Fantasy Of Black Waters [soft reboot] (Character Sheets)

[BasiliskVeranda]

OF BLACK WATERS: CHARACTER SHEETS
NEW CODE/NEW CHANCE​

Hi OBW cast and crew! Here's your new character sheet repository. I know, I know. It's annoying to have to rewrite these, but essentially you can just copy and paste your old sheet if nothing is really changing. Furthermore, if you want to make tweaks, or a whole new character, now's the time!

You can use plain-text if you want.

Please post your character sheet in the thread below. If it gets hearted, 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. Also strictly humans with realistic illustration (or real people if you can swing it) faceclaims. Spirit-possessed works. 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]
[centerblock=45]
[BG=#e2e3ea]
[centerblock=80]
[IMG width="100%"]character image url or whatever[/IMG]
[/centerblock]
[color=#150a30]
[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]Alignment ：[/B]Here's a new part that might not come into play until later, but we're trying something new. Should your character recognize the power of The Black Waters, what would they do? Would they Harness It, seek to Destroy It, prevent people from Doing Either, or (insert idea here)? This might not matter in the long run, but the Mod Squad is thinking about opening this idea up a bit.
[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.

[/centerblock]
[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

[b]Player Pitch ：[/b]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.

[/centerblock]

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

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.
Alignment: Here's a new part that might not come into play until later, but we're trying something new. Should your character recognize the power of The Black Waters, what would they do? Would they Harness It, seek to Destroy It, prevent people from Doing Either, or (insert idea here)? This might not matter in the long run, but the Mod Squad is thinking about opening this idea up a bit.
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.

[/FONT]

 

[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)
Alignment ： Will align to The Black Waters': worships chaos, debauchery, destruction, and death. Possibly will snap out of it depending on built relationships/empathy remaining intact.
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, when asked. But in order to get that information, he will ask for an equal exchange.

His idea of an equal exchange is a bit skewed; need more information than Tybalt can provide about a beasty? He might just shave off a few years of your life. Want to know which way to go? If it's left, consider your left pinky as tribute.

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 without losing your limbs.

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, you MUST give up something vital, he flirts way too much, and he loves cats.

 

[mothspit]

Gwyndilin Abernathy
"I am not so easily bested by man or beast. But for you, darling, I'll make an exception."​

BASICS

Role ：Rogue/Mercenary
Alignment ：Chaotic Neutral - Can be swayed either way.
Age ：23
Gender ：Cis Woman
Sexuality ：[/b]
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. Heavy drinker/lover of sweet foods. Easily influenced by bad, but fun, choices. 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 toned, 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. Gwyn exudes an air of confidence in not only in appearance, but even in posture; She walks with a heavy gait, broad of shoulder and straight of spine.
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.

DETAILS

Longer Bio ：

Spoiler: Oh Captain, My Captain

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, in a time of monsters and eldritch horrors, 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.

Over time, she proved to be a distinguished fighter in her guild, and soon a time would come to prove her abilities.At the age of 18, in the cold bite of winter, Gwyn became tasked with settling a dispute with of one of her half-siblings-- Cordelia-- seeking to usurp their biological father and claim the throne. To prevent unnecessary bloodshed between their respective armies, Gwyn proposed she and Cordelia fight to the death. An offer she readily accepted, but she would later fall to Gwyn's sword after a long, arduous fight. The first of many victories under her belt, Gwyn was lovingly dubbed the Mistress of Oxfriar; A champion of the people that helped avoid a war. This death was not one that weighed too heavily on her conscious; As a half-sibling not welcome in the court, Gwyn and Cordelia never shared a childhood together, nor with any manner of bastard children their father left behind. It was no secret the king of Oxfriar was equal parts cruel and daft-- Strict in policy, but woefully ignorant in the art of war and strategy. And while she did not mourn her late sister, Cordelia's message of dissent had begun to sow their seeds within Gwyn.

Despite this victory, she was never properly knighted by her biological father, as women were seen as lesser for taking on the jobs of men. Regardless, she often accompanied them in battle, never the type to sit at home, waiting for their return. Of course, this first win fueled a young, rebellious ego, and she quickly inherited the ways of her brethren in more ways 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 dangerous 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 adrenaline-chasing behavior. Still, she remained a loyal confidant to Markis and those closest to her.

Once word had spread of the tale of the Mistress of Oxfriar, and the tragic battle with her own sibling, contracts from various parts of the countryside soon fell into her lap. The jobs were simple enough-- Deal with a beastie terrorizing the local village, rescue a gorgeous dame from a decrepit wizard, or positions in the armies of other nobles for respective battles. During these displacements, Gwyn often came across sects of Cordelia's broken and scattered ranks, fulfilling similar contracts as a means of work. Though some harbored a level of resentment for taking away their leader, many of these dissenters gained a newfound respect for Gwyn, as the battle was fought and won fairly. They revealed to her the secret that many of Cordelia's sympathizers still remained within the kings court, and a coup had been planned should Gwyn lose the fight. Having trained her ear to their plights of formerly working for a man as heartless as he was brainless, she sympathized with them, and was encouraged to seek out the dissenters hidden within the court. Unbeknownst to Markis, Gwyn had begun seeking the council of these men, who encouraged her to spearhead their
efforts and pick up right where Cordelia left off. But Gwyn knew, deep down, it wouldn't be that simple, and she was not ready to lead such a revolt.

At least, not yet.

One night, Gwyn disappeared from the court of Oxfriar, taking nothing with her but some rations and a single horse. Markis discovered her absence the following morning, having left a small note on his pillow: I'm sorry.

Bewildered, Markis searched every nook and cranny of the kingdom, but was unable to discover his reckless daughter. He figured she had gotten herself into some kind of trouble, but would turn up sooner or later-- She always did. He could only pray it would be soon.

Two years would pass before Markis would ever see her again.

During an unforgiving, bitter winter, on the anniversary of Cordelia's failed coup attempt, lines of men began to form in the snow; Near the horizon, outside the walls of Oxfriar. A squire sent from their numbers delivered a message to the king-- A declaration of war. And the usurper? The Mistress of Oxfriar herself, and the newly formed Silver Band; An illustrious group of mercenaries, comprised of Cordelia's scattered supporters, and fellow merry-men. Gwyn acting as their captain, in the past two years any number of ballads detail their victories-- The Clash at Demonhead, the Sweetroll Skirmish, and the Blackwater Massacre, to name a few. Each battle was a decisive victory, with the Mistress of Oxfriar celebrated as a dashing, skilled knight in the ways of combat.

When word reached Markis that Gwyn had returned to overthrow her biological father, he first approached her so that he may convince her to end this charade, lest she get herself killed.

"The mans a tart, but a controllable tart. Have you any knowledge in running a kingdom?" He asked incredulously.

"None," Gwyn answered decisively, "But what a way to learn."

He knew she would never admit it, but Markis could see this wasn't about liberating those harmed by the kings hand. It was about Gwyn, and her need to chase the bigger and bigger score. In truth, when she first set out that night two years prior, the coup hardly interested her. Rather, it was the promise of her own troupe enticing her more than anything. It was only when a pattern had been established-- The jobs becoming harder, the victories more often, and the coin becoming larger-- Did those seeds planted by Cordelia's message finally blossom. After achieving so much, what was bigger than the throne?

Though it pained him to oppose her, Markis could not, in good conscious, let her continue down this path unchecked. Both disappointed and heartbroken, Gwyn wasted no time launching her attacks.

The ensuring battle persisted well into the night. Gwyn commanded her numbers to continue the onslaught on the castle walls, and Markis fought on the front lines with his own company-- The two exchanging casualties considerably. Things finally came to head when the dissenters hidden within the court finally struct, following the instructions left to them two years prior: "Now.. isn't right. If I return, promise me that when I need you, you'll be there." And they were. With their help, archers along the walls were knocked from their perches, killed from the fall. Ropes fell, and soon Gwyn and her men had pushed Markis and the knights further and further into the heart of the castle, until only a handful of them remained to keep the king safe. Markis among them, bloodied and wounded.

The Silver Band made quick work of sealing the castle and it's grounds. Gwyn offered Markis a position in her kingdom, in exchange for the life of the king-- "There's no reason I need to lose both fathers today. My kingdom awaits."

"I pity the kingdom that has you as it's queen." Was his grim answer.

An event since referred to as the Oxfriar Uprising ended with the death of Ser'Markis Abernathy, run through on the sword of his own daughter. The king was held as a prisoner for some time after, and publicly executed to the people's delight shortly after Gwyn took the throne. Thus begins the (short) reign of Queen Gwyndilin, a historically progressive series of months, if not as economically prosperous. Though the death of the cruel king was well-received among the people of Oxfriar, the murder of Markis, to some, was not.

In the time of her disappearance, the people mourned the loss of their Mistress and local champion, turning to Markis as their new hero. His death became a point of contention for many of those who thought Gwyn was unfit to rule-- Calling into question her nobility, implying that Markis was truly the one who sired her, and he was killed to conceal the fact she was not of noble blood; Therefore, not a true heir to the throne. These rumors only gained traction as another ambitious half-sibling returned to Oxfriar once he had heard of his fathers usurping; Dubbed Godric the Pure, a name given to him for his 'pure' bloodtie to nobility, he latched onto growing resentment for the Queen and anxiety over the economy, and would eventually spearhead the smear campaign against Gwyn, claiming to be the one rightful heir.

Less than a year into her reign, after months of rumors growing in absurdity--Once calling into question her nobility, now suggesting her to be a witch, or in league with agents of the sickened waters, Godric challenged Gwyn to a duel to the death, just as she challenged Cordelia. Gwyn readily agreed, eager to make an example of her ill-begotten brother.

The night before the battle, Godric extended a tentative olive branch; Whats one last night of drinks together as family, before one of us inevitably dies the next day? A morbid sense of humor Gwyn could appreciate, if finding Godric woefully insufferable. One last drink, then.

Gwyn would awake only hours later, her mouth, hands, and ankles bound with rope,currently riding in the back of a carriage. At first, she didn't quite understand what had happened, but it clicked soon enough. Her drink spiked with some sort of agent, rendering her unconscious. But for how long, she didn't know-- Nor where she was, her carriage view nothing but open field for miles.Nothing on her person except for the clothes on her back, and a note, written by Godric:

Dearest Gwyndilin,

How was your nap, sweet sister? I trust the roads are smooth and did not disturb
you terribly. With any luck, you'll be well away from Oxfriar by the time you
wake.

So sorry to play the game this way. As you might have already guessed, I had
no intentions in engaging in any sort of cheap, barbaric display of brutality.
Father never did care for us much, so I suspect I would be as cutthroat
as you had I chose to remain in his company. Cordelia was a visionary, and you,
her successor as a revolutionary. We can't all be swinging swords and
beheading our enemies, can we? I admire you in that regard.

But I am a man of image. Of poise and cadence. Of grace and patience. Of theater,
if you like.

Some political wisdom, dear sister: Some battles are fought without sword or
bloodshed.

You needn't worry of return, I've taken the liberty of informing the public of
your honorable decision to step from the throne. Of course, I tried to stop
you from taking your own life, but you were adamant, you see. "My blood
for my fathers," how noble of you.

I've done you a favor this way, Gwyndilin. Already they're calling you a martyr.
I'm told the surfs wish to throw a ball in your honor. Isn't that lovely?

Surely it's better this way, we both get to keep our lives. That's worth something,
isn't it?

Safe travels,
Godric the Pure
King of Oxfriar

Dethroned, disgraced, and humiliated, Gwyn had been bested for the first time. Left without supporters, (those of which who, now under the assumption she had surrendered, would undoubtedly be conscripted into Godrics court,) or even a general idea of where the hell she currently was, Gwyn had no choice but to admit defeat and lick her wounds.

That was three years ago.

Though the thought of revenge was once at the forefront of her mind, once she began turning to traditional mercenary work to make a living,she decided against it. Her ego had been wounded, and there would be a lingering resentment for Godric for a long time, no doubt; But this time spent in the country,alone, without a company or a court, gave her plenty of time to reflect. She mourned the death of Markis heavily, as well as the death of her soul, as a piece of it had been sacrificed that day just as he had. So much bloodshed, for the sake of fueling her own selfish desires. A loved one dead by her hand. The cross she will forever bear.

Once every so often she would hear word of the Mistress of Oxfriar in passing, her tale now made to be sensationalized fiction-- Some not realizing the Mistress herself stood before them. Others joke of a day where she will rise from both death and obscurity to claim the throne once again. A pipe dream.

Now, her days are filled with drink, pipe, the occasional lover, and whatever beastie needs killing or dame needs saving.

Player Pitch ：reflective of her backstory, i think. ;P there are a few ways her future can pan out. she can seek revenge on godric with or without usurping him, continue living as a merc, or something else entirely.

 

[Keidivh]

Alrick Gottzmann
" What hope is there for man, when their greatest champions are no better than the monsters they hunt? "​

BASICS

Role ：Spectral Knight
Alignment ：Lawful Neutral - Alrick is currently unsure how to handle the Black Waters Crisis as he now constantly questions his judgement. As of now he isn't sure what the greater evil truly is, the Black Waters or the deprivations of his own kind.
Age ：31
Gender ：Male
Sexuality ： Straight
Personality ：
Years of contemplating the 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 unraveled 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 to give him a wide berth.

Starting Weapon ： A rusted war hammer

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.

DETAILS

Longer Bio ：

Spoiler: Dark Passengers

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.

Spoiler: Dark Passengers

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, driving back the horrors that emerged from the wilds. 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.

Alrick lived up to his title, and became a vicious warrior against the eldritch horrors that sought to infest his homeland. Serving under the stoic Grand Master Ludendorff, the young knight partook in a great many 'Grand Hunts', brutal excursions into the tainted wilds to try and push back this enigmatic threat. But fighting the Black Waters was like engaging in a sword fight with the air. Fruitless, exhausting and enraging. Countless brothers were lost in this time, and despite their valiant deeds there was no fruit borne from them. Madness tightened its grip around Aldheim. They were losing the war.

A council meeting was called to discuss what could be done, consisting of various minor nobles, Alrick, Lord Gottzmann and Grand Master Ludendorff. For days they debated on the best course of action. Some cowards called for an exodus. The more militant lords called for a Grand Hunt to drive deep into the tainted lands and find the source of the Black Waters. This was understood to be a suicide mission, but at least Aldheim would die a glorious and noble death. In the end it was the counsel of Ludendorff that won his fathers ear. That to contain the Black waters their own populace had to be cleansed. He convinced Lord Gottzmann that perhaps the true issue was the taint within their own people. If they could be purified then perhaps the Black Waters would be kept at bay. Perhaps the Black Waters was a punishment. So it was the Purges began.

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 war hammer 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 we have come to you.

Your sins are many, but a broken tool is better then none.

We will give you the strength to bring our order to this chaos.

Let us 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 war hammer 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: The Restless

While he is unaware of the fact currently, Alrick now shares his body with a plethora of spirits. What kind of spirits is anyones guess really. Perhaps spirits of the dead, perhaps spirits from the Black Waters. Whatever the case, they seem intent on avenging the myriad of wrongs inflicted upon the world. They wish to enforce justice upon the world. What kind of justice that is remains to be seen

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.

Still here!!​

 

[The Gunrunner]

INTERESTED IN CONTINUING, STILL WANNA BE HERE

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, handheld war-darts.
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,' mountain infantry trained to be shock infantry or line-holders. Along the mountains within the Emrir sultanate, the 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. He is not trained to use a bow, however, so he is limited in his range.

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."

 

[Hell0NHighWater]

JEMISHA MONTALLON
❝The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary; men alone are quite capable of every wickedness.❞​

• ❖
• ❖

• 
  
  
• 
  
  

GENERAL INFO

Nicknames ： Jem | Jemma
Alignment ： Neutral evil
Role ： Mage
Age ： 26
Gender ： Female
Sexuality ： Bisexual
Personality ：Jemisha Montallon is the type of person who cares only herself and her agenda. She is a strong and determined individual, traits she sometimes admires in other people as well. She doesn't want to be coddled, or held on a pedestal, and will often react negatively to those who try. Jemma has her own ideas, very rarely gets intimidated by other people, and knows what she can do with power. Although ruthless and cynical a majority of the time, Jemma has shown that she is, at the very minimum, capable of some degree of empathy.

Likes ： Books, power, magic, profits, fashion, Skotadi
Dislikes ： Ignorance, small talk, displaying weakness, altruism, children, Nobles
Fears ：Deep bodies of water, spiders, romantic commitment, a spell backfiring because of an inadequate exchange

Physical Description ： Jemma isn't beautiful in the classical way, no flowing golden curls or ivory skin; no piercing eyes of green or blue. Her curly dark brown hair falls in soft layers around her shoulders and her eyes are an equally dark shade of chocolate that border on onyx. White dotted tattoos pepper cheek bones and above the brow. She's shorter than average and certainly larger than a catwalk model, but in her ordinariness she is stunning.

Starting Weapons ：An old dagger and wooden shield (plus maaaaagic).

Carrying ：1 ritual dagger with a curved blade, 1 dusty ass wooden shield, 1 bone necklace that looks suspiciously like human vertebrae, 1 necklace with a skull that holds a medicinal powder (stolen), 20 gold (stolen), a leather water pouch, an apple (stolen).

DETAILS

Brief Backstory ：Pirates, cultists, and sleazy noblemen; Oh, My.

Bio ：Jemisha had always been a hurricane; from the time of her birth until she left 'home' she was the eye of her own storm. Her earlier history is unknown, even to her, there are no records of her parents, where she was born, or who was responsible for handing an infant child over to a crew of Pirates. Her earliest memories are of the seas, the scent of salt, and the boisterously out-of-tune shanties. Jemma spent her first twelve years on the open seas, travelling the world with the Pirates she thought of as family until they sold her.

During a period of shore leave, a minor nobleman had seen Jemisha and instantly took a liking to her. For the fair price of 920 gold, Jemma was uprooted from the life she had always known. The minor lord, Baron Henry Halford, was the illegitment son of Lord Alcock Halford and the heir to Lord Halford's title and responsibilities. At least he was. Jemisha was fifteen when a series of unfortunate events claimed the life of her 'owner'. By the time The Crown ruled that the Baron's death had been the result of foul play, Jemma had vanished.

Unfortunately for her, she wasn't able to disappear as well as she thought. A man by the name of Elijah Lockemoor found her in the woods a couple days later, dehydrated, hungry, and delirious. As a court mage, it was expected of him to send her to Tallis for the proper punishment. For some reason, a twist of fate perhaps, Elijah Lockemoor decided not to do what his job required of him and instead took the frightened teen under his wing. Elijah brought her to a commune halfway across the continent and gave her a home among his tribe.

It was there that she learned magic, acceptance, and love. Jemisha met Kelis shortly after she had first arrived and the two women had become fast friends. Over the years, that friendship blossomed into something a bit more. Very much in love, Jemisha poured her soul into her new life at the commune. Among the worshipers of Skotadi, Jemma was one of the most devout. A favored member of the tribe, Jemisha experienced her first taste of power and found herself hooked. She began to spend more time with Elijah and his inner circle and quickly proved herself to be a valuable asset.

Having lived for a couple years in NorthHaven, she was more familiar with the area around Claerview than the rest of her sisters and brothers. Because of this, Elijah chose her to spearhead a project involving a cave and some magic artifacts. But like everything else in her life, tragedy wormed its way in eventually.

The night she was meant to leave to join up with the rest of the expedition team, one of the members of the commune had fallen ill. Unable to leave the commune and at the prompting of Elijah, Kelis agreed to go in Jemisha's stead. That decision ended up costing her everything.

After hearing nothing for weeks, Jemma left the commune in order to search for her lost lover. A divination spell lead her to Ferrow Bog and to the grisly sight of Kelis Lockemoor's body. She was dead; her top half stuck in a tree, and the other fused within a large stone. The discovery broke something inside of her and Jemisha returned to the commune a completely different person. At the news of his daughter's death, Elijah gave Jemisha a task. Apparently, there was something in that cave, something that Elijah desperately wanted.

And if he wanted it, then it had to be powerful.


Player Pitch ： Every story has an antagonist; whether the group decides that Jemisha Montallon is that antagonist is up to them and, to some degree, fate. She is a character who has grown to appreciate power over everything else, so with that in mind it's possible that she's a bit of a wild card. Depending on the relationships she reluctantly forms with the rest of the group, she may or may not align her own interest with theirs. Her loyalty to the cult however runs deep and depending on what happens, the group may have to kill her.

 

[Whisker]

SHIA FOXCOURT
"Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win. - Stephen King"​

BASICS

Role ： Nobility
Alignment ： Chaotic Good - Adverse but not entirely resistant to the Black Waters or its effects.
Age ：25
Gender ： Male
Sexuality ： Heterosexual
Personality ： Proud, overconfident, naive, mostly honorable.
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.
Public Knowledge: 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.

DETAILS

Longer Bio ：

Spoiler: WIP

The First Forsworn

Misc Info ： I believe everyone is aware of this by now, but Shia is a spy for the Tallisian government. He doesn't trust cultists and goes in fear of the tolling of temple bells.

Player Pitch ： This character has changed a bit from his original iteration and plotline. He is a spy for the Tallisian government who is investigating the Black Waters. His interests align with those of the group, but that may change based on group decisions. He has been heavily indoctrinated to believe that he is performing service in the name of good by his actions and helping to keep his country together in the name of its overlord and king.

Shia has many different routes he might take over the course of the story based on the decisions of the group. He could betray the group and become more of an anti-hero or antagonist. He could be killed or defect from the storyline. Or his views on what is good and morally justified may yet be swayed.

As of now, I want this character to be our link to the political plotlines that may lay ahead. He may grow, change, or inspire many different alternatives in the group based on his abilities and title as Emissary.

His skills and contributions are listed here:

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 in battle.
Influence: Could be useful someday.