Argoria: Tales of the Fallen

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Gaiseric, Jan 23, 2016.

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    Argoria, once a land of hope, once a land of promise, now only a land of mournful regret. Settled by various oversea powers in the early First Era, Argoria offered a land untouched by old world grudges where all could start anew should they so choose. Over the next few centuries, primarily between 300-700 1,E, Argoria saw it's people shedding their old nationalities and forming their own unique culture prompting the rise of new leaders. During this time the first Argorian Kingdoms would come into creation, but they were as many as there were men with strength to call themselves as such. Territorial wars became commonplace, but the battles between these fledgling kingdoms were small doing little damage to the land and people as a whole. However; as time went on and kingdoms grew larger so too did their armies, and so too did the battles. This cycle continued for near a millennia, kingdoms falling while others grew, until those remaining no longer commanded armies but legions. The land of Argoria that had been untouched by hatred and rivalry, now only knew war between it's peoples. Finally all seemed to come to a boil, and in 987, 2E after centuries of battle The Great War began.

    Every kingdom took up arms overnight, marching to meet their long hated rivals in glorious combat. The sounds of clashing steel and wailing men filled the skies both day and night. Children went orphaned, wives became widowed, and the land itself seemed to become steeped in grief and strife as if a pestilence lay over it. Argoria seemed to be propelling itself into a void of despair, and then he arrived. Alto Magnus I, the ruler of a small nation in the far northern reaches of Argoria. He proclaimed he would end The Great War, end the fighting, even if he had to put every other monarch in Argoria to the sword himself. At first the reactions he got could be expected, he was an unknown with little glory or prestige to his name. No warlord or king cared to give Alto Magnus I the time of day. That was, however; until he and his men began crushing the forces of each other monarch one after the other. It was as if a blessing had been placed upon them, for they suffered no casualties in any battle they fought. It was then, after years of conquest where his victory seemed assure, Alto Magnus I told those whom followed him of the Father and his generosity towards his chosen people. A few short years later Alto Magnus I was crowned the first Holy King of Argoria, his victories over the other monarchs propelling him to greatness and ending The Great War. It was no surprise that worship of the Father became widespread during Magnus' reign, many attributing his achievements to his chosen deity. Churches of the Father dotted each city, large and small, and thus Argoria entered it's third era. An era of hope, an era of promise.

    It is now 499 3,E and Alto Magnus XI rules from the holy city of Renaris. For as long as a Magnus has sat on the Holy King's throne Argoria has persisted in a relatively peaceful state of being. As the years drag slowly on however, many can sense the darker times ahead. An eerie air has fallen over the border of Argoria, slowly making it's way to Renaris at Argoria's center. Stories persist of monstrous beings pillaging outlying villages, yet few survive to relay these tales. Those that do seem distant and tainted, often crazed, leading to few believing them. A blind eye is turned towards the foes of the few, for the many now fixate their attention on the coronation of their new Holy King as Alto Magnus XI becomes of age to take the seat. Marked to take place the five-hundredth year of the third era, most wait eagerly for the grandiose occasion to unfold. However; a select few have seen the horrors waiting to rear their heads in Renaris. Driven by desperation or need, these individuals make their way to the Holy City hoping to find answers to the curses laid upon them.

    General Information
    Hello, and welcome to "Argoria: Tales of the Fallen" a Dark-Fantasy Role-Play here on Iwaku! If you have taken the time to read the above introduction then you more than likely you have an idea of what our Role-Play will be about. If not don't worry, I plan to explain everything in greater detail in the Plot Information section below. Before I delve into anything Role-Play wise though I thought it prudent to go over a few things for you, the writer's, benefit. Most of what is said here can also be found in the Rules tab for future reference, however; I ask that you read this as well just for a greater view on the things you should expect while Role-Playing here. Thank you all for taking the time beforehand!
    • First I want to point out that this is a MATURE Role-Play. Now by mature I in no way mean this will be a libertine Role-Play, no. I mean that it will contain mature themes including but not limited to substance abuse, graphic violence, excessive gore, and possible sexual themes. This doesn't mean every scene written will contain things of this nature, just that it is possible they can. If you are very young of age or uncomfortable with this sort of thing it would probably be best if you did not participate.
    • I also want to point out that this is a Literate Role-Play. What I mean by literate is for each post to well written, thought out, and of a decent length. One paragraph minimum per-post with sufficient information of your character's actions and/or thoughts that contributes to the overall story. I will not allow Role-Players here that only type one line of passive-aggressive thoughts that cannot be responded to here. If that sounds harsh, forgive me, I have my reasons.
    • This Role-Play will also have a post requirement. Each writer participating is required to post One Post Per Day if at all possible. If for some reason you cannot post each day then you will be given a week to respond to the Role-Play before your character is moved along through a narrative. If you remain absent for another week without at least notifying a GM your character will be killed off through a narrative. Please remember that even though you have two weeks before you are removed from the Role-Play, even if you are absent the story will move forward.
    • This Role-Play will tolerate No Bickering between writers on an OOC level. Most of us are adults, or at least teenagers, so there is no reason writers in this thread should result to petty fighting over something trivial whether related to the Role-Play or not. If a fight seems to be starting between two or more writers it is to be ended or reported to a GM. If one party persist he/she will be the only one punished, but if someone retorts he/she will also be booted. Avoid picking petty fights if at all possible guys.
    • When in doubt Refer To Site-wide Rules. I know I won't be able to catch everything nor do I wish to sit here and name out every single thing one shouldn't do in the Role-Play or on the site. If you are doing something, or if you see someone doing something, you don't think is acceptable then defer to the site rules. Chances are though if you think something shouldn't be done, it shouldn't be.
    I'm sure most of you reading this have lived with worse rules, and though this is subject to change and updating, this is more or less what all of us should stick to while we Role-Play here. I have faith that everyone I've met on this site is perfectly capable of following these guidelines to the fullest extent, or I would have never thought to impose them. I may be new to this site but I've been GMing Role-Plays for a very long time and it is far better to have a select few dedicated Role-Players willing to cope with rules rather than those that can't seem to. I prefer quality writing over the quantity of posts, so if you are one of the few still reading then I hope you decided to join "Argoria: Tales of the Fallen"!

    Plot Information
    Now for the part that I'm sure most of you skipped ahead to read after my ranting. As you guessed I will do my best to outline the main plot in this section without giving any of the overall story away to you more inquisitive types that like to connect dots. If you read the introduction you should already have a general idea of the setting for our Role-Play, if not then think Medieval Dark-Fantasy and you should form some sort of mental image resembling what it could be. I do highly advise reading the introduction however, if for nothing than the slight background information it provides. Now, I will go ahead and discuss a few plot points. Be advised, this section will be updated as the story unfolds.
    • The overall plot will center on our, the writer's, characters as they struggle to unravel the mystery behind the curses placed upon them. They quest will lead them into conflicts against both the armies of men, the dark beings known as The Damned Ones, and even themselves, as they transverse Argoria searching for the secrets behind their curse.
    • Though antagonists will very from Arc to Arc, the main enemies our group will face will be the above mentioned Damned Ones. Unlike spiritual entities(ghosts, ghouls, etc) or magical beasts(werewolves, vampires, trolls, etc), The Damned Ones are beings not of the mortal plane. Though their strength varies from one to another, they are all incredibly powerful creatures and they all hunger fiercely for the flesh and souls of those whom are cursed.
    • The Mark of Perdition, the aforementioned curse, is the main driving factor in the Role-Play and the one thing that connects all of our characters. It is a demonic brand placed upon those whom have suffered great loss by The Damned Ones, marking a person as a sacrifice. Once marked there is no known way to remove it, and each day a person is marked their connection to the spirit-realm grows stronger. Once marked for a considerable length of time, the marked are able to see beyond the mortal veil and the spiritual aspects around them and eventually call upon otherworldly powers gained by drifting between realms. However; the marked are forever hunted by The Damned Ones.
    As I said I will continue to add to this section as the Role-Play advances. I don't want to put too much here at the moment because I want to discovery of many of the story-elements to actually be discoveries. If you feel like you need to know something and can't find anything helpful here then just ask me here on the OOC or via PM. I am perfectly fine with talking to any and all at length about any of this. As of now the story may seem a tad ambiguous but I promise I have a good deal thought out and outlined so we are in no way going in blind.

    Story Arcs
    As of now this section is, of course, empty. I will be adding chapter summaries and links to important threads here as the Role-Play progresses so our writers and those reading can easily jump to certain areas our story.

    General Rules
    1. This Role-Play contains mature themes including but not limited to substance abuse, sexual themes, and graphic violence. Upon creating a character those participating knowingly agree to this fact.
    2. Each post should be well written and of appropriate length. One paragraph minimum is required for every post within this Role-Play.
    3. Writers are required to post at least once a day. If a writer does not post, nor does he/she inform a GM he/she cannot be online, a two week grace period will be given before a character is deleted.
    4. Arguments between writers are not allowed on any level within the OOC of this Role-Play. Arguments are to be taken to another medium of connection or stopped, if said argument persists all guilty parties will be removed.
    5. When in doubt, refer to site-wide rules. Always be sure to check the site rules before doing something you are uncertain of.
    Role-Play Rules
    1. No Godmodding, Powergaming, or etc. We all know the things we should not do in a Role-Play. Only one warning will be given to those that continually do what they should not.
    2. No omnipotence. If your character did not see or gather information of something taking place, do not write them as if they knew exactly what has happened. The only exception to this would be if your character possessed some sort of ability allowing him/her to.
    3. No hijacking. If a scene is developing between two specific character, or if one character is about to do something noteworthy, do not write your character suddenly jumping into the middle of said scene. There are of course exceptions to this, but generally do not do so unless you have a valid reason.
    4. No White-Knighting. A White-Knight is someone that goes out of their way to save characters of the opposite sex regardless of their alignment or history. Unless your character is overly heroic by nature, or you can justify doing so through IC developmental means, do not do this.
    5. No Mary Sue or Bobby Too's. There are always at least one of this characters that join a Role-Play when it first starts, it's inevitable. If you are the person that makes Mary Sue characters then I implore you to rethink your character.
    6. Characters can die. We all work hard on our characters and no one wants them to die for no good reason, but the fact is without risk most writings get sloppy. Though it will rarely, if ever, happen be assured that your character dying is a possibility when you chose his/her actions.
    7. Sexual acts are to fade to black. Though there will undoubtedly be heavily mature themes present, Role-Played acts of sexual conduct are to fade to black. That means you can start it off, but when things become 'intimate' you are to skip ahead to after the event takes place.
    All Rules are subject to updating and change.

    The Marked Ones

    Doran Eaond | Radiant | Marten Adler

    Siva Malar | Velica Knochen

    Character Skelly
    Please feel free to deviate from the skelly and format any way you wish. Just be sure that all the information asked for can be found somewhere within your character sheet.
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    [LEFT](Character Image)
    [b]Name:[/b] (Choose an appropriate name for the setting.)
    [b]Alias:[/b] (A moniker or nickname your character is known by.)
    [b]Age:[/b] (Your character's age, must be above 20.)
    [b]Gender:[/b] (Male or Female.)
    [b]Alignment:[/b] (Your character's alignment. Anything from Lawful-Good to Chaotic-Evil.)
    [b]Height:[/b] (In feet and inches.)
    [b]Weight:[/b] (In pounds.)
    [b]Eyes:[/b] (Your character's eye color.)
    [b]Skin:[/b] (Your character's skin color.)
    [b]Strengths:[/b] (These are characteristic strengths, not physical ones. An example would be War Veteran.)
    [b]Weaknesses:[/b] (These are characteristic weaknesses, not physical ones. An example would be Easily Angered.)
    [b]Abilities:[/b] (These are physical abilities your character possesses. Some examples would be Trained Swordsman, or Agile.)
    [b]The Mark of Perdition:[/b] (The name of your particular Mark.)
    [b]The Gift:[/b] (Describe the power your Mark grants you when you call upon it. Remember, at the start of the Role-Play Marks powers are meager and still growing.)
    [b]The Cost:[/b] (Describe the cost relying upon your Mark takes upon you. Costs should relate in some way to the power The Gift gives you, and the stronger The Gift the greater The Cost.)
    [b]Appearance:[/b] (Describe in one or more paragraphs your character's physical appearance.)
    [b]Personality:[/b] (Describe in one or more paragraphs your character's personality.)
    [b]History:[/b] (In one or more paragraphs tell the history of your character, including when he/she was marked.)
  2. I'm all in for this. I can definitely post once a day unless I'm super busy, in which case I can still get on long enough to notify you.
  3. I'm in. Thought up a few character concepts, so I just need to decide on which one will work.
  4. Radiant.

    Name: Radiant
    Alias: Formerly: "Sister Raia of the High-Flying, Death Defying Angels" Currently: "Rodent."
    Age: 21
    Gender: Female
    Alignment: Chaotic-Good(Tendencies)
    Height: 5 foot, 1 inch... and a half!!
    Weight: 119 pounds.
    Eyes: Green
    Skin: Pale


    Daring - Single-Minded. Bold. Fearless. As a high-intensity acrobat/performer, Radiant never turns down a challenge. The more breath-taking, the brighter the glint in those shiny green eyes.

    Team-Player - Although raised to crave the spotlight, Radiant nevertheless understands the utter importance of trusting her troupe members, and in turn, the utter importance of trusting her. She will do anything in her combined skillsets to ensure all members succeed... even if it means rolling up her sleeves and getting down and dirty...

    Uplifting - The lass always aims to please and keep spirits high. She can be silly and somewhat witty, if only to bring levity to tension and conflict. Again, although she craves spotlight and accolade, she will share what rewards are reaped as a troupe..

    Keen eye - Trained to steal originals and valuables... and sometimes replace them with forgeries and knock-offs... Radiant has a discerning eye. And coupled with her keen eyesight, she notices fine details about things and people. Not that she can read people to discern lies or truths, like an empath, no, but she can tell alot about them just by mere casual glances. Items they wear, speech patterns, mannerisms. Basically if they are a worthy mark or con.

    Cute - Take a diminuative stature, shiny eyes, positive outlook, then toss in an infectious smile or giggle and you have a little heart-warmer. She looks inoffensive and harmless yet when she is in action she has an explosive physical intensity that catches most off guard. Off. Guard. Which is what she hopes happens most of the time when she pulls off a con on you ;D



    Daring - For all the upswings, there are downswings. And with the downswings of a high-risk/high-reward mindset, the consequences of biting off more than she can chew are staggering at times. Ask to see her scars.

    Unrealistic/Naive - Growing up as a travelling performer, she has a very skewed view of the real world. Even though she is no longer a professional performer, and currently hustling the streets of Renarais, she is still very naive and has been taken advantage of time and again.

    Self-Worth - Even though she remains positive, behind it all, there she hides the self-doubt and fear of failure. She tends to downward spiral and remains highly dependant upon others to pick her up and shove her back up the path to her old, smiling, bantering self.

    Co-dependant - This is part and parcel of her self-worth issues and the one that makes her the most miserable without her surface knowledge. She is called "Rodent" now and she believes it because of the pack she runs with currently. The streetgang preys upon unsuspecting runaways, thrownaways, addicts and other such ne'erdowells.

    Love-Struck!! - Once she falls for someone... hearts and stars in her eyes and she will do anything to please that oh-so-special-specialness~~!!



    Acrobat (tight-rope walking, climbing, gymnastics, knife-tossing, juggling, physical fitness)

    Actress (costume/disguise, personifications, replicate emotions/demeanours, quick-study, stage knowledge, oratory)

    Thief (pick-pocket, sneaking, hiding, escape artistry, lock-picker, appraisal, hand-signalling, contacts, street-smarts)

    The Mark of Perdition: Into the Fold of Darkness.

    Hidden along the base of her skull, tracing the border of one of her head tattoos, there is a line that blends in. But if seen, one may note that it looks more like a healed scar not unlike a clawmarking with small symbols and runes travelling along its path.

    The Gift: Unseen to See the Unseen.

    (Invisibility and seeing invisible things.) Right now she can blend into the shadows seamlessly while wearing dark clothing and she can see into the dark/low-light like a dog can. Not as strong as a cat's lowlight vision, but markedly improved over a normal person.

    The Cost: The Things you see are not as bad as what may see you... and call to you.

    She sees ghosts sometimes and sometimes they see her. Rather frightening and unnerving. But the voices... it is the voices that tell her, call to her, demand of her that she do something for them. And the more powerful she becomes, the more the voices will call to her, the more she will succumb to madness and lose the will to resist them. In time she will blackout and become possessed and remember nary a thing she did while possessed. The more and more she becomes possessed, the greater chances she will lose herself-- mind, body and soul-- into the World Unseen.


    Head Tattoos - swirlling and pointed tipped broadlines sweep across her scalp. They represent rites of passage and milestones in her life as a carnivale performer. Radiant was inked by a blind seer named Mummy Aldea.

    Scars - multiple scars and burns marr her body as she had/has a very high-risk for potential and near fatal injuries. She knows others think they are ugly, but Radiant proudly and fonds sees them as badges of merit and pride.

    Short and cute - Big green eyes, infectious smile. That's her trademark. She is not slender, but rather sturdier built. Radiant is medium in the bust and ample in the booty. She has nice womanly curvature and not surprising, she is in very, very fine muscular condition. Right now, she may be a bit underweight since she has been on the street for some time, but not gaunt and still easy on the eyes. When she is in a mood she will strut like she is on scene as an actress or acrobat.

    Rodent - Once upon a time she wore fine clothes, not the best by any means, but not the rags she wears now. But the one thing she does keep in better condition that the rest of her garb is her footwear. As a thief or acrobat, one bad footfall could mean disaster. She does have a stash of better clothes and disguises hidden on the outskirts of town... as well as other more 'precious items' hidden away as well.



    The strengths of her character are now, sadly, outweighed by the burden of her weaknesses. The high flying Radiant girl has succumbed to the street roaming Rodent. A furrow constantly creases her brow, a pout comes more naturally now as well. But there is a glimmer of light dawning from within those green eyes. A glimmer of hope. For one of her traits that brings her to her knees is now lifting her up and giving her reason to strive to new heights once again.

    Radiant is in love. And the woman in her sights is a knight in shining armour. A captain of the guard with steely blue eyes and full pink lips ever held in a sneer. But there was that one time... that one time those steely blues melted away pulling down the sneer with it.

    She, the captain of the guard, looked over at the Rodent.

    And for whatever reason, the blonde beauty made eye contact with the lass. She, the glamourous loverly captain of the guard in shining armour, smiled at her.

    A heart-melting smile.

    Then after a simple, yet acknowledging nod, she turned that porcelain cheek. Followed up with an expert snap of her head, sending flowing golden locks spraying like rays of sunshine breaking through grey clouds; a sky goddess emerging to claim what is owed to her. Decorated helmet donned now, she, the captain of the guard rode away upon noble and gallant steed.

    And in her wake floated a girl with big green eyes shimmering like emeralds; a smile blinding only to those who could not recognize pure delight. Ecstasy. To the heavens then.

    A Radiant had returned.



    Radiant to Rodent (open)

    Depending on who tells the tale, it is told that Radiant was found, stolen, bought or donated to the Carnivale when she was but a baby. But no matter who tells of the lass' birth story, one particular tidbit of the tale remains the same; how she was named. She was named by a bird. Blessed be the Father.

    As Mummy Aldea, the blind Fortune Teller, held the swaddled, green eyed babe in her arms, a blackbird called out: "Radiant! Radiant! Radiant!" then flew away. It was an ordinary blackbird, nothing out of the ordinary save for the fact it was alone during the day, and in such close proximity to human folk. But wait... oh yes, there was something peculiar about it.

    This was but only the first time it would be seen. And this was but only the first time it called out her name. By the Father's grace, no doubt, and in all His Faith.

    Still, it was unanimous, the foundling would be called Radiant, not only because the blackbird said so, but because it suited the naming scheme of all foundling children in the Carnivale. They all had names of such splendor. In fact, a girl the same age as Radiant was named Splendor.

    Oh but best friends were the two girls. Even though, in time, the areas of expertise they would be taught were at polar opposites, the two girls still remained the best of friends. In the world of the Wonderful Wondrous Wandering Carnivale of the Astounding Adestav Brothers! Radiant became a top notch acrobat and actress, meanwhile Splendor became a grounds wandering clown and security detail host. And in the name of the Father these two orphaned girls were raised. For the Carnivale owned by the Adestav Brothers! was of course but a Holy one, no doubt and in all His Faith.

    And in the Name of Father, all children are pure from a pure birth from one woman and one man. But the children of the Wonderful Wondrous Wandering Carnivale were deemed as Impure, for proof of their birth from one woman and one man was unfounded and undeniable unknown. So suffer the children of the Impure. And behind all the makeup, all the smiles, all the joyous and infectious fun-loving times of the performers while 'on scene,' the dark truths of what was done to them in the Name of the Father by the Astounding Adestav Brothers! was done to them to purify their sins.

    By day they would give the performances of their lives because that's what all good Carnivale children would do, if it Pleases the Father. For at night they would pay for their sins, in His Name, would they ever.

    The markings of permanent ink told their tales about their bloodlines and what they would face to replace the be-deviled blood with ink. Radiant was 6 when she received her first marking; it was the second time the Blackbird called her name.

    Radiant was to relive the way of the Wronged Hand; she was tattooed as a thief. And to cleanse her ways she was taught to steal things, precious things, perhaps even replace them with fake replicas. If she was caught, the Father would not see her when it was Her Time. And so she would always be successful. Oh, but when she would return she would receive His Blessing by the Adestav Brothers!

    See her scars? From falls, from fire; failures. But proud as she was of those scars, the scars given to her by the brothers, she was proudest of them all, of course she told herself this. What else could being whipped in the Name of Father's be other than a path to forgiveness for being the Birthed from the Wrong Hand? Now see her head tattoos? Every additional tattoo upon her head was another Lesson Learned and just that much more of her bloodine replaced by ink.

    The premise was simple really. Re-live her legacy; her lineage as a thief so as to learn how dirty and terrible she truly was. Then have the sin whipped out of her. The reward was during their performance. Sin free and in broad day's view of His eyes they found redemption, expressed out loud by the ink written upon her head.

    Oh and what of Splendor? Well, as stated beforehand, they were polar opposites. One would take; Radiant was Birthed of the Wrong Hand, a thief. The other would give; Splendor was Birthed of the Luring Eyes, a whore. Purification was a different route for each one, by the grace of the Father, but it was purification nonetheless.

    And by the time Splendor gave birth to her 4th child, the two best friends had professed their love for each other; their sinful non-sisterly love. And by this time, Splendor was done. The burly teen, she had had enough and was set to flee with her beloved.

    But Radiant did not want to leave her family. Splendor was in the wrong! They were not victims! They were not slaves! What abuse?? They were living in the name of the Father, blessed be His Name, Splendor!!! But Splendor was adamant that she would flee with her beloved... or without her. Radiant could not let that happen. They were meant to be together... she just could not let that happen. The Astounding Adestav Brothers! somehow found out about Splendor's treachery.

    The Blackbird called her name for the third time as they strung her up. And the Blackbird feasted upon her charred flesh when it was all said and done. By the grace of the Father, it was done.

    The guilt Radiant felt ate her up. She just wanted to disappear; never be seen again. She suppressed her guilt by performing like she was living her last days. The scars were fewer and farther inbetween, but the severity of the injury that caused them were the worst she'd ever incurred. But still she persevered, not just to be the best, but to squelch the sound of the voices. Especially that voice. Shortly after being cleansed for the final time, the ghost of Splendor haunted her.

    It told her things. Reminded her of what she was not. Reminded her of what she was owed. Reminded her that vengeance was but a name away. It was an itch at the base of her skull that she just could not find the proper way to scratch... she just wanted to disappear, as if none of this ever happened. But that itch... it just could not be scratched...

    ...then Blackbird called her name for the second last time.

    That was the last thing she remembered before she passed out. That, and the base of her skull ceased to itch.

    When she woke up next she could smell two things: kerosene and Mummy Aldea.

    It was dark and somehow she could see better than she evers had before. "Your final marking is complete, child," said Mummy Aldea with that voice that sounded warm and comforting yet eerily older than the mountains and the skies, "Vengeance is but a name away, child..."

    But whose name?! Each time she heard the voice tell her that, she had no clue what it meant! Whose name? By the Father whose name--

    "...tell me, child, what is your name...?"

    "Radiant, Mummy. My name is Radiant... but why--"

    All she could see was the milky white blind eyes of Mummy Aldea as she began to pass out once more. But somehow those eyes... those unseeing eyes could somehow see... the unseen... see... oh but the smell of the kerosene... all that kerosene... and what is my name? A name away? Why do you call my name... why does...

    ...the Blackbird called her name for the final time as she rose to the smell of charred and blackened death.

    She rose coughing, as she stared at the flames, savagely feasting upon the remains of the caravan and her family of the Wonderful Wondrous Wandering Carnivale and the Astounding Adestav Brothers! The flames rose upward and licked the night sky.

    "Radiant! Radiant! Radiant!" cried the dark winged creature as it flapped away, blending into the darkened skies, soaring away into the heavenly abyss. By the Father's grace, no doubt, and all His Faith for the final time.

    And radiant were those flames. As radiant as the torch she held in her rightful hands... radiant... radiant...

    "Radiant...?" she whispered in a voice that sounded so unlike hers, "...vengeance is but a name away... it was my name.... it was my name--"

    She fled the scene of the massacre with no recollection of how this all happened. Not that she wanted to ever find out the truth. Her Faith was broken. She was broken and all she wanted to do was just disappear. And so she got her wish, for soon enough she was on the streets of this town and that one, wandering as an unknown, aided with some supernatural power to actually disappear during times of night and darkness. Constantly moving, drawn to someplace... familiar...? Yes, someplace she knew all too well.

    And so for a year she move on and on and on, finding love, losing love, earning money, losing money, gaining face, losing face till she found her way to Renarais where the survived another several months by joining the Wakemen, a streetgang that would prey upon runaways, thrownaways, addicts, homeless, and all sorts of ne'erdowells. Their racket was one Radient knew too well; Luring Eyes. They 'enlisted' prostitutes. Radiant was now Rodent; she sought out the marks, she conned the would-be-predators.

    She was on the streets, aye, but she was drawn here. And it was all okay by her for it felt familiar. For after all this time, wandering, moving on and on and on, she finally found it. A place she knew all too well. She found her family.

    Radiant was lost, but Rodent..?

    Rodent was home.



    Gunna go over the Overview again and stab the Boo brain for some charrie ideas ;DD~
    #4 Boo Girlie BoomBoom, Jan 24, 2016
    Last edited: Feb 1, 2016
    • Love Love x 1
  5. I think I have something substantial, I just need a few questions answered before I fully commit to writing everything out.

    1.) You mentioned that Argoria is relatively peaceful (or at least was for some time), so I can only imagine that things like bandit raids and the rumored demonic attacks happen very rarely, or are they becoming more commonplace with each Magnus that comes and passes?

    2.) What is the religious and cultural mindset of Argoria? It began as a melting pot of sorts, so has it remained diverse, or have they settled in on something in particular?

    3.) Is being marked by the Mark of Perdition a dramatic thing (as in those who are marked know what it stands for and someone/something places it upon them) or is it more mysterious, like a mark that forms after the event occurs?

  6. [​IMG]
    Name: Marten Adler
    Alias: The Silver Eagle, Marten Black
    Age: 47
    Gender: Male
    Alignment: Neutral
    Height: 6'4"
    Weight: 180lbs
    Eyes: gray-blue
    Skin: medium light skin

    He is determined and tenacious, and will not give up on things he deems important. He is also a veteran knight, and mercenary. Has a natural 'fatherly' instinct. Values family and friends. Generally keeps his word. Used to have a strong code of honor, nobility, and charity... Though only remnants of those behaviors remain.

    Apathy- lack of conviction since his loss. Also a waning sense of compassion. Despite being tenacious- he doesn't have much he is tenacious about. As above, he lives in a world of black and white- but not he has figured out some things about the 'gray area'. Just makes him feel lost, really. Since his loss, he feels less inclined to help those around him, and is Slow to act, unless his person is in danger. Does not attach easily to others, and treats most newcomers with a mild sense of neglect.

    He is trained in most weapons, as knights are. Though he does the best in short range archery, and using the long-sword. He is in good physical condition, and is still quick to act, but his stamina is starting to chisel away slightly as he gets older.

    The Mark of Perdition:
    The Fade's Forgiveness
    The Gift:
    The gift allows Marten the ability to go incorporeal for a brief moment- allowing matter to pass through him. This was given to him in a spiteful manner before he apparently slew the one who gave it to him. Chosing between the slow and painful death of everyone he held dear, or a quick and painless death, he though to choose honorably. He was cursed to outlive his legacy.

    The Cost:
    When he uses this gift- there are several implications of misuse. However an actual toll this takes is that over prolonged use, his stamina is decreased. Almost as if something is eating away at his will to live, as well as his constitution as a whole. He will become noticeably physically weaker after more than one use, or prolonged use- as if he himself is permanently becoming incorporeal.

    A rather tall man, Marten stands above most average men. His height and weight make him appear tall and well built- as he's lived a life of little relaxation. He has short and unkempt graying brown hair, thick eyebrows that are slightly upturned, and an unshaven face- though he doesn't prefer to keep a full beard. His brow is pronounced, his eyes are deeper set- but appear to hold compassion and friendliness. His nose is longer, and has a high bridge. His mouth is flat looking, and has small lips.
    He doesn't wear armor unless he needs it. Having stored away his old silvery plate and scale armor, he only uses basics now, as it's not practical to travel the countryside hefting around a full st of platemail. Though he has since found himself being accosted much more often than in his younger life, and certainly after he was 'marked'. He wears a long sleeved chain-mail shirt with a padded neutral brown surcoat over this. Around his neck he usually has a greyish green cape that reaches to below his knees. He wears leather swordsman gloves, and has steel bracers that cover his forearms. His riding boots are also covered with gaiters and steel plate greaves that cover his shins and knees. He also has a longsword that he carries with him nearly at all times, sheathed at his waist. It's a basic and efficient design for hand and a half use, a straight crossguard, a teardrop shaped pommel, and a blade that has a narrow tip.

    History's visage (open)

    His suit of plate and scale armor was a polished silvery color, that had engravings on the trim. His plate armor was over scale mail, and his helmet was vaguely shaped like an eagle's head. From the back of the head was a navy blue plume of horse hair that dangled down to his mid back. Hanging around his shoulders was his blue cape, embroidered with silvery silk trim, and having his family sigil in the middle, a white spread eagle. He carried a steel kite shield that also had his family sigil, the white spread eagle on the blue field. This set of armor still supposedly lies in his manor's keep.

    Personality: Marten is a bit of a quiet person. He is friendly enough as he speaks, but tends to be a little stand-offish. He feels that his life has been shattered, and that he feels he is wasting away without much to leave behind other than a history of violence. He wants to believe in something, but he isn't sure what it is. He's a person who seems to be stuck in the past- and fixated Tends to think mostly of himself, and is unintentionally selfish in this way. Attempting to get rid of this self pity- he is constantly searching for something to attach himself to- and believe in. He is slow to anger, and his sense of humor can vary between dark, and light-hearted mischief. He is patient as long as it benefits him. Not against fighting dirty- as long as he wins.

    This is a man who started from everything, and began dwindling to nothing. Starting as the son of a noble house and sheriff, he had money and privilege, class and skill. He grew into a capable warrior, had children, and went off to fight his lord's wars. After much success and fame came his way, he came back home and attempted to settle down. Things turned sour within his country, as it started to implode, as there were rumors of demons afoot. Marten and other members of the noble warrior caste sought justice, and slayed the demon who plagued their country. In doing so, Marten, and all members of his family and their followers were killed- their souls linked to the devil that plagued them.

    Detailed history breakout (open)

    Marten Adler was born into a noble caste, under a well-off family name with a long, rich history. His father was the Sheriff of the lands, and this gave him plenty of privelages. Growing up as a young page to another noble lord, he was trained well by a master at arms, and had the good fortune of coin and castle-forged steel. The world had become much more peaceful than in the past- so there was not much need for a mass of well trained warriors. This means he didn't have much competition- but his competition was much more stiff. He attended tourneys, and learned at the schools and churches until he was in his teens, where he became a Squire. Reaching for the next rung in the ladder, working hard, and enjoying himself as much as a young noble squire could - he started proving himself. At the age became knighted due to hard work, determination, and excellent service. He returned to the house of Adler, where he continued his path toward being a fine knight, and deputy to the sheriff. He became a favorite in local tournaments on the horse, and in the melees. He won the favor of another noble lady, whom they had the benefit of actual courtship and mutual feelings for one another. It seemed that he had a lot going for him- a well-to-do knight of the realm, and a newly expectant father.

    When Marten was in his early twenties, he was called to arms due to a border dispute, a nearby kingdom encroaching on his Lord's land. He donned his famed silver plate and scale, with his helmet vaguely eagle-shaped, with a long blue tassel. He wrapped himself in his kingdom's signature blue cape, embroidered with silvery silk designs. He was to lead a cadre of knights on horseback to flank the enemy by taking a long, round-about route to the enemy's exposed side. Everything went as planned, the vanguards clashed, and the archers and skirmishers made their shots count... and Marten and his men charged the enemy's exposed side to deal a crushing victory to the enemy. The next victory on the field of battle, he lead his cadre of knights again, into the forays of battle- again valiantly defeating his enemies one by one. Unable to return home for a few more months to continue the campaign against his lord's encroaching enemies- his son was born with a twin- a daughter.
    Marten returned a war hero, and seemingly loved by all within his lands. He returned to his wife and two children, and became a devout husband, and father. He then had another child- another son, a few years after the first two were born. Continuing to hold his name in high regard, with his signature blade, and armor- he continued winning money in tourneys across the land. Though things started again getting darker- his lord became a little more greedy- bandit raids became slightly more commonplace, and Marten was called upon to defend his homeland several times. Being the son of the Sheriff, he rode out on many patrols to hunt down and arrest, or execute criminals.

    In his late twenties, his kingdom again came under disputes with a nearby kingdom. His mostly benevolent, and just Lord called them again to arms. His eldest children were nearing ten, and his youngest was around six years of age. He hated to leave them again, but leave he did. He was a family man at heart, and his tastes were much more simple than battle and court politics. So things changed again- This was a long campaign, lasting almost half a century. He did not get to see his son taken under the care of one of his cousins as a squire, and his eldest daughter at nearly sixteen was finding her place at court. His youngest son had begun developing excellent skills at arithmetic and art, as well as one could at a young age. Their futures were bright, and Marten grieved every day- keeping them as his motivation to continue on the battlefield just another day- to hopefully one day soon return to his home. Though as his honor was important to him- and his duty- he continued with chin high, and success on the battlefields.

    Though when it came time to accept terms of defeat from the enemy- Marten's lord, a brave and honorable sort- gathered his best knights close to him to attend the summit. It began in their warcamp, inside the Lord's personal tent. The enemy's lord, and several dignitaries came to give terms of surrender. Upon the end of this meeting, one of the enemy dignitaries- one who had a reputation of dark sorcery and necromancy- placed a curse upon the victor's heads. Or so it would seem. This would actually be a foretelling of the evils that were rising in Marten's home.

    Returning once again to his home, he tended to his family. Things went back to normal for he and his family- but all around them things had continued to change. Unbeknownst to the country- their lord had been posessed, and was on a slow decline into evil and madness. Rumors of dark sorcery and unholy magics spread. Crops died, and disease spread. People were dying left and right with almost no cause. Turning pale, and dropping dead. Marten's mother had passed this was, as had a few of his cousins. Lawlessness began to take hold of the countryside, despite the Sheriff's best efforts.
    Marten was called to a meeting with the Constable of the lord's castle, the main lawmaker, and several guard captains. They were to usurp the lord, and put he, and the Sheriff to death, and set their steward to the lord's seat. Since things had degraded so quickly, everyone knew something was wrong, and there was some taint. Most calculated it up to being part of the witch's curse on the Lord and their lands. Though this was indeed something different.

    Marching up to the castle in the rain, Marten and a crew of a dozen of the best trained warrior knights in the country were suited in silvery armor, and their blue capes billowed behind them as they made their way to the keep, slowly soaking in the rain. Cutting down the lord's guard, and backing the lord and sheriff into a corner of the throne room- the Constable lead the inquisition. Their Lord, appearing pale, and eyes slit like a snake's, everyone assumed the evil came from him. That he was the cause of the degradation, evil, and gluttony. They spat a venomous argument, and the lord showed disdain. Taking the honorable way- the constable put the lord to the point of his sword.

    The Sheriff gave an unstable laugh, and changed shape before their eyes into something ghastly. In one fell swoop- he bisected four knights with a spiny tail like an axe. It grew to eight feet, sprouted another set of arms, and the skin turned into a pale sickly green. Too large for it's clothes, they tore from it's body. Certainly a beast of forbidden magics. Marten was mortified by the sight, and in a fit of disparity of knowing this was once his father, he backed away.

    Three more knights advanced, and were frozen in place- and turned to stone before the others' eyes. It was the Sheriff who had been tainting the lord for it's own gain. It was a demon of gluttonous, and voracious apetite. Though it's apetite was the souls and constitution of others. It had announced that it had slowly linked it's life with The noble Adler house, and all of their villagers during the war- and if it were to perish- so too would they.

    Unsure whether or not to take the gamble, realizing what was at stake, they didn't know what to do. Three more knights were cut down in the beast's advance. It was going to slowly kill the entire country if it were left to live. If it were killed- his family and all their employees would die instantly. Left between a slow painful death and decline of a prosperous family, or give it a merciful release.
    Marten, the constable, and the remaining knights speared the beast- immobilized it. The constable and the other knights were gravely wounded in the battle, and Marten himself was nearly unconscious. Though the Beast was also in no state to run away. Marten, the only able sword left in the group, walked up to the beast as it cried for mercy, and tried to bargain it's way to life. Marten begged to know what happened to his father.

    The beast stated that during the war, the Sheriff had been posessed, and allowed the ebast to slowly take over. His father had gotten ill, and made an unknowing deal with a demon for his life. In tears, Marten lifted his blade to strike the killing blow. As it coughed and choked on blood- it stated that he would forever walk the lands with a brand- a brand of what which he would fear- and always remember this day by. That the beast's own death meant the death of all of his loved ones, as well.
    Dropping ot the ground, after the beast had taken it's last breath, Marten went unconscious. Blood loss, and the beast's mark were too much.

    Waking up weeks later in a monastery, he found that his country was in a state of repair. The constable had survived the battle, and had taken over the country. Gaining much support, and with deep pockets, he was thankfully doing well. But Marten was devastated. His entire house was dead, as were their smallfolk, even the horses and livestock. Their manor was left abandoned, and fell to decay. Their keep survived, but the village around it slowly fell to ruin after years of being unoccupied.

    With no hope left, Marten wished for death. Though knowing this was by his own hand, and believing in the Father, he would not commit suicide. The beast would win. Attempting to hold himself together, he wandered to a nearby kingdom and took up arms with a free company, protecting caravans, and drinking away his memories. At every battle, he wanted to welcome death, but never found it. Even as he aged, he found himself still more capable than many younger than he.
    He tried to keep who he was a secret, going with the surname 'Black'. He wanted to distance himself from his past, and move forward. Unable to deal with the loss of his wife and children, he just wanted to be someone else, and do what he was good at. He felt the urge to always take up arms. Many times he thought he should be struck down, it was as if the enemy would not hit 'home'- their blades and arrows passing through him as if they were nothing- or 'he', was nothing. Fitting, so it seemed. Though on a particular job, his company took notice of this, and first thought it a blessing. Though as most of his company died on this last job- and he remained alive and healthy- they deemed him cursed, and turned their backs on him.

    With what money Marten had left, he left the free companies after many years of service, and began to wander the countryside, feeling drawn in one direction in particular. Not something he could put his finger on, but he felt he should go inward toward the capitol- and the King's seat. Fighting off the occasional bandits, and slowly learning more about using his curse- the brand placed behind his left shoulder- he walked his way to the city. Also, the toll it takes on him at each use.
    #6 Spectre, Jan 25, 2016
    Last edited: Jan 28, 2016
  7. [​IMG]
    Doran Eaond

    The Pilgrim








    Traits & Talents


    Courageous- Doran does posses a courageous heart, unafraid of battle or the terrors of the known world. Many a time he has found himself lodged within a situation where he knew full well he could lose his life. This is, however; not to be mistaken for foolhardiness for Doran never enters a fight he does not plan to walk out of.

    Cunning- Though Doran would never describe himself as cunning, a trait he would see more akin to a thief than himself, he does have an innately sly wit. On more than one occasion Doran has been able to talk himself out of trouble when his ventures had turned sour.

    Formal Education- From a very early age Doran found himself privy to the teachings of a private tutor. Though this in no means makes him smarter than others, Doran was able to learn much in his schooling days because of it. From court etiquette to the geography of certain lands, Doran was drilled in it all.

    Willful- Willpower is an often all to looked over facet of one's personality, but at the same time it often shapes one's entire personality. Doran is a willful person, his desires, his hopes, his drive, all of which he pursues with religious dedication. His actions are guided by his wants, for he has the will to follow what others might not.


    Obsessive- When Doran sets his mind to a task or his eye on a particular target he will not let up until he claims it. This obsessive trait stems from his willfulness, and has been the prime culprit for all the times Doran has ended up on the wrong side of the law.

    Prideful- By far one of Doran's more prominent weaknesses is his pride. Though he is uncaring towards the plights of others' slights against his pride are one thing he cannot tolerate. Appearing weak, being pitied, offered charity, none of which Doran would ever except when they came his way.

    Tactless- Doran is a harsh person by nature, overly judgmental of those around him. Though he possesses a truly cunning intuition more often than not his words anger more than flatter. If you are deemed a lesser, or for some odd reason Doran particularly doesn't fancy you, chances are he will tell you so.


    Swordsman- Being the son of a nobleman being taught the art of fighting was an essential part of growing up. From as soon as a sword would fit in the palm of Doran's hand he was drilled in form and technique by his father's Master-at-Arms.

    Durable- The pressures of a noble life are often made light of, yet they are indeed heavy burdens. From a child Doran had to cope with the demands made upon him his father and his peers, whether it being in combative sport or galas. Because of this Doran has been blessed with immense fortitude in many aspects of life.

    Hunter- One of Doran's favorite activities whilst growing up was hunting, and his love for it persisted throughout his life. The mundane enjoyment of it eventually translated to the skills of tracking and the like, which he has found useful to this day still.

    The Mark of Striking Shadows
    It was a strange irony at first, when the Mark Doran bore first awakened and revealed it's power. So much was it like that which took the lives of so many he cared for, Doran could naught but laugh. The Mark of Striking Shadows pays homage to it's namesake tenfold, but the power is used reluctantly and with great caution by Doran. For on the fateful night he was marked he witnessed the carnage wrought by such an ability, and the sights of which still haunt his dreams.

    The Gift
    The Mark of Striking Shadows, despite it's name, has actually nothing to do with manipulating the shadows of the mortal plane. In essence the Mark gives it's bearer the ability to summon forth shadowy tendrils from his own body, and manipulate their shape and form. The tendrils can take nearly any form imagined by the bearer, from a whip-like substance, to that of a blade.

    The Cost

    The cost inflicted upon the bearer by using this Mark depends on the severity and length in which it is used. Because the power is one that manifests from within the bearer, the Mark takes a heavy toll on the bearer's life force. All comes into play when determining the toll taken, from number of tendrils to the strength given to each one. Depending on those factors, the cost typically starts a case of vertigo that rapidly increases to an incredibly painful headache. If use of the Mark continues a nosebleed occurs from internal hemorrhaging, leading to eventual collapse. Recovery from said collapse depends again on how long the Mark was used. If use was too severe death can and will occur.

    Doran presents himself as a poor visage of his former self. The once regal and prestigious figure he presented can now only barely be seen under the grit and grief that often covers him. Despite his rugged appearance however, his pedigree can easily be seen in his gait and manner of speaking. His features, both facial and bodily, are of a person clearly not belonging to the common folk. Despite his efforts to blend in with the masses Doran makes for a poor peasant in any shape or form. Standing just over six feet tall, adorned with darkened brown hair and hazel eyes, Doran's appearance is similar to many Argorians from the same region as himself. In fact if not for his mannerisms and keeping himself well groomed Doran may well be able to pass off as just another nobody in the crowd. That, however; is not the case as we know it for despite his eagerness to forget his past Doran refuses to allow himself to fall into disarray like the commoners.

    In this past Doran had always been known as a kind soul with a welcoming heart, to his friends at least. Now though, in the world as he knows it today, his person has become cold and crass. A cynic if ever there was one Doran prizes prudence and self preservation over all else in his journeys. If a situation is too dangerous, if an event too unruly, if an action would not benefit him, Doran's conscious suffers little when he turns a blind eye. Crass and cold to most everyone, few know Doran as more than a face and a few words but in truth he prefers it that way. Making connections with others in something of a sordid subject for those in Doran's predicament, yet at times he has found himself yearning for comradeship yet again. It would of course be a far-cry for the rakish rouge he has become to befriend anyone, but should the possibility for such to occur arise Doran himself believes a change of that sort might do him good.

    Show Spoiler

    Doran Eaond, born Doran Ynvild Eaond III, finds his roots in the far north end of Argoria in the frozen plains of Patsmoff. Unlike the the more settled lands to the south, Patsmoff remained a very turbulent area in which to live even after the end of The Great War giving birth to a durable and hardy people. Removed from the more central struggles of Argoria the people of this harsh land continued to live under the clannish strife instigated by the warring clans that ruled there. Whether due to the petty wars fought by their overlords, the harsh winters that iced the fields, of the Trollkin from the mountains, the peoples of this land somehow persevere year after year. To be born and to grow in Patsmoff means a life of struggle, where only the strongest of men can prosper. This was a fact Doran knew well, for this was the life Doran lived.

    Unlike the majority of the southern lands governed by kings and their feudal vassals, Patsmoff is ruled over by the Jarls. These men and women were not granted power, nor did they claim it by ancient birthright or debate, but took hold of it with their own strength. To be a Jarl meant having the undivided respect of one's clan, and that your family's bloodline would be held in high esteem till the end of time. Doran's father Rothar Ynvild Eaond, was one of these men, inheriting the title from his father whom in return inherited from his father. The territory he presided over was the third largest in all of Patsmoff affording him even more respect than some of his peers. As dictated by tradition when age began to set upon Doran's father and he could no longer show his strength, his eldest child would undertake the ritual trials to prove himself worthy of Jarldom. That predetermined destiny always seemed to drive a young Doran onward towards his future, knowing it was forever secure. As the next Jarl by sacred law Doran's younger days would be filled with with mundane tutoring and constant drilling, but always his thoughts were of the future on the glory it promised.

    As Doran grew into his teenage years the trouble filling Patsmoff's borders never seemed to quell. At the age of thirteen Doran found himself thrust into actual battle for the first time, finding that the glory sung of in ballads and that of a true battlefield differed greatly. Though he fought bravely, as fierce and courageous as a boy of that age could, he did not make it through that battle on his feet. Knocked free of his horse sometime during the onset his father's men found Doran unconscious after the fighting had subsided. The man whom was supposed to lead the clan as their next Jarl could not even make it through a single battle, and the disappointment in the eyes of Doran's father never vanished after that day. For a society where honor and pride are everything one can only imagine how devastating that could be to a boy. Thankfully, Doran did not have to go through that trouble alone for his sister was at his side.

    Serra was Doran's older twin, and the two remained inseparable throughout most of their life. What one did so too did the other, for the most part, so it was only natural for one to feel the hurt of the other. After Doran's failure in the battle, and the subsequent ire he earned from his father, Serra remained the only one willing to lend an ear to Doran's plights. Always soothing, always beautiful, and with a calming nature it would be Serra which saved Doran from his own desperation during those time. It would again be Serra that urged her brother not to stop his training, not to end his dreams of glory and greatness. Doran loved his sister for that, but if he had known then what that love for her would bring upon her never would he have spoken her name. He would have saved not only her but all of his loved ones from that sordid fate, but he did not. For how could he have known?

    Then time went on, passing by as it tends to do as winter after winter comes and goes. Doran, now a young man, pushed onward with his duties thanks to the encouragement of his sister. The young boy that had fallen from his horse at the first sight of battle had now grown into one of the finest warriors his clan had to offer, ever the respect of all but one. The initial disappointment his father felt for him that fateful day never seemed to dissipate no matter Doran's accomplishments. In time Doran found that he pressed on not to earn his father's respect, but in spite of it. It became a sad truth for Doran, yet somehow he never let the burden of it weigh him down. In the days as they were in this time Patsmoff seemed to be the worst it had been since the end of The Great War. Each day brought a new fight, a new battle, a new war. Age old allies become bitter enemies overnight, lifelong friends ripped one another's throat out on the battlefield, and an air of desperation fell over the entire north. Doran was called in repeatedly to don armor an wield sword, and he did so with pride. Each victory was another notch his his growing legend, each man slain was another trophy he would greet in the afterlife. Doran lived for carnage and chaos, for in that time he was truly damned.

    It all came about late one night whilst the moon hung full in the air above Doran's village. Another feast raged on within the banquet hall as the people celebrated another successful raid on a neighboring territory. Doran sat amongst them, bragging on his exploits as his comrades cheered him on and jeered him in fun. Then, out of the corner of his eye, a woman caught his eye. She stood alone in a far corner, draped in black. Raven hair fell over porcelain skin and her eyes lingered upon him for seemed like an eternity. Then she turned, craning a finger his way as she exited the hall, passing by one person after another without attracting a stare from anyone but Doran. The young warrior rose, preparing himself for his next conquest as he followed the mysterious woman out of the hall and into the night.

    A dimly lit candle and the throws of passion were all the filled Doran's ears after that. Shadows danced upon the walls behind him as his body and that of the mysterious woman tangled together and became one. His head was muddled, vision blurred, and ecstasy consumed every fiber of his being as the night drug onward, and then there was nothing. Doran awoke, clothes still stripped from his being, in pitch black darkness the woman gone from his side. Stranger still though was the fact that screams still rang out within his ears, however; not those of lust that had overcome him just a short while ago. Doran raced to pull his pants on flinging the door to the shack he was in open and peered out towards his village, and he watched as it burned around him. Villagers ran frantically from the flames, yet their eyes did not meet the orange glow with horror but instead peered into the shadows at their feet. It was then Doran saw it as well.

    At first it seemed as if the shadows themselves slithered upon the ground as if sentient, but Doran learned that was not the case. One of the darkened tentacles rose from the ground, it's form obscured as if made of shifting air, and violently pierced the chest of one of those running from it. Doran stared on in horror, his thoughts still hazy and his mind unable to focus. The young warrior stumbled through the streets towards his father's keep, all around him the shadowy creatures laid low the people of his village. Blood ran through the streets, bodies lining them like a filed of corpses, yet Doran still pushed on. In the distance he could see the keep too was ablaze, yet it was not that which caused him to stumble backwards. A woman stood in front of the burning fortress, stripped of clothing with raven black hair and porcelain skin. Wrapped around her instead where the dark figures crawling upon the ground, as if they poured directly from her. The woman turned, smiling wickedly at Doran and then stepped to her side revealing two people kneeling behind her. The fear welled up in Doran's eyes as he knew what came next, but he did not turn away as on of the shadowy forms grew from the woman's arm and pointed itself at them. In an instant the woman ordered it to lash out, and Doran's father and sister fell lifeless to the ground.

    Doran remained there, seated upon the ground, eyes wide with disbelief, as his village burned and the woman slowly made her way towards him. One by one the dark creatures wormed their way towards the woman, seemingly merging into her as they touched her skin, until all traces of them were gone from the village. Still Doran sat there, the screams of those he had known all his life echoing out within his mind and chipping away at his sanity. Another wicked smile curled unto the lips of the unknown woman Doran had made love to not hours before this hell as she knelt to stare the broken young man in his eyes. Then, for the first time, she spoke. Her words were harrowing, cutting whatever strands of hope Doran hand left as they softly left her lips: "You prayed for glory. This is it's price." Then she lowered her lips to Doran's kissing them softly before once again lowering them unto his neck. Doran couldn't move, he remained stationary even as he felt her teeth sink into the back of his neck and his warm blood begin to trickle down his shoulder. He felt nothing, not until her heard the woman's laugh and a witnessed a cloud of darkness surround her. Then just as she appeared she was gone. Then the pain began, the searing burning ache that seemed to pierce his neck and bury itself into his very soul. Doran screamed for hours, from the horror he had witnessed to the pain he now suffered, he continued to scream until his consciousness faded.

    For years upon years the pain remained a distant memory that haunted only his nightmares, but in recent days Doran could feel the mark upon his neck burn with a familiar tinge. For near a decade after those events Doran had dedicated his life to searching for the damnable woman that inflicted so much hurt upon him, yet no lead ever presented themselves. Only in the past few months had his normal nightmares been replaced by clear vision of Renaris and the things that would befall it. The burning of the mark, the ghastly creatures from the dreams, Doran could not believe them to be coincidence. If there was a chance to find the woman he had searched for all these years it would be in the Holy City. Doran would do all he could to repay the witch for her actions and he would show her he was not the helpless boy he had been upon their first meeting, the mark she left upon him had ensured that.

    #7 Gaiseric, Jan 25, 2016
    Last edited by a moderator: Jan 28, 2016
    • Like Like x 1
  8. Okay, so I went ahead and posted a draft of my Character Sheet. I am in no way finished with it yet, but I just wanted to give everyone an idea of what I was looking for so that initial nervousness of wondering it you did okay can vanish. If you have any more questions I'm game to answer, but right now I need to address all of you that have been waiting for a reply!

    1. Presently people would say Argoria is fairly peaceful just because of how chaotic it was back during The Great War. There are of course still bandits and pirates, small wars between nobles and kingdoms, just nothing large-scale. It would be the same as a medieval nation in peace times. There is still conflict, just not enough to shake the entire continent.

    2. Okay, so this is something I should have addressed and will go back and do so here shortly. The only organized religion in Argoria is worship of the Father. Only the Father has churches and priests, and nearly all kingdoms in Argoria venerate him. That being said, there are still quiet a few people that worship the spirits. Basically, before worship of the Father came along everyone was a pagan that honored the spirits of nature. Few people still do so, and in more zealous kingdoms and villages worshiping the spirits can get you burned at the stake for being a witch.

    3. It is dramatic in the sense that only those that have suffered great loss can be marked. For example; a Damned One would kill everyone in your character's village to make them feel eternal suffering before marking them. Then said character would feel an intense burning pain, followed by a near empty feeling before passing out. On the other hand, unless the Damned One made itself known you would never know what had just happened to you. In fact most that are marked never do fully understand it all.

    Why the Marks exist and what they stand for are a constant unknown. No one knows their meaning or purpose, but finding out will be a major part of the Role-Play.
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  9. Awesomes^^!!

    Yeah-yeah I was A bit iffy bout putting forth a charrie... but now I see what ya gots ;D nice.

    But question: for alignment does 'Lawbreaker-Considerate' work? Like muh charrie is definitely not Lawful but she's not Chaotic either. And she's not completely Good and Defo not evil too. She's more Considerate than Neutral as well.

    Thanks ya^^
  10. >>>Character Removed<<<
    #10 Mglo, Jan 26, 2016
    Last edited: Feb 27, 2016
  11. [​IMG]
    Name: Velica Knochen
    Alias: "The Heretic"
    Age: 38
    Gender: Female
    Alignment: Chaotic Neutral (Formerly Neutral Good)
    Height: 5'11"
    Weight: 176 lbs.
    Eyes: Reddish Brown
    Skin: Burn Scarred (Formerly Pale)

    Strong-Willed - Perhaps Velica's most prominent trait is her determination. Once decided on something, there is very little she can not accomplish.
    Devoted - Although few, Velica cherished her loved ones more than life itself and can now only feel empty without them. This passion once extended to the spirits she worshiped, but she has grown uncertain after her experience.
    Observant - Quiet in nature and with nearly a lifetime of experience as a hunter, she spends her time observing her environment and others so she is quick to notice things that others may not.
    Pragmatic - Her actions and words are without waste, not concerned what others may think.

    Stubborn - Headstrong, very little can dissuade her once she has decided on something, regardless of the consequences.
    Antisocial - Content to be by herself, she has and still avoids large group of people. Needless to say, she rarely makes friends.
    Vengeful - Once wronged, she will not stop until she has settled her grievance.
    Prejudiced - The cruelty inflicted on her by those of the Faithful, she looks to those who worship the Father with contempt, spite, and hatred.
    Traumatized - Not only brutally scarred and disfigured by torture and flame, the memories of that fateful night still haunt her mind and keep her from restful sleep or peace of mind.

    Hunter - The role she once withheld in her village since she was young enough to pull her own weight. Through her experiences, she is an expert at tracking, stealth, wilderness survival, trapping, and archery.
    Adept Fighter - Although her only experience in fighting other humans was the occasional bandit raids on her village, she is skilled with a knife, axe, and bow thanks to her trade as a hunter. Currently, she has taken up her late husband's falchion, using what skills she remembers from watching him and her own usage of the weapon.
    Hardy - Life far from major settlements, eking out a livelihood by hunter has made her used to most discomforts from weather or toil.

    The Mark of Blasphemous Life:
    Born from the selfish desire for life vengeance, no matter the cost. Despite being nothing more than a brand mark amidst countless other burn scars, it stands out quite visibly on her left cheek, as if proclaiming her damned nature for all to see.
    The Gift:
    By felling another, the mark draws forth the essence of their stolen life and allows her to take it for herself, healing a portion of her wounds and numbing any pain that may inflict her.
    The Cost:
    With each life consumed and each of her scars and injuries healed, her tolerance for pain is eroded and any infliction she may still bear, fresh or aged, flares back to life with renewed pain.

    Former Appearance (open)
    Far too tall for most men's taste with broad shoulders and with more muscle than curve, there was no wonder that she had married much later than the other women of her village, and to an outsider no less. Sharp eyes compliment the angular frame of her face, but to her misfortune, it appeared to settle to the default expression of displeasure more than anything. Her skin tone was unusually pale, despite being outdoors most of the time, and preferred to sunburn rather than tan under the heat of the sun. Raven black hair crowned her head, usually kept at chin-length to avoid complications in her profession and for easy maintenance.

    What remains of Velica now could aptly be called a burnt husk of her former self after barely escaping being burnt at the stake. Horribly disfigured from burn scars, she conceals herself in leather, armor, cloaks, and masks for obvious reasons.

    Gruff and quiet with an intimidating presence, she was a challenge to approach even before the incident. She was content in her solitude, however, and any feelings of loneliness she might have had were washed away when she would watch the others live out their lives. It was only when she met the one who would eventually become her husband did her stoic nature let up, allowing others to catch a glimpse of who she was beneath her exterior. She was still quiet and awkward when it came to socializing, but her softened expressions and actions spoke volumes. Alas, in but just one night, her mind, body, and soul were broken when the Faithful purged her village for their "heresy". The only thing that brought her out of the brink of despair was rage and the burning desire for revenge.

    On the south eastern region of Argoria, near its border and within the dense woods that separate it from a neighboring kingdom was a tiny hamlet that was known as Hasenkamp. Not many people lived in Hasenkamp, as it was some ways from the nearest trading route and the surrounding forest were known for being a safehaven for bandits and highwaymen; one suspects this settlement was founded by such rogues. Perhaps because of this isolation or its founders, those of Hasenkamp revered not the Father, but the spirits that lied within the surrounding nature. Because they were more accustomed to dealing with bandits and foreign travelers than anyone from Argoria, they performed their rituals out in the open without discretion. It was in this tiny, close-knit community that an odd girl known as Velica was born and raised.

    Even as a child, Velica kept to herself as she would prefer to simply explore the surrounding woods. Her father, the local woodcutter, while concerned over her lack of interaction with others, chose to indulge her by taking her along with him on his daily route and allowed her to assist him with his work. Years of such strenuous work cutting down trees left her tougher than any of the other girls of the hamlet, which would later come as no surprise that none of the local men would be interested in her when she came of age. It was by that time that Gernot, a hunter who was almost too old to carry on his work, offered to teach her how to hunt.

    Several years into her adulthood, Velica had carved out her own place in the hamlet as a successful hunter, although she still found it difficult to deal with others. She was content however, and would have remained so had it not been for one man who happened upon the settlement by chance. He was once a knight in Renaris, the man asked when pressed, who had decided to leave the service and get away from it all. The knight was allowed to stay, although looked upon with suspicion as he was once one of the Faithful, those who followed the teachings of the Father. It would take some time for him to get settled in, with most of his training involving combat and little much else that would prove useful to the hamlet and it was during this time, perhaps out of sympathy, Velica would speak with him and help him out from time to time. The knight, whose name would be known as Harmon, eventually found his place doing whatever odd jobs were to be done proved to be quite friendly, intelligent, and sociable and through their interactions, he and Velica fell in love. They were wed, with Harmon taking Velica's family name, and conceived a healthy son whom they would name Heino. Despite all the changes, Velica was all the more content with her life. Hunting and raising her son, she and her husband was fully embraced by the community and all was well for some time.

    Then, one day, a group of soldiers and knights arrived in Hasenkamp. They spoke of tracking a notorious bandit and while wary of these men, they were allowed to stay for the night to rest. It didn't take long before the knights discovered that they were among pagans and decided that they must purge the hamlet in the name of the Father. Having let their guard down in the name of good will, the people of Hasenkamp were caught off guard when their guests attacked. The men and children were put to the sword, and women tortured and raped. Velica fought back as long as she could, enraged with grief over the lost of her husband and child, yet the brutality of the Faithful had left her broken and weakened. Like many, burned at the stake as a heretic, the searing pain of heat renewing her resolve long enough to scream and curse at them in her final moments. She would find that the knights of the Faithful, all to eager to cheer and jeer before, were now shouting and screaming with fear and pain as something emerged from the woods. Its features were obscured through the flames that consumed her, but it was clear that it was far from human. It crushed and tore through the armored knights and soldiers with ease, leaving only the dead and the heavily wounded in its wake. Although relishing in the torment it inflicted, it seemed more interested in her and approached.

    That is far too beautiful to let die so soon...

    Taking hold of her, the demon tore her from the stake and cast her to the ground near the wounded Faithful. Velica was seized with a pain that compared to nothing she had ever experienced that originated from a smoldering mark left on her cheek. In these throes of pain, she chose to lash out at the wounded surrounding her and without mercy, death would come to those she laid her hands upon. With these deaths, however, came a renewed vigor as what would have been her mortal wounds just suddenly healed. It was in her enraged state that would discover that the demon had left and thus, Velica found herself along within the ruins of Hasenkamp and she would remain there for several days, unable to move on from that point of time. She did not know how long she grieved, but when she was no longer able to cry, her sadness gave way to anger once more. Velica vowed her vengeance, uncertain on who or how she would, but she would ensure that those of the Father would feel the pain she felt. Gathering what objects of value she had, including Harmon's falchion, she set off. Rumors would soon follow of a masked figure who targeted those of the Faithful.
    #11 CasketCase, Jan 26, 2016
    Last edited: Jan 30, 2016
  12. Got my PC up! Let me know if I should make any edits. I took a few liberties as to how and what this mark consists of and how it was received.
    By the way it sounds, it sounds like you want the characters to be more oblivious to their marks, and their givers. Maybe i've misunderstood the manner in which the marks are given...

    Anyhow, let me know if there's anything that I should look over, or mold to better fir the universe here.
  13. Hey-hey!!^^

    Right. So here is my charrie so far. Just needs to finish off the History part. Okay, kay so just let me know what changes are needed ;D​
  14. Hello everyone! I've looked over your character sheets so far and I'm impressed! So far everyone is pretty unique and that alone makes for a very interesting story when things begin unfolding. I don't want anyone that's still editing, or working on character sheets, to rush. I myself am still in the process of developing my character editing and writing his history mostly, so we still have plenty of time before the Role-Play starts.

    With that said I don't want the people here to lose interest in the Role-Play because it is taking so long to start, so I am setting an official starting day. I'm thinking, with people still editing, that I should give the weekend for everyone to finish up and begin the Role-Play on Monday. If you cannot post on Monday don't worry about it, I'll just be getting the first Narration and my post up so people can see we are ready to begin.
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  15. Finished a good chunk. I should have the rest finished by tonight or tomorrow afternoon.
  16. This sounds like Chaotic neutral to me.

    Lemme 'splain:
    The character doesn't have many qualms about breaking the law... They do as they see fit. They see something they want- they'll wait till someone turns their back to steal it.

    If it is more profitable to follow the laws, they'll do so, but will break them if they can get away with it. 'IF' they want- this doesn't mean that the character has to be a complete crook.

    Your character also won't be partial to save other people's lives- but if they see like a puppy or a little boy in danger, they may decide to intervene if they see fit. Or if they see someone being mugged, they may decide that that person deserved it that day. More often than not they may intervene, but there is still a chance that the character won't care, depending on the circumstance- or mood they are in.

    So if your character does as they please, sometimes not within the confines of the law... Fight dirty [because it works], still believes in the value of friends... And they also don't make it a habit of going out of their way to hurt people, they sound like a surefire chaotic neutral to me.

    Just scanning over your descriptions- she actually almost looks chaotic good. I say this only because her and her gang seem to steal and make trouble for the ne'er do wells...

    Not saying you're wrong to label them the way you wish! Just my opinion :)
    #16 Spectre, Jan 27, 2016
    Last edited: Jan 27, 2016
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  17. Hey-hey @Spectre thanks for that analysis and suggestions ^^

    I thiiiiiiiink I get alignment now and why err'body here seems to put: Lawful/chaotic and good/evil. I still think radiant isn't neutral... yeah she's more good then neutral... but she still does bad things. A lot. But chaotic I get now. Her life really is in turmoil and its screwing her head space :[ poor poor Rodent...

    Well whatever. Ill take your advice but now... now i reeeeeally dont understand why we have an Alignment category when our descriptors tell a better story than just merely trying to suggest our overall character stand point with two words within a limited range?

    Like... I don't know. >,<!!! Whatevs ... the Boo will just go with it then. Sooooooo... is it.okay if I type this as Radiants alignment: Chaotic-Good (Tendencies)?

    But yeah-yeah thanks Spectre for trying to help me out^^!! Appreciated!
  18. Hey all! I went ahead and posted my history even though I'm not quite through with it yet, I just wanted to get something out there so I won't be the one holding us back when it's time to start. We do still have a few days to get things finished up so don't worry if you are not finished with you character sheet or if you are wanting to create one and haven't yet.

    That aside feel free to ask me any questions if you have them. I'm free for most of tomorrow so I should be able to get on earlier!
  19. Finally done. May go back and tweak a few details, but otherwise, I'm done.
  20. Mine's up too. It's mostly done. I'm struggling to write the personality. It's there... I just need to distill it.

    I'm giving it a re-read and it's not very well written... hope it makes sense cause I don't wanna mess with it.
    having a hard time explaining the idea in my head as it is >_<

    screw it, ets done.
    #20 Mglo, Jan 31, 2016
    Last edited: Jan 31, 2016
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