A City Betwixt (OOC)

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by DrowsyPangolin, May 21, 2016.

Thread Status:
Not open for further replies.
  1. A City Betwixt

    There she stood, her feet planted firmly on the golden wall that encircled the city of Aurinc. Her brilliant golden armor glinted in the light, the sun gleaming off of ever curve and facet of its surface. Her eyes peered through her visor at the distant horizon, and the swirling grey storm that was quietly building at its cusp. More would be coming, as they always did. They were newcomers to this strange, foreign world, lost and confused, just as she had been so long ago. How long ago had it been? She had no way of knowing, time seemed to pass differently here. It felt like years. She would go and meet the newcomers, as she had done a thousand times before. She would be their guide to the golden city, it was her duty, one of many.

    She watched as the storm grew stronger in the distance. The storms always preceded the arrival of newcomers, as far back as she could remember. There was no reason behind it, as far as she knew, but the appearance of the storms had never been wrong. The truth of why the storms hailed new arrivals, and of why they always seemed to arrive at the same place, was a mystery to her. In truth, it didn't concern her much. Her duty was to the ArchSeraph, and to her brothers and sisters. She would see them safely back to Aurinc, and set them on the proper path. As she watched the storm, armored footsteps clanked up the steps behind her.

    A familiar figure joined her at the wall's edge: her lieutenant. “Another storm's setting in. Seems like they're coming more often now, doesn't it milady?” Miranda turned her gaze towards the young man for a moment before looking back to the swirling mass of grey. “Yes, it would seem so.” She answered shortly, and her lieutenant seemed a bit dejected at her lack of desire for conversation. “Isn't that strange, Captain? You don't suppose something could be happening.. you know... on the other side?” Miranda remained turned towards the storm. “That's not our concern, Simon. If it is, we'll see it when we get there. For now, our concern is with the newcomers.”

    A pale light began to glow within the tumultuous storm before them. That was the sign that the newcomers had arrived. “I'll be heading out to the old temple to greet them, watch over the city while I'm gone.” Simon turned towards her. “Are you sure you wouldn't like me to come with you? I'd be more than willing to help.” Miranda shook her head. “No, Lieutenant, I'll be fine. You stay here, I shouldn't be gone for long.” Simon nodded, though his hopes had obviously been dashed. “Very well then, take care, Captain Armis.”

    IC THREAD: OPEN SIGNUPS - A City Betwixt

    Welcome (open)
    Welcome to A City Betwixt! This thread will center around a group of newcomers to The Grey Expanse, a purgatory-esque world where the spirits of the dead go after death. In this afterlife, people are tasked with hunting demons: human spirits that have fallen to their own darkness. By purging the demons, humans hope to cleanse their own souls, and eventually return to their own world to be reborn.

    Rules (open)
    1: Be considerate of your fellow players, we're all here to have fun.
    2: If you have to leave for an extended period of time, please let me know so we can avoid freezing other characters.
    3: No autohitting/autokilling.
    4: If you have an problems or questions, don't hesitate to talk to me, I'll help in any way I can.
    5: Don't make a character insanely powerful.(Basically, just avoid one-shot abilities and we'll be cool.)

    Character Sheet Format (open)
    Age:(At time of death)
    Soul Clarity:(See the section on Soul Clarity for more information)
    Appearance:(Description or a picture are fine)
    Abilities:(Magic and whatnot goes here)
    Short History:(optional, but just a small blurb on the character's former life)

    My Characters (open)

    Name: Oliver Renalt

    Age(at time of death): 27

    Soul Clarity: Green

    Appearance: Oliver is a tall, thin man, standing a few inches over six feet in height. He has a lanky, willowy build with long, spry limbs consisting of lean muscle. His spine is slightly curved, likely from a lifetime of poor posture. He has pasty, porcelain-toned skin, a trait that makes him particularly susceptible to sunburns. His hair is also a stark shade of white and is rather long, reaching slightly past his jaw. Though not unkempt, it obviously has not seen a pair of scissors in quite some time. His features are well defined, though not overly pronounced, and if not for his almost sickly pale complexion he might be somewhat attractive. His eyes are a deep shade of violet, and the area around them is somewhat discolored from a combination of chronic insomnia and regular illness.
    Oliver's clothing befits his former station as a priest of Creth. He wears a black cotton vest, somewhat formal in appearance, which fastens with a row of large pearl buttons running along its front. The vest is worn over a long-sleeved shirt of white silk, with a black tie fastened around the collar. Oliver's leggings are simple black trousers with a plain black belt tied about the waist. His shoes are black leather traveler's boots with pointed toes and a slight heel. The former priest wears a black felt hat with a wide, round brim, a useful tool for keeping the sun out of his face, but also a symbol of the church's enforcers that was often met with apprehension and even fear by the common folk. A pair of black wire spectacles rest on his face, their round lenses framing his eyes. His hands are nearly always wrapped in bandages, though this is to hide the altered state of his arms, and not for any sort of injury. Around his neck, Oliver wears a thin golden chain attached to a locket. He typically wears this beneath his shirt. Inside the locket is a miniature portrait of a young woman.

    Personality: Oliver is typically a mild-mannered fellow, unwilling to cause unnecessary problems. He is somewhat pessimistic, though is unlikely to voice this viewpoint without prodding. He was dissatisfied with his lot in life at the time of his death, and this feeling has persisted. Despite this fact, he is not a gloomy man, and is more likely to laugh at his own misfortune than to publicly bemoan his fate. He routinely uses sarcasm or humor of the self-depreciating and mildly dark variety to cope with his troubles. While his own problems weigh on his mind, he is fairly pleasant to others, and won't hesitate to help someone in need. He seeks to do some kind of good in the world, even if he questions the point of doing so. His life left him with the idea that people should help one another, though he is unconvinced that there is a greater purpose for such actions. The events of his life killed his faith in any greater meaning beyond the temporal world, so the existence of any sort of afterlife is surprising, and more than a bit confusing to him.

    Weapons/Belongings: The Priests of Creth rarely used weapons in their work, and Oliver maintained this habit long after he left the Church. Instead, he was quite well-trained in martial arts. With the alterations that were made to his arms, he was more than capable of dealing with an armed opponent.

    As a wayfarer, Oliver carried little more than what was necessary. He has a traveler's bag, made of battered brown leather, that typically hangs at his hip. Contained within the bag are various odds and ends necessary to his former life, including tools for cooking, a razor for shaving, a sewing kit, and a tinderbox. In addition to his necessities, Oliver carries a small, leather-bound journal.

    Abilities: When he joined the Church of Rivers, Oliver underwent a ritual to become a priest. In accordance with an ancient sacrament, his arms were altered through a mix of arcane and scientific means. The spells that were woven into his arms hardened his flesh to a point comparable to steel, if not more so. The process was long, arduous, and quite painful, and robbed Oliver of most of the feeling from his elbows down. His arms are covered in inscriptions, seemingly burned into his arms, starting near the elbows and running down the entire length of his forearms. The symbol of a crescent moon is plainly visible on the back of each hand. There seem to have been a few attempts made to cross out the inscriptions with a sharp implement, likely a result of Oliver's distaste for the Church later in life. The inscriptions, written in a strange language, repeat the same line of an ancient sacrament important to the Church of Rivers. Translated, it reads as follows:

    'Blessed is he who would defend the Faith. Unto him I shall grant hands of iron, so that he may bring forth judgment unto those who would defy me.'

    In this new world, Oliver's hands have also been covered in deep, wine red stains, perhaps a mark of guilt for all those he slew with them.

    In life, Oliver never had a need for weapons, as his hands were more than capable of combating bladed weaponry. The priest was trained from a young age in a series of different martial arts to make use of the power of his arms, and often used them to deadly effect in his service to the Church. The stains upon his hands, while a constant reminder of his sins, also seem to have given his flesh a resistance to magical and elemental attacks, perhaps because the heretics he slew were often supposed witches and sorcerers.

    Short History: Oliver never knew his parents, and grew up in an orphanage in his home country of Creth. The orphanage was funded and staffed by members of the Church of Rivers, a prominent religious group within the country. From his earliest years, Oliver was indoctrinated by the Church, and, unsurprisingly, decided to become a priest when he grew old enough. In the orphanage, Oliver had only seen the benevolent and caring side of the Church of Rivers. As a priest, however, he learned of the darker duties of the clergy. He hunted down and executed those who the Church viewed as heretics. At the time, he believed what he was doing was right. The Church, as well as the holy writings they held so dear, assured him that heretics only meant ill-will toward the people of Creth, and that he was protecting the general public by serving as a tool of justice for his goddess, the Mother of Rivers.

    Oliver served the Church wholly for most of his life, until he yet a young woman named Annaline. He fell in love with the woman, and soon they were married. Oliver continued his duties for the Church, but he now had something the Church had never given him: a family. His wife gave birth to son, and for some time the family lived happily. Unfortunately, this happiness was not meant to last. While Oliver was away on Church business, a plague struck the city where his family resided. He returned to find the entire town quarantined by his fellow brothers of the Church. He waited until night before sneaking into the city. By the time he reached his home, however, his wife was on her deathbed, and the plague had already taken his son. Shortly after his arrival, Oliver was discovered and removed from the city due to the quarantine, denying him the chance to even be with his wife for her final moments.

    The loss of his family led Oliver to question the legitimacy of the Church's teachings. He asked what kind of benevolent goddess would allow such a thing to happen, but was met only with non-answers and assurances that it was all part of some greater plan. Unconvinced, and utterly disgusted, Oliver abandoned both the Church and Creth, and became a wayfaring traveler. Free of the Church's influence, he began to question whether the cruel actions he had taken as a priest were justified. A great deal of sadness and guilt hovered over the man, and poor luck seemed to follow him wherever he went. His eventual death came in a fluke shipwreck. He died still questioning his place in the world, and firmly believing most of his life had been a mistake.​

    Name: Anabel Trist

    Age: 20

    Soul Clarity: Crimson

    Appearance: Anabel is a fairly ordinary girl, standing only a few inches above five feet in height. She has a light peach complexion, and her skin is dotted with a number of freckles. Her hair is strawberry blonde, and hangs down in wavy locks reaching her shoulders. Her eyes are a brilliant sky blue, but nearly always seem downcast and sad, likely a side-effect of her lonely life. Her features are soft, delicate, and not very pronounced. The former executioner has a slight frame, one that doesn't seem to lend itself to much physical strength, though perhaps there is more to her than meets the eye.

    Anabel's attire is fairly simple. She wears a cloak of a deep burgundy shade, which she often wears with the hood up, hiding her face in its shadow. Beneath the cloak, Anabel wears a soft vest, made of tanned leather dyed white, over a simple white button-up shirt made of cotton. Her trousers are somewhat tight-fitting, and made of black cloth. The young woman's footwear consists of a pair of soft shoes, made of tan cloth that expose her ankles. While comfortable, they were clearly not designed for extensive travel.

    Personality: Anabel is a shy, quiet young woman. As an executioner, she led a lonely, solitary life, and had few true friends. Thus, she was often alone with her thoughts. The guilt of her past transgressions has worn on her considerably, and the burden of her sadness is easily apparent. She wants nothing more than to escape the evils of her former life, and to finally be free of her guilt. Some part of her has always yearned for an ordinary life, to be accepted by others, and to have someone care about her well-being. She always hated the idea of taking lives, and the thought of violence makes her uncomfortable.

    Weapons/Belongings: Anabel's only weapon is the blade she used as an executioner. The sword is a long, straight, single-edged weapon comparable to its owner's own height. Though the sword's considerable length makes it a bit unwieldy, it is surprisingly light. The blade is fairly thin, and incredibly sharp, and its shape, reminiscent of a shaving implement, earned it the name 'Great Razor'. The weapon has no guard or pommel, and seems to consist entirely of one piece of pale grey steel. The tang of the blade has been wrapped in bright crimson silk to serve as a hilt.

    Abilities: Great Razor: In life, Anabel's sword was merely a tool with which she did her duty. In the afterlife, however, the blade seems to have taken on a life of its own. The blade 'speaks' to Anabel whenever she uses it with the voices of the executed, thus, using the weapon is quite traumatic for its young wielder. Even so, the weapon also grants Anabel a great deal of power, allowing her the angry spirits of those she slew to fight through her. The blade seems to cause wounds far beyond its natural capabilities, chewing through flesh like a living beast. Blood seems to excite the sword, making its attacks more ferocious, but also making its effect on Anabel more pronounced.

    Short History: Anabel was born in an island nation called Esterl. She was the daughter of the Crown's executioner. In her early years, she lived a somewhat normal life, though she was often shunned due to her father's bloody occupation. Despite this, her father treated her well, and she wanted for very little. In time, however, her father fell ill and died of a terrible fever. As the executioner's only child, she was forced to take over his position. Her duties bothered her deeply, but she strove to uphold her father's name and title. Still, the cries of the convicted haunted her dreams.

    An explosion of crime began in the young executioner's homeland, and more and more often she was called upon to do her duty for the Crown. Her nightmares grew ever worse, and soon the guilt of what she had done, what she continued to do, became unbearable. Most avoided her out of fear or distaste for her occupation, so she was left alone to deal with the voices that seemed to grow ever louder every night. Eventually, the burden broke her. One night, unable to cope with the ghosts of her victims, she took her own life with the same blade she had used to spill so much blood.

    Soul Clarity (open)

    Soul Clarity: Soul Clarity is a color system used to measure the state of a person's soul. All humans have a hunger within them, and as this hunger overtakes them, their Soul Clarity becomes darker. When a person's Clarity degrades to black, they become a demon. Typically, the condition of the spirit is tied to the condition of the mind, and as a person's mental state deteriorates, so too does their soul. For many, the only escape from this downhill slope is to cleanse one's soul and mind by finding a new purpose in the afterlife. The primary method of purification, a cause championed by the ArchSeraph Argyle and his followers, is the hunting of those who have fallen to their own sins. It is only through destruction that a demon can be purged, and many find vindication through bringing peace to these wayward souls.

    Grey: Clarity level of the formless greys. Greys are human souls that have lost their sense of identity and float aimlessly through the Grey Expanse. (Unavailable for player characters)

    White: The Clarity level of one ready to leave the Grey Expanse. A person with white Soul Clarity has escaped all the burdens of their previous life. (Unavailable at the start)





    Black: The Clarity level of soul-devouring Demons. Demons are human spirits that have given in to their primal hunger, and devour the souls of others to gain strength. (Unavailable at the start)

    (Note: You cannot begin the thread with a Black or White Soul Clarity. I'd also strongly recommend avoiding Grey, unless being a formless ghost is your thing.)​

    Information (open)

    Gods of The Grey Expanse
    Argyle: God of light and salvation

    Aylieth: God of Moon, Knowledge, Brother of Argyle

    Lucentia: Goddess of illusion and deceit, Daughter of Aylieth

    Acasia: Goddess of nature and the unwanted/abandoned

    Arrnauk: Lord of the Deep and the Drowned

    Othni: God of fire and war

    Piara: Reclusive Goddess of the mountains

    Old Gods

    The Old Gods were those present for the creation of the Grey Expanse.​

    Orix: The first god, tied to creation, destruction, and chaos

    Verdinia: Primordial Goddess of the land and seas

    Nebe: Primordial Goddess of the heavens

    Zushia: Primordial Goddess of life and flame​


    Aurinc- Golden City of the ArchSeraph Argyle

    Leviza- Pale City of Aylieth, the Faerie Prince

    Siov- The Sunken City of Arrnauk, laid waste by his own rage

    Damaz- The domain of the fire god, Othni

    Abrizia- The wooded abode of Acasia

    Yehka- The holy mountain of Piara

    Itima- An old, abandoned temple where newcomers to the Grey Expanse arrive.​

    Notable NPCS (This will be updated as we encounter more NPCS)​

    Miranda Armis: The Captain of the Seraph's Guard. Miranda has served Argyle for a very long time, and is one of his most powerful soldiers. She serves the ArchSeraph dutifully, and takes her job very seriously. She also greets newcomers to the Grey Expanse.

    Simon Euri: Simon is Miranda's second-in-command in the Seraph's Guard. He is a fierce warrior in his own right, and quite loyal to the Captain.​

    Lore (open)

    In the beginning, the world was formless, shapeless, a tumultuous, swirling void. There was no darkness, no light, only a storm that never faltered or waned. From the depths of this storm, life emerged. The first god, Orix, was born amidst the thundering tides, a flicker of life in a frigid world of grey. The newborn god slumbered deeply in the chaos of the formless void, and as he slept, he dreamed. He had a vision of the beginning that was to come, and of the end that would eventually follow. The child of the storm saw the world he would forge from nothingness, and awoke. He was reason born of disorder, clarity born of chaos, and with his will he would subdue the maelstrom. He took hold of the formless storm, bending and shaping its form towards his own machinations. He subjugated the void, and quelled the seething tides. The storm became clay in his hands, and from its essence he withdrew the pillars of his new world. He split the maelstrom with a horizon, placing the heavens above and the firmament below. From the earth rose Verdinia, Goddess of the land and sea, who upon her birth shaped the earth. From the heavens came Nebe, who dotted the sky with stars and brought celestial light. As the world formed before him, Orix took hold of the storm's final surviving aspect: its fury. From this fury was born Zushia, and she brought with her life. With the storm's essence she created life, but also flame, a force of destruction and rebirth. Having completed his labor, Orix fell into a deep slumber.

    While Orix slept, the Primordial Goddesses continued their work, perfecting their new world. They crafted many great wonders: shimmering seas, towering mountains, brilliant stars, and dense forests. They also gave birth to new gods, and entrusted their children as wardens of their creations. Nebe's children were entrusted with the affairs of the sky: Argyle was entrusted with the sun and the light of day, Aylieth was given sovereignty over the moon, and Absia was made goddess of the night and stars. Zushia entrusted the care of the natural world to her daughter Acasia, and granted unto her son Othni the might of flame. Verdinia made her son Arrnauk the stoic watcher of the seas, and to her daughter Piara she gave ownership over the stony mountains. These new gods, the children of the primordial goddesses, shaped the world in their own ways, using their great power to create cities and creatures to dwell within the world. For a time, there was an age of great prosperity.

    In time, Orix awoke from his slumber, but something in his dreams had changed him. With no express cause, he devoured the primordial goddesses, absorbing their strength. The new gods, outraged by Orix's treatment of the goddesses, banded together to destroy the old god for his crime. Their battle was fierce, and shook the new world to its very foundations. In the end, the gods were able to defeat Orix, but even their combined force was not enough to truly destroy him. So, they divided him amongst themselves and locked him away so that he could never harm his creations again.

    Shortly after the defeat of Orix, however, strange beings began appearing in the world. They called themselves 'humans' and claimed to come from another world. According to the newcomers, they had arrived in this new world only after dying in their own. In time, many of these humans came to worship the gods and their might, others, however, rejected the new world entirely. They crept in the dark, becoming twisted and feeding on the souls of their brethren. The gods, and the humans that followed them, fought back against these demons, and with their united force quelled the blasphemous uprising. Demons, however, continued to exist in the shadows. Humans, it seemed, were doomed to eventually become twisted when left without purpose. Many of the gods sought to provide this purpose through their own means, but the differences in their methods created a rift of distrust between them. Some, it was said, had even begun making use of demons to elevate their own power. The demons were an ever-present problem, and one that had to be alleviated.

    Argyle, the god of light, provided a solution that drew much of the human populace to his cause. He discovered a method of measuring the clarity of a human's soul, and determined that, upon reaching true purity, it was possible for them to be cleansed of their innate darkness. Argyle began tasking humans with the destruction of the demons, giving them a sense of purpose and a righteous cause to rally behind. Through these acts of atonement, they could rid themselves of their past sins, and escape the burdens of their former lives. While ordinary humans could become purified through their own labors, demons could only be purged through their destruction. Those who followed Argyle's path were not only working towards their own salvation, they were providing it to their fallen brethren. Argyle's discovery was met with uncertainty by the other gods, but many humans saw it as a glimmer of hope. After all, it was said, with a pure soul, a human could return and be reborn in their own world, or perhaps even ascend to a higher plane.
    #1 DrowsyPangolin, May 21, 2016
    Last edited: May 30, 2016
    • Love Love x 1
    • Bucket of Rainbows Bucket of Rainbows x 1
  2. ________________________________________________________
    Age: 31 (Died: 31)
    Soul Clarity: Gold
    Appearance: Arthur wears a full set of ash gray steel plate armor, standard, yet worn out to personalize himself perfectly as a well fought knight. To make the armor set complete; a ash gray steel helm with a half star symbol entry to allow sight, and attached wings for cosmetic purposes to show faith to the heavens. Every high knight is nothing without his trusty cloak to symbolize not only royalty but authority in a kingdom, a dark blue cape with gray fur overlaps the whole backside and shows girth to the shoulders. Strapped to his side is a black steel scabbard and within it holds the almighty broadsword that laid siege to many castles, ''Celestial Might (Caelestis Vires).'' The sword made of black steel and the hilt, black leather hide, the pommel forms a circular structure and within it holds a obsidian shard in the shape of a sphere. (Weight: 225, Height: 5'9)
    Personality: Arthur is a faithful man that holds much honor and respect for battle. A trustworthy man that is not only strong at heart but also carries much talent in the art of sword play. Although not at first loyal to the god ''Nebe'' and her heavens he will soon gain knowledge of her existence in the new purgatory world and will focus much of his art and passion into devotion to her. In the previous life he worshiped a similar god, however, created only the moon and said to have brought about the age of enlightenment in his kingdom during creation. Because of his background you can usually find him praying to the gods he worships, in battle he yells out their names in belief that they all gift him the power to overcome the opponent to grant victory in their name. He can be quite friendly and happy, although just like the night sky he can also be dark and cruel to ultimately hide something in plain site, however not to be confused with betrayal and deceit.
    Weapons/Belongings: His broadsword self-named ''Celestial Might (Caelestis Vires).''
    Abilities: Celestial Magic of the ancient god ''Nebe,'' at will Arthur may enchant his broadsword with the powers of the night sky which will coat the blade in a bright purple-ish dark essence that is deadly against fire, lightning, or bright holy creatures or if need-be humans. (Sword must be first firmly sheathed within his scabbard to work.) (Weak against dark creatures) (Must call the name of the goddess before using)
    Short History: Arthur is from the medieval era and was a general in the armies of a main kingdom, ''The Blue Knights of the North'' who were known to be powerful and worship a god of the moon. He led his armies onto battle on the lands of the rival kingdom, ''The Fire Tributes'' whom corrupted the lands of the south. A large and long war incited between the two kingdoms but eventually ended with the north winning and soon brought about a ''golden era'' for the south, however, in the battle Arthur gave his life to save a family who, after the war, would become the kings and queens of the land that he sought justified siege too.
    #2 Kōsaki, May 22, 2016
    Last edited: May 22, 2016
  3. @Edward

    Looks good! One thing though, characters can't start at White Soul Clarity, as it's the final tier of Clarity, and people typically ascend when they reach it. Other than that, I really like the character. One other bit. As Nebe is one of the Primordial Goddesses, she was consumed by Orix. However, obviously she is still tied to her creations, so she isn't entirely gone. That being the case, she isn't super well known to most humans. Still, because of his past, Arthur could reasonably have some kind of innate connection to her.
    • Like Like x 1
  4. So you want me to remove the fact that he knows of her name or do you like it the way it is?
  5. I'd say remove it and maybe have him learn it within the RP. Maybe his ability becomes stronger once he learns her name and more about her?

    Also, and I feel bad doing this again, but Grey is another one of the unavailable starting Clarity levels. The Greys are something we'll come into contact with, they're a bit... different. I really should've been more clear in the description, sorry about that. Basically, Gold, Green, Crimson, and Violet are the starting options.
    • Thank Thank x 1
  6. Can i leave the nebe part in for later reference?
  7. Sure, that should work out fine.
    • Thank Thank x 1
  8. Name: Kaden Sherman
    Age: 19
    Soul Clarity: Greenish-yellow

    He is about 177 cm in height and weighs in at about 62 kg.

    Kaden is a realist and he likes to see things as they really are. This helps him keep a level head and doesn’t excite easily but he is very susceptible to bouts of gloominess though he hides it quite well. He is considered to be a thoughtful person having genuine interested in and concerned about others. Though, Kaden sometimes lack the persistence to follow through with his positive intentions. Scared of the backlash he might receive if he were to step on the wrong toes. Which leads to him feeling conflicted when he have been wronged and it can deeply affect him to the point of being victimized. This escalated to the point where he chooses words very carefully as to not upset other people. However due to his nature he would never blame the person and instead blame himself. Kaden is also impulsive, often sacrificing long term goals for instant gratification which lead to many undesirable events. Though he tends to be modest and self-effacing – sometimes a bit too much. He enjoy being alone but is sympathetic to the needs of others. In fact, Kaden is too trusting of people but he has great faith in human nature and believes in co-operation and free thinking. He is willing to try new ideas and solutions and takes thoughtful approaches to situations. Contrary to his realist nature Kaden really loves to dream and love the prospect of new ideas and ways of seeing the world and he tends to get lost in theoretical possibilities and flights of fancy. This balances well however since Kaden is quite sensitive of potential dangers and problems around him. Though he overdoes it and purposefully imagines himself in worst-case scenarios.


    M.S 3 (Magic Sequencer),a cheap pendant,a wallet filled with no cash but instead an Identification card and a driver's license, a backpack and a 1.5L bottle of water inside.
    (A magic sequencer looks like a Iphone 4 for reference)

    Kaden is not armed with weapons to kill nor is his body fit to fight but through modern magical education he has the abilities to cast modern spells!
    Modern spells: They are generally weaker than ancient spells as the incantations and preparations needed are minor at best. Usually casted with a magic sequencer. However even without one casting a modern spell is easy at the cost of intensity,duration and effects. Example of Modern day spells: Increasing the strength of a person, shooting X amount of bolts that are unleashed from the finger tip of the caster to a target (Depending on the mastery it can be seeking), and invisibility (Not the perfect kind, you can see a blur when they move and when you see through them.)
    Cast other spells: Kaden have taken extra magic lessons and have learned enough to cast spells from other categories besides Modern Spells but needs time to read and prepare. In generally he needs a book to read from.

    Short History:

    Kaden grew up with his parents in a tightly knit neighbourhood of some town long ago. Being born in the modern era he was blessed into the age of technological and magic advances a golden age after the long bloody history of man. His parents were kind and caring although strict but also gave freedom for Kaden leading him to be what he is today. Though he didn’t care much for his education and always just scrapped together just enough credits to pass to the next grade. His parents weren’t too worried about him since they have passed on what they needed to ‘Do what you want but do it well’. In his high school years he was pretty good with magic not on Olympic levels but enough to get him to a decent university which will lead him to a decent job. That’s what Kaden wanted. Decent, he didn’t need the best. He didn’t try very hard so he doesn’t expect much. That was his plans but things didn’t go accordingly.
    As he was out in the shopping district on a random day when he had the day off to finally gets a new Magic Sequencer a staple in the life of many young aspiring mages. What a magic sequencer does is basically remove the need to do hand signs when casting spells or to shorten incantations and to save new spells. Basically, a tome of spells but better. Anyways, the newest M.S was coming out model number 7 and with that the price of older models are dropping a perfect chance to finally ditch the dying M.S of his. Kaden proceeded to the shopping district and gotten a second hand M.S 3 at a steal of a price. Little did he know however this would be his last entering the familiar shopping district. There have been strings of terrorist attacks made by the cult of Orix all around the globe little did Kaden knew this shopping district was on the strike list. The last thing he saw was men wearing black hoods armed with rifles and the sound of an explosion.

    Other: Oh, almost forget he can't see without his glasses.

    Pansy character Ho!
  9. Name: Vito "The Forgotten" Bythas
    Age: 44
    Soul Clarity: Crimson
    Appearance: https://pbs.twimg.com/media/CiM_R4LUoAA3rVi.jpg:large (Image is a bit big for this post)

    Vito is a stout man, standing at 5' 9" and weighing roughly 240~ pounds, with a well worn and lined face, pockmarked with scars and wiry grey hair. Vito is a man aged beyond his years from the stress of battle and ruling an army of barbarians, and he looks to be nearly in his sixties rather than a middle aged man, with a wide nose, a full beard, thin eyebrows, and his hazel colored eyes accentuating the elderly appearance. Despite all this, Vito remains heavily muscled and tough, skin like boiled leather and darkened by the sun to a tan that never seems to fade. Of note are the fairly fresh scars adorning his neck and chest, remnants of his final encounter that act as shameful reminders of his death.

    He wears plainclothes beneath his armor, a cotton shirt with hand punched eyelets at the throat looped through with rawhide, along with a pair of reasonably comfortable traveling pants. Armor wise, he wears a large iron mask with attached helmet and chain coif, boasting a pair of large grafted on horns, along with heavy crimson robes overlaying his underlayer of chain. Atop the robes sits his pauldrons and breastplate, with attached faulds, and a decorated besagew that he occasionally hung his medals and occasionally grisly trophies from.

    Personality: Vito is a man who can be described in a single word: Loud. He is boisterous, aggressive, and was well known to flaunt what he had, and his position in life. As the leader of the Bythian Rout, he was a man of action, leading charges from the front, always seeking to pile more onto his kill count. Despite his energetic and usually friendly personality, Vito could be better classified as displaying tendencies of psychopathy, having often showcased fearlessness and recklessness, amorality to those not aligned behind his banners, and was more than willing to make use of cruel, underhanded, or "evil" methods to breed fear into his enemies, wearing the fingers / tongues of his fallen opposition on loops and chains hung from his armor, or coating himself and his men in the blood of both friend and foe, howling and screaming like mad monsters. But, even with this callous lack of care for those who did not follow him, Vito acted as a father to his men, and took the best care he could of his troops and friends, never abandoning a fallen comrade until it was certain that they could not be saved. A monstrous man he may be, but a man just the same.

    Weapons/Belongings: Vito has his preferred weapon, the Shaba Couta, or "Sharp Cutter", his axe. Along with that, he once wore the Bythian Wall, a shield that he sorely misses, and a short arming sword that he simply calls the Chedian Dirk. Along with his weapons, he has a few minor keepsakes on his person, namely a bag of Bythas minted gold coins that he occasionally leaves on the dead as an offering to the Goddess of Dreams, Nis, a few small repair tools and smithing equipment to maintain his own gear on the field, as well as a bedroll and travel bag. He has a small censer and a few incense blocks to burn in it, but rarely uses it.
    Abilities: Vito's primary ability is his ungodly toughness, able to keep moving and fighting after sustaining damage that would hospitalize a normal man. Whether this is the result of years and years of combat, or the supposed involvement with a death cult granting him dark favor is unknown, even to him. In death, Vitos most well known trait has become a true bit of magic, possibly a gift from that same death cult. When in a high intensity situation, typically involving hostilities, Vito begins to emit an Aggravating Aura that attracts the attention of the opposition to himself, manifesting as a steam-esque cloud beginning to roll off of him. In life, he constantly goaded and taunted his foes into attacking him, and now in death they are drawn to him by will alone.

    Short History: Vito Bythas was born a bastard son to the Bythas household, but was taken in as a young servant and discreetly taught the works of reading, writing, and some minor swordplay, with the intention of grooming him into a diplomat or an emissary to the family. However, the Bythas house was destroyed in a single night by a passing army, hungry for blood. The formerly cultured and almost noble Vito became consumed with guilt and rage, throwing himself into battlefield after battlefield from the age of 16, attempting to take as many with him in his revenge fueled rampage. Some time after he went mad with grief, he was approached by a mysterious representative to a dark god, with promises of invulnerability and revenge on the heretofore unknown slayers of his kin, in exchange for spilling more blood for their cult, acting as their champion. He accepted, and fell lower, moving from mercenary work in his early twenties, to becoming the leader of his own company at 27, before degenerating into a barbaric horde that became known as the Bythian Rout. Two hundred successful engagements and massive destabilization of the land ensued, before the Rout was finally taken down by three formerly warring armies coalescing into one whole to take him down.

    Seemingly abandoned by the dark god he had slain armies for, he adventured for three years, from 41 to 44, to find their base of operations, attempting to make up for the hundreds upon hundreds of corpses he had left in his wake by serving and helping every community he happened across. Ultimately, when he found the cultists, he was given a speech that drove his faith from him in one fell swoop. The Gods were fickle, it was said, and he had no right to question the nature of death, even as Deaths champion. He attempted to slaughter the cult, but was in turn killed himself. 13 stab wounds, spread across his arms, legs, torso, and neck, before he finally succumbed to the pain, and he took fifteen out of the cults twenty six leaders with him to what he presumed would be Hell...
  10. Vivian Lenitz (open)

    Name: Vivian Lenitz
    Age: 26

    Soul Clarity: Violet

    Appearance: Vivian is an unimposing person, with a height of 167cm (5'6") and a dainty frame that imparts to her a ghostly, brittle presence. She is not muscular, and no matter the type of clothing she is obscured by cannot help but give the impression that a stiff wind would be enough to fracture her. Her skin is fair in tone, with a cold coloration. It is healthy and clear, but she bears a number of minor scars across her hands. Vivian has a girly face, without the sharp angles and touches of maturity that one would expect from a woman well into her career. A round jaw and soft features shape her face. Her nose is pointed, and usually colored only by two small blemishes of irritation caused by her glasses. Her eyes are an unnatural and bright gemstone blue, the color of cold waters. Their shape is round, never drooping but gripped by a deep-rooted sadness that permeates any expression she happens to be wearing. Her lips are childishly small and usually locked in a frown to complete her downcast appearance. Vivian's hair is a glossless slate black, and almost always tousled. Long, messy locks obscure most of her forehead down to her eyebrows. Behind, her hair reaches down to the nape of her neck, and further in a few rogue strands. Vivian carries herself strongly, with a proper and official seeming posture almost comically opposed to her physique.

    Vivian is stuck in her uniform, that of the abbey in which she worked during her last days. The most important piece of which is a sleeveless blue jumper dress. It is an overgarment, made of sturdy cloth and quite rugged for a clerical uniform. Another difference from common religious garb is its complete lack of an emblem. It is double breasted, decorated down the front solely by two rows of black buttons, ten in total, spanning from the waist to just below her collarbones, where the body of the dress ends and its shoulder straps begin. The garment is tightened over her lower ribs by a black belt, partly integral to the dress, passing under the third row of buttons. The dress ends at her knees, fitting around her legs with little excess, but not so tightly as to prohibit mobility. Underneath, she wears a white shirt, utterly simple and without pattern. It is buttoned up the front, again with black fastenings, and similarly cuffed at the end of its full length sleeves. It has a high collar that obscures her throat even when folded, resting nearly perpendicular to her shoulders. Her legs and feet are covered by thin tights, opaque and black colored, which run up to her hips. For footwear, Vivian has appropriated a set of brown leather loafers, round toed and high ankled with a very short heel. Around her shoulders, she wears a long, wide scarf dyed pale blue. It is typically tightly wound, piled high and obscuring her jaw if not her lower face when she's keeping her head low. Both tails of the scarf hang over her left shoulder, one going down her front and other other her back. Less clothing and more essential to her being, she carries a pair of glasses. They are a thin wireframed set with rectangular lenses rimmed only along their bottom halves.

    Weapons/Belongings: She died with little on her person, simply her identification and a few bits and pieces of spare change. She possessed no martial skills of any kind, although she was a bit handy with a knife.

    Personality: Vivian is a stoic, intimate person. She does not keep many friends but she has a talent for forging acquaintances and understanding with total strangers. Most of her career was spent traveling, and working for a church besides. As such, she is almost as comfortable talking with people she knows nothing about as she is with her closest friends, changing only the amount of reserved politeness in her words. She derives a satisfaction from helping the needy and placing others before herself that some would say borders on egoistic. Vivian herself worries about whether or not her sympathy is genuine, but continues to act on her values anyway. Her mindset is separate from what one would expect of a cleric, with little concern for theological implications or the spiritual salvation of others. Saving others is something she sees as completely outside of her means, construing her own role as that of an indiscriminate helping hand. Rather than any faith, she finds herself chained primarily by her own moral compass. She is pragmatic, and is not beyond contradicting the beliefs of her patron church to provide people happiness. Some even say that she enjoys doing so. Paired with her free floating ideology is a monumental patience for the world's affairs. She does not frequently speak first in difficult times, experience has taught her to seek more than a passing understanding of the complex coincidences that are people's lives before acting to change them. Stemming from her primary quality of patience, Vivian has a distaste for hasty people, finding them to be usually wasteful or unreasonable. On the other hand, the people she keeps close at hand or has a fondness for are often her fellow charitable souls or people she sees as profoundly in need of assistance.


    Desecrated Saint:

    Vivian knew a passing amount about medicine in life, she was a woman who was called upon to perform many roles and the vast majority of them she did in the name of helping people she knew nothing about. She never came to see herself as a savior of any sort but the simple truth of her history is that she did all she could to help the people within her reach through the darkest hour of her country's history. She died without a legacy or successors, none of the witnesses to her deeds survived the conflict that claimed her life. Such is the nature of the reprieve she offered in life, and the ability she has gained in death. Her touch can ease pain and soothe the mind, bringing about a fragile euphoria with extended contact that serves to isolate one from the outside world. It is not potent enough to completely shut our pain and dread, but is significant as a means of providing comfort and mercy that cannot be taken from Vivian. The nature of her ability stems from Vivian's recognition of her own limits, and its effectiveness can very well diminish as she continues to lose faith in her efficacy and the purity of her intent.

    History: Vivian comes from a troubled country that disappeared from the world in the fires of a grotesque war. She was born to a poor woman and her alcoholic husband. For all of his vices he was still a hard worker, and it was only on the hard earned wages which survived his habits that they managed to survive. She hardly knew her father, between her dear mother's attempts to keep them separate and the fact that he often worked abroad as a contractor. She remembers little of either of them, because as it turned out they were separated early. Her father died at work and a relative of his came to offer his support to the family. Vivian's mother was still furious at her situation, desperate to break ties with her deceased husband but the woman was no fool. She sent Vivian away with what money she had and what was offered, to a religious school where she would be boarded, taught, and one day absorbed into the clergy. She had no way of knowing what would become of her daughter, and likewise, Vivian never learned the truth of her home life due to her surviving parent's secrecy and grief.

    She held little love for religion, but for a time it was her way of life. She excelled in education, and the church of her country, a complicated network of various interwoven faiths, was eager to have another skilled worker to manage its finances and affairs. Vivian became a traveling temporary manager, moving between various churches in the countryside with the authority of the capital on her side and a mission to bring costs down wherever she went. She became well known, if controversial, in the religious community and also seemed to enamor the public wherever she went. Her ability to cope and negotiate the needs of the various denominations she was called upon to assist came from the simplicity of her doctrine. Before any scripture, Vivian put the people first, which was something her declining country yearned for and a popular technique of the senior auditors Vivian herself had learned from. It wasn't an uncommon idea in religion, but her practice of simply ignoring the rest of the faith while she was doing her job was a bit more divisive. The enemies she made soon stopped to matter because there were soon certain churches requesting her presence specifically, and she no longer had to rub shoulders with the people who would disagree with her practices. It saved the capital a considerable degree of headache, and arguably saved her job.

    The nature of the political conflict which divided her country's elite as she worked is almost irrelevant, as there were a number of factions on either side that worked to inflame the feelings of the people. Before anyone realized the stakes, it was simply out of their control. The government succumbed first, resorting to executions in the capital. Anger filtered outwards and downwards from there, through every rung of society and into every corner of her homeland. She was on a long term assignment in a town known as Edeur, a strange task for her as she had replaced the local abbey's leadership as a temporary director of operations. The church's connection to the capital was eventually its undoing. When revolutionary elements in the town began to drive loyalists out the abbey was targeted, thought to be a center of record keeping for the local government and a sanctuary for loyalist spies. Vivian, ever the public face, sought peaceful reconciliation and, failing that, to spare her subordinate sisters the rebel's anger. She failed and met her end on the banks of the town's river, watching her work burn away.

    Lain Amelie (open)

    Name: Lain Amelie
    Age: 28

    Soul Clarity: Crimson

    Appearance: Lain is a man of near-average height, standing about 178cm (5'10") tall. He has a muscular physique with a strong, agile bearing about him that suggests the amount of physical training he underwent in life. Despite this, he isn't very intimidating. Instead, Lain has a lazy sort of body language, characterized by slumped shoulders and an almost elderly stillness. His skin is a fair, warm color and was kept that way skulking about in back alleys and derelict houses. Like any thug who has spent too long playing with knives he has some interesting scars along his arms, but never incurred any serious markings. He has a narrow face, with a hard cut jawline and generally pointed features. To complement that shape he has always kept a thin layer of stubble along his jaw. Lain's eyes look tired, narrow in shape. Both are a dark shade of turquoise, a soothing and calm color. They match naturally with the carefree, lazy expression he typically wears. His hair is a darkened brown, closer to a black with the slightest tinges of red mixed in than anything else. Lain's locks run wild, curling and twisting wherever they may and for that reason he keeps his hair short. It is swept back in the front, baring his forehead, but left to reach and twist unchecked over the back of his neck.

    Lain is dressed almost typically for a citizen of his hometown, not that such a disguise holds much significance in his current whereabouts. He wears a white, buttoned dress shirt. It is made of a light, soft material that wants for durability but delivers quite well on comfort. Its sleeves end in subtle cuffs, held fast by two small black buttons of the same make as those which close the front of the shirt. He wears his collar button unfastened, and the collar itself is worn with a very loose fold. It has an elegantly pointed hem but is most often worn tucked in at the waistband. Over his shirt he wears a charcoal gray vest, adorned with a pocket over each hip to frame the black buttons holding its front closed. It has a deep, sharply angled neck opening. For legwear he sports a pair of black trousers. They are obviously not work clothes, with only small waistline pockets. They end in an uncuffed bottom hem, sloping against his shoes with a half break. Lain's trousers are held up by an unremarkable leather belt, but upon closer inspection it has a metal fitting aligned with the small of his back for some type of attachment. His shoes are made out of a rich brown leather, shined and well cared for. They end in pointed tips at the toes and in slim openings just at the ankle. Their soles are blackened and tough, holding up the shoe's points and also culminating in slightly raised heels.

    Weapons/Belongings: Only one weapon has ever accompanied Lain on his work, and it is a unique piece of equipment that, through both ridicule and respect, served to carve is reputation as a hired killer just as well as it carved his prey. Upon first glance it is a dagger of typical length, twenty five centimeters tip to tip. It has a cumbersome blade of fine, silvered steel. It holds a cutting edge well enough but its weight and heft alone nearly defeat the purpose of a concealed blade. It has a cup hilt more at home on a rapier than a rogue's weapon, rendered in gilded metal and perforated by a delicate ivy pattern. Interestingly, it lacks a knuckle guard and accompanying quillons. Its grip has a fine black wrapping, showing peeks of light metal underneath which emerge in a small, fluted pommel. The pattern on its guard continues onto the blade, blossoming into pictures of flowers lightly etched into the silvery metal. They are mostly decorative, but also serve to hide two conspicuous seams in the weapon. A small metal catch under the cup holds tension on a series of delicate springs housed within the sword, and with a press of the thumb the lock can be released. This allows the concentric sections of the blade to telescope out to their full length, where the lock can be reapplied. At full deployment Lain's springwork blade more closely resembles a thin sword, ninety centimeters in total length, with its narrowest and furthest extremities holding a threatening if fragile edge. It is not a soldier's weapon, but not quite an assassin's either. He was told when receiving it that there is a certain fighting style which accompanies its use, demanding both skill and judgment from the wielder in order to advance and withdraw in time with the blade itself. Only through mastering its ability to trade reach and durability in an unpredictable manner can one truly wield it. That sounded rather unreasonable at the time and despite him using it like an average if gimmicky sword it has always seemed to work well enough.

    Personality: Lain is a man of limited subtlety. He says what he thinks, and he doesn't like to spend time parsing out other people's hidden meanings. He believes that he knows exactly what he needs to be happy, which is money, and that the only reasonable path for him in life is to market his one notable talent. As he likes to put it, Lain is a man of flexible morality. Most of the people he has killed were fellow criminals and he doesn't spare prayers for people on the same path as him, but his nature as a professional has lead him to kill innocents for the right price. He takes little joy in the lamentations of women and children, but knows that he'd enjoy starving far less. Equally heavy on his conscience is the thought of leaving such morbid work to someone completely unqualified for the job. He takes a certain pride in his competence as both a hunter and executioner, one that tries to detach his skill from its unsightly results. Partly as a defense and partly out of natural tendency, on the surface Lain doesn't seem to take anything too seriously. One can occasionally coax a line of rhetoric out of him about how he puts the utmost effort into his work, but he is mostly known for his devil may care attitude and careless treatment of deadly serious matters. It is difficult to tell if one is in his esteem, or if he particularly likes anyone, but around people he can't stand his sarcastic humor quickly becomes scathing. He's weathered down and begrudgingly tolerant of many evils from his way of life, but dream chasers and idealists scorch him to his core faster than anything else.


    Looking for Trouble:

    Lain is a skilled, if unconventional hunter. He spent the entirety of his adult life as a hired killer and he only got to live as long as he did through a good deal of skill and a large amount of good sense. An important distinction to Lain is that he was a hired killer, and he wants little to do with killing for sport. He moves on contract, or for great personal gain where other means have failed entirely. When he does move, he does so efficiently. Even in death he is reliant solely on learned and conventional abilities to track his prey, as the one ability dying has earned him only comes into play after contact has been made. Wounds inflicted by his signature springwork blade, while otherwise ordinary lacerations, will materialize a ghostly red link which connects them back to the weapon. These ephemeral strings last only so long as their host wound continues to bleed. Inorganic targets will not yield strings, and aside from guidance for Lain they perform no function whatsoever. They stem from Lain's desire to gain, and against beings that he can't find a reason to hunt they will not function at all.

    History: Lain was born in a coastal city named Lieda, the capital of some place lost to history. His father was a smuggler from overseas and his mother was the daughter of a minor boss in one of the city's many criminal organizations. He was groomed for a place in the family from birth, raised to be another thug in a large assembly of drug movers, extortioners, and street soldiers. It was supposed to be an easy life of relatively high status but Lain turned his back on it. None of his tasks resonated within him, he looked down upon the family as a collection of tactless bullies and wasted potential and didn't to perform their dance for the rest of his life. The wayward youth found his way out on a chance evening out on the town. He recognized a gendarme detective of the city on the way to a bar, and broke away from his fellows to chase opportunity. It made sense at the time, he was finally doing something he chose to do and in the same actions eliminating a threat to the family. Stabbing a detective to death in an alleyway was going to prove that he was distinguished muscle, fit for better than squeezing money out of shopkeepers and making angry faces at competition. He was still shaking and sick when he went back to his father with proof of his deed, he begged to go up the family with his news. More importantly, he wanted to go up with his proposal. Even as memories of the corpse haunted him he recognized the unparalleled excitement of the chase, and knew that he'd found his calling.

    There wasn't anyone impressed with his handiwork though. As a matter of fact there were a large number of his superiors figuring the best course of action was to hand him back to the police. The detective he'd killed had had little relevance to his own family, and the hunt for revenge her seemingly unprovoked death had stirred up wasn't worth the trouble of keeping him around. It was a cold, logical, adult conclusion to his escapade and it was one that, in his own way, he'd reluctantly accept. He ran away, lived with the filthy class of common criminals he'd only met during his stint as a member of the elite. He didn't give up on plying his trade, he put people down on commission and managed to keep at it long enough to earn a reputation. For years, he operated without a name. Only titles carried his legacy, generic nicknames which lost their relevance with time. His answer was to stay active.

    The difference between a hired psychopath and a talented hitman was often about standards, the people who lived long enough to get good at it knew how to recognize crooked jobs and how to walk away from them. Lain had no standards, and he refused to accept any kind of loyalty again out of spite. He was an independent who cleaned up problems. He wasn't deluded enough to call himself an assassin, and nobody recommended him for delicate work. A certain building in a shipyard needed to be closed one night, or on another a certain courier couldn't be allowed to reach their destination. He crossed arms dealers, foreign organizations, even the state military on occasion and managed to keep his head. Eventually, of course, his luck ran out and he made the transition from living legend to forgotten madman. His actions caught up with him. Whether or not he was betrayed or finally hunted down he never found out, but he set out on a task only to walk directly into the merciless hands of his country's special police.

  11. Name: Alana Reragon

    Age: 47

    Soul Clarity: Crimson

    Appearance: Alana's physique defies her age. Her height of 5'11" is nothing to frown at, but the real eye-catcher is her muscular figure. She trained regularly in life, doing her best to stay fit and beat out those who were far younger than her in feats of strength and speed, and it shows. Her skin is pale and her blonde hair sweeps behind her dramatically in wavy locks, reaching all the way down her back when let down. As she spars regularly, she prefers to keep her hair tied up and out of her way; it folds over on itself in a loose layered ponytail. Her large golden eyes allude to the power she keeps hidden, but her smaller nose and mouth and gentle expression help to pacify those who look upon her.

    Alana dresses as sparsely as possible. She hates long pants and goes without a shirt more often than not, happy with just a tight black sports bra. (Not that she has much to look at.)

    Personality: Alana always insists on doing things herself, her way. She is stubborn and confident to a fault and believes in using her opportunities to the fullest extent, never stopping until she can't go anymore. If and when things turn hopeless or she ends up making a fool of herself, all her energy drains away and she breaks down. She is a hopeless romantic and loves a classic happy ending, one that she can't help chasing for herself. Though her family doesn't always come first, especially when it comes to her training, she cares for them deeply and lashes out at anyone who threatens them.

    Weapons: Leather gloves with prominent spikes on the knuckles. Most of her strength in physical combat comes from her martial arts training, but it can never hurt to have an extra edge.

    Belongings: A cloth backpack containing a water bottle with filter (no water though), three days' worth of rations, and a simple bedroll.

    Abilities: Alana is an accomplished dark mage and often uses her magic in combination with punches and kicks when close combat is possible. Her dark energy is purple in color and can knock targets back and cause magical burns. It is especially damaging against creatures with holy origins, but its strength against the unholy (like demons) is weakened at best.

    Some of her other talents include skydiving, white water rafting, and professional bartending.

    Short History: Alana lived a wild life. She wanted to be one of the strongest dark mages the world had ever known, and as a result she trained day in and day out. She made increasingly long treks into the most dangerous parts of the world, training herself to endure the largest extremes the planet had to offer: sweltering heat, bitter cold, furious storms, impossible heights, you name it. She's been all over the world, bringing only the bare minimum of supplies and pushing her limits as far as they could go. All this while ignoring the concerns of her doting husband Ezra, and absorbing the encouragement of their teenage daughter Emelia.

    Unfortunately, one day she pushed too far. It was the Sahara Desert that finally did her in -- between a lack of water and one too many bites and stings from venomous animals, she just couldn't continue and passed away alone in the shifting sands. Both Ezra and Emelia are still alive, left behind without any way of knowing whether Alana will return soon.
    #14 Moogle-Girl, May 23, 2016
    Last edited: May 23, 2016
    • Thank Thank x 1
  12. So, I'm sure we've still got some people working on characters, and I don't want to rush anybody, but I figured I'd ask: When would you guys like for the IC thread to go up?
  13. I'm ready! Whenever we start. Hopefully not while I'm asleep.
  14. Name:
    Maulnar Davion Evermead

    Age at death:

    Soul Clarity:

    Maulnar is a thin, giant man standing at 7ft, gazing upon everyone from behind a pair of glasses that may be more for show than most would believe. Whatever skin he may reveal from underneath his dark purple cloak looks old and wrinkled, as one might expect; his face less so. The left side of his face is covered in burn scars, his chin grows a blue beard while his eyebrows, and what little hair on his head remains, have turned white from age.

    Due to his age and height, Maulnar sees everyone as confused or inexperienced children. He's happy to help those who need it, even if they may protest his aid. He seeks the good in everyone and usually manages to get along well with everyone, though he knows when it's best to leave. Open-minded, he's learned that it is folly to disregard something simply because it doesn't get along with your beliefs. While his only fear is death, he's willing to risk his life saving another, or try an experimental potion on himself.

    Maulnar has a walking cane with a hidden blade inside. He's never used it in combat simply because he lacks the strength or training to make good use of it.

    Viewing others as children goes so far that Maulnar always carries a bag of hard candy with him that he unabashedly shares with anyone.

    • Maulnar can create a scythe of black fire that inflicts pain and consumes energy. When hit by it, it feels as if hit by a real scythe, though no physical wounds occur.
    • Elemental control. Moving fire, water, earth and air to a degree.
    • Purification of food and drink from mundane spoilage and poisons.
    • Masking spell that causes others to largely overlook him while he remains silent.
    • A light spell which doesn't shine, but rather makes an area the size of an average tavern around him as visible as if it were day. Anything outside his influence is unaffected by this 'light'.
    • Maulnar can give away his magical energy to restore that of a fellow mage. Doesn't work in parts. It's all or nothing.
    • With the right tools, Maulnar can perform surgery on humans and horses.
    • Very good at drawing

    Short History:
    Maulnar was born from a family living in the high society of the kingdom with the gift of insight. He could clearly see patterns in things that others did not. As a child, he quickly took to science as it was the pure logic he understood immediately, while he shunned magic for being unpredictable and illogical. However, throughout his academic career, he came into contact with scholars of magic, science and both. Over time he had been exposed to enough magic that he started to see the science behind it as well. Patterns for hand motions, runes and incantations. Rather than memorizing what to do in order to achieve something, he looked for what cause had a certain effect. In time he created some axioms that guided him through the inner mechanics of magic. Sadly, he had never been able to explain it to anyone else.

    Kept alive through magic and science, Maulnar traveled the world in search of more potent ingredients as the deterioration became harder and harder to halt. Eventually he passed away, after two lifetimes of the fellow men of his time, in a forest far away from civilization. His quest to overcome death didn't falter even after he passed away.
  15. Well everything I had got deleted *sigh* I'll have it up as soon as possible. Try not to get too far without me!
    • You Need a Hug You Need a Hug x 1
Thread Status:
Not open for further replies.