Fantasy Of Black Waters — Characters/Applications [apps closed]

[BasiliskVeranda]

OF BLACK WATERS: CHARACTER SHEETS
NEW CODE IF DESIRED
​

BBCode is getting borked in about a month. To combat that, I'm offering to replace the current already created character sheets with OG BBCode that I made, for you, because I don't want you to have to bother with it. PM me if you want me to help. Otherwise, we'll be losing a lot of stuff in this thread. =/

You can use plain-text if you want.

Please post your character sheet in the thread below. If Saboona or myself heart/emoji it, you're good.

We might PM you if we have questions/something has to change. Keep in mind, characters have to be a weak little stupid baby to start. They also have to make sense. That's basically it.

NOTE: CS are invite-only at this point in time. Thank you!

Styled Character Sheet:

Spoiler

[bg=transparent; background: #150a30; padding: 60px;][centerblock=45][CENTER][COLOR=#e2e3ea][FONT=BOOK ANTIQUA][SIZE=8][B][I]CHARACTER NAME[/I][/SIZE][/B][/FONT]
[FONT=verdana][I]"Defining quote that illustrates your character's personality"[/i][/font][/color][/centerblock]
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[IMG width="100%"]character image url or whatever[/IMG]
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[centerblock=80][BG=#150a30][border=1px solid #ddd][color=#fafafa][FONT=TIMES NEW ROMAN][SIZE=6][B][I]BASICS[/I][/SIZE][/B][/FONT][/color][/border][/bg][/centerblock]
[JUSTIFY][centerblock=80]
[b]Role ：[/b]Rogue/mage/princess/prince. You have freedom, you just have to make it make sense. For example, even if they've been a Knight their whole lives, there's no way for them to have managed to know how to fight every spooky thing ever. Try not to make your character Way Stronger Than Anyone Else's.
[b]Age ：[/b]If they're a kid, be aware they will be weaker than other characters.
[b]Gender ：
Sexuality ： [/b]If you want to include it.
[b]Personality ：[/b]Just a short description. Can be bullet points
[b]Physical Description ：[/b]Are they imposing? Diminutive? Lanky?
[b]Starting Weapon ：[/b]Everyone starts with a basic, basic weapon. A stick, a tiny dagger, a frying pan, ruddy sword. No Magical Sword of The Gods, thanks.
[b]Carrying ：[/b]Think about what can fit in a sack they'd carry. Normal shit. Can include money, but only if it makes sense. A princess would have cash. A mage might not. You can also include a mystical relic or something, but please expand on it in Player Pitch.
[b]Brief Backstory ：[/b]Be short and sweet.

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[centerblock=80][BG=#150a30][center][border=1px solid #ddd][color=#fafafa][FONT=TIMES NEW ROMAN][SIZE=6][B][I]DETAILS[/I][/SIZE][/B][/FONT][/color][/border][/center][/bg]

[B]Longer Bio ：[/B]Go for broke, if you want.
[B]Misc Info ：[/B]Important character info that doesn't fit anywhere else

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[IMG width="100%"]https://i.postimg.cc/RVZt9yXQ/obwah.jpg[/IMG][/center]
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Plain Text CS

Spoiler

~slap an image right here~

[FONT=book antiqua]Character Name

Role ：Rogue/mage/princess/prince. You have freedom, you just have to make it make sense. For example, even if they've been a Knight their whole lives, there's no way for them to have managed to know how to fight every spooky thing ever. Try not to make your character Way Stronger Than Anyone Else's.
Age ：If they're a kid, be aware they will be weaker than other characters.
Gender ：
Sexuality ： If you want to include it.
Personality ：Just a short description. Can be bullet points
Physical Description ：Are they imposing? Diminutive? Lanky?
Starting Weapon ：Everyone starts with a basic, basic weapon. A stick, a tiny dagger, a frying pan, ruddy sword. No Magical Sword of The Gods, thanks.
Carrying ：Think about what can fit in a sack they'd carry. Normal shit. Can include money, but only if it makes sense. A princess would have cash. A mage might not. You can also include a mystical relic or something, but please expand on it in Player Pitch.
Brief Backstory ：Be short and sweet.

Longer Bio ：Go for broke, if you want.
Misc Info ：Important character info that doesn't fit anywhere else

Player Pitch ：Here's where it gets juicy. Because everyone is basically level 1 and/or an idiot, I want to know where you see your character going. There will be points where EVERY character grows in power. I need to know what you plan on doing, even just a little bit. Do you want them to become an Uber Mage who can wield every element? Put it here. Turned into a sentient Horse? That's also fine. But it will take a while to get there. If you want to carry a Magic Item to start, make a case for it. :)

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[BELIAL.]

[class=biggie] width: 100%; max-width:1200px; margin: 0 auto; text-align: center; clear:both; font-size:12px; color: #fff; font-weight:100; background: #000 [/class] [class=whut] background: #000;[/class] [class=handsomedevil] background: #262626; text-align: left; width:32%; float:left; color: #fff; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speakeasy] letter-spacing: 3px; word-spacing: 2px; border-bottom: solid 10px #47302e; font-size:14px; background: #262626; padding:10px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #fff; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speaks] color: #fff; padding:15px; text-align: left; float:right; width:65%; background: #262626; font-size:14px; line-height:1.4; letter-spacing:1px; padding:20px; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=handsomedevil maxWidth="800px"] margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=whut maxWidth="800px"] margin: 0 auto; padding: 0px; width:97%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=biggie maxWidth="800px"] padding: 0px; margin: 0 auto; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=speaks maxWidth="800px"]margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=speakeasy maxWidth="800px"]margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box;[/class]
[div class=whut]
[div class=biggie]
[div class=speakeasy]
"Tis irrelevant how much you truly care about these given circumstances. Live or die, the world will go on without you. The grass will grow, the sun will set and madness will continue to rule the mind of man." [/div]

[div class=handsomedevil]

[/div][div class=speaks]

Valoria​

Role ：Black Witch
Age ：Twenty-four
Gender ：Female
Sexuality ： Heterosexual (but genuinely inexperienced)
Personality : Naive, reserved, cold, flighty, stubborn, awkward, good-hearted
Physical Description ：Small and well sculpted for a female, with wide hips and a supple breast. Her arms are a little shorter in ratio to her legs, which often are pressed up against her body to appear demure and smaller than her actual self. She’s about five feet, give or take. Her skin is smooth and pale, but there are hints of freckles beneath where the sun once kissed her shoulders and face. Large, grey eyes are framed by thick black lashes and a thin black brow. Her large, pink lips are in a pout or a frown most of the time. She hides her figure mostly in flowing cloaks or dresses too big and yet too small for her (handed down from her sisters).
Starting Weapon ：Black Willow Staff, gnarled and varnished in a tar-like sheen. Embodied with a single ruby at the crest of the staff. Simple, but a channeling object.
Carrying ：30 silver, 9 copper, 2 marble die, 3 knuckle bones, 2 bags of ‘unknown’ powder, bottle of something silver, small bag of crushed herbs, tiny ornate dagger, water pouch, bundles of jerky, gold ring, small bedroll, tinderbox

Brief Backstory ：Lori remembers playing in the sun during most of her very young years. Summers spent in the woods, by the lake. Though they are blurry, she remembers the warmth. At some point, things changed. Her mother kept her inside their dilapidated castle in the bog, melting into the ground and breaking from the top down. Lori was educated about her magical prowess from age seven upward, and when she wasn’t being taught how to be a powerful mage, she was treated like a servant in her own home. She rarely saw the sun again, her eldest sister was cruel, and her mother was aloof. Lori had her older sister, Agatha, to give her some kindness and leniency. Agatha read stories to Lori, keeping her interested in what the future would hold for her. Lori was convinced she’d spend her days in the darkness, growing resentment for the people she considered family.
At some point Lori had had enough. In the dead of night she stole a few of her mother’s precious things and slipped away into the night. Frustrated with the lack of direction in her life, the secrets being kept from her, and the lack of sunshine, Lori decided to make her own way. She hopes that her family never tries to find her again, and ideally she can make do with whatever life throws at her.
Longer Bio ：

Spoiler: Secrets of a Hidden World

Centuries ago, when the darkness still existed in the darkness, there was a woman. A beautiful, timid woman who wanted one thing in life-- to be powerful. She longed to wield the magic of the dark, for its allure called to her. This woman, the wife of the ruler of this land, was named Delia. She was married into a loveless arrangement, had suffered several miscarriages, and witnessed several plagues strip her land of its beauty.

Desperate for control, she made a deal with this darkness. As payment, the darkness stripped her of her beauty. Her mind. Her life. She became twisted in form, twisted in mind, and fled into the woods.

Her husband, still in love with her, tried to follow her into these woods. She summoned a great flood to deter him, and it swamped the lands. He had his slaves craft a boat, and he sailed toward her.

She summoned a great fog to deter him. With diligence, he carved his way through the thick air.

Arriving at a plot of land, he pleaded that she return to him. She, now mad and corrupt, could not return home. She did not want to. Her husband, to show his love, built her a grand castle in the middle of her bog. He gave her four slaves, all women, and promised to return every fourth year.

Solitude, to Delia, was exactly what she wanted. The darkness within her, it craved destruction. It craved murder. It craved blood. In the first year, she killed the first slave and used the blood to keep her young, and to keep the darkness satiated. In the second year, she killed the second slave. So on and so forth till the fourth year, when her husband returned. He was horrified to see the carnage and the dried blood that decorated the castle he had built for his wife. In terror, to truly see this monster she had become, he fled and never returned.

So Delia lived in the swamp, as the years passed on. The darkness claimed her youth, but refused to claim her life. She became shriveled and old, and in due time her legacy faded. Her husband told ghost stories of the madness that claimed his wife, and how in due time it claimed her life as well. Delia became a tale of terror that haunted the lands, and none who wandered into her swamp usually came out alive.

-

The first memory Lori has was of the sun. It’s warmth most of all, and the way her skin tickled after hours of playing. She enjoyed her time outside, running in the woods and by the lake. Playing in the stream, even by herself, was exciting to the young girl. But as for memories, that’s all Lori has of a life before solitude. Before servitude. Nothing shy of slavery, but the feeling was just as suffocating.

Her earliest vivid memory, after the sun, was of darkness. Her mother, keeping her inside. Making her clean, cook, brew potions and pick herbs in the moonlight. Her mother was strict on these rules, and Lori would never understand why.

Her sisters, much to the girl’s chagrin, were able to go out. Yvaine was the eldest, and the she loathed Lori. She played the role of bossy, bitchy and vindictive all in one. She’d whip her sister for slipping up on the slightest of things, and then play innocent the next moment. Agatha was a breath of fresh air, being the middle child, and took sympathy on Lori. She was the one to provide kindness in times of hardship, and would read the girl stories and fairy-tales. Lori clung to Agatha most of the time, but all the girls feared one person equally: their mother.
Del, refusing to go by anything other than Del or Mother, was a hard woman. Tense and strict, she made sure Lori was glued to her books when she wasn’t cleaning the ruined castle. She never explained why, or what the situation outside was, but Lori lived in torturous ignorance. She longed for the world outside, unaware of it; and it was unaware of her.

When Lori first turned into a cat, Del’s personality shifted a bit. She became harder, meaner. She pushed for Lori to transform into other animals-- a raven, a doe, a lion, but Lori couldn’t. Too long in the cat form, and too long pushing her abilities, and she was afraid she’d get stuck.

At some point, something broke within Lori. Perhaps it was a culmination of her Yvaine’s treatment, Del’s bipolar tendencies, or Agatha getting ill and becoming bedridden, but nevertheless the girl was spurred to leave this prison of hers. She felt sufficient with her powers to survive, as novice as they were (though she was truly unaware of the extent of it), and knew that her life would amount to nothing but studies and slavery. The situation was ludicrous to the girl, now into her adulthood, and she was determined to make the most of her time on this plane of existence.

So, in the dead of night, with an armful of her mother’s most precious things, food, and a few of Yvaine’s prized jewelry, Lori fled. The swamp was treacherous to escape, with deep waters and a thick fog. It took her what felt like weeks to finally make it out. She encountered creatures she’d only read about, by the skin of her knickers, and once she was outside… She was unsure of what to do.

Reading, practicing but existing in an isolated space for close to two decades had Lori extremely unprepared and overwhelmed at what to expect. The first thing that she found was that this ‘world’... was far different from her own. There were things people didn’t know, that she knew, and vice versa. It took her a year to get acquainted, as starving as she was. Lori traveled for a time, joining troupes and groups of travelers.

That was three years ago.

Misc Info ：Can turn into a cat. That’s about it. A little kitty. Also knows a few little sleight of hand tricks from staying with travelers on the road.

Player Pitch ：Lori is pretty useless at the moment. She can throw a few offensive spells, an energy bolt or two, but she tires easily. Her most defining spell is being able to transfigure into a cat (which ends up being less due to magic and more due to her own parentage). She carries with her some knuckle bones and a few unknown powders and a bottle that come from her mother (stuff she pretends to know about but really only has a vague idea what of). Whatever they are, they are powerful. The silver bottle is, itself, a giant bomb ready to explode in a puff of noxious silver gas (hopefully no one pushes her down and makes the bottle break).

Later, ideally, she grapples with the idea that she is a LOT more powerful than she thinks. But this requires training, practice and faith in her own self. She's stunted by her lack of confidence but ideally that will grow into something else entirely. At her full power, she'll be very strong. As in, parent-may-be-a-deity-or-ancient-powerful-witch. If she goes down a more 'hero' fledged route, she'll be able to balance her blossoming powers and her relationships with the group members. A great ally, at that. If she goes down a bad path, with evil choices and an inkling toward less altruistic things, she could become everything her mother MAY have wanted. Evil all wrapped up in a powerful suit with no allegiances and only the world to burn.

So, like, be careful with her please.


[/div]
[/div]
[div class=biggie]
[div class=speakeasy]
"But I don't intend to wait for my end in the darkness. I embrace the light with a spiteful glare, and I will confront it with every fiber of my being and every bit of power in my blood. " [/div][/div]

[/div]

 

[BasiliskVeranda]

FLETCHER NILES CAMBRIA
"What's the worst that could happen—I die? Been there, done that. Anyways, who wants to get drunk and do crimes?" ​

BASICS

Role ：Thief/eventual guide (player choices depending)
Age ：24 (Probably much older, considering he took a dirt nap for a bit)
Gender ：Male
Sexuality ： Pretty people are pretty people.
Personality ：Fletcher is fun, cheeky, and easy-going. He's a good drinking partner, friend to moms everywhere (until he steals their baked goods), and good at comforting people. He lacks fear; he's died once before, it's not like he's afraid to get hurt. Fletcher is a fun-seeker. He can be reckless, impulsive, and irreverent.

Physical Description ：Fletcher is lithe and a tad short for a guy. Agility is the name of the game, so his body-type lends itself well. One could almost call him pretty until he opens his stupid mouth and lets a bunch of curse words spill out like a plague. Because he's always on the move, he's often disheveled. Imagine you threw a nobleman down a flight of stairs, his clothes got torn up by hellhounds, and then he was dropped off at an eclectic bizarre to fix his wardrobe.

Nothing he wears really matches.

Starting Weapon ：Fletcher has two rudimentary daggers. He takes care of his blades, but they're fairly cheap and will probably fracture at some point.

Carrying ：1 Blood stained spoon, 1 tin containing gourmet chocolates (stolen), several medical kits (stolen), a lock picking set (stolen), 1 flask with strong alcohol (stolen), 1 leather water pouch, needle and thread, 3 different rare gems (stolen), an assortment of worthless shiny objects (duh), dried berries and fruits (collected), lavender-tallow soap (stolen).

Brief Backstory ：For reasons unknown, he rose from the grave, unceremoniously digging his way out of his shallow ditch. All memories before this time are a blur. After his mass exodus from his dirt nap, he managed to steal his way to some semblance of functional survivalism. However, he never managed to settle down, break his penchant for kleptomania, or find out who he was before.

Fletcher has always been a vagabond—at least that's what he remembers. To him, this is just one more adventure. He has no home, no family that he knows of, no town he remembers growing up in, no idea why he got a second chance, and no idea why he carries this stupid spoon.

Honestly, he doesn't want to know who he was before he was revived, or what revived him. The past is the past, and the now is really all that matters.

DETAILS

Longer Bio ：

Spoiler

Fletcher was a studious boy growing up in a small village orbiting Tallis. His ill mother—Amalia Cambria—spared no expense to help him get a proper education, despite their modest means. Fat lot of good it did her, as her coin would've been better spent on her health. However, Amalia thought that if Fletcher became scholarly, he could make anything of his life that he wanted. That was her hope for him, but he never truly attached to the idea.

Fletcher wasn't very aware of how bad her fragility was until much later, and at that point, she was already too far gone. Fletcher took it upon himself to leave her in the care of a kindly neighbor, promising to return with help. Sadly, 'help' costs a lot of coin, and he had to take to stealing. Fletcher did just that, and found himself far away from home. Very shortly after, he found himself in a great deal of trouble, and poorer than he started.

Rotting in a distant jail cell in irons for a time, he was bailed out by Tybalt, and agreed to help him infiltrate the Claerview Mines in exchange for freedom and treasure. He very much came in handy where the old, glyphed locks were concerned (natural talent), and for his efforts he found himself very much dead.

Upon his return home, with nothing to show for his efforts, his very own mother attacked him; the touch of what they'd wrought extended even to her.

Fletcher has no idea this is his origin story, and doesn't want to know. Whether he finds Tybalt's initial penned letter or not, all he knows is that he has to keep moving forward.

He has nothing else but the horizon to greet him each day, and he's perfectly happy with that.

Misc Info ：Fletcher has a soft spot for children and cats, and will protect both regardless of anyone else's safety. As he has no fear, he makes amusing—if dangerous—decisions. He enjoys stealing things; it's now a compulsion, and will do so for bedding/new clothes/things he needs/shiny things. He won't steal from people he thinks have too little already/he likes.

Player Pitch ：
Fletcher, fun, genial, precocious Fletcher. He's not what he seems, but it's not like he knew that either. When he rose from the grave, something followed. Or, perhaps, he rose from the grave to provide a host for what lives in his skin. He can't be certain, and should the demon take hold fully, he possibly won't ever find the answer anyways.

Spoiler

The Black Minister — Veldspar T'Baal Arduint (Vel). A demon who decided to hijack this poor idiot's body. He's sarcastic, impulsive, dangerous, flirtatious, and often missing when you need him most. He will either help the group, or try to sabotage them, at any given point. Depends on his mood. He has a caveat: he has to tell the truth, always. But you have to ask the right questions.

He has one goal: Sacrifice the party to his dark God: The Lord of Nightmares (a boss, but not The Boss). The upside is that, depending on how this plays out, you will end up facing The Lord of Nightmares anyways. He's got the good loot, and rad power-ups. The downside is you may not be powerful enough by the time you get there, and Vel will do his utmost best to keep you as weak/confused as possible for that purpose.

Vel can be a good friend and worthy companion; there's a lot more 'Fletcher' there than he says there is—possessions aren't always perfect replacements. Think of Vel/Fletcher as a poorly mixed stew, or a symbiotic amalgamate. Play on his natural sympathy for children and cats to coerce him into doing things.

If the party treats Vel right and outlines how Fletcher himself is a destined hero (and fated to die...again), so he'll be without a body, he'll probably decide to stop being shitty.

Vel is hard to kill. When he manifests his strength in full, he can phase into black smoke, persuade stupid people, and summon lesser monsters to fight. He's very lazy, and could probably use some form of black magic if he felt like it. He'd rather someone else fight his battles.

His greatest strength is knowledge. His greatest vice is laziness/needing to be amused.

You are free to use Vel as a tool for this game, if he ends up taking ahold of Fletcher. You can propose knowledge that he should be aware of. If the situation calls for it and I'm not around, you are free to pen his dialog in your post.

Try to keep him in-character: he MUST tell the truth, you MUST ask the right questions, he flirts way too much, and he loves cats.

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[RayPurchase]

[class=biggie] width: 100%; max-width:1200px; margin: 0 auto; text-align: center; clear:both; font-size:12px; color: #fff; font-weight:100; background: #000 [/class] [class=whut] background: #000;[/class] [class=handsomedevil] background: #262626; text-align: left; width:32%; float:left; color: #fff; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speakeasy] letter-spacing: 3px; word-spacing: 2px; border-bottom: solid 10px #47302e; font-size:14px; background: #262626; padding:10px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #fff; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speaks] color: #fff; padding:15px; text-align: left; float:right; width:65%; background: #262626; font-size:14px; line-height:1.4; letter-spacing:1px; padding:20px; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=handsomedevil maxWidth="800px"] margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=whut maxWidth="800px"] margin: 0 auto; padding: 0px; width:97%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=biggie maxWidth="800px"] padding: 0px; margin: 0 auto; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=speaks maxWidth="800px"]margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=speakeasy maxWidth="800px"]margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box;[/class]
[div class=whut]
[div class=biggie]
[div class=speakeasy]
"The best index to a person's character is how he treats people who can't do him any good, and how he treats people who can't fight back "[/div]

[div class=handsomedevil]

[/div][div class=speaks]

’Ser’ Rickard​

Role ：Knight (In training)/Mercenary/Whatever pays the bills
Age ： 25
Gender ：Male
Sexuality ： Hetereosexual
Personality ： Filled with a degree of swagger and self confidence that he surely has no right to have, and on more than one occasion has resulted in him landing in a heap of trouble. Gregarious. Keen drinker.
Physical Description ： Rickard stands at a reasonably impressive 5”11 (Especially given the general poor diet and breeding of anyone who isn’t at least a Baron). Broad of shoulder and fleet of foot, he has a good blend of speed and strength whilst not particularly excelling in either area. Give it a thousand years and he would have made a decent Rugby Fly-Half, but seeing as how organised sport at this point consists of 2 villages beating the shit out of each other over possession of a inflated pig’s bladder, alas whatever sporting potential he may have had is wasted in this time. His light brown/dirty blonde hair is worn closely cropped on the sides of his head, with the top thick and tousselled. His light blue eyes are studded within his thickset features. All in all it’s caused a few girls to go crazy, and for him to develop what he’s been told is a very ‘punchable’ face. He’s often found wearing his mismatch of steel and padded armour. Losing the steel if he’s feeling in a casual mood, but you never know where the next knife is going to come from, there are jealous husbands and furious fathers everywhere these days.
Starting Weapon ： A Steel Longsword, and a plain grey heater shield. They’re perfectly adequate, fine even. The sword is sharp and can lop of an arm, and the shield is in pretty good condition (though has a few good nicks). They’re not exactly going to acquire a name for themselves, but at the same time they’re perfectly usable in most situations.
Carrying ： 12 Silver Pieces, 17 Copper Pieces, a Tinder Box, water skin, hardtack, smoked fish strips, bedroll, 1 lute
Brief Backstory ：Rickard has been travelling for the last 8 years, near enough constantly on the move, staying in one place long enough to earn a few coin, clean the road off of him, and partake in a few local pleasures before riding off again in search of pastures new, rarely if ever returning to a place he’s visited. He’s not so much running from anything, as opposed to hastily leaving the messes he has created along the way. He has a history of acting first and only appreciating the consequences when it is far too late and the damage is well and truly done. To think it started quite well for him, chosen as a squire after saving a Knight from an untimely end having been caught in bog, his quick wits allowing him a chance of exceeding the station his birth had destined him for. However that door has almost entirely closed now. Whilst he passes himself off as Sir Rickard to each new place he arrives at, there was no knighting ceremony, his actions made sure of that, and so as far as he knows he is the oldest squire in all the land (Though ‘Sir’ Rickard keeps that under wraps).

He makes his coin through odd jobs, whether it be helping villages with bandit problems, or very occasionally something more serious (Though he always asks for cash in advance in this instance). It’s a tiring life, working for your next meal token with little to show for by the time expenses are paid for, and he still dreams of achieving… well anything, but for now it’s a better deal than most have.

Longer Bio ：Many sordid secrets and mistakes have been made along the way (WIP)
Misc Info ：

Player Pitch ：At the present moment in time, Rickard is a decent fighter. Put him up against your average peasant coming at you with the family sword that’s more rust than edge, or a wooden cudgel, and he’ll disarm the man and leave him running. However put him up against a proper knight and he’ll more than likely get his arse kicked in a one on one fight, he’s just lucky that he disguises this through a lot of verbal bullshitting and buckets of confidence.

The way I see Rickard going is that essentially a two fold path is going to open up for him. Down one lies riches and the eventual decay of any sort of moral compass that he has left within him. Growing up poor as hell, the offer of riches and a life without having to worry about hunger, poverty or sickness are pretty tempting, even if offered by some sort of unearthly being with a seriously evil agenda. Without any sort of outside guidance and the formation of more of a conscience this is perhaps the most likely path he’ll go down. Putting the pursuit of wealth and his own happiness above that of near enough anyone else who hasn’t bound to him along the way.

Then there is the other route. That of putting the material to one side, in favour of a less intrinsic legacy, of an actual Sir Rickard, a true knight. He still grew up with these tales, and during his time in service to his own Knightly master, the idea of the Knightly virtues were instilled within him, even if they have fallen by the wayside in more recent times. Currently behind his womanising, and occasionally thieving ways, he is not inherently bad or evil, more misguided. There is the part of him however that seeks the adoration and to be the subject of bards’ tales, To be the well scrubbed and shining armour clad hero, even if it means putting aside the easier path to money and a lavish life.

[/div]
[/div]
[div class=biggie]
[div class=speakeasy]
Money doesn't buy you happiness, but it does mean you can forget about being hungry, cold, homeless or sick ever again[/div][/div]

[/div]

 

[Rusty of Shackleford]

Ser Addam

Role ：Knight
Age ：21
Gender ：Male
Sexuality ： Heterosexual
Personality ：Born among the common folk, Addam retains much of the innocence he had in his youth. He was raised under traditional values of hard work and respect, and becoming a knight didn't change that. He has a very down to earth view of the world, and has no grand ambitions or delusions of a higher destiny. He just wants to help who he can, settle down somewhere nice, and raise a family. While Addam almost seems to ooze the aura of an uneducated peasant, he is actually quite intelligent and learned, though he isn't the best at reading, and is still learning in that regard.
Physical Description ：While a bit thin, he is very much in good shape, having spent most of his childhood training.
Starting Weapon ：An old sword that was given to Addam upon his knighting. It's obviously well-used, but he's been able to get it looking somewhat decent through some hard work.
Carrying ：Just some gold, provisions, a tent, flint and steel, and other assorted traveling necessities.
Brief Backstory : Addam was not born to the gentry. Instead, he was the only son of a humble blacksmith in a tiny village. But for some reason, the local Count uplifted the boy, and despite his humble beginnings, Addam was treated with the upmost respect by his liege. Upon his twenty first birthday, Addam was knighted, and his first task seemed quite simple. The Count's son had gone missing a week before, during a visit to his aunt. Addam was told to find him, and to look in the village of Medreen, where the young man was last seen.

Longer Bio ：Go for broke, if you want.
Misc Info ：Addam has no surname, as he has yet to choose one, an the same could be said for his coat of arms.

Player Pitch ：Addam is an unlikely hero. He has a very simple worldview, and has no desires to be anything more than a simple knight. But destiny has something in store for him. For Addam is the descendent of King Leon, the legendary monarch of stories. It's said that the seed of Leon would once again united Seldona, and mysterious forces intend on ensuring Addam will fufill this prophecy, no matter the concequence to those around the knight.

(Sorry if this is a bit bare! I've had a really long week, and I just wanted to get this up as soon as I could.)

 

[mothspit]

[class=biggie] width: 100%; max-width:1200px; margin: 0 auto; text-align: center; clear:both; font-size:12px; color: #fff; font-weight:100; background: #000 [/class] [class=whut] background: #000;[/class] [class=handsomedevil] background: #262626; text-align: left; width:32%; float:left; color: #fff; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speakeasy] letter-spacing: 3px; word-spacing: 2px; border-bottom: solid 10px #47302e; font-size:14px; background: #262626; padding:10px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #fff; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speaks] color: #fff; padding:15px; text-align: left; float:right; width:65%; background: #262626; font-size:14px; line-height:1.4; letter-spacing:1px; padding:20px; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=handsomedevil maxWidth="800px"] margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=whut maxWidth="800px"] margin: 0 auto; padding: 0px; width:97%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=biggie maxWidth="800px"] padding: 0px; margin: 0 auto; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=speaks maxWidth="800px"]margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=speakeasy maxWidth="800px"]margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box;[/class]
[div class=whut]
[div class=biggie]
[div class=speakeasy]
"I am not a religious woman, for prayers and the gods that hear them are empty. Though, if I perish and find my soul in the aether of worlds beyond, and there is a Hell, surely I am meant for it." [/div]

[div class=handsomedevil]



[/div][div class=speaks]

Gwyndilin Abernathy ​

Role ： Rogue
Age ：23
Gender ：Cis Woman
Sexuality ： Pansexual
Personality ： Rough around the edges with a heart of gold. Devils advocate. Snarky, quick witted, and intimidating. Sucker for a pretty face (especially women.) Prone to melancholy when no ones watching. Gwyn is someone who wants to do better, but is just too good at being bad.

Physical Description ：Gwyn was fortunate enough to be born of her villages most beautiful, yet undoubtedly inherited her fathers stern brow and cut cheeks. She stands full at 5'6", with a thin, but wiry frame. Usually wears standard commoner clothing, beneath rudimentary, worn studded leather armour, chipped and scarred from years of battle. Her dark hair is one of few features well kept, half-braided, but tied back during periods of work. Her broad shoulders and alluring posture make her a ripe candidate for nobility, had she not fell into a life of thievery, bloodshed, and debauchery. She might have even been courted and wed by a lecherous knight by now, though her scowl has been know to scare away most within her range.

Starting Weapon ： A set of small iron daggers, stored sporadically throughout her garb.
Carrying ：Some coin, a pouch of tobacco and a wooden pipe, dried goat jerky, a bundle of rope, and a needle and thread.

Brief Backstory ：Gwyn once belonged to an independent mercenary group a handful of years ago now, acting as their captain and leading them into battles, commissioned by various nobles across the land. When nearly all of them perished during one of these battles, Gwyn blamed herself for their deaths, and accrued many a sleepless night haunted by their cries of agony. She later disbanded the troupe, in fear of losing what little of them was left. These days, she chooses to travel the countryside alone, taking up most odd jobs thrown her way.

Longer Bio ：

Spoiler: A Fools Errand

Gwyn was born to a lecherous nobleman, prone to bestowing bastards to any manner of young women foolish enough to be charmed by him. Her mother would pass during the birth, and left with no one willing enough to take care of the child, Gwyn was passed onto a knight apart of the nobleman's company-- Markis Abernathy. His hand had a grasp of iron, and rather than raise her as a delicate creature to be seen and not heard, his new child would become the son he never had. As the years passed, tasked with raising a young child among killers and brawlers, Gwyn's adoptive father chose not to shield her from this reality; Instead, she often trained among them, having acquired the title of 'little sister' to the knights.

Though she was never properly knighted (as women were seen as lesser for taking on the jobs of men) she often accompanied them in battle, never the type to sit at home, waiting for their return. Of course, she inherited their ways in more than one, soon leaving behind a trail of broken hearts once she came into her young adulthood. Despite her father's best efforts, Gwyn spent these years in a perpetual state of teenage rebellion-- Sneaking away in the night to visit the daughters of unsuspecting fathers, smuggling herself among the nobles to infiltrate their private gatherings, taking on individual contracts, and nearly leading herself to the gallows with every antic. And though he scolded her, subjected her to physical punishment, or forbid her from leaving home, it only emboldened her behavior.

All that would change once her father passed, killed on the front lines of battle. Without him to protect her from the scathing gaze of the nobles back home, Gwyn chose not to return with her company. Instead, she and a few of her brethren chose to travel alone, creating their own band of mercenaries with Gwyn acting as their captain. Together, they made a name for themselves winning the battles of lesser royalties, spending most of their free time at local taverns after each victory. Gwyn was heralded among her troupe as an excellent fighter and an even better leader, and soon contracts from all across the countryside fell into her lap. With newfound inflated sense of worth, and the promise of insurmountable coin, Gwyn took on each contract indiscriminately, often pushing her company to their limits without time to prepare. And this would be their downfall..

"I scribe these sins so that my mind might, for one blasted night, allow me to forget them.

My hand trembles, and I cannot stop the bearing of my soul, for I can hear my brothers now. Lord, how I hear them. How I remember the hot, flowing sanguine on my hands, their voices crying out in the mist for me, and how I could not save them.

I gave my men naught the comfort of their beds, their wives, or their children. I let naught them feel the comfort of a nights rest, or the warmth of a flowing river bathed in sun. I let them naught find recourse in drink, or pipe, or whores. I only stole from them all they would give me. They grew ill, they grew weak, and still I demanded from them. When they looked to me, their cap'n, for answers, I could only stare in my hands the coin I selfishly hoarded.

Father, I wish your spirit would come to me this night. To guide and scold me the way you always have. Had I heeded your lessons my brothers might walk this earth still. I was foolish to think you would be proud of all that I achieved, for what is there to be prideful of now? I am fortunate that my impropriety took naught them all, but it is not enough to quell the phantoms that come to me at my most shameful.

I stand here at their graves, so that these words might later be transcribed above mine:

I am sorry.

And I will be sorry till the end of days."

Misc Info ：

Player Pitch ：Gwyn is a woman who wishes to lead a better life, but always finds herself doing what she does best-- Cracking skulls and drinking far too heavily. It's not necessarily intentional, but this way of life is all she has ever known, and the prospect of starting over again is somewhat frightening. I think there are a few ways Gwyn's future can play out. Because she harbors a lot of self-hatred for essentially getting her friends killed, her journey could consist of trying to reconcile her past and break the self-destructive habits for the better.

I also see her buckling down and becoming even more stubborn than before, pushing herself to her limits like she did her company, ultimately leading either to her death, or becoming a villain type. Perhaps she returns home to her biological father, usurps him, and leads a life of wealth and tyranny. She's never deliberately cruel, but has been known to be easily influenced by money or similar vices.

Ultimately, her fate is undecided and I have faith in your capable hands to decide it.


[/div]
[/div]
[div class=biggie]
[div class=speakeasy]
"I am not so easily bested by beast or man, but for you, darling, I'll make an exception." [/div][/div]

[/div]

 

[Archie]

[class=biggie] width: 100%; max-width:1200px; margin: 0 auto; text-align: center; clear:both; font-size:12px; color: #fff; font-weight:100; background: #000 [/class] [class=whut] background: #000;[/class] [class=handsomedevil] background: #262626; text-align: left; width:32%; float:left; color: #fff; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speakeasy] letter-spacing: 3px; word-spacing: 2px; border-bottom: solid 10px #47302e; font-size:14px; background: #262626; padding:10px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #fff; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speaks] color: #fff; padding:15px; text-align: left; float:right; width:65%; background: #262626; font-size:14px; line-height:1.4; letter-spacing:1px; padding:20px; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=handsomedevil maxWidth="800px"] margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=whut maxWidth="800px"] margin: 0 auto; padding: 0px; width:97%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=biggie maxWidth="800px"] padding: 0px; margin: 0 auto; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=speaks maxWidth="800px"]margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=speakeasy maxWidth="800px"]margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box;[/class]
[div class=whut]
[div class=biggie]
[div class=speakeasy]
"Oh, you'll get over it!"[/div]

[div class=handsomedevil]

[/div][div class=speaks]

Baldur Kloss​

Role ： Executioner's son/assistant
Age ： 19
Gender ： Male
Sexuality ： It moves?
Personality ： Baldur started helping his father torture and kill people as his tool bearer as young as 8. By 12, he was helping with the interrogations, and by 14 was performing decapitations whenever a town couldn't afford to hire his father. One might think Baldur would grow up traumatized, but nothing could be further from the truth. Like many children who grow up around atrocity and brutality, Baldur has grown numb to them. Killing to Baldur is as natural as breathing, maiming is as natural as whipping cattle or prodding horses. Since the crowd cheers whenever he and his father publicly torture and then kill criminals, he assumes everyone believes the act to be as natural as he does. On the flip side, having seen hundreds of people die - dozens by his own hand - he is aware of his own mortality. Baldur often compares death to falling leaves - something inevitable and soon to happen.

Conscious of how short life is and numb to most of life's horrors, Baldur is incapable of staying serious about anything. He lives in a constant state of amusement, finding almost any situation to be funny. He jokes often about the most taboo subjects, and has no filter. Having been a pariah his whole life simply because of who his father is, Baldur isn't capable of perceiving non-verbal cues of discomfort or disapproval. Having always been given the "side eye" by people, he simply assumes that's the normal way that people stare. He doesn't understand why people get so riled up and stressed out over "small" things like a death in the family, one's house burning down, or the starvation of a child because of a bad harvest. At least you're not being sentenced to death by 1,000 cuts!

Baldur is a huge fan of heroic tales and bard's songs, and an enthusiastic storyteller himself. The line between fantasy and reality is blured to him, because he has never lived a normal life and doesn't know many "ordinary" people. Further he is so desensitized to harm and negative consequences that he doesn't understand why the knight can't stand up to the dragon by himself. Worst comes to worst, he'll just get eaten, and that's a relatively quick and painless way to die. Because of this, Baldur is adamant that most of the fairy tales he has read and heard actually happened, and anyone who denies it is just being negative and contrary for no reason. He does not think that the heroes of legend and their feats are so far removed from those of ordinary people, which is why he is so keen on leaving his town and adventuring. Baldur loves to write, but isn't very good at it.

Extremely direct, Baldur is the grandmaster of pissing people off. In his mind, words couldn't possibly hurt as much as a few minutes on the rack, so what's the big deal? At the same time, if you can roll with the punches, Baldur is a load of fun. Completely uninhibted, drunk or sober, Baldur is willing to go anywhere or do anything for a good time.

In short, most people see death and pain as exceptions to the norm, to be avoided. Having grown up being around them, Baldur's worldview is flipped - he sees death and misery as the norm, and anything that isn't those things as a beautiful moment to be cherished and enjoyed.


Physical Description ： Like his father, Baldur is an almost gigantic man, standing six feet and six inches tall. This is for a reason - executioners were much more likely to find work if they had an imposing presence. Since they were some of the few commoners able to afford a good supply of protein and lived a physically active lifestyle, they also tended to be quite buff and Baldur is no exception. He has a small wound on his stomach from being stabbed.
Starting Weapon ： A longsword, usually used for chopping heads off. Curved, because it's easier to cut that way. Knowing from his own experience and that of his father that most fights end up on the ground, he also has brought a dagger with him.
Carrying ： A few gold coins, his father's old set of chainmail, some rope, and tooth/fingernail pulling tongs. The last 2 are in case he needs to make money along the way.
Brief Backstory ： Baldur was the son of Jurgen Kloss, a mercenary turned travelling executioner. With no one willing to play with an executioner's son, Baldur grew up reading heroic tales and helping his father "at work". Outcasts because of their profession, he and his father had no other company, and spent their free time wrestling and telling tall tales. Having never lived a normal life or known normal people, fantasies seemed realistic to Baldur, and he always dreamed of being a bard or an adventurer. When Baldur was old enough, his father sent him on jobs of his own out of town, where he felt lonely not having his father there. This only increased his curiosity in the outside world, and pushed him to go to taverns, where he got into many fights against townspeople who didn't want someone of his profession drinking at their watering holes. Having been trained by his father in grappling, Baldur could easily beat unarmed people who had no idea what to do on the ground - this only increased his self-confidence and drove him ever closer to his dreams of working as a travelling fighter, like in the bard's songs. Recently, the incompetent lord of Medreen was offering just that kind of work, leading Baldur to abandon his father and chase his own vision of the future.

Longer Bio ： Baldur was the son of Jurgen and Tilda Kloss, the latter of whom died in childbirth. Jurgen was a mercenary from a faraway land who found the pay as an executioner much better. A gruff and cynical man, jaded by years of war, Jurgen didn't mind the isolation, nor killing for a living. Baldur didn't have anyone to play with when he was young. Executioners tended to be employed "full time" by one town who could afford them (it was seen as an honor if a town had its "own" executioner), but didn't always have someone to interrogate or kill. As a result, they spent much time travelling to poorer towns who couldn't afford a full time executioner, ruining whatever chance Baldur had to play with the other kids. He didn't mind this - his father kept him entertained instead with his war stories. Baldur also learned to read, and devoured tales of adventure. Unlike almost all other children, it never occured to Baldur that these tales were fantastic or even a little exaggerated. Being constantly on the move, never lacking for money or coin, and living an actually surreal lifestyle, the idea of travelling heroes performing immense feats of with the blade always seemed realistic to Baldur.

When he was old enough, Baldur carried tools for his father and watched him do his work. Coming into contact with other humans, Baldur started to acquire their looks of pity (for being raised by an executioner) and disgust. With no baseline to compare this to, he simply assumed their scowls were the normal way people looked at each other. How odd! At 12, Baldur was strong enough to swing a real sword and use surgical tools, and his father had him help out here and there, always under supervision. Jurgen also started training Baldur in the martial art from his homeland, which involved less swordplay and more grappling/wrestling, soemthing that both he and Baldur were good at because of their size. Jurgen told Baldur that most fights ended up on the ground in his experience, and that his survival depended on being able to "fold clothes with people inside them". The reasons for teaching Baldur these skills were threefold. First, joint locks and strangling as a form of torture did not draw blood or create bruises. Knowing how to inflict pain without visible signs made Jurgen a very marketable executioner. Second, Jurgen and Baldur, as frequent travellers, were always at risk of bandit attack. Finally, they were simply alone and bored.

Like most in his profession, Jurgen Kloss was a large man, and his son Baldur carried on the family genes. By 14, Baldur was already six feet and two inches tall, and, if he grew out a beard, almost looked like an adult. That year, Jurgen started sending his son to decapitate prisoners for towns that couldn't afford him personally, claiming Baldur was actually 16.

As soon as he started going on trips by himself, Baldur missed his father's company, and had a budding curiosity about the rest of the world. He solved both these problems by going to taverns. People would often to tell him to leave because he was an executioner. Baldur thought they were joking and that this was hilarious - after all, these were the same people who were cheering him on as he cut out the heart of a convict while the man was still alive. Naturally, this led to fights, where Baldur learned he could hold his own because very few people were trained to fight at all. This made bard's tales all the more realistic in his mind - because he was fighting average people and knew a foreign grappling art from his father, he felt like he had superpowers, just like the knights in the stories.

The most boring part of Baldur's job was travelling. To solve this problem, Baldur would entertain himself by picking fights with travellers, who were usually armed to avoid banditry. He tried not to kill them, as he knew that would hurt his father's business, but a few times accidents happened. Since these travellers were usually not serfs of a lord, lords were lax in investigating highway crimes (often, lords bullied travellers too - this is how the term "Robber Barron" came about) and nothing came of this.

At 19, opportunity knocked. The incompetent lord of Baldur's hometown was gathering people to slay something. Baldur didn't know what it was, but it sounded fun, and more importantly, sounded like an opportunity to become an adventurer. His father protested severely, telling him that he would get himself killed. Baldur was confused by this, as people dying to him was just like leaves falling from trees. Could his father, who had slain hundreds of defenseless people, really be worried about something like that? It never occured to Baldur that he was his father's only companion, and that Jurgen was too hardened to admit that he was just sad to see his son go. Baldur did not give in, and his father sent him off with his old longsword, dagger, and chainmail armor, telling him to always travel light until he could steal a horse.

Misc Info ： Though Jurgen is a foreigner, Baldur was raised in and around Medreen, and speaks just like the locals do.

Player Pitch ： Baldur isn't a great warrior, but the ingredients are there. Swordsmanship wise, he can cut a stationary object cleanly, but he has little practice against moving targets besides sparring with his dad and killing some untrained wanderers. Where he is very good is in grappling ((his style is similar to historical European grappling, which aimed to kill people in armor, and Judo)), which his father taught him. However, this might prove useless against certain dark creatures, so his swordplay will improve over time by necessity.

Baldur does have some skills that are unique and that the group might need. First, he is a literal professional at getting people to talk. This isn't always violent either - executioners often extracted information and confessions with mindgames, so Baldur isn't a bad talker. Second and more importantly, executioners were seen as the scum of the Earth, but still had to sell themselves to lords and bailiffs. Baldur knows how to "cold call" people far above his social standing and get them to pay him, something which will come in handy when the group needs work.


[/div]
[/div]
[div class=biggie]
[div class=speakeasy]
"You've got a thick neck!"[/div][/div]

[/div]

 

[Whisker]

[class=biggie] width: 100%; max-width:1200px; margin: 0 auto; text-align: center; clear:both; font-size:12px; color: #fff; font-weight:100; background: #000 [/class] [class=whut] background: #000;[/class] [class=handsomedevil] background: #262626; text-align: left; width:32%; float:left; color: #fff; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speakeasy] letter-spacing: 3px; word-spacing: 2px; border-bottom: solid 10px #47302e; font-size:14px; background: #262626; padding:10px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #fff; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speaks] color: #fff; padding:15px; text-align: left; float:right; width:65%; background: #262626; font-size:14px; line-height:1.4; letter-spacing:1px; padding:20px; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=handsomedevil maxWidth="800px"] margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=whut maxWidth="800px"] margin: 0 auto; padding: 0px; width:97%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=biggie maxWidth="800px"] padding: 0px; margin: 0 auto; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=speaks maxWidth="800px"]margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=speakeasy maxWidth="800px"]margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box;[/class]
[div class=whut]
[div class=biggie]
[div class=speakeasy]
Monsters are real, ghosts are real, too . . . [/div]

[div class=handsomedevil]







[/div][div class=speaks]

Shia Foxcourt
​

Role ：Nobility
Age ：25
Gender ：Male
Sexuality ：Heterosexual
Personality ：Proud, Overconfident, Naive, Cheerful, Honorable, Sheltered
Physical Description ：A man of slightly more than average height. His hair is short and a brilliant, flaming red, his eyes are blue and guileless, and he has a resonant voice that seems to be made for singing and poetry. His armor is well-polished and taken care of - indeed, it doesn't even appear to have a dent - but there are several pieces missing from the overall set including his boots, helm, and gloves. He is exceedingly fair, almost as if he has never seen the sun, but extremely disheveled as though he has traveled a long distance in a very short amount of time.
Starting Weapon ：A slender dirk. He carries a hand and half sword in a rope belt around his waist (the scabbard was stolen), but it has been snapped clean in two by someone . . . or something.
Carrying ：A few coppers (the rest were stolen), a blue cloak, a torch, a bit of crushed bread (stepped on), a couple apples scavenged from someones orchard (he left coin, as the gods are his witness!), and an ornate saddle on his shoulders.

Brief Backstory ：Shia is the younger brother of His Highness, the Duke of Foxcourt from a few provinces away. He has lived a life of complete luxury in comparison to most. He grew up in Foxcourt Keep, being tutored by various scholars, and training with the sword, the spear, and the bow. When he grew older, he took more of a role at court, and at twenty and two, received his first commission as an official diplomatic emissary with his own royal escort. Life was good and fairly uneventful until his latest appointment took a turn for the worst. He was separated from his escort, beaten, robbed, and probably would have been murdered, if not for a mysterious savior. (Just Kidding).

Longer Bio ：* I'm working on this now. Just stopped for food. Don't kill me.
Misc Info ：Shia goes in terror of the midnight hour and the tolling of temple bells.

Player Pitch ：Essentially, my entire plotline with this character revolves around internal growth as much as physical growth. Not every character can be a hardened badass who's seen it all, and it would be a disservice to the plot if there isn't at least one person who will be tainted and demoralized by the events of the roleplay. This character is one of the aristocracy and as such, has been sheltered from many of the hardships that some of the other characters have endured in the past. However, he does bring some good qualities to the table such as:

Charisma: + 2 - Pass some of those speech checks anyone?
Academic knowledge: You can learn a lot of good things from old books.
Martial Training: Trained, but inexperienced.
Influence: Could be useful someday. Never know.


Of course, this all depends on how long he manages to keep his head out of water. This character is being hunted. And whether he is saved, or succumbs to the hunt is really going to effect his progression as things go along.


[/div]
[/div]
[div class=biggie]
[div class=speakeasy]
They live inside of us, and sometimes, they win - Stephen King[/div][/div]

[/div]

 

[Keidivh]

[class=biggie] width: 100%; max-width:1200px; margin: 0 auto; text-align: center; clear:both; font-size:12px; color: #fff; font-weight:100; background: #000 [/class] [class=whut] background: #000;[/class] [class=handsomedevil] background: #262626; text-align: left; width:32%; float:left; color: #fff; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speakeasy] letter-spacing: 3px; word-spacing: 2px; border-bottom: solid 10px #47302e; font-size:14px; background: #262626; padding:10px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #fff; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speaks] color: #fff; padding:15px; text-align: left; float:right; width:65%; background: #262626; font-size:14px; line-height:1.4; letter-spacing:1px; padding:20px; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=handsomedevil maxWidth="800px"] margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=whut maxWidth="800px"] margin: 0 auto; padding: 0px; width:97%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=biggie maxWidth="800px"] padding: 0px; margin: 0 auto; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=speaks maxWidth="800px"]margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=speakeasy maxWidth="800px"]margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box;[/class]
[div class=whut]
[div class=biggie]
[div class=speakeasy]
“What hope is there for man, when their greatest champions are no better than the monsters they hunt?”[/div]

[div class=handsomedevil]



[/div][div class=speaks]

Alrick Gottzmann​

Role ： "Holy" Knight
Age ： 30
Gender ：Male
Sexuality ： Hetero
Personality ：
Years of contemplating the regrettable actions of his youth and the consequences of it have led Alrick to be an introspective man. In the past this was a useful tool, helping him to come to terms with mistakes made, finding ways he could atone. As his life has unravelled yet further however, this self-analyzation has turned into a twisted self-hatred. Any moments to himself are spent now viciously condemning himself for the sins of his past, and even the mistakes he has yet to make.

This has played well into Alricks rather cynical nature. It is difficult for him not to see the worst in everyone, as many these days seem so willing to partake of their darker nature. Therefore trust is a commodity he refuses to trade in, knowing that there is always another angle at work to be wary of. It isn’t necessarily a trait that allows for close friendships, but this works just as well. After all, a friend is only a person you’ve allowed into backstabbing distance.

Despite this, Alrick still loosely holds to the tenets that he was taught as a young lad before the world corroded before him. Chivalry, Honor, Justice. While increasingly rare, Alrick at times can’t help but try and assist the desperate that are around him. While he doesn’t truly believe it will matter in the end, a dying ember of hope still clings to the belief that it does.

To those unfamiliar with Alrick he is fairly reserved, though that doesn’t mean he won’t throw in his two pence when he feels it is needed. While his patience is thin, he will do his best to maintain an air of civility even with those he finds unbearable. This can quite suddenly give way to rage however, despite his attempts to control himself.

Physical Description ：Coming from good stock, Alrick bears a fairly noble demeanor despite the years of living in the wilderness taking its toll. Standing at 6’1 with a broad build, Alrick can be a decently imposing figure should he choose it, though he isn’t anything truly out of the ordinary. His dark brown hair is left rather unkempt at wild most of the time, though he does make an attempt to keep his beard in good order. His hazel eyes can be most often found glaring at those around him, causing those not wishing to start trouble a wide berth.

Starting Weapon ：An old, rusting warhammer.

Carrying ：A few pieces of silver and gold, an old set of splint-mail of Huntsmen Order, a worn looking doll, basic camping supplies, a signet ring of House Gottzmann.

Brief Backstory ：
After leaving the Huntsmen Order and abandoning the titles he once held, Alrick left the turbulent lands of Aldhiem looking to start a new life. Not only for himself, but his adopted daughter Elissa, a girl who had lost her parents to the horrors that now stalked the land. Eventually travelling to a fairly remote hamlet relatively close to Amstead, Alrick found it relatively unaffected by the Black Waters at the time.

For nearly a decade Alrick lived in relative peace, removed from the chaos of the world for a time. But no one can escape chaos, and Alricks futile attempt to do so didn’t end any better for himself than others. After nearly a decade of peaceful living, horror swept through his village, as crazed bandits fell upon the populace with a fury the likes of which was rarely seen, even in these dark days. The hamlet was razed, and his daughter taken from him. Alrick himself was left on the cusp of death. Yet death would not have him that day.

For over a year now, Alrick has been travelling, looking for any leads as to the location of the ones who took his new life away.

Longer Bio ：

Spoiler: A Dark Passenger

Born the Gottzmann line some years before the Black Waters hit the world, Alrick had a relatively peaceful upbringing compared to those generations that would come later. While not the most prominent of families, the Gottzmanns were fairly notable, especially as their lands were home to the Huntsmen Order, a knightly order dedicated to hunting down roving bands of marauders and brigands, serving with distinction in times of war. As such Alrick was raised in the ideals of Chivalry, Honor and Justice. It was his dream to become a knightly lord such as his father Matthias, and even at a young age he did all he could to become one.

Before he had even fully reached puberty however, the world was irreversibly changed. It was slow at first. News trickling in every now and then with the occasional traveler that something horrific had occurred at the Clearview Mines, though no one story was entirely the same, as such it was dismissed as another baseless rumor of the rabble. Dismissed as it was, the effects of the Black Water continued to creep its way into Aldheim. It wasn’t until he was a teenager that the effects began to take hold, as the rumored monsters were apparently all too real. This combined with the strange effect it had on the populace, some becoming violent, deranged even. It was during these early days that Alia, Alricks mother, died at the hands of a deranged mob during a humanitarian visit to the suffering village.

This blow to the family was one they would never recover from, both father and son spiraling into grief. But for the father grief turned to rage, and this rage was soon put into action. Summoning the Huntsmen Order, Lord Matthias declared that they would focus on cleansing the taint that had infected Aldheim, man and beast alike. Eager to avenge his mother and protect his people, Alrick was made a squire of the order, being fully knighted by the age of 19.

Being a knight however wasn’t what Alrick had imagined it would be. The Purges were bone-chilling, with countless men and women being executed beneath the purview of the Huntsmen. Beneath the purview of Alrick himself. For a time he was able to convince himself that this was the right course of action. The just course. But as the months went by his convictions eroded, it wasn’t long before the young knight couldn’t stand to be with his own thoughts for even a moment as guilt crushed him. The breaking point came when one of the knights targeted a young girl who hadn’t even seen her fifth winter. Without thinking, Alrick smashed his warhammer into his fellow knights head. Understanding the death sentence this was for them both, Alrick grabbed the still sobbing child before mounting his horse and fleeing. For a full day he rode, putting as much distance between himself and Aldheim as he could. Everything had fallen apart, his household, his homeland, his order. As he struggled to come to terms with this one night, Alrick decided he would find a new purpose. A way to atone.

So it was that he took the girl Elissa as his own, in hopes he could give her a better life. A life she would have had were it not for him and his sworn-brothers. Eventually the two settled in a small hamlet known only as the Glade, claiming to be refugees fleeing the Black Waters. Few asked any questions, this becoming a common occurrence throughout the lands. Over the years the unlikely pair were able to acclimate to their new life, a broken family, but a family nonetheless. For many years they lived in relative tranquility, Alrick becoming an apprentice blacksmith and adjusting to his role as father. It was a good life, as good a life as any could hope for in this time.

It was not to last. While he was happy to forget his old life, it wasn’t willing to forget him. The Huntsmen Order never forgot this slight, nor his father. After years of hunting they had found their prey and they went for the throat. The knights descended upon the Glade like a maelstrom, and in their wake was death. None were spared their wrath. Grabbing his old warhammer, Alrick attempted to defend his new home and family, but years of a peaceful existence left his skills lacking. While striking down a handful of aspirants, Alrick himself was struck down by Vessian, his old mentor. After some time spent torturing Alrick, the knights left the broken man to die, with Elissa in their grasp, crying for her father to save her.

Even as life slipped away from him Alrick tried to get up, to fight. This wasn’t right, it wasn’t a just end. Not for her. As rage and indignation swirled within him, a voice that wasn’t his own rang out in his head.

You cry out for justice, child. So I have come to you.

I will show you justice still lives in this world.

I will give you the strength to bring order to this chaos.

Let me in, and we can save these lost sheep. We can save her.

Delirious, Alrick didn’t question what he heard, nor did he remember the encounter. But a day later he awoke, broken but alive. Grabbing his warhammer and old gear, Alrick made his way out of the Glade and began his search.

For nigh on a year he has traveled the land, doing odd jobs here and there as he searches for leads as to where the Huntsmen may be, and attaining the strength he needs to cast them down. He would bring retribution.

Misc Info ：

Spoiler: Vengeance

Alrick now shares his body with a spirit, attaching to him during his darkest moments when he yearned for retribution. While unaware of this at the moment, this spirit will grow with Alrick. While granting him greater power, it also has the ability to influence his mind and actions the more Alrick gives in to its wants. If a balance isn't found, it could prove to be a most unfortunate end for them both.

​

Player Pitch ：
Having been out of the game for many years now, Alrick isn’t quite the combatant he used to be in his earlier years. While he is still fairly adept with his warhammer, a well trained combatant wouldn’t have much of a problem dealing with Alrick, who depends on his raw strength rather than any true form. Over time he will be able to learn to become a true juggernaut on the field of battle (If he survives.). His true test will be learning to tame what now lives within him, and harnessing the untapped power that lies there.

Struggling with trying to hold to his convictions even as they slip out of his grasp, I see Alrick going in either two directions. Either he comes to terms with the sins he committed in his past, understanding that despite all of his mistakes he still has the potential to do good. Despite all of the horror and atrocity committed by so many, this is a world still worth saving. He would become a paragon of the ideals he once held.

Or his convictions will give way to darker emotions as his self-hatred consumes him. He would become an embodiment of rage, judgement and vengeance. The judge, jury and executioner. A man who would redeem the world through blood.

As of now it is unclear what path he is to take, but I’m sure you lot can help him find the way.


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[div class=biggie]
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“And yet, unworthy as I am, I must endure. I must fight until the dawn breaks this unending night, lest it swallow me whole.”[/div][/div]

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[KingHalliwell]

[class=biggie] width: 100%; max-width:1200px; margin: 0 auto; text-align: center; clear:both; font-size:12px; color: #fff; font-weight:100; background: #000 [/class] [class=whut] background: #000;[/class] [class=handsomedevil] background: #262626; text-align: left; width:32%; float:left; color: #fff; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speakeasy] letter-spacing: 3px; word-spacing: 2px; border-bottom: solid 10px #47302e; font-size:14px; background: #262626; padding:10px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #fff; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speaks] color: #fff; padding:15px; text-align: left; float:right; width:65%; background: #262626; font-size:14px; line-height:1.4; letter-spacing:1px; padding:20px; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=handsomedevil maxWidth="800px"] margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=whut maxWidth="800px"] margin: 0 auto; padding: 0px; width:97%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=biggie maxWidth="800px"] padding: 0px; margin: 0 auto; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=speaks maxWidth="800px"]margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=speakeasy maxWidth="800px"]margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box;[/class]
[div class=whut]
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Hurt my dog and I'll kill you without a second thought[/div]

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Connor Stone​

Role: Hunter/Mercenary/Ranger

Age: 23

Gender: Male

Sexuality Bisexual “Life is just more fun that way”

Personality: Connor is a very quiet and collected individual, but also around the right people he is loud, sarcastic, a little hot-headed if we are being frank, but he always means well. His calm, cool, and collected persona is just something he displays around those he doesn’t know or doesn’t trust. It allows him to interact but not share too much information about himself, that way if the relationship sours, there’s no backstabbing or attempts to get even.

Physical Description: Connor is about 6 feet tall and about 220lbs. His time training both during his brief time with the Knights and his own regiment on his own, has packed on a solid layer of muscle to his frame. He can be a rather imposing silhouette in the dark, and with his trusty half-wolf, half-husky by his side, most avoid him. His skin is rather tan, as he spends much of his time outdoors and in the sun unless he chosen contract takes him elsewhere. He has bright cerulean blue eyes and light brown hair cut short on top and shorter on the sides. There is a larger scar that runs from under his nose and cuts down his mouth and disappears under his shirt (Its a long story, ask him some time and he may tell you about it).

Starting Weapon Connor has a very nice but standard longbow and a quiver full of about thirty arrows. He often makes his own arrows and he manages with them, but when he has the coin, he buys a few crafted by a fletcher.

Carrying: 30 gold, 9 silver, 8 copper. Bedroll, set of fine clothes (For if the situation arises), A few medicinal herbs and bandages, Rope, a relatively nice set of studded leather armor, a bundle of about 10 extra arrows.

Brief Backstory: Connor is from a small town known as Shimmervale, he had a relatively decent childhood, spent a lot of time working his family's farm, and listening to the stories of the travelers that moved through the city. When he reached the age of 16 he traveled with a band of knights to Tallis as a squire and began his training towards knighthood. During this time he found Champ, a wolf husky hybrid abandoned in the outskirts of a forest. About a month before his ceremony he and a group of other squires were attacked outside the walls of the city, Connor barely made it out alive, brought back to the medics with a massive wound across the front of his body. Ending his time as Knight before it even happened. He spent some downtime at home, rebuilding his strength and his movement for his right arm, then he left home and now he's been traveling around completing contracts and gathering some coin.

Longer Bio:

Spoiler: Starting Again

Connor was born to Daron and Jasmine Stone, a loving couple who lived on the outskirts of town known as Shimmervale. A simple farming village just about a three or four day travels to Tallis. Shimmervale while simple, boomed through the economy from those traveling to and from the city and happened to pass through. The Inn was always packed with travelers, the few merchants that called Shimmervale home, were always in business.

Although the town was busy there wasn’t much to do, and Connor spent much of his time working the small farm and orchard his parents had created. During the night when his family was helping out in the tavern for some coin on the side, listening to the stories of the travelers that came in and out, both young and old, new and seasoned alike. Often forming his own dreams of what life would be like as a knight on the road to glory and honor. His mother and father always supported his dream and when the opportunity for him to join a knighthood came his parents jumped at the opportunity to send him. Wanting him to follow his dreams.

So at the age of 15, he joined the Knights of Tallis and journeyed alongside them to the capital city of Seldona to train among those of the Kings army. Connor progressed quickly as a squire under the trainers of the Knighthood, although he took to a bow better then he did a sword. He was still rather skilled at swordplay. Along a particular journey into the outskirts of a nearby forest, he came across a destroyed caravan, and in the rubble was a small puppy no older than a few weeks old, it was weak and malnourished. The knights allowed him to return with the animal and it was his duty to train, feed, and care for the pup. Over the next year, the bond between the pup and Connor grew and their training became synonymous with each other, moving like a well-oiled machine.

When Connor was 20 and only weeks before his ceremony, where he would ascend to Knighthood, he was out with a few other Squires when they were attacked by a beast. Connor suffered a major wound, the extended up from his right underarm to his mouth. The other squires carried him back to the city, where he was rushed into a healer. The healer was able to save his life and his arm, but the damage had been done. He had lost the ability to wield his sword, and possibly his bow.

Connor returned home, lacking the title of the night, and in a dark place, his one dream in life was ruined, but at least he had his trusty and loyal companion, Champ with him. His parents were great and helped him through the pain that was retraining the muscles to work how they were supposed, although he knows their ulterior motive was getting him to help about the farm.

It wasn’t long after he was able to wield a bow again that he left home again, searching for a new purpose, a new dream, one they while may not bring him the glory of knighthood, but a glory all its own. He followed rumors, hunted hear as odd jobs, made a name for himself as a trustworthy mercenary, who gets the job done.

Misc Info: Connor was once a relatively adept swordsman but after his life-altering injury, he isn't, although he's not one to pass along a few tips to those that need them. Now he uses a bow, for some reason he can move his arms enough that he can fire a bow, but not swing a sword, he can lift heavy objects with light discomfort and he thinks that if he really needed to he would be able to pick up a sword and defend himself.

Player Pitch:
Connor isn't necessarily the best fighter anymore, but he's killer with a bow. But he finds his talents limited to something he could take down from a distance since he doesn't really have the capability to fight with a sword anymore. His attention is on trying to improve that over time, regain those sword fighting abilities he used to have.

Connor could go in a number of different directions, all dependent on how his actions alter his life and the journey in front of him. Realistically he would like to find some sort of glory whether that is as a hero, or as a mercenary, something that redeems himself in the eyes of basically just himself. He also wants to find people in hopes to start a group both capable to handle the monsters and the threats that face Seldona. He hopes to be able to protect his home from succumbing to the same fate as countless others affected by the wave of Black Water spread throughout the country.


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My dog son is the goodest of boys and you better let him know or we're gonna have a problem[/div][/div]

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[The Dark Wizard]

[class=biggie] width: 100%; max-width:1200px; margin: 0 auto; text-align: center; clear:both; font-size:12px; color: #fff; font-weight:100; background: #000 [/class] [class=whut] background: #000;[/class] [class=handsomedevil] background: #262626; text-align: left; width:32%; float:left; color: #fff; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speakeasy] letter-spacing: 3px; word-spacing: 2px; border-bottom: solid 10px #47302e; font-size:14px; background: #262626; padding:10px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #fff; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speaks] color: #fff; padding:15px; text-align: left; float:right; width:65%; background: #262626; font-size:14px; line-height:1.4; letter-spacing:1px; padding:20px; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=handsomedevil maxWidth="800px"] margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=whut maxWidth="800px"] margin: 0 auto; padding: 0px; width:97%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=biggie maxWidth="800px"] padding: 0px; margin: 0 auto; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=speaks maxWidth="800px"]margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=speakeasy maxWidth="800px"]margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box;[/class]
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Live. Let. Love, You only get one life. Enjoy it![/div]

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Alexi

Role: Alexi is a rogue that blends in by working as a Bard.
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Homosexual
Personality: Alexi is a happy go lucky person, choosing to try to find the positivity or try to make it himself if none exists in any given situation. Opting to avoid conflict if possible.
Physical Description: Alexei is about 6’1 and purple. He was what some people dubbed a tiefling, born of a mortal parent and something supernatural, people typically claimed it the other is usually something awful like a demon. Whether true or not, stereotypes are powerful, particularly in this dark cruel world. He sported a lean muscular swimmer’s body from a life of being on the run, stealing and living that nimble life. His chest and other parts of his body were adorned with some beautiful tattoos that complicated his skin, not from him having them done, but just a natural part of him growing up. On his head he sports two large reverse horns like a large goat tipped with some gold. He tends to cover him self up pretty well to make sure that people are not aware of what he is if he’s in a new location or going out to market. If he has to show his face, he will use his abilities to change his face, but doing this for long periods of time is exhausting.
Starting Weapon: Alexi has and is proficient with a dirk, a slightly longer dagger that is not quite a short sword.
Carrying: Apart from his dirk and a broken harp, he’s not carrying much else apart from a few coins.
Brief Backstory: Alexei lives the life of a Bard but in reality, he is a crafty rogue looking for the next bit of fun and means of survival. He pretends to be able to play a wide range of instruments from his broken harp to others like the lute and so forth that a tavern or other establishment might have for wandering bards. In reality, what people never notice is that he doesn’t know how to play, he’s simply making the beautiful sounds up with his illusionary gift to earn coin or free board and meal. The singing voice is his though, that he is proud of.

Longer Bio: Alexei was born to a human mother and an unknown supernatural father and whether this was consensual, she would never say as it was never really discovered that the boy did not belong to the man she claimed was his human father until around his 6th or 7th birthday when he started changing. A tragic time after, and they found themselves on the streets, his mom working at a local tavern to make end’s meets, here the young Alexei would listen to bards and other musicians over the years and learn of the pretty sounds he makes to this day. Eventually unable to hide her child any more when he was but in his teens, she saved up enough money to buy an amulet from the local town wizard that would be powerful enough to make him look human. Gifting this to her son, she sent him off to find his own way in life as one of her final acts and off he did go. Alexi would later end up losing the amulet to a lover that he had abused his trust, broke his harp and made off with his treasure, to ultimately sell. While the disguise spell was important to Alexi, it was the sentimental value that mattered to him, it was the last thing he had of his mom and he definitely wanted it back.
Misc Info：Whether because of his blood or something else, Alexi has the unique ability to create illusions, from visual to smell or sound.

Player Pitch: I want Alexi to ultimately find his amulet back so he can blend in better, maybe a magic dirk or short sword or even throwing daggers. Get stronger at illusions and just ultimately hang out and try to keep the party together, I don’t have really strong aspirations for him yet.


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You have made a horrible mistake, thinking that I will be easy to kill just because I'm different.[/div][/div]

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[King Sundew]

[class=biggie] width: 100%; max-width:1200px; margin: 0 auto; text-align: center; clear:both; font-size:12px; color: #fff; font-weight:100; background: #000 [/class] [class=whut] background: #000;[/class] [class=handsomedevil] background: #262626; text-align: left; width:32%; float:left; color: #fff; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speakeasy] letter-spacing: 3px; word-spacing: 2px; border-bottom: solid 10px #47302e; font-size:14px; background: #262626; padding:10px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #fff; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speaks] color: #fff; padding:15px; text-align: left; float:right; width:65%; background: #262626; font-size:14px; line-height:1.4; letter-spacing:1px; padding:20px; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=handsomedevil maxWidth="800px"] margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=whut maxWidth="800px"] margin: 0 auto; padding: 0px; width:97%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=biggie maxWidth="800px"] padding: 0px; margin: 0 auto; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=speaks maxWidth="800px"]margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=speakeasy maxWidth="800px"]margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box;[/class]
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"Order and Necessity are the guiding principles to live a true and virtuous life"[/div]

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Ehina Krause​

Role ：Disgraced Paladin
Age ：Twenty-Eight
Gender ：Female
Sexuality ： Heterosexual

Personality ：Rules are certainly the best way to measure things. What should and shouldn’t be done, but they’re never foolproof. Ehina keeps tabs on everything she can, tries to observe everything she can. If the job’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well. She thinks things through, provides opinions to situations others may find uncomfortable, is ready to fight for a cause she believes in, can lie with a straight face, and is willing to admit when she’s wrong. It doesn’t really make her friends, but it did make her position as a Paladin effective.

The dream is far more important than the individual. Getting emotional about things that take up her time, especially if it serves no greater purpose, is only a hindrance to the grand scheme of things. It’s hard for people to swallow but the rules that Ehina lives by are far more important to her than helping an individual with their individual problems. It’s why transparency makes everything problematic. People crave order deep down, most of them anyway, even in cults there are rules to follow. So, if people don’t think everything is running as smoothly as possible then they become agitated. That’s why pure truth isn’t always the right option.

There’s little reason sitting at the back of the room with tight lips, being too nervous to speak up and give an opinion. Ehina makes sure she’s heard, and provides the most practical solutions, even if they’re unfavourable amongst the group. She never shies away from telling people what she needs them to know, always with a blunt and cold overtone. There is rarely malice in her words, only what she thinks to be right.

Physical Description ：Ehina has a bit of muscle on her. Wearing armour every day for most of her adult life was probably the biggest culprit, never mind the rigorous training. After leaving the order her eating habits haven’t been so great so now she’s a little on the skinny side, it’s hard to find a good meal in the shitholes she finds herself in these days. Her hair is long and blonde, which she ties behind her head. Brown eyes and she stands at about 5 ft 8 ins

Starting Weapon ：A decent quality longsword from the Alcuran Paladin Order. A solid wooden shield, basic but fits well on her back.
Carrying ：She has her long heavy-duty leather cuirass back from her days in the Order. A few bits have been replaced over the years, but she tries to keep it in good condition. 2 gold, 18 silver and a handful of copper. Leather water pouch, steel & flint, whetstone, bedroll and supplies to patch up a couple of wounds.

Brief Backstory ：
She was born and raised in Roxburgh, Lorwyn Region (also known as the Dales for having lots of fertile farmland). Roxburgh is a decent sized city that has a close affiliation to the gods Thalassa and Imber. There is a lot of green around the city, and farms tend to prosper there. Being the third oldest child to the Lord and Lady of the city meant Ehina spent very little time with her parents. She was taught the appropriate ways of how a lady should present herself and act. It didn't suit her, jealous of her brothers being able to practice with the sword. Whenever she tried to explain this she was disciplined accordingly.

At the age of thirteen, sick of her life in the castle whilst waiting to be betrothed, she escaped and went to the temple of the seven. She offered her service as a protector to the faith. With a small prick on the figure, blood pressed onto the holy scroll of the paladins, her fate was sealed. Committing to this life supersedes the old one, even if the person is a noble. She could no longer marry or have children. No longer own land and rule over people. She was now a protector of the land following the ways of the paladins until her death (or excommunication).

The first job of any new recruit, other than cleaning the temples, tending to the crops, and washing the paladin’s clothes, is to obtain a sponsor. This is something that must be done on their own. Prove to one of the paladin’s that they’re worthy of joining the ranks. The person that eventually chose Ehina was a man called Roland Bayard. She finally gained the full rank of Paladin after many years of training with him. Ehina joined the White Bridge temple and quickly found a strong position for herself amongst her peers.

When she was twenty-four a tragedy befell the Lorwyn region. The high priestess was murdered. Accused was one Roland Bayard. Ehina tried to defend him. He insisted it wasn't him but the courts found him guilty and put him to death. For taking his side Ehina was excommunicated from her temple and could no longer serve the Paladins in any official capacity. Disgraced, and now rejected by both her order and the nobles alike, she left her region and found herself in all different parts of Seldona, living hand to mouth.

Longer Bio ：

Spoiler

RELIGION
Ehina is a loyal follower of the Alcura religion. It is a pantheon of gods and goddesses, and each one is treated with respect and devotion by its followers, but usually one god takes precedence over the others for each person. Mostly this is based around the town/city that the person is brought up in, and the affiliated god of that place. But it’s not unheard of if people find a different path through the teachings.

To this day Ehina is devoted to Imber, goddess of order and necessity. Imber is believed to have brought down the laws of the heavens and passed them onto the humans, inscribing them into the temples of the seven. Known to be the mortal enemy of Vindemia, her younger brother. Like almost all the people of her region Ehina believes in all the gods, but Imber is the one that has a special place in her heart. The goddess that guided her during her upbringing. Helped form her opinions and kept her on a righteous path.

Imber: God of Order and Necessity. Daughter of Thalassa and Vronti. Imber has always been the right-hand of Vronti. Where Vronti is the judgement that strikes down the wicked, she is the order that helps try to prevent it. She is the person who brought down the laws from the Heavens, passing them onto the humans and inscribing them into the temple of the seven. Imber is also the mortal enemy of Vindemia, her younger brother. The two have never engaged in physical combat but being opposites, they often have conflicts in other ways. Vindemia causes disorder and Imber must sort out his messes. Most of the crimes that Vindemia creates are only superficial, in the grand scheme, but they have been thought to cause several problems around Seldona. Vindemia once convinced the leader of Lorwyn to drink, be rowdy and cause chaos (we’re talking ancient times here), instead finding peace with their neighbouring regions. It took Imber a decade to convince her brother to stop. Only when he realised that his “playthings” were starting to dwindle in numbers.

Vindemia: God of Disorder and Merriment. Son of Thalassa and Vronti. Despite what he represents as a god Vindemia is very intelligent. He and his sister, Imber, often debate and argue over many things. During the time of the Twilight years, where trying to regain order was most paramount, Vindemia took control of Mardale and offered it as a paradise for all those that wished to escape from the fighting in the mainland and get drunk all day and party all night. The five minor gods were unimpressed with the city being in that state and sent Imber to regain order and get control back. Imber struggled against her brother for many days and nights. Eventually, after trying many ways, she used one of his tricks against him and made an alcoholic drink so powerful that it knocked him unconscious. Vindemia found himself back in the Heavens when he awoke. The first thing he did when he awoke was find Imber and tell her that he managed to corrupt her, just a little bit, and that made losing the city worth it!

NOTABLE PEOPLE
Isolde Krause: Her mother. A very selfish lady that had no interest in her youngest daughter. Having very little in common meant that the two of them often clashed. Ehina's love of the sword, and wanting to fight, made very little sense to her.

Warin Krause: Her father. Despite the neglect Warin was an easy enough father for Ehina to have. His duties as a lord kept him busy day and night, so the two rarely spoke. After she joined the protectors of the temple he completely disowned her as his daughter.

Gamel Krause: The oldest child. He found his sister to be nothing but an embarrassment. Being professionally trained in the sword he used to let Ehina play with him then would always end up hurting her, on purpose.

Florina Krause: The oldest daughter, and the apple of Isolde's eye. Florina knew this and took complete advantage of the position she had. She used to try and belittle Ehina, but her types of attack barely phased the girl.

Gideon Braxton: Leader of the temple Ehina frequented. Of all the people in her life Gideon was the one that truly listened and understood her plight. He was the one that suggested she join the protectors if she wanted to learn the way of the sword.

Roland Bayard: One of the most important things a person must do after becoming a protector is to find a paladin willing to take them under their wing. Roland sponsored Ehina, and despite the friction at the beginning she ended up really looking up to him. He was truly devoted to the cause.

Lisbeth Stratton: High Protector of the White Bridge Temple. She was effectively in charge of Ehina during her time as a paladin. One of six high protectors that rule of the religious armies in Lorwyn. She was the one that conducted the trial of Roland and had him executed, as well as having Ehina excommunicated for taking his side.

Vance Wallace: A corrupt money man that saw a lot of potential in Ehina when she was close to hitting rock bottom. He gave her some dubious jobs, usually just playing guard to some of his rich friends, and he paid well. Ehina despises him but if she doesn’t know the details then the jobs seem innocent enough. Protect someone, get paid.

Misc Info ：Ehina is a loyalist to her own cause. While it does run somewhat parallel to that of her religious beliefs, they’ve adapted over the time she’s wandered the ever-decaying world. She wants the world to change. To wash away the greed, jealousy, corruption, the scum the resides in every nook and cranny.

Player Pitch ：I guess I'm feeling a bit loosey goosey about where I see her going. It kind of depends on where things go in the RP. I guess there needs to be a revelation of sorts about her pathetic little tale of redemption. Does she start to see the faults in her own logic and the flaws of her values? That maybe following a strict religious path isn't the best way to live? Maybe she'll loosen up and even crack a joke? OR! Maybe she'll fall even deeper down the rabbit hole of her "righteous" path. Compromise on the foundational principles of her beliefs in pursuit of that end goal. Make a deal with the devil, so to speak, to help end the corruption that she sees everywhere in the world.


[/div]
[/div]
[div class=biggie]
[div class=speakeasy]
"Disorder and Merriment are the distractions that will lead you down the path of corruption"[/div][/div]

[/div]

 

[Gilzar]

[class=biggie] width: 100%; max-width:1200px; margin: 0 auto; text-align: center; clear:both; font-size:12px; color: #fff; font-weight:100; background: #000 [/class] [class=whut] background: #000;[/class] [class=handsomedevil] background: #262626; text-align: left; width:32%; float:left; color: #fff; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speakeasy] letter-spacing: 3px; word-spacing: 2px; border-bottom: solid 10px #47302e; font-size:14px; background: #262626; padding:10px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #fff; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speaks] color: #fff; padding:15px; text-align: left; float:right; width:65%; background: #262626; font-size:14px; line-height:1.4; letter-spacing:1px; padding:20px; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=handsomedevil maxWidth="800px"] margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=whut maxWidth="800px"] margin: 0 auto; padding: 0px; width:97%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=biggie maxWidth="800px"] padding: 0px; margin: 0 auto; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=speaks maxWidth="800px"]margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=speakeasy maxWidth="800px"]margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box;[/class]
[div class=whut]
[div class=biggie]
[div class=speakeasy]
"Everything in the world has a purpose, from the smallest insect to the tallest tree."[/div]

[div class=handsomedevil]



[/div][div class=speaks]


Marsilia Sommer

Role ：Druid
Age ：27
Gender ：Female
Sexuality ：Bisexual
Personality ：Marsilia lives her life through the codes taught to her by the Order of Mages, as well as nature. A woman of honor and courage, she does her best to follow her moral guidelines, as well as the teachings of the order. No matter what the cost, she will try to do what she sees as the right thing. This means that she follows the law, rarely lies, treats others with kindness, and stands up for others. As a mage of the order, she believes that she has been given righteous power from the gods. Wholeheartedly, she believes that magic must be controlled, and mages must have restraints. However, being that she sees her powers as somewhat divine, Marsilia unknowingly perceives herself above others. Even to other mages, her sense of honor and morals gives her a small feeling of superiority. In turn, this makes her judgemental, and sometimes over-zealous in preaching her beliefs.

Ever since she was a child, Marsilia has had the ability to communicate with the natural world around her. As a result, she's come to believe that everything in the natural world has a place. Aiding her unique abilities is a sense of curiosity. Marsilia has a desire to learn everything she can about the world around her, whether it be through exploring, questioning, or even experiments. It's not uncommon to see this inquisitive individual writing all of her lessons down so that she never forgets. Yet because of this curiosity, and learning about many living things around her, Marsilia has developed a deep sense of empathy. She despises seeing things suffer, and will only kill when she absolutely has to. It should also be noted that she sees very little value in non-essential possessions, clinging on to what she only deems as absolutely necessary.

Physical Description ：Marsilia stands at a tall height of 5'10, with rosy pale white skin. She is of a lighter athletic build due to her outdoor lifestyle, weighing around 140 pounds.

For facial features, she has long blonde hair she often puts into a ponytail. Her face is of a diamond shape: Thin, but with visible edges in the jawline. Accompanying this is are her large green eyes, thin brown eyebrows, smaller nose, and medium sized mouth. Running from the bridge of her nose, diagonally across her right cheek and down to her lower right jaw is a noticeable scar.

For clothing, Marsilia rarely wears a dress unless she is not on the road. Most of the time she can be seen wearing a long-sleeved green shirt, accompanied by tight black leather pants, and brown boots that end around the middle of her shins. Around her neck she wears black cloth necklace with a blue stone at the front of it, wrapped several times around her neck for security. Atop all of this, she will wear a brown, robe like jacket, wrapped so that it tightly encases her body to keep her warm.

Starting Weapon ：Marsilia carries a white wooden staff, as well as a basic longsword

Carrying ：Carries only 10 silver, a variety of books and texts, a journal, a compass, and a variety of stones and sea shells. She also carries a mortar and pestile, and an assortment of vials for liquids.

Brief Backstory ：As a young girl, born to a small farming village, Marsilia discovered that she had the unique ability to communicate with animal and plants around her. When others learned of this ability, as well as her other developing magical abilities, it wasn't long before the village grew suspicious and fearful of her. For her own protection, as well as for the safety of those around her, she was sent to the Order of Mages at the age of 13. It was there that Marsilia learned the ways of the order, and received a proper education. She was taught that magic was a gift from the gods, and that it must be controlled and used to better the world around them. Without restraint, or any control, magic was extremely dangerous to the surrounding world. Given current times with the Black Waters, this message was especially emphasized. That's why throughout her years she was taught more on how to focus and restrain her powers, than on developing them. In fact, it was only after she turned 24 that she began to develop her magical powers to the point where they are now. Now at the age of 27, Marsilia has found herself no longer an apprentice, but a journeymen in the Order of Magic. More importantly however, is the task that she has taken to study the Blackwaters, and find anyway to get rid of it.

Longer Bio ：

Spoiler

Marsilia was born but to a simple farming village, seemingly far away from the troubles of the world. She grew up like any other girl in the village would, learning the trade of her farming parents and spending most of her day outdoors. However, around the age of 12 Marsilia developed an ability that put her apart from any other person in the village: The ability to communicate with animals and even large plants, such as trees. For some reason, she could verbally communicate and understand almost any living thing. Whether it was a dog or a tree, Marsilia could communicate with these organisms and understand them perfectly.

At first, no one in the village believed her when she claimed of these powers. They all just figured she was a young girl with a wild imagination. It wasn't until people began witnessing the strange behavior of animals around her, that they realized it wasn't just her imagination. Dogs, cats, birds, and even livestock would constantly follower her around the village, all while she carried out an active conversation. With just a few words, she could move entire herds of cattle, or scare away flocks of birds. Even insects seemed to respond to her words. It wasn't long before many began to fear her, whispering through the town that she was a witch from the black water, sent to scourn them all.

When she turned 13, this fear culminated into an act of violence. While she was tending to her fields alone, one of her neighbors ambushed her with a knife. Tackling her to the ground, he slashed a deep cut into her face. The only thing that saved her from a violent death was her blood-curtling screams. As her screams echoed through the village and woods, it caught the attention of all the nearby dogs she had befriended. Rushing to her aid, nearly a dozen feral and domesticated hounds pounced on her attacker. Before she knew it he was mauled to death, and her days as a farmer were over. Marsilia still bears the scar from that attack to this day.

Word of what happened had spread to nearby towns, and it wasn't long before representatives from the Order of Mages came to investigate. Upon finding Marsilia, they offered to take her take her in and get her away from the village. Fearing for her saftey, as well as those around her, her parents agreed. Marsilia soon left for Order's University, an old walled fortress converted to school. She would never see her parents, or her home village, ever again.

The rest of her adolescent years would be spent learning about the order, and recieving an education. The Order of Mages was at one point a relativley obscure, and secret order. There were few members, and much of their time was spent understanding the world of magic and learning how it could be properly harnessed. It wasn't until the Black Water came that the organiztion turned into what it is now. Over the two decades followiing the Black Water, the number of mages in the world grew. In response, the order unveiled itself to the world. No longer were they some secret organization only talked about in rumors. Now they were a public guild, dedicated to teaching mages how to control their powers and use them for good.

To the Order, mages have been given a gift from the gods. This power is righteous and should be used to better the world around it. However, magic is extremely dangerous if not properly controlled and restrained. Powerful magic certianly has a place in the world, but it needs to be consistently controlled so that it can't endanger the world around it. At the Order's university, mages had a place to safley grow their abilities with a lower risk of harming others or themselves. They would also recieve a proper education. In return, mages must pledge their life to the order and its laws. Their laws mainly dictate honorable behavior. Magic is not to be used for one's own personal gain, and individuals must act with honor. Reckless use of casting is forbidden. Life in the order can mean a couple of things. Either a mage dedicates themselves to discovering new things through experiments, noble deeds to better the community, or teaching new mages the ways of the order. Mages are not limited to doing only one of these tasks, and the definition of what each one means can be easily stretched.

Marsilia's early years in the order were spent learning. The mages in the order were strict, but they taught her how to control her powers. She learned how to read, and was was taught about the different sciences of the natural world and magic. This was a slow process that took up most of her adolescent years. Yet over this time, she found a sense of belonging with the mages. She began spending most of her days outside of her lessons in the forest.

In the woods, Marsilia was truly home. While she had friends in the order, she had many more companions that were the surrounding wildlife. Through the years, she developed a deep connection to the forest, and learned many things about nature. She learned how everything in the forest plays a role in the ecosystem. All life had value, no matter how large or small. During her time in the woods, she liked to observe the creatures, and learn about their behavior and ways. All of her discoveries she began documenting in her journal. Her ethic caught the eye and praise of her instructors.

At the age of 24, Marsilia was granted the rank of journeyman. Now no longer an apprentice, she could focus on devoloping her magical abilities since she was confident in her abilities to control them. Abilities like healing wounds, controlling the direction of wind, or even casting small bolts of lightning are to name a few of the things she developed over the the next three years. More importantly though, Marsilia had found her calling as a mage: To aid the world around her.

For a long time she wondered what the best way of doing this would be, but by the age of 27 she came to a conclusion. Marsilia needed to fight the Black Water, aid those affected by it, and learn as much as she could about it. All while of course advancing the fields of medicine, biology, and chemistry!

Misc Info ：Marcilia has the unique ability of speaking to animals, as well as certain plants. On an average walk through the forest, Marcilia can hear what the birds chirp about. She can understand what dogs are whining about, or what a cat is being so coy about. Even the trees whisper to her, telling her about their ancient stories and tomes. Oddly enough, they can understand her as well. Through what the ordinary person would percieve as quiet whispers or just self banter, Marcilia can talk to wildlife. It's not uncommon of her to befriend animals, and persuade them to do things for her.

Player Pitch ：Though she may be in the older years of her youth, Marcilia still has a lot of learning to do. Hopefully though, over time Marcilia will be able to become a powerful mage that can better the world around her, and become a shining member of the Order. She'd be constantly mixing various chemicals she finds, talking to animals and trees, writing in her journal, and conducting experiments to try and learn more about the world around her. All while endlessly questioning everyone around her to find out how they tick. At the very least, she can be a moral compass for those around her.


[/div]
[/div]
[div class=biggie]
[div class=speakeasy]
"Without honor, we are nothing."[/div][/div]

[/div]

 

[Lingua Frankly Not]

[class=biggie] width: 100%; max-width:1200px; margin: 0 auto; text-align: center; clear:both; font-size:12px; color: #fff; font-weight:100; background: #000 [/class] [class=whut] background: #000;[/class] [class=handsomedevil] background: #262626; text-align: left; width:32%; float:left; color: #fff; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speakeasy] letter-spacing: 3px; word-spacing: 2px; border-bottom: solid 10px #47302e; font-size:14px; background: #262626; padding:10px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #fff; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speaks] color: #fff; padding:15px; text-align: left; float:right; width:65%; background: #262626; font-size:14px; line-height:1.4; letter-spacing:1px; padding:20px; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=handsomedevil maxWidth="800px"] margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=whut maxWidth="800px"] margin: 0 auto; padding: 0px; width:97%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=biggie maxWidth="800px"] padding: 0px; margin: 0 auto; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=speaks maxWidth="800px"]margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=speakeasy maxWidth="800px"]margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box;[/class]
[div class=whut]
[div class=biggie]
[div class=speakeasy]
Best bury a boot in the lark's mouth before I shank him with my antler. [/div]

[div class=handsomedevil]

[/div][div class=speaks]

Role ：Rogue/fighter.
Age ：19
Gender ：Female
Sexuality ： Anyway the wind blows, doesn’t really matter… to-ooo me
Personality : Direct to the point of insensitivity, Isolda’s tongue lashes with the weight of a weapon; and when this fails as a defense mechanism, she quickly thereafter resorts to violence. Hers has been a rough life, and the distrust in her gaze, the envy of her glances at niceties that others take for granted, and her inherent resourcefulness only emphasize her self-reliance. This is best emphasized with Isolda’s uncomfortability divulging her own feelings — she does have those, right? — and her instinct to solve another’s upset with actions instead of empathy, which she has so rarely received in her own life. Love is a foreign word to an abomination raised by humans.

When she is able to speak longer with someone, when they do not flee, nor try to murder her out of piety for their cruel gods, Isolda can push past her reserved nature. Her outlook is fatalistic; she is stubborn in her beliefs about men, about their flaws, and is stubborn yet in her own desires. She finds it more comfortable to rely on tried-and-true methods that have served her well, and while you are unlikely to ever pry from her lips an apology, or a concession, you may yet drag from her loyalty: the most valuable possession that she can offer. Her word is her bond. It is all that she has, and all that she is.

Physical Description ：Red-fuschia skin, the faint glow of golden eyes, and a jutting rack of antlers communicate in an instant that Isolda is much more than her otherwise human physique. She stands at just over 5’11”, though her antlers can often exceed an addition two feet of height, rendering doorways a significant nuisance. Tight cords of muscle lace her form, which she adorns in leathers and weatherbeaten cloth of middling value. The lay of her honey-colored hair alternates from braided to held up, to lazily dangling, or a rat’s nest – depending on her mood, and recency of her last bath — a fleeting commodity for a young woman who quite obviously would be slaughtered upon entry to proper society.

Starting Weapon ：A battered hand-and-a-half sword hangs at the woman’s hip, its blade nicked by combat, carrying the maker’s mark of Castle Folcrest’s blacksmith. However, it’s hard to describe Isolda’s antlers as anything other than weapons themselves… one of which appears to be missing a roughly 5-inch long point.

Carrying ：A pack wrapped in a thick cloth cloak that doubles as bedding, which contains within: a handful of gold, road rations, a set of playing dice, a pot and basic utensils, and a couple minor knickknacks.

Brief Backstory ：Isolda was raised largely by a noble estate’s household guard, under express commands to stay hidden, out of sight. Fighting and dice games filled the majority of her youth, resulting in an often ill-tempered woman with a chip on her shoulder, and a propensity to throw daggers before words. Only in recent years has her leash been loosened, allowing her to venture out further than the brief, nighttime excursions of her youth – now, with the land in a state of black water-instigated unrest, the she-demon’s killer instinct has new direction.

Longer Bio ：

Spoiler

The bleeding took Isolda’s mother, Basilia Grayholt, who died at a right young age, gored from the inside. It was too much blood. Too much. They’d needed to carve the child out, and in fear of losing both Basilia and the child her lord husband Yalden agreed — cut his wife, spare the child. For precious moments afterward they’d thought Isolda meerly slathered in the blood of her mother but as she was wiped off, no, the truth of the matter became clear. The red, the fuschia — it was no blood. T’was the demon-child’s skin. Her mother died that day, as she so nearly did at the hands of godly men and women, horrified by what lay before them… this was no child of Yalden Grayholt’s, and but for the actions of another, let there be no doubt: the disproportionate childhood mortality rate of Tieflings would have claimed yet another victim.

Instead, Isolda was swept away from the Tallisian Grayholt estate to midlands country, where the walled settlement of Folcrest forded the swift Lornaper river. Her maternal uncle, Rashael Folcrest, brought her to raise in the vast halls of Folcrest Castle, far from the prying eyes of the Tallisian nobility. Perhaps it was pity, or perhaps it was familial love – for he, with now three dead siblings and both parents deceased, was a desperately lonely, somber man. Either way, Isolda, a bastard she-demon child not of the Folcrest name, was allowed to crawl and run and stumble her way through early life, half-relative of the local Lord, half the family’s uncomfortable dirty secret.

[more]

Misc Info ：

Player Pitch ：While Isolda (and her maternal uncle) believe her to be the offspring of a demon on whelped on her mother, and she struggles with curiosity regarding her parentage, this is not actually the case. In fact, it would be of a matter untruthful to consider her one being — instead, she’s the unfortunate amalgamation of a Black Water-born spirit’s possession of a pregnant woman… and her fetus. Thus, Isolda is truly the child of that noble afterall, and also the inextricably melded soul of the demon. I may like her to learn this at some point, and struggle further with her identity.

Moreover, Isolda is made to suffer. Her physical form makes it difficult to blend in with society, and I’d like to maintain that difficulty throughout the story, and force her to struggle against the bounds of what she can, and can’t do.

Eventually, she might come into some sort of power as a result of the Black Water sweeping across the land. Perhaps this could manifest as additional modifications to her physical form, furthering her resemblance to the very monsters she must fight; perhaps instead it may manifest in bursts of instinctive, destructive magic that more storied magicians in the group can aid her into controlling. I am completely open to her being put through hell during her journey, and seeing what manner of being comes out the other side.


[/div]
[/div]
[div class=biggie]
[div class=speakeasy]
Black waters drown your piety. Black waters drown you, your children and their rocks, and all your damned town.
Pray the blight takes you all.[/div][/div]

[/div]

 

[idalie]

[class=biggie] width: 100%; max-width:1200px; margin: 0 auto; text-align: center; clear:both; font-size:12px; color: #fff; font-weight:100; background: #000 [/class] [class=whut] background: #000;[/class] [class=handsomedevil] background: #262626; text-align: left; width:32%; float:left; color: #fff; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speakeasy] letter-spacing: 3px; word-spacing: 2px; border-bottom: solid 10px #47302e; font-size:14px; background: #262626; padding:10px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #fff; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speaks] color: #fff; padding:15px; text-align: left; float:right; width:65%; background: #262626; font-size:14px; line-height:1.4; letter-spacing:1px; padding:20px; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=handsomedevil maxWidth="800px"] margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=whut maxWidth="800px"] margin: 0 auto; padding: 0px; width:97%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=biggie maxWidth="800px"] padding: 0px; margin: 0 auto; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=speaks maxWidth="800px"]margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box[/class] [class name=speakeasy maxWidth="800px"]margin: 0 auto; padding: 10px; width:100%; box-sizing: border-box;[/class]
[div class=whut]
[div class=biggie]
[div class=speakeasy]''O Daughter of Babylon, doomed to destruction, blessed is he who repays you as you have done to us...[/div]
[div class=handsomedevil]

[/div][div class=speaks]

Guillemot de Clermont​

Role ：Paladin
Age ：37
Gender ：Male
Sexuality ： Heterosexual
Personality ：Guillemot de Clermont has been many things in his life; a dark and handsome stranger who entrusted himself to God, a ruined clergyman wearing the rags of his defeated order, a grotesque scrap of a man disfigured by war. Thrown aside by fate, abandoned by destiny, his demeanour is justified in its sombre tone and soft words as if he were to speak the sermons of the dying. Abiding strictly by the scriptures he has been instilled with, Guille is rarely one for profanity and holds a strong if not skewed moral compass. Faith is arguably the most important thing he owns, faith in that he will pay penance in this life until he can be freed in the next, faith that his life has not been without meaning, faith that law and order are right and just. Religion is what keeps him fighting, religion with all its flaws, imperfections, and agony. Killing men is an honourable sin and it will bring him to the heavens in compassionate embrace. He must be broken to be stronger, he must shatter himself and perhaps he may find peace. Haunted by memories and dreams, De Clermont spends his nightly hours waking in a sweat, old wounds aching with renewed vigour whilst he does nothing to dull the awful pains. It is his sin. It is his shame.

Physical Description ：Taller than average, looming at the height of 6’4” the Paladin is a broad, athletic man. Wide shoulders are often tense or hunched forward in prayer, whilst beneath the helmet he wears as a constant mask is a face ravaged by scarring. He may have once been considered good looking but faded it became with the cruel wars. When he does reveal his features it's apparent of his dark-hair cropped to avoid catching it, a heavy brow from which two grey eyes peer out from, and a permanent sense of melancholy lingering in his expression. The right side of the fighters face is most affected, the once-proud cheekbone having sunken slightly with the weight of the collision. Being hit with a mace tore out part of his cheek and thus Guille cannot smile without effort, causing his mouth to twist up in a wonky smirk. Nevertheless, he maintains a short beard which suffers where the scarring is worse. The rest of his form, save for at the weaknesses of his armour, are relatively unscathed. Sir Clermont wears a full set of steel plate, with a rough brown cloak and hood disguising his apparel.

Starting Weapon ：Steel Broadsword, engraved with scripture.

Carrying ：27 Silver, 9 Copper, bedroll, steel & flint, waterskin (filled with light ale), dried rabbit & fowl meat, ships biscuits, whittling knife, whetstone, needle & thread.

Brief Backstory ：Guillemot was the fifth child of the de Clermont family, a small but old noble house who dabbled in trade and land. Born to serve but never inherit, throughout his childhood he was instilled with the lessons of the youngest son. Trained as a Knight until he was rewarded his title at twenty-one, Guille would continue to join a holy order as a paladin. The Order of the Broken Saint, obsessed with mortality, pain and worship would be his home for over a decade.

Purged by powerful enemies who thought them too great of a threat, Guillemot was wounded and eventually disowned by his family to avoid scandal. Like many of the survivors, he would become a mercenary to earn a living with reaffirmed faith and mission. He has decided to find redemption and the reason for why he has suffered.

Longer Bio ：

Spoiler: The Broken Saint

Guillemot was the fifth child of the de Clermont family, a small but old noble house who dabbled in trade and land. Born to serve but never inherit, throughout his childhood he was instilled with the lessons of the youngest son. From the age of seven he was trained as a Page, learning to read and write, finding a devotion to faith with the castle chaplains and beginning his introduction to the hard life of combat. He was taught by his fathers’ oldest and dearest friend; Sir Visscher, his mentor from that day onward would be Guille’s slave driver. In hindsight, it was the best teaching that a boy could ask for, tested to the end of his tether again and again. He was instructed how to climb, swim, hunt and fight. Taken everywhere with the man he bore witness to skirmishes and death at an early age, a strange thing for a child to comprehend. By his early teenage years he was promoted to squire, owning his first set of real armour and allowed to choose a steed of his choice, a loyal animal that would follow him into his adult years.

On his twenty-first nameday, his training had come to an end. The fully-fledged Knight endured a ceremony of faith, holding a prayer vigil until the dawn where he was awarded his title of Sir. His path was clear from a young age that he would join a holy order, following that of the Broken Saint. A man who had suffered greatly and found a path of redemption, kindness, and enlightenment. Teachings that required blood to be sacrificed, the very waters of life. Pain was love, a twisted and strange worship but these men and women, they would’ve cut their throats at the feet of God without so much as a question. Little corruption and little manipulation could be found in the higher ranks, their paladins fearsome and ruthless. To the last child they could raise their blade, to the last breath they would drag themselves to finish their mission. They were dangerous and after five hundred years of worship, the Order was put to the sword.

They had power, skill, and no allegiance which became their downfall. With high priests put to death, burned and hung, their heads mounted upon the monastery walls, the followers would slowly disband. Persecuted until they relinquished their faith. The paladins would drift on the winds, shifting like the sands of the great deserts. Some were executed like their leaders, others became mercenary men, and some took faith into their own hands - dead before the villagers could burn the thatch rooftops.

During the purge, Guillemot was wounded. Hit with a morning star in an ambush within the early hours of the dawn, no helmet to deflect the unfortunate blow. It sunk his cheekbone, tearing out flesh with little remorse. Beaten until they thought him dead, he would survive by mere chance. Found by clerks who had hidden and nursed to health by a sympathetic farmer and his wife. Unfortunately, his face would fuse the damage and missing skin, permanently tightening the right half of his features in an ugly mass of scar tissue. In the days that passed, he returned to the place of worship he had revered and took what remained of his belongings. His father in the months that followed would publicly disown him to avoid scandal, even his brothers turned their heads and his sisters would no longer speak his name.

A dark period descended over De Clermont. Sleeping rough and scraping by on pittance, his injuries began to refuse to heal and became infected. At his darkest, when he thought he may die in the dark backstreet behind an inn reeking of piss and beer, he saw a vision. A wonderful, incomprehensible thing that gave him the strength to continue on. His fever broke and the years that followed proved to challenge him more than any he had yet faced. Each of these penances. Each of these a chance to prove his worth to live until his very last breath.

Misc Info ：
Will often wait for others to leave or sleep before eating or removing his helmet if he can help it. Knowing people have been deterred by his features and disliking the stares or repetitive explanations, he believes hiding it is justified.

Player Pitch ：
I'd like to see him questioning his religion or being affirmed in it, acting as a lawful compass but questionable on ethics. I'll expand on it later Im tired ):


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[div class=biggie]
[div class=speakeasy]...Blessed he shall be, that taketh and dasheth thy little ones against the stones."[/div][/div]
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[Lakyr]

Sylvan
"This life is our one chance at writing our story, I'd rather have mine be a tale worth telling."​

BASICS

Role ：Adventurer/Vagabond/Occasional Sellsword
Age ：28
Gender ：Male
Sexuality ： Bisexual
Personality ：Ever smiling, Sylvan would seem to be in an unfaltering good mood. He's usually friendly, mostly honest, very open-minded, and overall he's pleasant company in most people's eyes. He's unlikely to bear any grudges or ill will. Albeit his sociable nature, he's rather slow to really get attached to somebody. If he shows you his more vulnerable side it's a fair guess that you truly have earned his friendship. For those who accomplish that Sylvan will prove to be one of the most loyal companions imaginable. He has always had a fascination with stories, tales, and legends. When faced with danger he is fearless. This is not to be mistaken with foolishness or a deathwish, he won't jump into a fight that he's bound to lose if there's a smarter way around it, but when it comes to it you won't see him frozen in terror or trembling.
Physical Description ：The rough life on the road has proven to often leave him rugged looking. Simple clothes are quickly and often stained and end up looking worn-out sooner or later. But under an often unwashed facade lies a handsome man, one who looks younger than his years. Quite the amount of scars has found its way onto his body, which happens rather fast when one is inexperienced and not wearing actual armor. He stands at a fair 5'9'' and has an athletic build, which leaves him with a healthy mixture of physical strength and agility/swiftness.
Starting Weapon ：The last shortsword he's picked up. Nothing fancy but it gets the job done, for now. He will use anything he can get his hands on in a fight.
Carrying ：A bunch of leatherbound books (one's pages are mostly empty), an inkwell, a quill, a waterskin, some dried meat, a length of rope, a knife, a bedroll, a tinderbox, some coin, and no more ale (or any alcohol, for that matter).
Brief Backstory ：Sylvan was born into a lesser noble family and had originally been named Kendrik Alben. The only benefit from his heritage was his education, other than that it only gave him a house to run away from, a family to forget about, and a name to rid himself of. From early on he had a love for stories and it left him with little appreciation for the protected lifestyle his family had in mind for him. He ran away in his teenage years, taking what he could carry and leaving for good.

This world is dangerous for someone who doesn't know to protect himself but to his luck, he met someone who took him under his wing. They shared their passion for adventure, the urge to see the world, and write their own story. He became Kendrik's mentor, his only true family, and helped him find his true name, Sylvan. He taught Sylvan many things, including unfaltering optimism. You had always the choice to make the best of any situation, there was no reason to let anything drag and keep you down in your one chance you have at life.

He lived this philosophy to the fullest and till his very end when he, befitting of him, smiled and stared death in the face. Sylvan didn't let the death of his only family drown him in grief for too long. Instead, he truly began to take this to heart, pursuing a life worthy of his mentor's legacy.

He always traveled, never stayed anywhere for long. Coin came and went from day to day. Sometimes he worked as a sellsword besides more experienced mercenaries. Every now and then he even stayed with a company for a while, but never for long. He never got any real training with the sword, people just tended to believe him when he claimed to know what he was doing. This led to him not being a very skilled fighter, but what he lacked there he made up for with sheer will and lots of improvisation.

DETAILS

Player Pitch ：With his lack of martial skill and the lack of worry/care he's bound to get hurt. Sylvan isn't striving for power necessarily but when given the option to become more than he is, I can't see him deny an opportunity like that under the right circumstances. I could see him make a deal that doesn't just seem to be too good to be true with something or someone that isn't what it seems. Or maybe a fit careless heroism gets him cursed, or something similar. Anything is possible really, I don't have anything in mind that's set in stone, but that is part of the fun, isn't it?

 

[The Gunrunner]

Kaykavus Nadir
"Here, my friend, charitable men die honestly, and the lives of evil men go on."​

BASICS

Role ： Skirmisher
Age ： 27
Gender ：Male
Sexuality ：Heterosexual
Personality ： A thoughtful and philosophical man who has had his moral compass beaten down by the cold realities of situations he has been repeatedly thrust into. The kindness of his youth has been punished in a series of embarrassing mistakes and near-death experiences. It has molded him into a far darker and callous man, who has become intensely disillusioned. He is personable and talkative, enjoying debate and deep conversation, despite his otherwise blunt and selfish nature. He enjoys learning of other cultures, though the racial intolerances he has endured since leaving his homeland have made him slow to reveal his own. He enjoys honesty, even brutal honesty, and responds well to a friendly gibe. His trust is something that must be earned, but once you have it - he will do what he can for you.
Physical Description ： Neither notably tall nor notably built, though under the armour his body is toned and athletic. Being from afar, he keeps his armour on to hide his foreign features; half-plate, mixed with chain-mail under cloth. He wears a robe of green, a red military sash, and a leather band which holds draped boiled leather and white cloth. He is well secured, though in a manner quite foreign to the area. Though he hides his features, the armour still makes it apparent that Nadir is an outsider.
Starting Weapon ： Voulge
Carrying ： Some coin, powdered glass, wooden caltrops, rope, fishing hook, stale bread, bedroll.
Brief Backstory ： A man who grew up on military poems and tales, with a naive concept of war and conflicts. Part of the mountain yatagans under the Emryr sultanate, he was involved in a series of imperialist wars, and their iron-fisted military occupation afterwards. After years of brutality under the regime, he deserts the army and is declared an outlaw. Circumstances force him to join a band of brigands, amalgamated out of many rebels, fellow deserters, and refugees. His brutal actions continue, stealing and murdering in order to survive. His moral objections die more and more, until the band is eventually wiped out by hired bounty hunters. Nadir survives, and travels far from the sultanate and the desert, until he finds himself in Medreen.

DETAILS

Longer Bio ：
Nadir's upbringing was not particularly fascinating. He was born into a noble family, but their wealth was squandered years ago. The male line consistently joined the sultan's army, but was not known for any exceptional deeds. Living in mediocrity, Nadir found an escape in book reading. In his studies he'd read philosophy and history, but when he had time to himself he would dig into the awe-inspiring tales of poetic heroes. He loved them, it created a fantastical allure towards military life.

Nadir enters into his early teens, and war is brewing. The sultan has died, and his ambitious son has taken the throne speaking of expanding against its smaller neighbours. There are lines to recruiting stations, the lowest classes disappear into conscription ranks, and the propaganda is suffocating. Nadir, naturally, falls for all of it. How their neighbours are preparing to invade, the insults and lies they tell, an invasion must be considered to save the sultanate! It is the first major war in generations, and what glory there will be.
So he signs on with the army

'Knight' can mean many different things, depending on where you ask. Nadir was a knight of a kind, called 'Yatagans,' infantry trained to be light skirmishers or line-holders. Along the mountains within the Emrir sultanate, the skirmishing Yatagans are the necessary elites of the environment. Nadir learned quickly what bullshit his books had filled his head with - Poems never put to rhyme a man spasming as his neck sprays his blood. Tales never told the story of the farmer who shit his pants before he died. Ballads never sang about the retreating men who trampled their injured comrades.

The civilians faired better, at least sometimes. The army looted what they could, and if the civilians fought back, well... then the army did what they wanted with what was left. The propaganda-spewing street hawkers rang in his memory as he walked through burnt villages and past begging refugees. Desperate to reconcile a cracking worldview, he concluded the stories weren't wrong, no - They must have been speaking of his homeland. The Emryr sultanate is doing what it has to, even at the expense of others. These actions must be done, for everyone's better.

So he lived by that view, justifying the slaughter he'd witnessed and enacted. It worked, for some time. It allowed his conscience to push him into the furthest excesses of brutality that his commanders demanded from him. However, when the war was over, the military occupation began. There would be no more fighting, no protecting your comrades. Only fear and intimidation against what was left, forcing them to pay their taxes and report their rebel friends.

His sense of national pride was wittled away, more and more. He was hated and despised, by those he was oppressing and by himself. He'd try to be merciful, but spare one villager from a massacre, and they would join the rebels or brigands. Don't enforce the tax laws, and they would be beaten for evasion. There was no winning, no justice. Nadir couldn't stomach what he was becoming, he wasn't so far gone to live like that for long. So he deserted.

But deserters don't get happy endings. He'd wondered why, after deserting, so many former soldiers turned to brigandry. He'd assumed they were evil, nothing more to it. He thought that until he was nearly discovered, trying to buy bread. Life as an outlaw, whether brigand or not, was a life of thievery. Not out of selfishness, but out of necessity. Fight the hunger for as long as you can, but eventually you will take what you need - No matter what must be done.

A lone outlaw, looting what he can, never having enough food to stave away his hunger. He survives only because the rest of the army is too busy with their iron-fisted slaughter. He'd eventually found a place with a group of brigands, an amalgamation of deserters, rebels, and refugees. They'd show him kindness, but only him. Only to their own. Nadir would not escape contributing to other people's misery.

He makes concession after concession to his moral code, 'the line' crossed over and over. He kills because he has to, at first, but slowly he kills out of convenience. The difference between the two blurs over time, his moral faith erodes and rots with every day. All there is is him and his comrades... And his comrades, a group of bandits. Looting, murdering bandits, the villain in any story they have. A villain that does not live long.

They're attacked in the night, tracked by hired bounty hunters right to their camp. Most are killed in their sleep, but those that are left fight on their feet. Nadir is able to fight. For something, he tells himself. Showing strength against the sultanate? Protecting his comrades? In reality, he just wanted to die fighting, scrape together some semblence of the stories he grew up with.

The fight is hard, and grueling. The bandits do what they can, but the hunters are experienced. Nadir's helmet is hit hard by someone's pommel, sending him into unconsciousness. When he awakes, he finds himself being carried in a corpse cart. Alive, somehow, and his head ringing. He ran for nearly a year after that, traveling far from the sultanate, then far from the desert region itself. He's been surviving off of coin gained through mercenary work, willing to perform any task, for anyone who will hire him. He has traveled so far he finds himself in Medreen, where he's heard about some kind of bird problem.

Misc Info ： *secret*

Player Pitch ： (Heavily inspired by 'Elson' from 'Sabres of Infinity.'.) A man who was once good, but intensely naive during a time of brutal war. Making morally righteous choices at the wrong opportunities, and consistently beaten down until he flipped. A character that tried and failed to be a hero, and only found successes that he needed by shrugging off those poetic fairy tales of honor and righteousness.

He'll start as a passable version of a raider, who primarily relies on skirmishing and trickery to win. He has the starting blocks to become a strong all-rounder - One who can't beat the greatest swordsman in the land, but can harass him with ranged weapons and traps; he can't out-shoot the legendary eagle-eye archer, but he can close the distance and outfight him in a duel.

My plan for him is to rethink his past and rediscover the morality that he shrugged away, albeit a more realistic version. To realize that the mistake was not trying to be good, but how he tried to do it, and what it means to be moralistic in a world that does not care about morality. How that person would be formed and what he would believe is something that'll be shown in the rp.

"That is why we are ruled by evil men."