situation calls for it, but will and can be overtaken by those who have had far more training.
  • Basic First Aid: She can't fix all wounds, but Ophelia knows enough to keep you from dying until a real healer can get to you. She can set the bigger bones if broken, knows how to stitch someone up, and what herbs to use to stop the bleeding.
  • Singing: More of a hobby than something she does on an everyday basis, her voice is sweet and melodic which makes this come naturally. She loves singing the various tunes she's heard in taverns, the bards always having something entertaining. Sailors as well.
  • Befriending animals: This comes naturally to her as well, animals of all types seem more inclined to be calm around her. She once calmed a raging bear attacking Antiva long enough to discover that all it wanted was it's lost cub who had gotten stuck in an old cellar.
  • Smithing: She knows the basics, able to make her own arrows, repairing her blades and bow, and making small repairs to her armor.
  • Rune Crafting: Learned through trial and error, Ophelia can craft a wide range of runes that come in handy in many different situations. And no, she will not be teaching you.
Spells & Magic:
  • Root Wave: By channeling her magical energy, she can send a wave of roots forward from the way she is facing, or up through the ground. She can either impale the enemy, knock them back, or trap them within the roots. After a few minutes, if the enemy has been trapped, the magic energy leaves the roots and they return to where they were were.
  • Forest Sense: If her hands or feet is touching the bark of a tree, she's able to get a sense of what's around that tree for as far as it's roots spread. This is her passive ability granted by her elf blood and a result of where she was born.
  • TBA
  • TBA
Weaknesses:
Naive: Ophelia is a little naive, saying or doing things that most people wouldn't for the sake of common decency. She doesn't realize when people are taking advantage of her, always wanting to see the best in everyone, her optimistic and normally cheery disposition making her seem like an easy target.

Half-Elf: Many perks come with being a half-elf. And many downsides. Most people, of all races, look down on the half-breeds in the world. Many places won't allow her to participate in certain traditions or past times, and of course, she faces the same slurs that the humans and elves may throw at her. In some towns, she doesn't feel comfortable without an escort as they're known for taking half-breed and selling them off to the highest bidder.

Weak-Lungs: Because of an illness she had as a small child, Ophelia's lungs are a little weaker than most. She can't hold her breath underwater for more than 15 seconds, she loses her breath easily in hot weather, and she gets sick a little more often. In battle, if the air is knocked out of her lungs, it can even trigger an episode where she can't breathe at all and can hardly catch her breath.

FLUFF (Optional)
Hobbies:
Making arrows, foraging for plants, hanging out with Fen'dral, going to taverns
Favorites:
- Antiva hard apple cider
- Mythsari Honeysuckle and citrus soap (she buys three bars at a time)
- Her bow
- Fen'dral, her wolf
Quote\s:
"Well, that was rude."
"I can't believe that just happened."
"Please, I'm a professional."
Theme:
 
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BASIC INFORMATION
Name: Magnus Khalason
Aliases: Foxtails, Smiles.
Age: 23 years old
Gender: Male
Race: Orc
Hometown: Barran
Class: Swashbuckler/Ranger?


PERSONAL
Sexuality: Opportunistic swaying, mostly Gynophilic. "Can always go for an elf no matter what they have down there."
High Concept: To enjoy one's life to the fullest, no matter what one comes against, meet it with a smile upon your face, a full belly and a drink in hand.
Religion: Odena, for great battles. Win or lose, all that matters is that greatness is found.
Backstory:
Born one of many siblings, Magnus was named after his father who had fallen in battle with a particularly large six armed bear that wandered out of the mists the eve before. It wasn't a sad day, as his father had indeed set out to not only slay the beast, but also wrestle it. While the younger hunters who followed him learned the cautionary tale against treating a hunt too lightly, they did in fact tell tales of how the bear had to take him by suprise after his victory over it to gain the upper hand. Bittersweet was that night, but as many tears were shed there for more drinks in memory of him.

So this leaves Magnus the once younger with the Den mother who bore him, a rather popular woman named Khala. Khala had many children, it took roughly five of them before she actually slowed down enough to put down the hunting spear and spend time at home rather than hunting and... Celebrating.. said hunts... But it also meant she was a very storied woman, and it meant for starry eyed young orcs listening to her every word, rapt with attention to the stories of her many amazing hunts. Knowing that full well THEY would be like her as well! Well, some would, some prefer to take up more quiet jobs, but by Odena she wouldn't let them off without knowing their way around a weapon.

As you can imagine, he took up hunting as many do in their tribe. And there are many stories of triumphs and defeats, but the one I shall tell, is how he got the nickname Foxtails.

Now, for some time, the tribe had been... Spotting an odd creature lingering around the edge of the mists. As you might imagine, this is... Somewhat the norm given where they are. But instead of fully coming to fight, this beastie was a wily one. A red furred fox, black deep eyes and a clutch of four tails upon it's rump. Now, this fox, while none to larger than a normal fox, was more or less not to much of a threat. But it being a difficult to capture creature made it a true prize for any hunter worth their salt!

And Magnus, well, he was up to any and all challenges!

For three whole days he stalked this fox, the creature leading him time and time again into briar, wood, bushes and thorns. Desperate to get away, but Magnus was determined! He would have that fox!

And so, he would have his chance. As the fox lay to rest, he snuck up, slowly, slowly, until he leapt upon it!!! With a great leap he grasped two tails in each hand, knowing it would not escape!! He had succeeded! Now all he had to do was get it back!

But the fox was not done with it's secrets, for the mist had granted it a last defence against him. For no sooner did he know his victory, he saw the fox run off! But how!? How did it escape his grasp!?

Well, it didn't!

The tails... HAD COME RIGHT OFF! Like one of those strange lizards, they simply just popped off!

As such, now he wears those tails on the back of his belt as prizes, his trophy for outwitting the fox and proving his guile.

"YOU GODS DAMNED BASTARD!" Magnus ducked the second punch just fine after the first had clocked him in the jaw, the snarky orc however didn't quite mind the stinging pain in his chin, what he more was minding why this elven fellow was currently trying to beat the shite out of him.

Sure, he may have caught him in a... moment with a fair young looking elven lass, but sure he didn't have to start swinging from the get go!

"Might actually hit me if you focused-" The orc smirked, ducking another wild haymaker.

"SHUT UP!" the enraged elf shouted at the top of his lungs, barreling over a nearby stool.

The scene require some explanation, Magnus had been minding his own business, which is to say minding the fair folk's "business," while a small caravan from Joren was coming by to trade for some much needed pelts, which would go for much higher prices further out. The caravan was a well known sort, and was all but officially protected as they would have to pass through some rough territory. Magnus however had only really seen these particular fair folk from afar, consequence always had him on a hunt or busy when they were around. So, when he finally was able to meet them, and talk up a rather striking woman, he figured he may as well push and see what he got out of the situation.

Turns out, abit more than what he bargained for, but hey, Odena is always itching to send a fight to an orc.

Though a fist fight when he was in quite literally nothing, was a uncommon occurrence.

"Dear would you please.." the woman tried speaking up, covering herself with the blanket that smelled of the sweat of the moments prior.

"How can i calm down when I find a strange in bed with my own-" The elf's fist gained purchase on magnus' chest, knocking him back abit. "MOTHER!!!"

Though the words that came out of his mouth were more shocking than the punch...

Really?

"Well..." Magnus' breathing softened, hand rubbing the now sore spot as he rose his head up once more. "I thought she was your sister!" His snarky smile lasted only long enough for the newly enraged elf to leap and crash into him, sending them both out of the tent into the open air, where the sound of onlookers now cheered for both sides of the fight.

The elven woman sighed, shaking her head and brushing a hair from her face. "Men." She slowly got dressed.

PHYSICAL
Appearance:
54d44dd7d79ee5c0dddd17da8e02b188.jpg
Right above his rump, connected to the belt lay 4 fluffy fox tails, mementos from a strange and memorable hunt.

Weapons & Armor:
Light leather armor, maximized for movement. Thankfully his body is sturdy.
And a brace of 3 hatchets on each side of his waist, perfect for throwing.
Handy spear, good for stabbing, or throwing.
Items & Personal Belongings:
Four Fox Tailed belt.
Camping kit, small post, firestarter, tinder, skinning knife.
Single bar of Mythsari made soap (Closely guarded and sparingly used.)


Skills & Abilities:
Skilled hunter, capable of catching, skinning, preparing, eatting and keeping prey. Can also make traps and rudimentary weapons.
A cunning linguist, while he is at times abit too forward he is rather well spoken for what people imagine a orc may be. Oft coming off friendly and approachable. Careful, he may talk himself outta trouble if you let him.
Experienced Wayfinder.
Shockingly good at cooking in the wild, not.. so much in the kitchen.
Spells & Magic: Very minor fire magic, only really able to make a flame for making fires for cooking and so on.
Weaknesses: As much as he is jolly, he is sincerely worried about how others see him, he wants to be friends with most, but sidelong glances, derisive words, slights. He finds himself hurt by these things more than he'd like to let on. Most of all, he doesn't wish to seem stupid, oft going great lengths to in the very least pretend he knows something long enough to get out of the situation.

FLUFF
Hobbies: Flirting, he generally does it for fun or to see how people react. You can learn alot about people in how they react. He also doesn't mind pleasant conversation of course, people often have fun stories to tell.
Favorites: Things that smell nice, Elves, new foods hes never tried, most things made by elves.
Quote\s: "Something that took getting used to is how shy people are about themselves. say somebody's hair is beautiful, or they smell nice, and they look at you like you have three heads. Can't even bathe together unless yea pay a lass. And even then, she does only half a good job... Unless its a goblin. Those girls go everywhere... What're yea lookin' at me like that for?"
Theme:
 
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BASIC INFORMATION
Name: Vrogak Blackthorn
Aliases: Vrogak the Mirthful
Age: 52
Gender: Male
Race: Orc
Hometown: Urbrord
Class: Skirmisher


PERSONAL
Sexuality: Heterosexual
High Concept: Soldier of Fortune; Jocular bounty hunter collecting heads throughout the empire
Religion: Odena
Backstory: During the empire's expansion wars, Vrogak left his homeland and served in the Black Thorn Company, a mercenary group specialized in guerilla warfare. The company did well for years, and given time they could have been recognized as an official part of the imperial army, however the human noble in charge of the forces became overzealous, and made a terrible call on the battlefield. Most of the Black Thorn Company died in that heated battle, and Vrogak took wounds that is still affecting him today. The survivors split ways, and Vrogak went back home to Urbrord to settle and start a family. He was satisfied for years with his wife and daughters (never had a son), but the life outside Vazruz changed Vrogak completely, and so he left once more. Started bounty hunting work at Houndhelm, and even got himself a war dog after a particularly nasty job. Now, he runs a circuit from Houndhelm to Reaycaster, Cayonne (primarily to get herbs for his war wounds), and then to Terberis.

PHYSICAL
Appearance: Vrogak is orge-like in stature with chartreuse complexion, red irises, large tusks and lipless. Numerous scars adorn his body from his time as a mercenary soldier, and a metal plate is grafted to his forehead, likely keeping his skull together.
Weapons & Armor: For weapons Vrogak uses the billhook polearm as his primary, a buckler and battleaxe as the secondary. The rondel dagger and sling as tertiary weapons mostly used for utility, but also to help get in between gaps in armor, or to strike runners (and birds) from afar. In terms of armor, he equips himself with modified pieces of plate armor adapted for his larger frame, with leather straps covering other vital areas.
Items & Personal Belongings: His War dog is called Roach, because that hound is just as much a tough bastard as Vrogak. He uses a net when opting to go for non-lethal takedowns, couple yards of rope, flint & steel
Skills & Abilities: Martial capability and survival instincts. Vrogak knows his way around different assortment of weapons, a skilled tracker between Roach and himself, and talented at shaking off deadly blows if not dying could be considered a skill.
Spells & Magic: None
Weaknesses: Guilt is eating at him as he feels that he should've died with the mercenary company all those years ago. Living when better people, people that had dreams and aspirations, should've lived. Because of this, he tends become reckless in battle, if not downright suicidal, and Roach's wellbeing is the only thing that stops him from going too overboard. Shame, shame over running away from his family, for leaving his tribe behind, and for not being a "true" orc.

FLUFF (Optional)
Hobbies: Playing with roach, carving wooden totems, dancing.
Favorites: Glanhig Draught Beer (Dwarven drink),
Quote\s: "Ha! The reason you folks don't like us orcs is not cuz' we are bloodthirsty savages, it's cuz' we're honest about our nature! Between your petty human squabbles and those damned leafblowers, you crave bloodshed just as much as us. You're just scared of the consequences of admitting the ugly truth."
Theme: Yuve Yuve Yu
 
Bw8Pfrk.jpg

  • Name: Aielwin Caiharice
    Aliases: The Twin Lion, The Red Gale, Ale
    Age: 29
    Gender: Male
    Race: Half-Elf, Half-Human
    Hometown: Saryion
    Class: The Spellsword
 
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BASIC INFORMATION
Name:
Gaius de Leon
Aliases:
The Lion's Mane, Father de Leon, Commander de Leon
Age:
31
Gender:
Male
Race:
Human
Hometown:
Raycaster
Class:
Paladin/Cleric

PERSONAL
Sexuality:
Almost suspiciously heterosexual
High Concept:
A priest on thin ice
Religion:
Gaius is strictly Enochian, a devote followed of the human religion and its deities
Backstory:
Gaius was born in Raycaster to then Commander Barus de Leon and Lady Josephine de Leon, a very prominent family in the coble-stone streets and marble walls of the magic city. If you're expecting a long-winded story, however, you're mistaken. The life of a noble is rather dull, training and school for a majority of your formative years, being raised by babies and butlers, in constant competition with your siblings, Gaius never had a true name of his own until he turned 20 and joined the Liomura Royal Army. A normal foot soldier who happened to be the son of the general, he was already on the fast track. He was the golden boy, the one to watch, so when a group of insurgents tried to take the port city's from the Liomura empire, Gaius was the one to lead the army in retaliation. It was a bloody battle, and a long one, lasting months. Gaius saw many of his friends pass in gruesome fashion, but fought with such ferocity that he earned the name 'The Lion's Mane'. His father was known as the Liomura Lion, and his son fighting on his every command, it was fitting.

Gaius was involved in numerous other skirmishes and fights during a seven year long military career which ended after a demon attempted to end his life. He was infected after it managed to land a heavy blow, tearing through magic and armor, he was quickly returned to Raycaster. Over the next year, underwent treatment for the demonic infection and to prevent such a thing from happening again, he under when the rights to become a priest. Because of his new duties, he wasn't allowed to rejoin the ranks of the army as a commander. He could rejoin as a priest, but Gaius decided to travel instead. He didn't know what he wanted to do or where he wanted to go, but he couldn't be reduced to a simple life like that. Gaius ended up in Antiva, and on his first day, was approached by a half-elf girl who wanted his help looking for her father.

And they've been travelling together ever since.

PHYSICAL
Appearance:
Gaius is the product of perfect breeding, an attractive man leagues above the common rabble. He stands at a towering 6 feet, 4 inches tall, a muscular build and strong features; a man who weighs 215lbs of well-toned muscle. He has soft black hair that touches the nape of his neck, and always keeps a little stubble on his face. Gaius has few blemishes on his skin, and those he does have are worth sharing. There's a burn on his left calf from narrowly avoiding a rogue mage's fireball. The divet under his left eye from an attempted beheading. Three gashes on his chest after a demon tried to claim his life, with few others he so often brags about.
Weapons & Armor:
  • Armor: Gaius wears a multi-layer armor that was standard in the Liomura military. The bottom layer is a soft cotton tunic and worn leather pants tucked into leather boots. On top of that is a chainmail "dress", and then on top of that is a cotton robe-like thing with his family's crest on the front. His armor pieces are protecting his arms, shins, and shoulder because he's too cool for full armor.
  • Scalloped longsword: A two-handed weapon with an interesting blade, it's made to easily cut through flesh and leather easier than standard blades.
  • Sword-Breaker: A short sword with a standard blade on one side, the other with clover-shaped divets on the other side. Meant for catching blades and breaking them with a sharp twist.
Items & Personal Belongings:
  • Rucksack: Tent, fur bedroll, a small cast iron pan and a small pot, a change of clothes, a journal, a map, a collection of charcoal, parchment, a small bottle of ink, wax and a de Leon seal, dried rations, scentless soap, whetstones, a first starter, and a few spices​
  • Gold​
  • Handmade star charts​
  • A de Leona insignia ring​
  • 20 ft of rope​
  • A torch​
Skills & Abilities:
  • Swordplay: Trained since he was 7 years old, with plenty of practical experience, Gaius is damn near a master with a blade. He's able to hold his own against almost any opponent. While some who have the upper hand in strength and larger groups can overwhelm him, Gaius is a considerable foe on the battlefield.​
  • Calligraphy: The useless skill of using a quill to write fancy letters on parchment.​
  • Map Reading: It's simple enough, Gaius actually knows how to read most kind of maps thanks to his days serving in the empire's army.​
  • Holy Crafting: Anyone can make a cross, a string of beads, or claim their craft is holy. Gaius, being a priest, can actually make holy items that work on those of darker influence. Holy Water of course, is the most common and easiest.​
  • Smooth Talking: While he doesn't always use it, in the presence of nobility Gaius is a charming man who could make even the most hardened of women swoon. It also helps him get a discount here and there.​
  • Whittling: Making small trinkets to keep his hands busy, he often gives them away to the children he and his traveling companion come across. He'I'll also make some good luck tokens or little flowers to give to the women he might fancy. He's actually pretty talented.​
  • Star charting: Nothing more than a hobby, he likes to update a small chart with stars and hands them off to scholars in Raycaster when he vists home.​
Spells & Magic:
  • Cleanse: In an area of 20 feet surrounding him, Gaius can call upon his magical energy and faith and have ot clean an area poisoned by dark magic and effects. By reducing the area, and concentrating on a 10ft area around him, Gaius can move while casting. However, he may only move for five minutes before his energy is drained.
  • Healing Hands: By focusing his energy and saying a prayer, Gaius can magically heal wounds. The greater the wound, the more energy it takes, and the longer the ritual must be held. Normally the man is left drained after healing someone and must rest before he can do it again. But, he can save someone from fatal wounds should the situation call for it.
  • Barrier: This is a frontward facing barrier that helps protect against projectile spells. It can withstand three direct hits before breaking, and while arrows or thrown daggers may pass through, it blocks most magic from both enemies and allies.
  • Bless: Gaius can bless weapons to deal significantly more damage against those of darker origins, such demons and those afflicted by demons, the undead, and shadow Faye. He is also able to bless armor to protect against dark attacks, lessening the effects of high power spells, and sometimes completely negating the effects of weak ones. You may only have one blessed item at a time, and he can only have three active blessings at once.
  • TBA
Weaknesses:
Superiority Complex: Not only is he a noble, his family is well known, he possessed great magical talent, is the eldest son who also had a pristine military career on top of the teachings of the church, Gaius developed a very large superiority complex. Everyone not on the same social standing as him, anyone who worships anything but Enone, the list goes on; he views as less than him. Gaius is the living embodiment of what men should aspire to be.

Prejudice: He refuses to call it what is truly is, Gaius looks down on anyone who isn't a human. Dirty heathens who need to be civilized, the idea of working with them makes his skin crawl. The elves are nothing more than posers, the orcs are dirty brutes, the dwarves know nothing other than first and rock, humans are the only species truly worth Astoria in his eyes. No matter that the elves and dwarves were there first...

Ghosts of War: Gaius has seen more than enough horrors in his military career, and his time on his own. He will sometimes enter states where he zones out and doesn't pay attention to anyone or anything around him. At night, he can suffer from horrid nightmares, some of which that cause him to lash out at his sleeping partners.

FLUFF (Optional)
Hobbies:
Whittling, reading trashy novels, praying for heathens, charting stars
Favorites:
- Blueberry Tarts
- Honey Mead
- The girls in Grayport
- Stargazing
Quote\s:
"I must say, you're nothing like what I had expected."
"Poor souls, they know not what awaits them in the afterlife if they continue down that path."
"Forgive me, but I don't make a habit of sharing with...no, I must decline."
Theme:
 
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Zeinab Almasi


  • Name: Zeinab Almasi
    2HtvoLMdwkBZHavJRMick5YNL-aGGhlV_sDhv1UAfWNNdywWudji6uMIz0M5vn3NcztC13khlESuxlxWsj4OPK7FUVNcz6R6Ug9NRfttWm_HRxJGNR31Oti9g1UKnZ94Hfaq_RVu

    Aliases: Zeina, Little Lotus
    Age: 26
    Gender: Female
    Race: Human
    Hometown: Grayport
    Class: The Merchant






Pardon the BBCode, I felt like being a 'lil fancy
 
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BASIC INFORMATIONAstoria_Birb_002.jpg

Name: Cavilina Rabityth

Aliases: Lady Rabityth, Cav.

Age: Man, your guess is as good as mine. A good half-century, probably. It’s remarkably hard to tell—and she certainly doesn’t remember.

Gender: Female

Race: Faye — Winter Harpy

Intelligence: Not quite on par with that of most Humans. She has a reasonable grasp of language and manages just fine in the logic department, but she's more animalistic than one hailing from the properly civilized races. Mathematics, humor, personal boundaries, and any number of similar ideas simply go beyond her comprehension. Still, she's trying. Give it time (and a whole lot of reminding), and you might be able to teach her a thing or two!

Hometown: Valencia (Or rather, the surrounding forest.)

Class: Sorcerer/Elementalist (Frost Specialization)

PERSONAL

Sexuality: Omnisexual. And, fair warning, definitely a predator. Like, the murder and consume her partner kind. Harpies, man. It really isn't a good idea. But, hey, what you choose to do with that information is entirely your call! I won't judge.

High Concept: A creepy spell-slinging birb girl that’s painfully, inseparably attached to the party and its members for reasons beyond her conscious knowledge. What a curse that would be, eh? ;)

Religion: Pious towards the Elven Goddess Tulena and, to a lesser degree, the God of Wind; Pholomos. Often dedicates her hunts to Tulena, leaving simple trinkets wherever she strikes down a roaming critter as thanks for the Goddess' kindness in providing another day's meal. It's a... Personal form of worship. She certainly wouldn't understand formal religious services, and a proselytizing paladin would only be wasting his breath—should he even try.

Backstory:
Born a daughter of wooded wilds and winter winds far from the bustle of civilization, Cavilina's early life was one of little interest to anyone but herself. Long days and short years passing by with no purpose beyond the ever-looming struggle for survival. It's a tale as old as time—the doe's first steps, the hawk's first hunt. For a long while, nothing in Cavilina's life changed. Each day brought a free dawn, each moonrise left her with not a worry in the world. A simple life, and a good one, at that; but no life is perfect. Abandoned on her very first moon, Cav was eventually brought low by the mournful solitude of a life lived alone. An unwanted danger even amongst her own Faye kin, the Harpy had never known the boon of true companionship—that is, until her path crossed with that of the Elf huntress Errath of Valencia. A patient and immeasurably kind soul, the Elf gave Cavilina that which she had never known she was missing—a chance to prove she was more than the mindless beast most would have dismissed her as.

What began as an uncertain meeting between maiden and monster would eventually flourish into an unlikely friendship; the Elf sharing stories of the wider world in a tongue Cavilina would only later understand in exchange for the Faye's aid in tracking down some of the land's more elusive woodland critters. A day, a month, a year they traveled together; wandering much of Eve Thelmar in search of the unknown. By dawn, huntress's arrow and Harpy's talon would strike in tandem, a lethal mix of precision and ferocity. By dusk, Cavilina would practice her words and absorb whatever knowledge the Elf could provide as she worked away on a gift meant to bring the Faye closer to civilization—an elegant dress of feather and fur. Eventually, there came a time when Cav's base mimicry grew into something more: Fluency is a hard thing to really nail down, but suffice it to say that she had thrown herself into language with reckless abandon—and that her efforts had not gone unrewarded. Finally able to truly convey their thoughts to one another, the two grew to become, in a way, family. It was, perhaps, an unspoken bond, but it was one that would come to prove itself time and time again.

Once, in the third year of their travels, in the midst of a particularly frustrating blight of misfortune, the pair finally met their honest match: A mighty bear, the likes of which neither had ever come across. For days they tailed the beast, following in its lumbering footsteps across hill and valley, through forest and prairie, over river and lake, beyond Eve Thelmar and deep into Liomura; until the Harpy came diving to meet Errath from above with the fervor born only of frantic anticipation—for, at last, they had found their prey. Marred by countless a scar and nigh on painted in gore, this was no ordinary animal. Plunged deep in the beast's flank, Cavilina's eagle gaze spotted the sunken shaft of a Dwarven spear. Errath could hardly believe her companion, for they were many a league from those great empires of stone. How far had this titan wandered? How far might it still yet go? She knew not, but she couldn't stand to abandon her quest now, not when they had already come so far. Who could say how much damage the hulking mass of albino fur had already done? To put a stop to the mad creature was the only path the huntress would accept. Cavilina was awestruck. To meet such a challenge so willingly—she couldn't imagine. Her own instincts begged her to flee, but she was unwilling to fail her only friend.

Together they leaped forth, their charge once more heralded by none but the whistle of arrow and the beat of wing. Once, twice, ten times Errath's bow snapped forth; and, as the great beast rose in agony and rage, Cavilina descended upon it, a mass of shrieking fury. Great globules of red spurt forth from Oriel—as the icy bear would come to be known—as the Harpy's talons lashed at its amber eyes. With vengeance and hatred; the beast fought, great paws thrashing forth in bellowing rage. Time and again Lady Errath's bow found its mark, and soon Oriel stood riddled with bolts; his grand neck, his vast shoulders, his weathered back, even his wide nose; all soaked in fresh scarlet, and, for once, he seemed outmatched—but the fight was not yet won.

The great beast Oriel lunged forth in a final bid for victory, gargantuan paws crashing forth atop Cavilina's broad wings and bringing her down—down into the mud. It was there that, for perhaps the first time, she fought not for triumph, but for her life. Pinned below the hulking monster that loomed before her, she gave in to howling madness—talons plunged into Oriel's belly, she ripped forth with all the strength she could muster. Deeper and deeper her arms sunk—gore staining her hands, her wrists, her elbows—as she shrieked. So full of rage was she, that she lifted herself from the blood-soaked ground, broken wings driving her up towards Oriel; and, as she rose to meet his wailing muzzle, she could see his great eyes—what little remained of them—cloud in fear. With a mighty roar, he stood; crushing Cavilina's wings further in his unbreakable grip—and slammed her to the ground once more.

And so, like a torch snuffed of its flame, Cavilina's world went dark.

She awoke much later, her head aflame, her wings unmoving, her body broken. Above loomed not Oriel, but a dark ceiling. Below was a silken fabric, not mud. Beside her sat Errath, her trembling hands slowly working to repair Cavilina's feathered dress—Errath, her friend, her savior. Two days and two nights the Elf had run with Cavilina atop her back, her exhaustion driven from her body by an infernal desperation. Pride had clouded the huntress's judgment and endangered her friend—she would not have let it kill her, too. They were in Valencia, her home, of which she had spoken of at length to Cavilina. Here, Faye and Elf alike would work to save the battered Harpy. They had to.

Many years passed, and, in time, Cavilina was restored to her former self. Never again would she fly so gracefully, nor would she be so brave, but she had survived her duel with the great bear Oriel. Indeed, they both had. To this day, Oriel still wanders Astoria; pelt stained a dull rose, body scarred, eyes mangled—but older now, stronger, and wiser. For a time, Cavilina wished nothing more than to find her old foe and wreak vengeance upon him—to break him as he had broken her. To venture forth once more alongside Errath and kill the beast once and for all. But Errath was unwilling—or, perhaps, unable—to face Oriel again. In a way, the huntress had not survived that fight. Physically unharmed, yes, but her mind broken. She would never again leave the safety of Valencia. Never again take up a bow. Still, the world moves on, as it must, and while Cavilina would forever hold both a vendetta against Oriel and a love for Errath, it would not be long until her fate was to be shifted once more—not long until she was to forget every word of this story.

One day, some time after her brush with Oriel, whilst Cavilina was roaming the area around Valencia, she stumbled upon the necklace. Unfamiliar with the story of a certain halfling and his encounter with a similarly mysterious ring, the ever-curious Faye was unalarmed by the innocent golden chain. Perhaps it really was nothing more than a moment of curiosity that led Cav to take the jewelry. Perhaps it was something more sinister. Whatever the reason, Cavilina's life was to be forever altered the moment she claimed that damnable necklace. It was a subtle thing, the change that came over her. Ever so slowly, she became more forgetful, more restless, and ever more desperate to leave Valencia. Eventually, she did just that: Abandoning both the town that had become her home and the friend that had brought her there without so much as a word.

The days since then have been... Different. Unclear. As the necklace dragged her across Astoria, she took in very little and forgot nearly everything. All that matters anymore is her destination—and, while she might not know precisely what that is, nothing will stop her from reaching it. The necklace will return itself to its rightful owner, and Cavilina will be the wings that bring it there.
Writing Sample:
Tall tales and whispering hopes had always had the inexplicable tendency to weave their way into even the most unlikely of hearts. They survived every trial, and only ever seemed to grow even stronger and more compelling as they spread. Of course, every tale held some hint of fantasy to it, no matter how real its roots were. It was no different with the quiet murmurings of resistance. There was no shortage of hatred towards the Hegemony and its tyrannical ways, of that there could be no doubt, but there were few who were foolish enough to actually act on that passion. After all, what were they but a band of desperate fools? Not even the great armies of empires long crumbled could hold their own against the Hegemonic might.

Then again, that was a very different time. A time of chaos and foolishness where even the pettiest of differences had kept the people from uniting against their common foe. Left unattended, that foe grew from no more than a hundred swords into the monster that it had since become, a monster that would claim the life of any who stood against it. It was such a looming presence, such a constant fear, that it had almost drowned away the last hopes of freedom. It had nearly claimed even the very dreams of justice. The empire had descended upon the land with all the grace of a coming night, taking every sense of right and wrong into its twisted embrace.

Yet there they were. The tales. The claims of a true rebellion. The silent roars of those old, forgotten dreams coming to life once again. It was a timid light, at best, but it was there, and it would spread given the time it needed. Like a fire coaxed into existence under a hail of rain, it needed protection and faith, but more than anything, it needed fuel. But that's what the stories were for, wasn't it? To bring new eyes to the kindling little flame, even if it meant attracting the wrong kind of attention. The revolution wasn't grand, nor was it strong, but it was there. An imperfect light in the black.

The brush gave way with a defeated sigh, its quiet complaint punctuated by a pair of hurried footfalls. The shine of shaded lantern reflecting neatly off the slick riverbank below. The heavy dusk had so far proven to be almost too effective at concealing the wavering light and its owner's sullen face, one could hardly see their own feet, let alone the surrounding woods. It was an eerily moonless night. An excellent night for a band of frightened people to melt away into the cover of darkness.

"Brilliant night for an ambush." Came a grim, whispered voice as the lead man looked back at his newfound companion. She was an unusual one, utterly silent since they had first met by sheer coincidence some time ago, but her stride was sure and her ears sharp. She'd already saved them both from the watchful gaze of a Loyalist patrol, a threat that they, thankfully, hadn't had to worry about since they left the last sorry excuse for a road. The leaf-strewn ground may still be dangerous in its own right, but at least they could walk with some shred of confidence here.

They marched on in silence, tiny light bouncing to the erratic rhythm of their winding steps. From the minuscule slivers of moonlight that could be seen peeking through the towering pines overhead, they were already horrendously late for the agreed-upon meeting. So many tiny delays, compiled into a single tangled mess of lost time... It was a strange feeling, being so far from home.

"William." The gentle voice snuck up on the man so suddenly he felt the lantern nearly slip from his usually certain grip. He glanced back at the woman's shadowed face. Even in this oppressive dark, her jade eyes shone like so many stars overhead. A gloved hand demanded he stop, and only then could he make out the faint rumblings of conversation. For a flashing moment, the two stood in fearful silence, but the familiar sound of wavering voices could leave no doubt, they had finally reached their destination.

"Let's not waste any more time." His voice drifted through the air, seeming impossibly quiet with the sound of civilization once again flooding his ears. With a final shared glance of apprehension, the two stepped forward in unison, breaking into the small clearing with no more ceremony than a curious fawn. The woman glanced about, her gaze clouding with uncertainty as some dozen pairs of eyes settled somewhere between the two. She gave a stiff nod as she reached to drop her cloak's scarlet hood, leaving her dark oaken hair to settle atop her tense shoulders.

For a pair of complete strangers, they looked remarkably similar. Faces etched with little care for gentle appearances, with sharp lines and intense frowns never quite leaving their pale frames. The only real difference was in their eyes. William's, a dark, cloudy brown, her's, that shining jade. Though they were no more than a few years apart, William seemed aged quite far beyond his days. Eyes sunken with worry, features constantly twisted in despairing uncertainty.

"Remind me never to agree to another of these damned night rallies again." He mused as those frightened eyes passed over him, most easily recognizing him as a friend and quickly shifting to his stiff companion. She seemed utterly uncertain of what to actually do. "This is Cecilia." He spoke for her, gesturing with the lantern as he did so, and forcing more cheer into his voice than he'd felt in some time. "And for those of you who don't know, I'm Doctor Nikula. Surgeon, servant of our... Beloved Lord Greyfield, and, I suppose, rebel."

PHYSICAL

Appearance: Cavilina stands at a diminutive height just breaking four-foot–seven, most of which can be attributed to her disproportionately lengthy legs. In stark contrast, her grand wings span a mighty eight feet at their widest, absolutely dwarfing her slight frame. All sharp lines and protruding bones, there's little more to Cav than is strictly necessary to her survival. Perpetually wind-tussled and more than a little feral-looking at times, it would be impossible to mistake her as anything but the wild animal that she is. There's a certain refinement that even the twitchiest members of the civilized races have—one that's decidedly missing in the intense Harpy. And, no matter how out of place it may be, there's a dangerous glint in her gaze that never quite goes away—one of a predator sizing up their prey—one that can leave even the bravest of souls wondering just how far they are from having a tornado of feathers and talons lunging for their throat. Still, don't be too worried: She'd really rather not attack anything much bigger than herself. Not anymore. You'll be fine! Well, unless you happen to be a Dwarf. Then... Maybe don't turn your back to her until after she's had dinner? Oh, and keep your helmet on. She likes to go for the eyes.

Weapons & Armor:
None! Well, that’s not strictly true, but the fact of the matter is that Cavilina hasn’t the strength to wear anything much heavier than a cotton tunic—and certainly hasn’t the skill to make use of any traditional weapons. In a compromise between utility and decency, she wears a simple—though not entirely unappealing—garb made from her own fallen feathers and the pelts of any number of creatures. One might expect the piece to be of poor quality, but, quite to the contrary, its fine stitching and careful handiwork indicate skilled craftsmanship—quite obviously not a self-made item. A small, embroidered signature along the hem of the feathered skirt declares it a work of one Errath, of Valencia.
In a pinch, Lady Rabityth will always have her talons to fall back upon as a final line of defense. Remarkably sharp—as one might expect, given their nature—the Harpy’s claws will rend through flesh like the maw of a mighty wolf if needed. However, they stand not the slightest chance against the metallic armor worn by many of the threats roaming Astoria. In addition, their cumbersome size and razor edge often prove more of a hassle than a boon. Master lockpicker, Cavilina is not.

Items & Personal Belongings: Cavilina's only notable worldly possession—beyond the dress mentioned above—is a simple gold necklace. Almost painfully bland, the slender chain rests permanently atop her bony collar. Where, exactly, this expensive—if rather uninspired—bit of jewelry came from is a mystery even to the Harpy herself—all memory of its origin having been lost to the untouched depths of her mind. Still, some inexplicable portion of her refuses to part with the inoffensive shinie. In truth, she wouldn't be able to abandon the necklace even if she wanted to. The piece has bound itself to her, and it will not be quick to let go. Particularly skilled wizards might be keen enough to notice a faint magical aura coming from the metal, though that could just as easily be dismissed as emanating from the Faye herself. It should come as little surprise that the jewelry's been cursed. I'm thinking it was stolen from a party member (or someone related in some way to a member) and eventually wound up in Cavilina's claws—drawing her to follow the rightful owner(/their relation) and wreaking havoc upon her memory along the way. She, of course, has no clue.

Skills & Abilities:
Flight: Capable of both long-distance journies and impressively quick swooping dives, the Harpy's wings are—without the slightest doubt—her most powerful asset. Unfortunately, despite their dramatic appearance, Cavilina's wings are no stronger than the rest of her fragile self, especially now that they've been damaged (see Weaknesses). Too much additional weight will leave her quickly exhausted or simply grounded, and it doesn't take much more than a well-packed rucksack to keep her earthbound. A good waterlogging would be of particular nuisance, stranding her for the long hours it takes to air-dry the bundle of feathers that she is.
Natural-Born Killer: Mostly of small-to-middling rodents, unfortunately, but there's something to be said of Cavilina's killer instinct. Death doesn't phase the Harpy in quite the same way as it would a 'normal' person, and she holds no reservations when it comes to taking the life of another—nor when it comes to making a meal of their corpse, come to think of it. Still, she's not all monstrous. There's a sentimental heart somewhere in there! Just, y'know, deep, deep down. Keep going. You'll find it eventually. Also, conveniently, she'll face no ill effect from consuming a raw kill. Inconveniently, she absolutely will not eat anything cooked or, gods forbid, green. Yes, that includes Goblins. She's not the sharpest spade in the shed.
Savage Tinkercraft: Is this even a skill? I'm not sure either. She likes to make odd, mostly nonsensical trinkets out of—well—pretty much whatever she finds. Animal bones and tufts of fur are her preferred paintbrushes, but she'll throw some shiny rocks or her companion's belongings in there when the opportunity arises, and she'll reappropriate any particularly interesting things she finds along her journies for use here, too. As mentioned above, she'll leave these at the scene of the crime, as it were, after a successful hunt; and maybe even give them to a companion if she's feeling particularly emotional. If you've ever had a crow bring you things, you get the idea.

Spells & Magic:
Frostheart's Armor: Summons a number of densely-frozen ice plates and temporarily binds them to either the caster or a single allied character, conforming to the character's body at a short distance from them (akin to Tech Armor from Mass Effect if you're familiar!). Protects the affected unit from light blows and nullifies Frost, Water, and Air elemental attacks. When hit by an Earth attack (or a physical blow of significant strength), the armor shatters. Any damage dealt by the breaking blow is absorbed, but knockback is doubled. When hit by a Fire-based attack, the armor flash-melts, absorbing the blow but drenching the user.
Snap-Freeze: Rapidly chills a small area—slowing and potentially completely freezing foes. Especially effective on metallic surfaces, able to flash-freeze a foe's armor and weapons, for instance—immobilizing the wearer and weakening their defense against physical blows.
Ice Lance: Summons a sharpened spear of ice. Caster chucks the thing at people. You get it.

Weaknesses:
Frail Beyond Belief: I mean, really. The poor thing weighs like fifty pounds, hasn't got an ounce of fat on her, wears nothing but a bunch of feathers, and spends most of her time hanging out in the sky—you get one good wallop on her and it's lights out, no question. She'll suffer immensely under wounds that most people would shrug off, wither under even vaguely humid weather, become ill for no apparent reason, and—as if matters weren't bad enough—a Goblin would probably wrestle her down nine times out of ten. Do not, I repeat: Do Not punch the Harpy. Don't ruffle her hair. Don't even sneeze in her general direction. She will keel over, and she probably won't get back up for a good long while.
Fast Metabolism: Bird's gotta eat, man. (Alternatively, Bird's gonna eat Man.) Were she still a carefree creature of the wilds, she'd spend half of her day hunting—and the rest eating. As it is, she'll have to slip away in search of prey pretty regularly—or make do with what little fresh meat the party's got on hand. If neither option is available, she'll start to starve within a day or two of her last meal. A week longer and she'll be little more than a shallow grave along some off-beat trail. The good news? A nice, battle-hardened adventurer could keep her fed for more than a few days! The bad news? Well, she'll take survival over sentimentality any day of the week.
Fairytale Villain: It's not easy, fitting in. Especially not when most people think of your species as child-snatching, man-eating monsters. To be fair, the stories aren't exactly wrong; but any creature will do terrible things when it's necessary! Unfortunately, that justification doesn't always go over so well. Many people feel threatened by Cavilina—as they probably should—and are often rather averse to negotiating with (or are keen to make a prisoner of) a literal fairytale monster. Any good guardsman would never let her past his watch; slavers might take an interest in her; and the general population will be none too thrilled to have her around.
All-Too-Trusting: Given her spellbound dementia and her general worldly inexperience, Cavilina tends to believe whatever she's told. A decent fast-talker could have her turned right around within the hour, and she'd never quite sort herself out until some kind soul told her which way was up. It's a good thing there aren't any smooth-talking rogues in the world who'd use her naivety against her, right? ...Right? In the same vein, you have little to worry about when it comes to Cav's word. She's no con artist—that much is certain—and there's hardly enough room in her scattered mind for intricate plots or dastardly schemes. She'll do her best to uphold her promises—just don't be surprised if she finds herself unable to deliver. Self-awareness isn't exactly her strongest talent.
Survivor: Never quite recovered from the grave wounding she took in her encounter with the legendary bear Oriel, Cavilina suffers from damaged lungs, bent wings, and cranial trauma. The first keeps her breathing shallow, weakening her endurance and leaving her more prone to illness. The second slows her flight and leaves it less stable than it should be, limiting her agility and requiring more effort on her part to remain airborne. The third leaves her with splitting headaches and bouts of nausea and coordination issues—and it probably isn't helping the whole memory thing.
Memory Issues: Speaking of! It's mentioned plenty above, but just to make it official: Cav suffers from severe memory loss as a side effect of the necklace's curse. She will forget those little things that most people remember—say, a conversation or a promise—within a couple of days. Anything beyond a month in the past will be as though it never happened. Where she was, where she came from, who she was with; it all fades away with time. She remembers nothing about Valencia or her life before then, she has no memory of the name Errath, and hasn't the slightest clue what happened that left her wounded—to her, she might as well have been born that way. This may be reversible, but that would take some doing. The necklace's curse has thoroughly worked its way into her mind.

FLUFF

Hobbies: 95% of the time? Hunting. The rest? Well, generally mucking about, honestly. Watching and/or pestering the party as they go about their duties happens to be a favorite of hers. She also plays weird bird games with arbitrary trinkets where the rules don't make sense and nothing really matters and watches unsuspecting creatures battle for victory in a competition they have no idea they're in before eating the loser. Y'know, the usual!

Favorites: Deer, small wolves, little Humans, and a few types of snakes. Definitely not the kind with the rattle-y bit, though. Those just taste weird. Shiny things—especially gemstones, though she'll settle for anything that isn't vaguely the color of Iron.

Quotes:
I imagine her constantly racking her tiny brain for her next words and occasionally getting tripped up, trailing off, and jumping back in all proud of herself for having remembered the term—only to realize she's lost the greater train of thought. Alternatingly really excited and way too sultry. Also, she totally does the Skaven thing—repeating words really quickly for no apparent reason—if you know, you know.
"You're... Very-very! Pretty! Your hair would make-make a lovely...Addition! To my nest! Can I... Take some?"
"What were we... I don't remem...ber–remember! ...Sorry."
"Wh-why is there always SO MUCH WATER?!"
"Unintelligible Bird Noises"

Theme:
 
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BASIC INFORMATION
Name: Shaxibis
Aliases: Delight
Age: 22
Gender: Female
Race: Tiefling
Hometown: Terebis/Soiteuax.
Class: The Theurgist


PERSONAL
Sexuality: Homosexual
High Concept: A Tiefling who made a deal with a devil, her soul to gain power so that she can help more of her own race.
Religion: N/A
Backstory:
Haha, well Delight isn't that amazing, originally born in the human capital as a tiefling she was put to work as soon as she could walk. She did this for about 16-18 years as she didn't really know what else she could do, eventually though she was bought by an elf who set her free and took her to Soiteaux whete she could learn. As she learned however the more angrier she got at how she was once treated and so made a deal with the devil. Her soul for power, so that she can help her brethren that are still slaves

PHYSICAL
Appearance:
images - 2020-12-31T160044.034.jpeg
Weapons & Armor:

Armour:
Delight usually wears dark coloured, leather armor around the important parts such as her chest, back, shoulders and top half of her legs, the rest is a cloth shirt so she can perform her spells much more easily. On her back armor underneath her tattered cape is her patrons symbol, while it looks like it was human made if inquired, Delight will obfuscate and dance around the topic.

Gloves:
While technically part of her armor, her gloves have a two fold use. One half is to do with how they don't cover her fingers this is because if her fingers are covered she can't cast her spells properly. Secondly due to being naturally strong as a tiefling she can just punch anyone who gets to close to her

Daggers:
Mostly used for cutting up ingredients and generally helping with her summoning and rituals, she can use these just in case

Items & Personal Belongings:

Book of Demonology:
An almost diary like book in which Delight copied everything she found on demons. The last few pages contain full information on her patron, written by the demon itself

Skills & Abilities:

Natural Learner:​
Ever since she was young she has had to learn skills through watching others from the side and has been able to pick skills up fairly quickly. Through this she knows how to read and write. While she can learn something quickly she won't always be able to put it into practice, for example she might know how to on paper swing a sword or parkour but that doesn't mean her body is able to do it​
​
Cooking:​
After being freed and making her way to Soiteaux, she has learned how to cook all sorts of good food in all sorts of different scenarios and so is able to help feed all sorts of people and pretty quickly as well​
​
Hide in Plain Sight:​
Due to being a tiefling and once upon a time a slave. She has learnt how to hide in plain sight as in she can walk around in cities, towns and other populated areas and unless she does something intentional to get people's attention often times people will just ignore her, as usually tieflings are beneath people's notice​
​

Spells & Magic:

Patrons Weave:
After asking her patron for help, her main forms of attacking summons up limbs of her patrons to help finish off a combo Delight has started. Rather than an amount of uses like her other abilities this has a time limit of about 1 to 2 minutes (adjustable if to op or to weak l). Afterwards she becomes incredibly drained and tired, unable to keep fighting.

Shadow Step:
Again only after asking her patron for help, Delight can step into any shadows or darkness and she will be teleported into any darkness that she can see. She can only use this about 10 times or so before she has to take a rest (again adjustable as needed)

N/A (She was only given the two spells)

Weaknesses:
Voices:
Ever since she made her deal with the devil, Delight everytime she has a decision to make the voices in her head get loud and start telling her to do evil or just go straight to a violent scenario

Tiefling:
As a tiefling, Delight suffers from major slurs from most if not all humans in a given town and most half-elves trying to fit in with humans. Additionally if in any human territory she doesn't feel safe even with others near her, as she is absolutely paranoid of getting kidnapped and being sold into slavery again

Inferiority Complex:
Due to having been a slave most of her life and being called useless and only good for that one thing, she's developed an inferiority Complex while she does her best to try and beat her problem or at least hide it, sometimes it just becomes to much to handle and she breaks down.

FLUFF (Optional)
Hobbies: Reading, Cooking, Learning things, Writing

Favorites:
Milk, the Colour purple, Any Food that is fresh and edible

Quote\s:
"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were my boss"

"Huh wha? No I'm not going to do just kill them"
Theme: (Musical theme.)
 
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Dark Tiefling.jpg​
Name: Kali Itsuren
Aliases: Little Shadow, Runt, Cheeky Bitch
Age: 32
Gender: Female
Race: Tiefling
Hometown: Bleakshear/Grayport
Class: The Shadow


PERSONAL
Sexuality: Bisexual
High Concept: A sarcastic assassin with money problems.
Religion: Agnostic.
Backstory:
Orphaned in the streets of Grayport, Kali spent the first 10 years of her life as an abused slave under a noble with an especially nasty prejudice against Tieflings. He had hoped for something more from the young girl, to be similarly built like her older brethren to perform labor. Degraded and abused because of her smaller figure, she endured it all before she was mistakenly forgotten in Bleakshear when she performed an escape attempt. For days, she endured the excruciating pain of the runes in her piercings, sending lightning through her veins, before finally succumbing to the pain and falling unconscious in an alley under a pouring storm.

Surprisingly, she wasn't dead. Instead, she found herself under a small shack, where another, older Tiefling was cleaning a bloody rag over warm water. He introduced himself as Mel Itsuren, a local of Bleakshear, and her apparent savior. It had been almost three days since she had fallen asleep in his bed, and he was worried that he may have to bury a young child. Kali, nameless at the time, barely spoke up to the older man, outside of her initial thanks to saving her. Kali was young, unsure about the whole world in general, and was stuck in an unknown town. Mel at the time felt sorry for the girl and tried to comfort her, but found a knife almost ready to stab his neck. Granted, it was a dull butter knife, but the action and fluidity of it impressed him all the same. He saw the fear in that girl's eyes, of how an open hand incited enough fear to cause her to almost attack him, even when he saved her.

It would be months, even years, before Kali got over her fears and trauma, but despite that, she was a quick learner under Mel's, and the entirety of Bleakshear's mercenary gangs, tutelage. For many, Mel was one of the town's local thieves that often took to robbing passing nobles several miles out of town to help those unfortunate, as well as a prominent mercenary with decent standing among his peers. Kali, named after her spitfire attitude in the beginning, had been taught the ins and outs of Bleakshear and their strict rules. Rules that were not known by outsiders or those of nobles within. It was a code of honor among thieves, scum, and mercenaries. To take care of one of their own. The tiefling was already considered as part of their brotherhood, one that nurtured her into the woman she is today. Her distrust remains to those outside of the mercenaries in Bleakshear, but her attitude and unease around others have been influenced by her rambunctious and carefree brothers and sisters, making her far more extroverted and friendly among mercenaries.

Mercenary mages gave her advice and books to learn magic, while rogues and assassins taught her the tools of the trade, often bringing her on missions, with Mel's permission of course, to observe their work. Kali took to the roguish arts with unnatural ease, learning the ins and outs of assassination, stealth, and poison crafting from various assassins, while thieves gave her on mission training in breaking into noble houses, doing quick second appraisals on what can make them the most money, and lockpicking. Con artists and pickpockets gave her lessons on stealing money or planting evidence to frame others, and the tricks of making a quick buck by using simple con games under the guise of being luck based. Mel's largest influence on her would most likely be his penny pinching habits.

All this knowledge and training molded Kali into who she is now. While on the surface, she remains as one of the more middling mercenary contracts for nobles and adventurers, she's established herself as one of the best assassins and smugglers in the underground market, making her one of the few Tieflings in the business to safely view the black market, thanks to her backing in Bleakshear and the 'mysterious noble' who managed to keep in line a dangerous, underworld assassin. In truth, the idea came from Mel, who also kept the blemishes of his slave life as a way to deter others from attempting to take her away, especially when traveling to parts of the world where they aren't as well known. Being seen as a slave working under their master's stead makes slavers rethink their attempts, but she was still warned to remain vigilant as some of them are backed by very powerful people, even with all her connections to the Grayport underworld.

But Kali remains to be one of the more approachable assassin, her outward personality being friendly even on less than pleasant jobs. She's mischievous to an extent, and a bit sarcastic, borne from years under the influence of Bleakshear's banditry and mercenaries, yet remains professional and completes whatever jobs she's hired to do. Rather, she attempts to stay true to her contracts, but will offer cheeky excuses when it isn't completed. However, her track record remains consistent in both mercenary work and underground contracts, so her reputation as a very solid choice for most jobs remains unblemished.

To my Little Shadow,

It was a strange feeling to die. The embrace of cold darkness, of the void that exists, yet does not. All things disappeared from sight and sounds silenced from a perpetual oblivion. It was more than just the loss of all sense, but the brush of nonexistence itself. As if all that makes a person vanished to their base elements and are nothing more than dust in an endless nothingness; consciousness evaporating to the spiraling depths of the unknown.

That was what the mages meant by darkness and its magic. It was treading the fine line of more than just death itself, but the concept of an absent world, a dimension that pertains to the lack of substance in its entirety. Shadow magic by itself is not inherently evil, but the maw of unknown knowledge that the abyss presents creates fear upon those who do not understand. This primal fear of a concept that overshadows and overwhelms the basic knowledge of all they know is a terrifying prospect. And rightfully so, for the dark hides all manners of secrets. It is everlasting, omnipresent, and mysterious. For all those who preach the light, they are not exempt from casting shadows.

Those who delve into the abyss are for those who lack the spark of light. They are the abandoned, the pariah, and the outcast. For it is their existence that lacks meaning and purpose. From all sides, they find no oasis in a desert made of their own being. Stranded and helpless in an island of light amid the black seas of infinity. Shadows are simply a concept, an existence, and yet not, that is molded by the mind of its observer. Every perspective shifts, for no one mind can truly comprehend an abyss, and it is their responsibility to study, understand, and utilize this perpetual entity that embraces those ignored by the light.

I hope this letter reaches you swiftly and safely, my Little Shadow. While we may no longer be among the living, the world is vast and plentiful of knowledge. Continue to train yourself in our craft and delve into the abyss as you've done years before. We remain proud of your contributions and give you our sincerest congratulations for the day that you uncover secrets that hide among the shadows of endless infinity.

And Happy Birthday.

With love and blessings,
Beauregard Hexim

Kali read the letter once more, her opaque blue and golden eyes shifting ever so slightly as she went down line by line. The lone candle by her bedside illuminated her small bedroom and the patter of the rain outside served to keep her mind from wandering as she lifted her eyes from the words.

The Tiefling had a small smile in her face, full of both melancholy and happiness. Those gold and blue eyes looked to the window into the rain, a gray blanket of clouds over Bleakshear's drab buildings, looking farther than what they could see. She couldn't see his grave this year, but she smiled all the same, folding the letter and stashing it into her desk stand.

“Thanks Uncle Hex,” she whispered as she leaned into the lone candle. “Happy Birthday to you too,” she said before blowing the candle out.

PHYSICAL
Kali stands smaller than the average height of her race at a mere 5'5, being less bulky and physically imposing and more lithe, sporting a physique meant for movement than strength. She sports several scars across her body and face as the remnants of her past as a slave, with bandage wraps around burns and lashings. While the scar on her right eye suggests that she is blind in that side, she simply has a case of heterochromia. The piercings she wears are from her time as a slave, formerly filled with powerful runic magic that forced her to submission, and serves as deterrents to would be kidnappers. Her horns are filed thinner than what they used to be as well. Her clothes are simple rags, worn from use and made of several stitched fabric.
Weapons & Armor:

Armor: Underneath her rags is a chainmail shirt and leather cuirass that keeps the metal from jostling too much. Her pants sport mild protection around her thighs and shin as cured leather, with special holsters to keep up to four throwing knives on each leg.

Weapons:
  • Curved Dagger: A favorite of any assassin thanks to their design. Thin, sharp, and surprisingly durable, this blade can slip in-between armor plates and gaps to deeply slash vital arteries and organs with ease. Thanks to its design and make, poison tends to stay longer on the blade and keep its lethality. The ringed handle lets experts spin the blade with enough speed to count as large throwing knives.
  • Throwing Knives: Small straight edged daggers meant to whistle silently through the air. Easy to carry and conceal, these can also serve as a parrying secondary weapon or as a ranged option to apply her deadly poisons. Has eight strapped to her thighs, four on each leg.

Items & Personal Belongings:
  • Poison Kit: From tranquilizers to lethal poisons, this portable kit has everything any aspiring assassin needs to subtly end someone's life with a bit of liquid death.
  • Necklace: Mel's present on her 18th birthday. Rune magic is laced within, letting her absorb a single blow from magic or weapons. It was stolen, obviously. No way that cheapskate would buy something this expensive.
  • Smoke bombs: Easily made with leftover materials, these can obscure and blind with the small iron filings within upon impact. Gunpowder added for a bit of a kick and noise.
  • Gunpowder: A pound of this explosive powder.
  • Thieves' Tools: A complete set for any would be thief in a small, handheld case. A set of lock picks, a mirror, a metal file, scissors, wires, and pliers. Meant to either arm traps or disable them.
  • Satchel: Made of simple, but durable leather, this pack has served her for years, and many more to come.
Skills & Abilities:
  • Eidetic Memory: Not to be confused with perfect memory, this special trait simply allows her to recall images more clearly in a longer time frame than others. When observing objects and people, the memory takes longer to fade away than normal, allowing her to easily and vividly refer to it without difficulty.
  • Infiltration: Growing up in the streets of Bleakshear, and from the various ne'er-do-wells within, has taught Kali that no fortress is impenetrable and no defense was perfect. Being able to observe specific flaws in buildings or observing the patterns of guards and their patrol routes has made her incredibly adept at breaking into other people's homes or safehouses. This can range from impulsive pursuits for a quick buck to extensive planning, several contingencies, and in depth preparation meant to penetrate a noble house. Either way, Kali's been shown to be capable in handling these types of jobs with a consistent success rate.
  • Knife Expert: From daggers to throwing knives, she's learned how to utilize these blades to bring down even the most armored foes. Years of practice and muscle memory has given her the skill and accuracy to make her shots count when it comes to most thrown blades, but simple straight edged throwing knives remain her favorite.
  • Herbal Specialist (Poison): Kali's no tree hugging elf. but she knows her way around special herbs meant to induce various effects on others. From stomach sickness and hallucinogens to lethal doses of poison to bring down orcs, and everything in between, she has the knowledge base to identify them and know where and how they are grown. This also extends on knowing the dosage necessary that can mean the difference between incapacitation and death, which may vary for each race.
  • Sleight of Hand: Born, raised, and taught by the various mercenaries and bandits within her hometown, she's learned how to deftly use her hands to deceive, steal, and kill. Pickpocketing is almost a requirement to learn whenever outsiders came as easy targets, and so is conning confident nobles out of their money with tricks in suspiciously simple games of luck. This also means being incredibly dexterous when it comes to lockpicking, handling traps that require a delicate touch, or planting items into other people's wares instead of taking it.
  • Parkour: With a body fit for a runner than a fighter, Kali's honed her ability to effortlessly traverse the urban and tight areas of cities from her time evading slavers, nobles, and authorities. Preferably, she'd rather not be noticed at all, but when a situation lets her choose to fight or run, she'll always choose run.
  • Stealth: Thanks to her small stature and lithe figure, she's naturally able to sneak past most people without making a sound. Add in a bit of magic and distractions and she's practically invisible to even the most vigilant guards and well defended fortresses.
Spells & Magic:
  • Shadow Walk: Meant as a way to circumvent trap filled corridors, locked rooms, and height, this magic lets her pick a piece of shadow 60ft from her, and teleport to it so long as she has line of sight.
  • Darkness: Simple, effective, and useful in most situations. This magic creates a 30ft diameter sphere that envelops an area in magical darkness, muffling sound and obscuring light sources not made of light magic. Thanks to her exceptional memory and practice, she doesn't require her sight to traverse the darkness when she's learned the layout of a location.
  • Ignite/Extinguish: A self explanatory and easy to use fire magic. She can extinguish flames up to the size of campfires from a distance or set objects on fire. Used more for subtlety rather than damage, she isn't adverse to letting her arsonist side run wild for a little bit.
Weaknesses:
A Thief, not a Fighter: Slavery was not kind to her physique. Her body is smaller than most and just as fragile. Compared to her resilient and physically powerful kin, she does not fit the mold, hence her chosen occupation. Any decent warrior's blow will easily put her into the ground.

Distrustful: Kali keeps others at arms' length, perhaps even several. Formerly enslaved and abused, she rarely trusts others to follow up on their kindness or suspects ulterior motives behind every action. While she may seem extroverted and friendly, she'll always try to avoid topics that pertain to herself or her occupation for fear of revealing information. This further goes to the fact that she dislikes physical contact with others and is very mindful of her personal space and her items. This does not mean she can't work with others, as she's worked with several mercenaries, bandits, and thieves in her career, just that she is wary of any form of kindness that has no catch. Kali remains professional and cooperative, but always has an escape plan should others decide that they may receive more of the reward if they cut the Tiefling from the split.

Tiefling: As a race of slaves in the human kingdoms, Kali is subjected to the racist treatment her race endures. Always wary of the gazes of humans and elves, she has very nervous paranoia when it comes to strolling during daylight and in public streets for fear of returning to her old life. It's come to the point of keeping the piercings she was forced to have in order to dissuade potential slavers from kidnapping an already owned slave.

Cheapskate: A minor weakness, but one that remains to be part of Kali for the longest time. She'd much rather fix any broken equipment herself by taking the time to learn the skill itself than buy a replacement, or go for future proofing her gear so she doesn't spend money needlessly. Despite being reasonably wealthy to be considered a middle class citizen by human standards, Kali still wears stitched rags and lives in Mel's shack. It would take a considerable amount of effort to get her to improve her state of living and clothes, or bargain sales for items she needs or likes. That said, she also has a minor gambling addiction as a means of release.

FLUFF
Hobbies:
Sewing and Leatherwork: When not out on the job, she tends to a small shop that repairs tears in clothing in the slums of Bleakshear, where others may be too poor to afford new clothes. She's currently practicing on leatherwork in her spare time to lighten expenses on new gear and get into the whole shoe business that others have started to do.

Gambling: Perhaps one of the best past times in Bleakshear, gambling is far more lucrative and dangerous around her neighborhood thanks to the plethora of bandits and mercenaries that frequent the area. It's all in good fun for the locals, but outsiders may be preyed upon by the various con artists that stalk the city, Kali included.

Favorites: Saving money, fruity alcohol, bargain sales on gear, daggers

Quote\s:
"How... How does someone even have that kind of money to burn? On a scarf?! It's not even that good looking! It's orange and green! Who'd even buy that?"
"Look, I know I promised to bring him alive, but you never said he had to be intact! How was I supposed to know that Faye were gonna chomp on his limbs? That doesn't warrant a pay cut!"
"If I do one meal a day... cut costs on eating tavern food... no gambling for a week... I should be able to afford this knife."
"Listen dude, if you wanted the dark assassin type, you shoulda paid extra for it. Dark leather doesn't come cheap, and they chafe."
Theme:
 
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  • Name: Elret Klaud
    Nickname/Alias: The Epoch, Kaideus
    Age: 108
    Gender: Male
    Race: Elf
    Hometown: Amaranthinos
    Class: Warlock
    Theme:



BASIC

PERSON

PHYS

EXTRA



code by RI.a
 
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  • Name:
    Valvir Kaimeros

    Aliases:
    Val, Demon

    Age:
    22

    Gender:
    Male

    Race:
    Tiefling

    Hometown:
    Viermont

    Class:
    Necromancer/Sorcerer mix
 
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Name: D'plora Al’Aria Taurus
Aliases: DAT, Librarian, Book Bear

--------------------------Demographics-----------------------------
Age: 86
Gender: Female
Race: Ice Elf
Class: Field Archivist

Hometown: Amaranthinos

High Concept: Archeologist, Explorer, Archivist, and BEAR?!?!
Sexuality: Bisexual
Religion: Elven, Pays homage to Xyra due to the forgotten past, and Thonera during Travels




  • TLDR:
    Elven Archivist Tasked with discovering, recording, and filling Libraries, temples, and museums. This is summed up in 3 steps.
    1) Obtaining permission to dig through current archives and consult with other archivists regarding a particular topic.
    2) Gathering supplies for the expedition and going out to find forgotten sites to search for possible artefacts and records.
    3) Study, observe, and document any findings. Things can be loaded up and brought back for further study.
    Accessory Objectives:
    1) Buy and Sell exotic Items to help fund the expedition
    2) Record the numerous cultures and discoveries of other races, these can sometimes be fascinating stories and tales elven nobles love to read about or study more.

    D'plora has been part of archivist expeditions for about 40 years. She started off as an environment specialist, worked her way through an apprenticeship, and finally achieved the rank of a Field Archivist. D'plora despite the amount of time reading books often yearns for the open road sketching the world as it is and wondering what it was.

    D'plora was a full Bred Ice Elf born to an upper Middle Class family. Her father often ran several business affairs while her mother often ran things at home. Much of D'plora's childhood she remembers with less than sweet memories. Usually she was held as a trophy child to show off her talents. Her father often pushed her to study magic hoping that she'd excel at it. When she was forced to study magic she optioned for Natural magic. Her parents however acted as if any other school would have been better, more flashier to show off. After several years studying magic she learned how to shapeshift. It wasn't easy by any stretch and was quite an accomplishment. Her Parents however had mixed feelings. While on one hand their daughter was able to perform the rare magic of shapeshifting, she decided she wanted to be a bear, while it brought fascination to the various guests her father brought over for business and parties, her family saw this as crazy wild thing. Her father decided that her wild behavior would be suited for working his many trading caravans bringing supplies from various towns across Eve Thelmar to the capital.

    D'plora traveled much of Astoria in the couple decades on the trail. She loved the road and the world. It was a breath of fresh air with fascinating oddities stacking up the further from home she wandered. From the great mountains, Frozen seas, luscious forests, vast plains, and sprawling cities everything was a breath of fresh air. She picked up several hobbies along the way and finally found a use for all of the art classes she took as a child sketching the world she traveled. It was on these caravans and trips she began to interact with capital archivists. The often rented ships or would travel with caravans for security. She became friendly with these expeditions and often helped give them directions once their paths separated. It was one of these expeditions that she met Calixus Sephrans. Calixus was a master Archivist who was particularly interested in forgotten settlements that existed on the very fringes of the great archive records. Calixus noticed D'plora's sketching skill and had remembered her help regarding navigation on a previous trip. He eventually offered her a few contracts if she would be interested in guiding and assisting them on future expeditions this was something D'plora could not pass up. Eventually he offered her an extensive apprenticeship. While the book reading, seminars, and cataloguing are not her cup of Marzon wine, the call of the wild is what she lives for!
 
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BASIC INFORMATION

Name:

Cooper

Aliases:

QuickSilver

Age: 24

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Hometown: Grayport

Class: Inquisitive Rogue/Assassin

PERSONAL

Sexuality: Heterosexual

High Concept:

There is no rest for the wicked, but always hope.

Religion:

While not devout or a zealot he does pay homage to the God of Death and wears the scythe of Hasmal around his neck often hidden beneath his clothes.

Backstory: His father was a Fisher, a rather successful one at that who went out with his crew every morning to bring back fine catches to Grayport time and time again. So successful they owned a stall in which Cooper worked with his Mother, this was where Cooper first learned lessons in trade and speech craft which left him with a quick tongue at a young age.
Times were good, they lived a humble life and Cooper talked often with his father who was determined to earn himself a seat amongst the fisher guild to join the wealthy class of merchants that were arising across human society. However the King’s tax on fish saw many of his competitors struggling, he himself putting in twice the work to keep them afloat. Yet that was when Cooper learned his most important lesson in life, was that good things wasn’t earned by hard work in Grayport but blood.
Murdered in the streets by what most excused as simple robbers, yet not only a day after we’re his competition demanding his shipping rights and even the stall Cooper worked at. But only 12 Cooper watched as men threatened her mother in the street and at home, steel on their belt and promises of murder and fires on their tongues. Sell their business to the city for a quarter of its worth or they’d end up the same.
She did and within a year they were poor and desolate, as the taxes only rose on all matters of things including property they were forced from their home. Times never got better from there, Cooper’s finding herself in a brothel to survive to provide any sorts of means of living for Cooper.
Yet that left Cooper with nothing else to do but mingle with the other children of the working girls, left to roam the streets unattended, among the other boys of the city he was teased for being the son of a whore; amongst the urchins and orphans of the city he was often beat.
For years this was his life, scrapping with this lad and that lad over this and that, soon finding himself joining along with other urchins and boys in petty thefts and crimes. Yet it all changed his sixteenth year, when a boy made jest about his mother promising to visit her with a silver. The next day Cooper greeted with a cutting knife in hand from supper and stuck it in his throat.
The lad was a orphaned boy with no family as many were, all those that witnessed knew not to break the code on the backstreets they lived, while the guards never knew of this act, the rest of the streets was quick to know.
The rogues of the city had plenty of work for him after that, the next few years he spent doing odd jobs for many of the less reputable inhabitants of Grayport, his moral flexibility proving to be a valuable asset.
He never shied away from any type of work as he grew into his adulthood and began his life as a career criminal. The gang he ran with showed many tricks of the trade such as remaining unseen and infiltration. His time as a hired sword honed is skill with the sword he wields ruthlessly with finesse and little mercy.
Yet as he grew into his adult years he grew tired simple robberies and playing the role as a hired thug for other rogues of the city, while such jobs kept him with coin they didn’t satisfy his true passion. There was always someone that needed a rival removed, willing to pay very well to see that it happens.
Cooper found a unsettling joy in this work, with nothing but a name and few details, he was left to figure out how to take the mans name. He loved the hunt, gathering information, investigating rumors and leads, eavesdropping and shadowing either his marks or those who were close to them. To him there was nothing better then scratching a marks name off his list.



Cooper made a name for himself amongst the world of Assassin’s, becoming known as “QuickSilver” by clients and others in his field. The name came from his swiftness and speed in which he was none for, as well for the tiny fortune he amassed in which he used to retire his mother into a nice house in Grayport.
In between jobs without a name on his list, Cooper now finds himself at an interesting time in his life where the world seems open to him, the road calling for his name for whichever adventure awaits.

PHYSICAL

Appearance:

Growing up he was always a smaller child amongst the boys, in his adulthood he stands five foot and eight inches tall. His eyes comes from his mother, deep brown that are always watching for the slightest of details. His skin is a light almond brown, tanned by the sun from the time he’s spent traveling the road. Black curly hair hangs down to just below his ear yet never too long to obscure his vision.
When in town he can often be seen wearing a simple tunic with a belt, always making it a habit to take up the clothing style of a towns locals and never carrying any visible weapons as to not cause attention; only carrying a dagger up his sleeve.

When traveling he wears dark boiled leather, always preferring to travel as light as possible, only adding a layer of chain mail underneath if he’s expecting battle. With a sword on his side and a dagger on his belt, with two others hidden about his person in which he can quickly access.
Skills & Abilities:
Stealth is what Cooper excels in, lightweight and deft footed every step he makes is nearly silent. He is easily missed in a crowd and only draws attention to himself when needed.
Cooper can hold his own with a sword, what he lacks in training he makes up for with ruthlessness and experience. He can say that all the experience he’s had with a blade was life or death, his life a testament itself to his skill with the sword. In every fight he’s seen he was always the first to action and never the one to lose his nerves, often able to remain calm and collected under pressure.
With the dagger however, he is deadly in close quarter combat, quick on his feet and quicker with his hands, he keeps one at all times up his sleeve.
One skill that he does take personal pride in is his charm and intuition, his words flow smoothly and always something clever. Years spent in taverns and mingling with all manners of people have made him a worldly man who can hold a conversation with just about anyone, which is often needed when gathering information and following leads. His perception and intuition is what he owes his success in his field, a man will tell their whole if you only know where to look.
Spells & Magic:
Cooper has no experience or knowledge of magic, he’s only recent just begun researching poisons and the like but even then he lacks any skill in alchemy to make his own.

Weaknesses:

Cooper lacks any knowledge of magic and finds its concepts hard to grasp, even with his studies of poisons have proven difficult. This is a handicap that he often ponders how to resolve.

Hobbies:

Luckily Cooper’s occupation allows him to mix business and pleasure, I’ve spends most of his times in Taverns, Brothels, and Gambling halls enjoying the best of shallow pleasures the night life has to offer. He finds great joy in carousing with likewise rouges and mercenaries in which he feels the most welcomed.

He never shies away from a good drinking game, often times he’s challenging the common room of a tavern to knife drinking games. Which is by far one of his favorite pass times besides bar room brawls.

Favorites:

Grayport was where he was born and raise and it is always where he’ll feel at home. Yet ever since he set up his mother in a fine estate in Grayport, he’s been drawn to the road, loving to travel and to explore the world and all it has to offer. Whenever he comes across a new town or city he must indulge in its culture, trying its signature meals, drinks, and of course women.

Quotes:

“Anxiety was a wonderful temperament, too much will cripple you, but once you conquer it no evil can touch you.”​
 
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