Immortality's End

[IceChateau777]

I would go with number 4, cause the mask. We need more masks.

If I end up not using these picture ideas, snag them. It's for everybody.

Also, I have more. It's like character concept cookies... In a way... Sorry, Asuras! If you want me to remove these ideas, I'll gladly do that. Free inspiration, then!

Oh, and @ERode , I'll find another picture for a bard... She would have to be magic dependent.

Idea 5

Why this one? My concept comes from a Bitch in Sheep's Clothing. She looks so innocent, right? I thought that the right eye could serve as a magical purpose... As if the Bible she held was a grimore of some sort. If you look up B.B. Hood (Dark Stalkers/Vampire Saviors), that's probably where I'm going to go with it. She would be a fun character. I just need to give her a weapon.

Idea 6

Believe it or not, the gender of this chain slinging person is short of surprising. Don't know about the concept I want to add to it. Maybe keep it genderfluid until the middle?

Idea 7 (Gore Warning/For the GM's pleasure)

That could be a GREAT captain!

Idea 8

Minus the horns. I actually wanted her to be from a noble family of sorts. What if she believes that each person should die with a happy, quick death?

Idea 9

Ignore the tiger. For this one, I thought of her as a Yamato Nadeshiko. She looks so proper, but she prefers to kill with elegance. Oh, and she's want her fans back! She's also a meelee specialist!

Her umbrella to complete the set!

Idea 10

Don't know for this one. I'll need ideas.

That's it for now.
Not telling you what I ended up with! It's a secret!
However, have some inspiration candy!

 

[ERode]

The One Eyed, Devourer of a Hundred Hearts, Celaena's Soul-Blessed, Winter's Hunger
Aesil Kelthuriaz​

---

Appearance Personality Biography

• 
  The first daughter of the Kelthuriaz Shaman-Mother, Aesil stands tall, a willowy figure at 6'1 with graceful curves and pale, taut skin. Her right eye shimmers with a scarlet flame while a black eyepatch, a memento of her father, rests over her left one. Long white hair drifts in a ghost-like manner around her body, light enough that they appear translucent at times, a bridal veil for someone touched by the Goddess. And yet, despite that vulnerable image, her outlandish clothes and her single-edged shortsword shatters such imagery. Her hands are heavily callused, her body filled with countless scars, some still fresh and bandaged up. When she smiles, her teeth are shown to be sharp, feral, and she wears the furs of great beasts over her body, trophies that she had collected, a tapestry that demonstrated her strength and power.
  
  In a fine evening gown, perhaps she could be seen as a nobleman's daughter, doing her best to hide the marks of an abusive family. But in what she considers 'clothing', Aesil could only be described as one thing: a badass.
• 
  The shell of Aesil Kelthuriaz is that of a hunter, prideful and pragmatic, someone who's confident but cold, a loner with a steady gaze that will work hard to achieve her objectives. She stays calm, speaks rationally, and doesn't squirm when she has to perform less-than-honorable tasks. Someone who's good to have on your side, if you didn't mind long stretches of silence.
  
  Behind the shell of a hunter, however, is the turmoil of the Soul-Blessed, of a hungering beast whose appetite is never sated. Pragmatism gives way to playful violence, a clean kill is reduced to pulp by wanton destruction. She bathes and she laughs, she tears and she snarls, she falls and she ascends, becoming the monster that the Goddess Celaena demands her to be. All that is left in her is her honor, a calling that will give her prey a quick death, even if they may not be blessed with a quick hunt. This is the Aesil that eats the hearts of her foes. This is the Aesil that does not distinguish from those who are threats, and those who aren't. This is the Aesil that the hunter draws upon in the throes of battle.
  
  But this is not the core of Aesil.
  
  This is not Aesil as a human, buried beneath the hunter and the beast.
• 
  Aesil Kelthuriaz was normal once, as normal as a shaman's daughter could be. Living in an isolated mountain range in the corner of the continent, the Kelthuriaz tribe stayed relatively unmolested after the Rautefracht Empire came, saw, and conquered. Her great-grandmother had surrendered peacefully after foreseeing the fate of rebellion in the stars, and from then on, they kept to themselves as the world changed. The mountains were barren of precious minerals and the trees were scraggly. The terrain was treacherous and the monsters were plenty. The Kelthuriaz lived in the present, tossing away what food they could not finish for dinner, refusing to think of tomorrow in order to focus on 'today'.
  
  Winters were deadly, long, dark days on snow-smothered peaks.
  
  Spring was deadly, ice-cold flashfloods descending in a moment's blink.
  
  Summers were deadly, countless swarms carrying mind-maddening diseases.
  
  Fall was deadly, all predators desperate to devour so that their own winters didn't have them chewing out their own stomachs.
  
  It was a brutal life, but Aesil found beauty and comfort in immediacy. Back when her hair was still a tangled mess of brown, she would follow behind her mother, learning the ways of the animals, the rites and rituals that came with the worship of the Mother Goddess Celaena. Her talent with the magical arts was apparent early on, earning the gentle praise of her mother and her tribesmen. She was content with that life, of learning about the world that sustained her.
  
  But fate had other plans.
  
  When a Kilthuriazn tribeschild survives their tenth winter, they are given the heart of a wolf, Celaena's Beloved, to eat. Through this, they will gain the power to hunt as a true beast of the wilds, and even as the Shaman-Mother's daughter, Aesil was not exempt to it. Like holding an apple, she bit down on the still warm heart, blood and juices flowing down her chin. Others performed the same ritual, but it was only when she was finished eating that the girl realized her tribesmen were staring at her, and her alone.
  
  Her mother praised the Goddess, and the pack leader cheered, rousing the elation of three hundred others. Aesil had become Soul-Blessed, marked by the red eyes and white hair that she shared with the Mother Goddess. A feast was had, and, unable to process it all, the child couldn't even get a word of explanation before she was thrust out alone in the woods, given an indomitable, unreasonable task: slay the storm-singer that sat at the peak of the Elarij Mountains.
  
  The beast that sang of the end.
  
  The beast clad in thunderous noise.
  
  The beast who played in winter's deluge.
  
  Two days passed before the storm-singer's swan song sounded throughout the mountain range, its death throes haunting the minds of all who heard it. Aesil returned, no longer a child. Blood caked the side of her face, and one arm hung limply, broken. Blood flowed slick from her feet, countless shards of stone embedded in them, and still, she smiled, her teeth red with the blood of the great beast.
  
  She had left a child, and returned a hunter.
  
  As the years passed by, as she trained and surpassed, hunted and devoured, grew in strength and skill, Aesil became a hero amongst her people, a beacon that all aspired to. Her services as a monster hunter made her a famed figure in that part of the continent. Those who watched her hunts witnessed the beauty and terror of her rapture as she felled the great and the terrible. Exotic furs, scales, skins, and feathers fill her home within the Kilthuriaz tribe, but her hunger for more was never sated.
  
  Slowly, the One Eyed became dissatisfied.
  
  Beasts were no longer enough.
  
  So when she heard of the death of the Priestess, she remembered the boot that was pressed against her throat, remembered the Goliath that had conquered the world.
  
  She remembered, and she hungered.

Stats Abilities Equipment

• 
  

  Might ~ 12	❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄
  Finesse ~ 8	❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄
  Fortitude ~ 1	❄
  Health ~ 5	❄❄❄❄❄
  Speed ~ 4	❄❄❄❄
  Arcane ~ 0
  Perception ~ 16	❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄
  Spirit ~ 4	❄❄❄❄

• 
  Dance of Tempestuous Snow
  Aesil, as a huntress that does not rely on a definitive killing blow, instead employs a style of combat that continuously weakens her prey, leaving them open for more and more cuts, until Aesil dances around them, gracefully carving them until they collapse before her feet.
  
  Mechanics

  Effects occur depending on how much Aesil's Might roll exceeds the target's Fort roll.
  
  +4 = knocked back, reduces attack roll against Aesil by 2 for one turn.
  +6 = broken, reduces Speed or Fort by 2 for a number of turns equal to Aesil's Might divided by 3. Stackable. If stacked, duration does not decrease or increase for that turn.
  +8 = bloodied, Aesil drinks their blood and draws strength from it, healing 1 HP.
  +10 = stunned, makes a d20 roll against enemy's d20 roll. If succeeds, enemy cannot use an action for one turn.
  +12 = dazed, Aesil can attack again.
  +14 = crippled, Aesil can attack again without rolling Finesse vs Speed.
  
  Effects can be purchased by the exceeding value. Effects can be purchased multiple times for increased effectiveness.
  Upon Critical Success on a damage roll, adds +6 bonus to whatever value it has exceeded by, in exchange for dealing only one damage.
  
  
  Storm of Ashen Fury
  Tapping into the beast that lies within her, Aesil's primal fury increases in accordance to the foe that she faces, granting her a strength born through desperation in order to overcome her enemy. However, this fury can only be directed towards one target at a time, and the extent of her increase in strength is reliant on the strength of her foe.
  
  If Aesil truly needs to tip the scales into her favour, however, she can push herself past even the savagery of a beast, turning herself into an avatar of destruction in exchange for permanently weakening herself afterwards.
  
  Mechanics

  Aesil takes 1 turn to mark a target. This mark can not be removed until the fight ends or the target dies. When making a roll against the target's highest defensive stat (Fort, Speed, and any of their substitutes), Aesil gets a buff equal to one-third of that stat, rounding up. If the target's max HP is the highest, however, Aesil gets a buff equal to one-third of their max HP value when rolling for damage.
  
  Can permanently consume a stat point for an Extreme Extra Effort boost for a single roll.
  
  
  One Eye, One World
  Years of fighting countless monsters of various nature has given Aesil so much combat experience that she is able to predict where and how they would attack before they even begin to move. Her right eye burns with an uncanny perceptive ability, allowing her to always stay one step ahead of her opponent, dancing out of the way of any attack with a sixth sense bordering precognition in accuracy. Even undodgeable attacks can have their blows softened, as she finds the optimal method of protecting herself from the impact.
  
  This precognitive sixth sense does not just allow her to dodge, however. Given a moment's worth of focus, Aesil can discern where one will dodge if she strikes out as well, allowing her to dramatically increase the accuracy of her following attack.
  
  Mechanics

  Roll Perception vs 1/2 Speed + 1/2 Finesse when attacked by an enemy action or reaction. If successful, able to read the mind and physical tells of the enemy, making a Perception roll vs whatever roll they use to hit instead. Basically, acts as precognitive dodge of sorts. If an undodgeable attack is used, half Perception is rolled instead of a Fort roll.
  
  Can roll Perception vs 1/2 Speed + 1/2 Finesse as an action, in order to use Perception in lieu of Finesse on the next turn.
  If Critical Success is made on Perception vs 1/2 Speed + 1/2 Finesse, +10 is added to the defensive Perception roll.
  
  
• 
  Father's Eyepatch – She never saw him, but while people refer to her mother as Shaman-Mother, and the leader of the hunters as the Pack Leader, they refer to her father as the Big Boss.
  
  Storm-Singer Cloak – A resplendent cape of white knife-blade feathers, this is the coat that Aesil wears most often. She considers it both a treasure and a validation of her existence as Celaena's Soul-Blessed. It would fetch a good price if stolen, but her mother had done her the honor of threading magic within the feathers. Those that wear the cloak without Aesil's permission will sing their hearts out until she comes for them.
  
  Tempest – A blade that was carved, not forged. The Tempest was made from the remaining talons of the Storm-Singer. Three were broken during the process, and four were considered imperfect. Only the last one could be considered a treasure worth rewarding Aesil with, and she had carved out the hearts of many great beasts with this sword. It is her companion, her partner, her strength. If the Storm-Singer Cloak is 'herself', the Tempest is 'her power'.

[/hr]

 

[SirStabby]

Witness my shite attempt at formatting!! I'm so very sorry.

Here's a theme song for you to listen to while you read through this CS

CS

[fieldbox="Jagred 'Waltz' Hollowcrest, red"]

"We are the lions, free of the colosseum."

Face

Age 23
Gender Male
Appearance
Jagred isn't the type of guy you would spare a second look at. Standing at 6'2'' and weighing roughly 170lbs, he is just your typical young adult, albeit a little taller than avarage. Even his eyes and hair are of an unremarkable dark brown, the latter is always left in a messy mop that cascades down his forehead. The choice of hair style fits perfectly with his wardrobe, which mostly consisted of worn shirts and old pants, all decorated with questionable stains in several different hues. On his best days, when he actually tries to comb his wild mop of hair and put on the most expensive attire he owns, he might manage to look like a dock worker at best. When out on mission, Jagred would don his 'battle gear', which consists of a peculiar gas mask, padded black hoodie for extra protection and thick pants (less baggy than the picture of course, since we all know what happens when you combine baggy clothes and quick-paced combat.)

A skilled combatant, Jagred is quite fit, though his frame is that of a swimmer or a sprinter rather than a typical burly warrior. He is all tightly coiled muscles and sinew, hidden beneath second-hand clothes and lazy postures. It isn't too hard to tell with trained eyes of course. Jagred moves with an uncommon grace, his steps relaxed and far too deliberate to be natural. Often, it is almost impossible to notice his footsteps, let alone his presence, and when you do, it is usually that he lets you.

Personality
Jagred is a mild-mannered young man, all soft smiles and diplomatic responses when talking to others, which might make him appears passive and weak in the eyes of others. Beneath his smile and non-committal shrug though, Jagred was all fierce loyalty and steel determination, along with a morbid taste for violence, something that had been hammered into him since a young age. However, much has changed since the bloody events of his homeland. His unwavering loyalty had been broken, and he now scoffed at his previous naïve trust in people. He had become more practical in his action, making decisions that benefited him, rather than other people. While his mild disposition remained, it had somewhat turned into cold calculation and indifference.


Biography
Jagred was born in the snowy mountains of Klonia, a nation in the north corners of the continent. Fifth son of the current king, one would think his childhood was spent in luxury and decadence. It was, to some extent. Since he was so far down the line, the crown had never meant for him, so Jagred spent the first few years of his life in relative peace in a secluded wing of the castle. His every need and whims were catered for, everything he could dream of would be provided, as long as he reminded in his side of the castle. So he did. Life was good, if a little uneventful for the young Jagred. The staffs had always regarded him fondly, and while his mother was absent, his father did visit every once in a while. Jagred always looked forward to these occasions.

Then, at the age of 8, his training began. It was simple as first: run this track, climb that tree, swing this stick. It was all very boring at first, but then, his father would often come to watch, so he had always tried his hardest. As he got older, the lessons began to get more complex. His teacher, a man so scarred it seemed like something spat him out after chewing, taught him how to use various types of weapons at first, then eventually narrowed down to only long swords and knives. After a few years of pure combat lessons, his father then allowed him to learn about different subjects. It was then he learnt about the current state of his nation. Klonia was one of the first to fall to the Empire, mostly due to its lack of a proper ruling body and the large number of ore mines in its territory. And even after it had become part of the Empire, Klonians still fought over the rich ore mines, rather than focused their effort on the common enemy. His father didn't encourage it, but he did little to stop it either. That was why several nobles within the country saw him as weak and incompetence, so assassins were not uncommon.

Then Jagred realized the ultimate purpose of his existence. At the age of 16, he killed for the first time.

One by one, the dissidents were silenced. It was almost too easy. Then again, it was mostly because the lords weren't allowed to keep armies, so their guards had been few and far between. Still, the king came out on top as he seized the mines of Klonia. By then, Jagred began to run out of targets to kill, so he spent his days either wandering the streets of their bustling capitals or revising his skills in the courtyard. The peaceful pace of his childhood seemingly returned, until one day he was summoned to the throne room. As the intimidating double door creak opened, he stepped in, only to realize he was in the midst of a bloodbath. Broken bodies strewn all over the polished marble, some were still twitching in pools of congealing blood. And once he looked up, the proud king of Klonia was slumped on the throne, a sword protruding from his chest.

Jagred knew a coup when he saw one; he had been part of plenty. He just never thought it would be organized by one of his brothers. So he charged, rage and hurt blended into a misery mixture as he cut down the second prince right in the throne room, along with several more guards, despite the man's offers of power and riches. Afterward, he fled Klonia, selling his skills to the highest bidder as an assassin, since killing was the only thing he ever knew. Once the offer to join an assassin guild came up, he considered it for a time and joined eventually. It was steady and rewarding work. Why not? His standing with the Empire was neutral as best, but killing was killing. It didn't matter who, not to him. He was a blade, a weapon forged to serve only one purpose. And he will comply.

Stats​

Might 10​

Finesse 15
Fortitude 2
Health 6
Speed 11
Perception 5
Arcane 0
Spirit 1

Abilities​

• Switch Stance: Usually, Jagred fights with twin daggers and often avoids direct fights as much as possible. However once he feels he has no other choice, he can put the daggers away and fight with his sword. With it, he will switch to a different fighting stance, gaining 4 points in Might, but losing 4 points in Finesse.
• Back Stab: Jagred will attempt to ambush or sneak up on his opponent. Instead of doing 2 rolls, he will now do an extra Sneak roll, which is his Finesse vs the opponent's Perception. If succeeded, he will get +4 to both other rolls. If Critical Success, he will get +6.
• Parry: By marking a single opponent's movements in his mind, Jagred will now parry the attacks from that opponent which he can't dodge, meaning that instead of roll Might vs Fortitude for attacks he fail to dodge, he will now roll Might vs Finesse or Might vs Might. Only works on one single opponent at a time. Also, once he has locked onto a target, the target must either die or somehow no longer able to attack before he can switch onto another target. Not usable with magical projectile such as fireballs (would be a tad silly to parry a fireball, eh?)

Equipment​

• Custom Gasmask: 'I want everyone to know that I kill people for a living.'-Said no assassin ever. Also, equipped with air filter and goggles that allow night vision, at least until the battery runs out.
• Light clothes: Like in the picture above, except the pants are less baggy and he usually tapes the sleeves of his hoodie for easier movement. Also wears studded leather bracers when on missions.
• A sword: Some people name their weapons. Jagred doesn't. It is a simple sword forged from the signature black metal of his homeland. The blade is sharp and deadly, but prone to nicks and dents. Thanks to the metal's malleable nature when heated to a high temperature, it is also quite easy to sharpen or repair.
• A pair of daggers: Made from the same material as his sword, his daggers are just as deadly. However, it is a mistake to think of them as twin. One blade is noticeably thicker than the other, made for penetrating armor, while the other one is much sharper, as to work better on the flesh.
• Utility Belt: Carries 3 smoke bombs that are made to look like real grenades. They explode with a loud bang, then release non-lethal smoke. Mostly just use to spook enemies and cover his escape.

​

[/fieldbox]

 

[ERode]

Huh, I'm curious. Switch Stance works because he switches weapons. What happens to his stats if he loses both then?

 

[SirStabby]

Huh, I'm curious. Switch Stance works because he switches weapons. What happens to his stats if he loses both then?

Hmm. Actually, the stats in the CS are his original stats, weapon or no. So grab random sword, activate Switch Stance, put sword away, deactivate, I guess?

 

[ERode]

But it sounds like he gets more Might because he's using a long sword, and that Might becomes Finesse when he uses two daggers...so is he basically getting that Might switch because he's using two hands? If so, what happens if he swings his dagger with two hands? XD

 

[SirStabby]

Well, the Might actually comes from the weapon actually. Long sword, more force behind the swing and such. Daggers are flimsy as hell. Is it still too weird? I can think of a way to word that better... Or rework the skill.

 

[IceChateau777]

I might go with Idea 5.
It's the most interesting concept I had so far.

 

[Periodically Incorrect]

Dimitri's done, Everything is hand drawn ^.^​

 

[Zombehs]

Name: Sahms Hayan
Age: 19
Gender: Male

Appearance: A mop of black hair sits atop a youthful face with dark brown eyes. Not too tall, he does boast a muscular build that's easily noticed. It's hard to tell if his tanned complexion is natural or born of many hours spent in the sun. His hands are smooth to the touch, uncalloused or marred. His attire is simple and plain, indistinguishable from the common folk when his armor is put aside. Perhaps a distinguishing piece would be the dull yellow cowl that he always seems to wear.

Personality: A rather cheerful and chatty person, Sahms is driven by the magic in his blood to move. Not quite hyperactive, his body remains in constant motion in some way or another; be it a foot tapping away, or toying with his necklace. Thankfully, his childhood has made it so that he isn't overbearing and more than willing to leave people alone. If the people he finds himself around are more solitary, he's quite fine with spending his time reading the magi-scroll or letting his mind wander with an act of mediation.

Despite the thrum of his blood as it courses through his veins, the years of training by his father remain steadfast. It's quite easy for him to slip into a disciplined and focused mindset with the flick of a mental switch. He feels a sense of detachment towards others, even people he would normally call friends, and remains calm to an eerie degree. To those who are perceptive enough, it's quite clear that he still feels while even in this mindset as the emotions flicker through his expressions. It just seems that he isn't all that affected by them.

tl;dr

Born to a researcher and former-guard of an Empire's research outpost in a massive magical forest. His father, a former-guard, recognized there was something odd about Shams and began to train him from an early age. Growing up without many others his age, he matured a bit faster than usual.

The oddness of Shams didn't fully develop until he was allowed to venture into the surrounding forest after his 14th birthday. With his unique magic revealed, he began to train and develop it further while under the ever-watchful eye of his father. This new development intrigued some of the other Knights, and his teachers only increased.

Years later, when the Angel fell and the Priestess is slain, the forest turned hostile. Ordered by his father to flee for his life, Sahms did so and managed to escape. A few weeks with little news or information and he was forced to accept that none of the others had escaped, or they returned to the Capital with haste. While he prepaed to make the journey himself, an ethereal bird found him and offered membership. Intrigued and wary of the danger such a Guild might pose to an Empire that has done little to warrant it, in his eyes, he decided to investigate.

Biography

On the largest landmass in this world there exists a great forest. Bathed in magic from the land, the sea of green encompasses an area unmatched by even the Empire's largest cities. Trees stand hundreds of meters tall, and the foliage thick enough that the forest floor has never been touched by sunlight. Strange species of plantlife and creatures inhabit this region, unseen elsewhere, a curiosity for the Empire's scientists. Many outposts and the like have sprung up around and within this magic soaked land, and it is in one of the frontier outposts that Sahms was born.

This particular location studied the varied wildlife within the forest, and his mother was not around very often. Caught up on her work, it fell to Sahms' father to take care of the young child. A former Knight who had guarded this very outpost, he had recently retired after the magic of this land had taken its toll on his body. For an unknown reason it mingled and disrupted the Priestess' own magic, stripping away the layer of protection his comrades enjoyed. While he could still fight, his loyalty was commended and the opportunity to spend time with his new family was a chance he did not refuse.

Quite sensitive to magic after all this, it was clear to his father that magic was something that flowed through Sahms' veins. Whether he would rise to grasp that potential wasn't something his father could have been sure of, but he would give Sahm the ability to at the least. From a young age, his father pushed and trained him a manner that only a Knight could have. With few others of his age in the outpost, Sahm was often surrounded by his people much older and picked up certain traits as a result.

While home schooled, there was hardly a lack of things to learn about in a "modern" research outpost of the Empire. Whenever his father did not have some task or training for Sahms to accomplish, he often passed his time glued to scrolls, reading on all sorts of fascinating subjects. Most of the base was off-limits to him, and his parents steadfastly refused to allow him out of the perimeter. The forest was quite dangerous, and at times it was only the Priestess' protection that allowed the capture parties of Knights to survive and complete their tasks of subduing target creatures. No place for a young child to explore, even if magic thrummed through his veins.

On his 14th birthday, and after quite a few failed attempts to stir the magic within his blood, Sahms was allowed to venture past the safety of the walls outpost into the untamed forest. His father didn't dare to go too far into the wilderness, but it wasn't necessary as Sahms rapidly gained an understanding of how the magic in his blood could be worked. It was only days before he had begun to form his weapon of choice, and the shape was refined in the weeks to come. While excited and proud of what his son was capable of, Sahms' father also saw the risk and danger of his abilities and his training did not ease in the slightest.

Until recently nothing really changed. He continued to train under his father, honing his skills, and occasionally sparred with some of the other Knights. Allowed to leave the outpost freely now, he spent plenty of time high up in the surrounding trees, lost in meditation. Other times he would lose himself in scrolls or practice with his blood magic. Then one day it all went to hell. He awoke with a cold sweat that day, clothes clinging to his skin, as the air weighed down on him.

The forest around the outpost seemed to stir with malice, the captured creatures rousing themselves and attempting to breach containment regardless of the harm they inflicted on themselves. The Knights took their positions as usual, but there was an undercurrent of unease that Sahms didn't think he had ever seen among them. Before he could do anything further, his father pulled him aside and asked for him to escape. He confessed that one of his comrades had told him their link to the Princess had been severed. The famed healing magic that protected them from Death had been lost, and this deep into the forest with the wildlife out for blood? They would be hard pressed to retreat themselves, much less escort all the personnel at the outpost.

He obeyed his father's last words and fled, the sound of combat following as the outpost disappeared from sight. For several days he kept up the pace until the trees began to thin and Sahms saw sunlight again. He was quickly found by inhabitants of a nearby outpost and brought in for treatment for exhaustion. While the Knights present had similarly evacuated, returning to the Capital, the leftover defenses and distance from the forest kept this area safe. Sahms remained here, waiting for signs for survivors, but as the days turned to weeks hope faded to acceptance.

The forest continued to remain too active for him to even make an attempt to discover what remained of the outpost. At a loss of what to do, Sahms eventually settled to make his way to another continent and visit the Capital his father had spoken so fondly of. That had initially been the plan until an ethereal bird landed on his shoulder as he took the first step of the journey. It whispered of a Guild that had need for people with skills such as his, and curiosity got the better of him. He had little intention to tear down the Empire that had provided for him and earned his father's loyalty, but it would be an interesting time...

Stats

Might	1	☖
Finesse	8	☗☖☖☖
Fortitude	1	☖
Health	12	☗☗☖☖
Speed	9	☗☖☖☖☖
Perception	10	☗☗
Arcane	9 (8)	☗☖☖☖☖
Spirit	2 (1)	☖☖

Abilities
Blood Born Bow: With an offering of blood, Sahms manifests his crimson bow. The latent magic within his blood surges, increasing his capabilities while the bow remains in use. Though limited in the number of arrows that can be fired, each is powerful and flies through the air with supernatural ease. If not entirely used, the bow dissolves and some of the blood returned to Sahms.
(Sacrifice ½ Health. Arcane increased by lost Health amount, number of shots equal twice lost Health. Every two shots decrease Arcane boost by one. For every two shots remaining when bow is dissolved, restore one Health. If Health is reduced to 0, Bow automatically dissolves and restores 1 Health for every four shots remaining)
Blood Begets Blood: Each of Sahms' arrows doesn't simply injure his target, but also marks them. Further arrows loosed against the target strike with greater ease and precision. The effect seems to peak after two hits, but the third has its own nasty surprise.
(A successful hit, even if no damage dealt, applies the status Blood Begets Blood. Sahms gains +(½ Arcane) as bonus to hit the affected targets with Bloodborn Bow. Lasts for (¼ Arcane) rounds, duration refreshes with subsequent hits, stacks twice.)
Blood Rapture: Sahms' blood sings with latent magic, his lifewater potent in ways that are hard to understand. It thrums with an energy of its own, bubbling when spilt, and if uncontrolled by him can prove dangerous and highly reactive in sufficient quantities.
(+1 to Arcane and Spirit passively. Three stacks of Blood Begets Blood will trigger Blood Rapture against the affected. Target rolls against three magic attacks (no dodge), and if damage is dealt Sahms heals for 1, or 2 if 3 or more damage is dealt. For every two damage done to Sahms in a turn, a melee attacker takes a magic attack and Sahms regains 1 Health each time damage is dealt.)

Equipment
Magi-scroll: A gift from his mother when he was a lot younger, it's basically a tablet. There's a slot where a storage-crystal can be placed and the information within displayed. The screen rolls up, much like a scroll, for ease of storage.

Dog tags: A keepsake from his father, he keeps these on his person whenever possible. Not official, they only bear his name, the outpost he used to live at, and the identification number he was registered under there.

Theme Song(s): Coming soon™.

 

[ERode]

Well, the Might actually comes from the weapon actually. Long sword, more force behind the swing and such. Daggers are flimsy as hell. Is it still too weird? I can think of a way to word that better... Or rework the skill.

The thing is, though, in regards to mechanics only, someone with 7 Might would be able to do the same amount of damage regardless of whether or not they use a sword or a pillow, and they won't exactly lose Finesse because of it either. Dunno, just doesn't work too well with my brain, cause if he gets a +4 to Might with something as useless as a long sword (for armor slicing purposes), what does he get when he swings around a warhammer?

Also, Mernsicle, Dimitri only has one ability?

 

[Periodically Incorrect]

The thing is, though, in regards to mechanics only, someone with 7 Might would be able to do the same amount of damage regardless of whether or not they use a sword or a pillow, and they won't exactly lose Finesse because of it either. Dunno, just doesn't work too well with my brain, cause if he gets a +4 to Might with something as useless as a long sword (for armor slicing purposes), what does he get when he swings around a warhammer?

Also, Mernsicle, Dimitri only has one ability?

I honestly can't think of any thing my creative juices aren't flowing - Would someone be willing to help. I want at least two more ability's

 

[IceChateau777]

I honestly can't think of any thing my creative juices aren't flowing - Would someone be willing to help. I want at least two more ability's

What abilities are you thinking of?

 

[Periodically Incorrect]

What abilities are you thinking of?

I don't know I want another one that has to do with her sword and another to do with her spirit.
​

 

[SirStabby]

The thing is, though, in regards to mechanics only, someone with 7 Might would be able to do the same amount of damage regardless of whether or not they use a sword or a pillow, and they won't exactly lose Finesse because of it either. Dunno, just doesn't work too well with my brain, cause if he gets a +4 to Might with something as useless as a long sword (for armor slicing purposes), what does he get when he swings around a warhammer?

Also, Mernsicle, Dimitri only has one ability?

He probably flails around and drops it on someone's foot. But yeah it only works with a long sword. The idea around it is basically when he uses a sword he adopts a different fighting stance that allocates more strength behind his swings, but sacrfices percision, if that makes any sense

 

[RJS]

​

Elias Hawken
22
Male
​

Personality

Elias is incredibly cold. He cares little for the welfare of those around him, nor their feelings. A ruthless sadist, he has no qualms attacking the injured, unarmed, or any who stand in his path. He harbours a burning resentment of the Empire, and would go to any lengths to thwart their ambitions.

Biography

Elias was born into a small town on the borders of one of the Empire's vassal states. The governor of the area was a local himself and, though he still collected taxes, there was a sense of contract between he and his subjects, and no-one was ever asked for more than they could spare. The younger sibling, Elias was often looked after by his older sister Leila, while his parents worked. Both his mother and father were involved in the town's main trade – the collection and preparation of medicinal herbs from the nearby woods. The herbs were sold, via the governor, to be distributed to nearby cities and towns and sent on to doctors. There was only one rule to the job – you never went near the sunken ruins. It was rumored that they were haunted by a malign spirit that stole men's souls. While many children, Elias included, had gone towards them on a dare, none had made it past the door. The dark, sinister architecture held its effect even in dilapidation, while the nearby trees grew twisted and stunted. The two of them got into all kinds of scrapes as kids, laughing and giggling their way through life without a hint of malice. Their town couldn't understand why people would rebel – life under the Empire seemed reasonable, and they had no reason to disagree.

The years passed, and the little boy had grown into a young man with an easy charm and a winning smile. The governor however had become increasingly aged and, after a particularly cold winter, he passed away in his sleep. Buried in the cemetery of the town where he had grown up, the town held a funeral for the man who had served them so well. Songs were sung, food was eaten, and toasts were made. Yet not one person there could quell the nervousness within them. Change was afoot.
​

The new governor turned up a fortnight later. Eager to stamp his authority on the area, he sent his men out to collect tax, despite the fact that it was not yet due. There was no leniency – those who could not pay had possessions taken, or were publicly flogged. The governor saw himself as a strong ruler, whilst the people came to hate him as a petty tyrant. For the first time, discontent spread through the town, spearheaded by Leila, who had grown up with a fiery personality and fostered a seething dislike of the puffed-up governor. Things were building to a head, and the governor was facing a near revolt, with the townspeople refusing to pay tax and openly daring him to try and take what was theirs. What followed was inevitable.

The Angel could be seen hovering overhead, the governor flanked by a small bodyguard of Imperial Knights. With the threat of annihilation pressing down on them, the townspeople were paralysed. Leila was dragged to the front and strapped to a wooden pole, an example to the town as to what would happen. They were all forced to watch as the kindling was piled high and ignited.

That night, screams resounded around Elias' head, as he saw his sister's eyes, pleading for help He could not sleep that night, nor the following nights, as a whisper took root in his head.

You let her die.

You sat there and watched.

You pathetic little creature.

You couldn't save her.

Too late to save her.

But you can avenge her.

The eerie nature of the woods failed to affect Elias. They had found their power from dark deeds and horrific acts. It was clear how he would gain a power to rival them. The warped trees welcomed him as he stepped within the sunken ruins. He stepped into the darkness, steeped himself in the twisted magic that he found had been practiced long ago. 5 years passed.

The Angel destroyed. The Priestess killed. The world shaken.

A traveller passed through the town, dressed in black. A town that had frozen when they should have moved, that had failed to confront the misery of their existence, that had failed to recreate themselves. A town of dumb animals, eating the scraps they were given. A mist arose throughout the town, thick and cold. Screams rang out and were silenced.

The traveller continued his journey.

The governor's residence. The man was strolling through his gardens when he glimpsed a dark-robed stranger watching him silently, the hood pulled down over his face. Before he could react, the stranger swept in, and struck, wielding a scythe with an ethereal blade. The knights found him dead, eyes wide in fear.

The traveller continued his journey.

In the skies above, a bird made of arcane energies circled its way downwards, bearing an offer the traveller chose not to refuse.

Theme Song

Stats

Might -1
Finesse -10
Fortitude -5
Health -3
Speed -7
Perception -4
Arcane -12
Spirit -8

Abilities

Sepulchral Mist – Elias summons a bonechilling eldritch mist across a wide area. Opponents within the mist suffer penalties to Finesse and Perception. On a critical success, enemies take damage and must reroll Perception to locate Elias.
Soul Reaver – Elias wields an ancient scythe that draws on the wielder's magical energy to generate the blade. All melee attacks roll Arcane instead of Might. On a Critical Success, the target receives a curse mark.
Summons of the Damned – Elias casts a magic bolt, formed from a tormented soul. The soul seeks those afflicted with a curse, and so this bolt gains bonus Finesse against an accursed target. On a Critical Success, the soul binds to the target and saps their strength, reducing Might and Arcane.

Equipment

Soul Reaver – Elias' aforementioned weapon.
Black hooded robes – A perfect fit for the aspiring evil death wizard. Protective magic is woven into it, allowing it to act somewhat like armour. Slightly.

 

[IceChateau777]

He probably flails around and drops it on someone's foot. But yeah it only works with a long sword. The idea around it is basically when he uses a sword he adopts a different fighting stance that allocates more strength behind his swings, but sacrfices percision, if that makes any sense

*Ahem* Dimitri is a girl~

 

[SirStabby]

*Ahem* Dimitri is a girl~

Eh? I was answering Erode's question regarding the ability. I think you misread the post.

 

[ERode]

Dang, we still don't have a tank. It's all over.

 

[SirStabby]

Dang, we still don't have a tank. It's all over.

Too many melee DPS, no tank, no healer. I think we are in for a wipe folks.

GG.