(I was sent a PM indicating you all needed some more players. I hope my application is good enough for you. I took elements from a Challenge I did because I was partially lazy. Also, I do not take claim for the used picture.)
Name: Bjorn Helmcleave
Age: Fifty-four
Alignment: Neutral
Class: Mercenary barbarian
Appearance: A beastly man with a heavy-set frame mired in taut muscle. He is roughly six and four feet in height, and over two hundred pounds in weight. His posture is rigid, bearing broad shoulders with a pride in his heritage. The Northern Vale has given his pale skin an almost ethereal blue tint to it, his hair a frosty snow white, kept long and free as his spirit. He cares not for shearing the beard he sports as a mark of masculinity and virility even in age. Smoldering blue-grey eyes are set deep in his chiseled face, which look as if they could alight from rage.
His equipment is very simple, with steel plated sections that cover vital spots: the chest and heart, upper arm and forearm, the groin, thighs and calves. Beneath it, he wears chain mail that cover the non-essential flesh and reinforce the joints. It is then added flair with a mantle and loincloth made of various furs of fallen beasts.
He dons a tanned leather sheath that contains the greatsword he carries proudly into battle, often considered a "horse-slayer" for its length and weight. If ever disarmed, he can aptly use his fists just as dangerously, and there are hoops attached to either end of his belted waist that contain hand axes for much more personal combat.
When he is not geared for battle, he dons himself in tunics and slacks of neutral tones, and moves about barefoot constantly. His most readily identifiable feature would be the various tattoos that adorns his pale skin, paintings denoting his heritage and great beasts that hold unique meanings for the barbarian, most notably: A great bear across his back, standing on its hind legs and reaching into the air.
Between its paws fly a raven, and at its feet there is a prowling timber wolf, each symbolizing a tenet held dearly by the Helmcleave clan.
Powers/Abilities: Bjorn is a perfectly normal human being. However, his upbringing has endowed him with incredible physical prowess regarding strength and stamina. He can withstand the kinds of cold that kill lesser men, and his mind is as sharp as the blade that he carries, rooted in the here and now. Charms have no effect on him, and despite his uncivilized upbringing, his forging in the fires of war temper him from the surprises of magics.
Personality: No patience for nonsense, and as a result, has adopted a cynical outlook as cold as the mountains that he hails from. If you are not worth the words, he will ignore you. Although his clan values loyalty, he is still a mercenary. As such, he can be bought. But bonds forged with him are nearly unbreakable, but equally difficult to obtain.
Biography: Bjorn hails from the Northern Vale, a set of great mountain ranges. Its icy peaks had been his home for several years, mired in the belief that the winds carried spirits to the afterlife and other such mythical tales. His people were warriors, hunters, gatherers, and tradesmen. He was apprenticed to his father, the village blacksmith, where he learned how to craft weapons and armor in a society that scraped by without the gifts of civilized technology.
When he was not training as an apprentice, his father taught him the art of battle, which he continued to hone throughout his life to the present day, making him a dangerous adversary when it came to conventional and guerrilla warfare.
As the years passed and his father and mother went with the winds, Bjorn took up the mantle as chief blacksmith of the village. However, as all young men were wont to do, wanderlust grew in his heart. He took up an apprentice of his own and taught him everything he knew up to that point before packing his belongings and making his way out of the Vale.
Leaving behind his village with the world at his feet, Bjorn spent the next thirty years of his life searching for what he felt was missing. He utilized the skills he knew to keep the stomach full, the mead flowing, and the heart beating: the rush of battle. He saw much of it, in skirmishes and wars where the highest bidder bought his blade to shed the blood of a people he did not know.
Over time, he developed a reputation as a sort of immortal warrior for his exploits and seen as a blessing in your camp, or an omen of death on your horizon. As of late, he has seemingly fallen into obscurity, like a ghost that never was.
In actuality, he lives in peace again. He has not seen battle for a good long time, in part as there hasn't been a war that interested him in the last decade. Instead, he wanders from inn to inn, boozing up with the large amount of coin he'd earned himself.
It's because the 0's AD count as a century. 0-99. The second century is 100-199. Third is 200-299, et cetera.
It's because the 0's AD count as a century. 0-99. The second century is 100-199. Third is 200-299, et cetera.
Anyway
Yes, his Mortal Form is in fact a woman.
Name: Aurus
Age: 257
Alignment: Good
Class: Supreme Force of Good
Appearance:
Angelic Form; Shown to allies and used as an Avatar of Divine Retribution
Mythos Form; A form reminiscent of the old Avatar of Divine Retribution, assigned to Aurus by those outside of the main beliefs
Mortal Form; The form Aurus takes to walk the earth and lead his unwitting apostles to secluded places so he may reveal his true form, also his form taken as the Ferryman of the River Styx
Powers/Abilities: Telepathy, Godforging, Light Enchantment, Form Change, Flight (Angelic Form), Functional Immortality, Death's Kiss (Mortal Form), Master of Blades, Unrelenting Stamina, Resistance to Darkness and Shadow
Personality: Encouraging, Tenacious, Treats his comrades like brethren and equals, Forgiving of failure, Empathetic, Understanding
Biography: Aurus was created as a divine entity for the sheer purpose of dolling retribution. Originally, he served under his predecessor, whose form is still considered his, as the Avatar of Divine Retribution. For 100 days and 100 nights, Aurus trained with the longsword and the shield, never resting, nor eating, nor drinking. After he was finished, he matched his predecessor's skill with the longsword and shield. After a week of rest, he spent another 100 days and nights training with the claymore, again, never resting, eating, or drinking. Another week of rest, and he began with the spear. Then the dagger. Then the sickle. Then the scythe. He was learning the ways of the bow when his master was killed by an entity of darkness. He was on his 34th night. He then sought to hunt down this entity and strike him down. He succeeded and was given the title of his predecessor; Avatar of Divine Retribution. He was also given the domain of Ferryman of the River Styx by his creator, so he visits men in the night and gives them a kiss, allowing them to pass on. Time passed and he was recently given another charge as the Avatar - to cast Xanethus from the Throne of Shadows and end his wrought.
The evil sorcerer isn't taken yet, is it?
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Name: Whim
Age: 28
Alignment: Evil
Class: Entropy Warlock
Appearance:
A bald half-elf sage, keeps to non-flashy attire, and always a loosely fitted cape; he never dons special robes for any occasion, and so is always dressed in semi-moderately defensive enchanted robes. His "other form" as it were, is his familiar and pact-keeper, it does not answer to him, nor does he answer to it.
Powers/Abilities: An incredible range of various abilities, though can seldom, approxomately four times a day depending on power, be cast and are completely uncontrollable, even to the point of what he casts.
Personality: Typically unpredictable, misleading, gleeful at the idea of being able to control the weak, and uncaring of local law or tradition.
Biography: Born incapable of growing hair and the son of an elven duke, Whim spent the first eight years of his life trying to make his head less boring. His journey ended when he merged his skeleton with an entropic-ghast that his mentor, his father's evil chancellor, found living in a box of cornflakes. Since then, Whim has been forcefully governing small villages, sometimes four at a time, until he got bored of them and destroyed them, ever looking for something new to do, or something old he hadn't done in a long time.
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For his powers, I intend to make a list of maybe 100 spells and use random.com every time he casts for the spell he uses.
