SIGN-UPS [New]The Cult of Thieves - Sign-Ups

Discussion in 'OUT OF CHARACTER' started by Effervescent, Sep 30, 2017.

    The Cult of Thieves

    Information is power, and power is easily acquired. It can be bought, inherited, or even sold for the right price.

    To that, money is the catalyst for power. It is the universal tangibility to denote status.
    Weapons are the tools that power uses be it inanimate or living. Evidence riddles the land in more ways than darkness.

    All of these things are visible. Tangible.
    But there is something far more valuable: invisibility.
    A count may fall prey to the sifting of grain slipping from their grasp, their power lost.

    A duke may find his purse featherlight with the disappearance of coin.
    A dull blade in the hands of the oppressors cannot cut through flesh nor uprising.

    We are the stick that stirs the pot; the whispers that form cohesion. We are the shift in the peripheral and the unsolved upon the mind.
    We are The Cult of Thieves.


    Faledrin has always been cast to the wayside. It was a sorry pock upon the glittering face of the Allied Kingdoms. Were it not for their expert whalers, they would have very little importance. Fallenites look to their king with quiet disdain as the gap between the rich and the poor broadens. What little farmland they had was picked dry each harvest with far too little in return for the labor. The people had to choose between suffering or rising up in retort.

    The capital of Windfeld rested upon the crest of the Glassy Sea; a port town that expanded to house the nobility among the royal house. They separate themselves from the common miscreants that poured through the ports by a guarded wall. And while the common citizen toiled through their work and drank away their sorrows, whispers grew within the city's underbelly. The Cult of Thieves had finally heard the cries of Faledren.

    Known for more than just common criminality, the Cult of Thieves is more rumored to be for the people. Their activity rises during Faledren's darkest days, often working against the rich to provide for the poor. While no one knows of its members, they are revered as heroes, at least among the commoners. They are the bane of nobility and the saviors of the common citizen. No one often witnesses them at work, for most of it is expertly performed without the slightest hint until the morning when tables have turned.

    Those within the Cult of Thieves are few, but they know their anonymity is critical. An uprising is in order as the rich grow fat on the spoils of the poor. And perhaps it is time to focus efforts on the greater concern: he who wears the crown.


    This roleplay takes place in a fantasy setting having themes of espionage, assassinations, and criminality. The setting is within my current expansive world of the Ascender Chronicles, but no prior knowledge is required to join this roleplay. While their title suggests petty theft, their thievery is in more than just lining their pockets. They can take gold or lives or livestock. Whatever the job may be in the realm of their expertise. Please see the below details on what's new for the coming recruitment phase as this is an ongoing roleplay.

    The Coming Recruitment

    The Cabal, an organization of powerful Shadow Casters located in Edros, is rumored to have taken over Dradmida, an essential ally to Faledrin hailing from Edros. This organization was once regarded as a helping hand to those in need granting riches to help Kingdoms in their endeavors. Not many know they have taken over Dradmida, holding the royal house hostage as they operate from behind the veil of the king.

    Those who do know are essential in protecting Faledrin. A war is brewing, further stirred by Prince Jerian of Faledrin the night of Lady North’s Masque. For years the kingdom’s nobility had been funded by the Cabal to create an army of Tainted to which they could turn on command. They were successful, and while they anticipated revealing their efforts to a Cabal representative the night of the masque, Prince Jerian informed them of the traitorous turn of their benefactors who had a similar deal with Dradmida before it was taken over.

    And so they sought to send a message to the Cabal by executing who they thought was the Cabal representative that was actually a member of the Cult of Thieves under cover. The execution would also be a demonstration of their achievements with the Tainted thereby showing the Cabal that they would not be so easily taken.

    With this, the Cult of Thieves will need to bolster their ranks for the coming tribulations. Not only are their own corrupt, but war threatens the kingdom that struggles to survive on its own. Members and allies of all different assets and professions would be of great value. Some will be individuals the Cult has actively been watching for some time, and others may be ones to approach the Cult of Thieves to form an alliance.

    Available Roles

    All new CS submissions must adhere to the following roles. More than one player is allowed to make a CS for one role, and out of those CSs the best one will be chosen. Questions regarding lore or help are welcome, but does not guarantee a spot in the roleplay. I currently have a very dedicated group of roleplayers that understand this story can take us a year to complete as we all keep our real lives priority.

    To note: these roles are meant only as guidelines and to be used as a foundation you build upon. Personality, appearance, and background details are left up to you.

    Please choose from the following roles:
    The Whisper

    Hailing from the Edrosi kingdom of Krei, The Whisper is also a formal title for this character. They are experts at being unseen; the fly on the wall that not only gathers intelligence with ease, but moves in for a kill without ever being noticed as an assassin.

    The Whispers are a small order, much like Faledrin’s Cult of Thieves. Though where the Cult of Thieves has their focus only on Faledrin and its betterment, The Whispers are designed by the noble house of Kalset to gain power both in blackmail and in quiet assassinations of Krei opposers. Since it is only speculation they exist (as they do their jobs well), no one can rightly blame Krei for any strange deaths both in and outside the kingdom.


    This character will need to be a chameleon of sorts, and possibly charismatic. I likely won't accept any who are too edgy and unrealistic.

    They do not have to become a part of the Cult, but they will need to ally with them. To that I would suggest (after acceptance) we collaborate as to your character’s ulterior motives and if you'd like for them to be known.

    You do not have to have previous knowledge of anything in this universe, but I highly encourage questions even in your development so that you can build a strong character you will enough.

    • Must hail from Krei
    • Must be human
    The Tainted

    A human afflicted by Shadow from the hands of Faledrin’s nobility, this character will have been a servant under one of the noble houses. The Tainted are this universe’s equivalent to the werewolves in supernatural lore, only their transformations are triggered by something specific to them.

    It's highly recommended that interested players read the most recent chapter of the roleplay.

    • Must be human
    • Must have been a servant within Faledrin under a noble house
    The Scavenger

    This individual is an adventurer of sorts who procures artifacts around the world for profit. They're very knowledgeable in old things, and it is evident they would have had some sort of education at some point as they can read a fair many languages.

    They could really come from any background and would likely be a driven and intelligent person.

    I highly recommend they are looking for the tome known as Ambrose as it could tie them in nicely with current events.

    • Must be a traveler/adventurer
    The Fading Light

    Inner Light is a form of unnatural magic by which relies on a morally good soul to be wielded. The Maldviri are commonly known to practice such magic, and in recent years have come to the Allied Kingdoms to trade and form alliances.

    They are also known for having fought against Shadow Magic for centuries, and is the best defense against it. Those with Inner Light are taught how to combat Shadow and protect the innocent.

    This character could be an ambassador, vindicator, or just a regular Maldviri in Faledrin for purposes of trade and learning of their new allies.

    They cannot be evil, but since the role is "The Fading Light" you are more than welcome to explore a "gray area" Inner Light practitioner, or perhaps one who is struggling with the concept of morality, or perhaps an individual who has lost their way but still carries the knowledge to combat the Shadow.

    • Must be human
    • Must be Maldviri
    • Cannot be evil
    The Defector

    A warrior, soldier, magi, or fighter from either foreign or domestic, this individual will be someone who was once on the side of the Cabal and the growing Shadow Army. They will have valuable knowledge in the coming stages leading up to a possible war and will have the abilities to help combat it on the front.

    If you choose a warrior or a soldier, I recommend choosing an origin either in Faledrin, Dradmida, Bastillos, or Krei. Not much is public knowledge about the latter three, so feel free to contact me for any questions regarding Edrosi kingdoms.

    I do not recommend them having been part of the Cabal. It would make things a little complicated as it would require a lot more lore knowledge and I want you to be able to jump into the roleplay without breaking a sweat.

    They can be a Shadow Caster, though! Perhaps someone recruited by the Cabal to join their army and do their bidding. For more information on Shadow Magic, I highly recommend reading about it in the Encyclopedia section under "Magic."

    Understand that this role will come with the Cult of Thieves HEAVILY skeptical of your character. Trust will have to be earned through roleplay.

    Double crossing in mind is allowed and must be disclosed to me as the GM or in the CS before character approval.

    • Must have been on the "bad guy" side before defecting
    The Outcast

    This would be an individual who perhaps does not fit in, or perhaps they were exiled by their people for their beliefs or lifestyle. They would have valuable knowledge, skills that would be of interest to the Cult of Thieves, and will have been under their radar for some time. Faledrin is their home, whether they were born in it or came to it having no other place to go, and from this their skills were honed.

    The nobles, at this point in the story, are split between those completely unaware of what is happening and those who have sided with the Cabal to raise and army. It could be in the realm of possibility to create a noble character who disagrees with this, but they will have to have been disagreeing for months in order for the Cult to take interest in them. If the nobility route is chosen, they will need to be clever, cunning, and have found their way into the upper echelon to gather information about them and what they're up to. They may have even been at the secret viewing played out in Chapter 2 of the plot.

    Another suggestion could be an outcast from a foreign land. Elves and half-elves are not welcome in Faledrin, but not unheard of as Quinn's brothel has an elf under his employ and the Cult of Thieves has their own half-elves in recruit. If this option is taken, their backstory needs to be run by me and you will need to read about magic and choose a natural form of magic.

    They could also be a regular Fallenite cast out by their family for a reason of your choosing.

    There could be an orc outcast as well. The nature of why they were ostracized or exiled is up to you.

    A Maldviri outcast can be one who practices Shadow Magic or even one who chooses to reject magic and become a nomad.

    • Must be exiled or ostracized
    • Must live in Faledrin
    • Must have a reason in skills for the Cult to take interest in them
    The Fugitive

    On the run from their oppressors or the law, this person will have skills such as slight-of-hand, understanding of combat, and a record that put them in their predicament they are now running from. This person is a Fallenite who was caught and imprisoned, perhaps even serving time in a foreign land, but once was on the Cult's radar as a person of interest. Having escaped their imprisonment, they are back on the table as a possible recruit, though with some hesitancy.

    You can have them escape a Fallenite prison if you'd like, but don't feel like that's what you have to do! There is also the option of serving time in an Edrosi prison or one of the Allied Kingdoms. They could have also been a slave in Baladur as Baladuri would often capture and enslave foreigners who wronged them.

    What they were in for is up to you, but bear in mind they would have conformed to what would be of interest to the Cult of Thieves. They wouldn't be entirely sloppy! Perhaps they were even framed?

    • Must be on the run
    • Must have skills of interest to the Cult

    Current Players

    Current players will be allowed to make a second character after I close CS submissions to newcomers and choose the new recruits. Any roles not filled will be up for grabs at that point.

    New recruits will all be given someone currently a member of the Cult as a mentor to not only provide the new characters with someone they can turn to, but for the new players to have someone they can go to for easy collab roleplay to implement into the story should they choose.

    CS Requirements

    CSs can be coded how you like, but all CSs should include the following along with a realistic face claim (please no anime):




    Magic: (must be pre approved by me via PM)

    Appearance: (describe in detail as well as provide a face claim. Photos and realistic artwork only. No anime! Due to lore reasons, no red heads are allowed.)

    History: (Please be detailed. 3+ paragraphs)

    Weapon(s) of choice: (be realistic please)

    Role for the Cult of Thieves (History should back up this role)

    A writing sample (3+ paragraphs of your character)

    #1 Effervescent, Sep 30, 2017
    Last edited: Oct 20, 2017
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  2. [​IMG] [​IMG]
    Lyriana an'Benat (Left) and 'Captain Cersiana Caliviser' (Right)

    Name: Lyriana an’Benat
    AKA: Various; Lyri, Captain Cersiana Caliviser, Whisper.
    Age: 31
    Race: Human - Edrosi (Krei)
    Appearance: Lyriana’s skill in the esoteric art of face-changing (see blurb in Specialization section) is given testament by the memorable nature of her true countenance. Distinctly pale skin (a side effect of her masks shielding her from the sun) remains unblemished, her soft visage belying her age. Her eyes are held wide and a - rare for the area - piercing blue. The right eye, wide though it is, droops ever lower than the left in a case of amblyopia. Her thin nose and modestly full lips are rigidly set, pursed and aloof when duty calls.

    Her hair is kept boyishly short, for the convenient adoption of disguise and donning of wigs. Outside of disguise, Lyriana is known to wear a wig of dark, lustrous hair kempt by various horse-oils - a mark of vestigial vanity.

    Not particularly tall, nor particularly short, Lyriana is lithe and hardened by years of grueling regimen, yet pliable and responsive when prompted. There is an economy in her movement, a quickness of reaction and fluidity, that she is capable of suppressing at a moment’s notice.

    Personality: Those who’ve seen the true face of Lyriana typically note her stoicism, and assume it pervades every portion of her being. This is untrue; Lyriana is passionate about a great many things, and dreams about richer matters such as fine foods and silks and beautiful men. What dispassion belongs to her is strategically - and dutifully - aimed. Lyriana will not find passion in the deaths of others, as a matter of both effectiveness and morality. Within the dispassionate rituals of procedure and execution lies the truest essence of the craft: the job. That it is, in the end, a job is not lost on her, and she remains ruthless in the line of service, making the most out of a talent for planning as well as improvisation.

    As a matter of personal preference, Lyriana tends towards assuming the role of personable and good-humored characters. While subdued on the job, Lyriana appreciates a well-constructed joke, a cordially held conversation and any opportunity to learn more about the various new streets and crowds she finds herself within. The characters she becomes on the job are an exemption from her policy of dispassion - there have been moments where she finds herself fantasizing of her pretend lives, envisioning what life would become if she adopted her new role and shirked her old duties. A matter of only theory, to be sure, for if nothing else, Lyriana is the perpetual master of bending to those above her.

    Magic: None.
    Weapons of Preference: Typically, favors twin daggers. Bountiful remnants of her hair, bound and treated by alchemical oil, can be used as if ad hoc garrotes, and sometimes figure their way into the wigs of her disguises.

    Specialization: Assassination. A skilled and steady hand with a knife (or two, specifically), combined with a talent for disguise make Lyriana an exceptional assassin with transferable skills in other departments.

    Lyriana an’Benat is an experienced practitioner of shifting; the art of changing one’s body and face through practical effect, material and theatrics. Through specially curated molds of clay and berry-harvested paints, Lyriana is able to create bodily prosthetics for limb, skin, and face, in essence changing her color, her very shape, and the details of her face. While marvellous in its own right, there are a variety of shortcomings to the technique. The primary one is the time required for application - hours of preparation for a disguise to last the day. Amongst others: inability to replicate extreme size discrepancies (with height as the primary issue), eye color, the challenges of imitating voice, overall discomfort.

    If time is of some concern, Lyriana is not opposed to less… architectural methods of disguise, understanding the core tenets of the craft. Wardrobe, theatrics, improvisation, voicework, posturing, the careful drawing of attention to choice details to hide others. Prosthetics are props; a part of the repertoire, but not the end-all be-all.

    Captain Cersiana Caliviser: Her current disguise of choice for her travels in Faledrin. Captain Cersiana Caliviser, the Whaling Princess, is an accomplished Fallenite whaler, known as much for her talents at sea and the procurement of sea-life (which Lyriana has gained as a matter of study and from her upbringing in Krei) as she is for her bawdry and belligerent charisma. A sturdily built woman with those same sharp blue eyes, and hair the color of the evening sea. This disguise is typically used as her ‘base’, a safe-form for every day existence, as opposed to being used for infiltration. That she remains primarily at sea when not scouring for information insulates her from outside threats.

    History: A soldier is a soldier, and nothing else, according to the dutiful man - but what of that which came before the soldier? Lyriana was born to two members of a travelling actor’s troupe. Her mother was ever the vibrant performer, favoring characters that were manic, noble, and adventurous in equal measure. Her father was responsible for the props - wooden swords and horses, and masks to turn men into monsters and clowns. Krei - with all its burning energies, and its peoples with their esoteric garb - agreed with the couple, who settled down not long after Lyriana’s birth.

    She had been born while the sun was at its apex, and perhaps it was fitting; she was a lively child, bouncy and eager. Her childhood had been a pleasant one - mother and father had been retired, yet would go to extravagant lengths to perform and entertain for their lovely daughter, donning clay masks and feather outfits, speaking in outrageous voices and clever rhyme. Lyriana’s earliest passions, then, were the crafts her parents had called their own, and her earliest dreams? To use the wonderful crafts of mother and father to travel the known world as they did.

    Still, even the brightest lands had a way of shading out the light. Lyriana was a passable thespian-aspirant - could memorize a line, could move well on the stage. Despite that, troupes seldom looked for ‘passable’. The most progressive of troupes deemed her to be without the necessary prowess. The lesser troupes overlooked her for the unevenness of her eyes, which had been much more pronounced in her youth.

    Unwilling to burden her family, she looked for alternative ways to advance her aspirations. Perhaps through some other labor she would learn more of the world, of life, and perhaps, when time had passed, she would be all the better for it. Lyriana chose the soldier’s route, believing that she would find glory in her travels, and thousands of stories to tell, to bring back with her on the stage. In hindsight, she had been hopelessly naive. The soldier’s path threatened to break her a dozen times over, and a soldier’s path was not so easily relinquished. She would learn to bend past her limits, or she would break.

    So, she bent.
    She had been weak of body. And in bending, she became strong.
    She had been weak of mind. And in bending, she became disciplined.

    The travels made her a more worldly sort, though there was little glory in it, and even less happiness. Military engagements were taxing affairs, after all, and Lyriana courted death on more than one occasion. Given her innocent appearance - and ostensibly the fact that she was a comely woman - she was often tasked as reconnaissance, finding her way deep into enemy territory when necessary. Still, she did not break. She bent, living daringly between the maws of death. Over the years, she found solace in service, in duty, bending in order not to break.

    Six years of soldiering was a long time, all things considered, to come home. She had found not glory in her travels, but steel. Yet even steel yearned to soften - Lyriana wished to retire, and once again pursue her dreams of thespianship. When she returned, however, there was an offer from the House Kalset. Eternal loyalty and service to the King, to remain mum while given the secrets of the Whispers.

    Perhaps it was because she was still naive. Or perhaps it was because she was naive no longer. But she, again, deferred the dream she once held. She recited the vows to her King, and then she bent.

    Writing Sample (open)

    Writing Sample:

    Instruction on the Art of Shifting

    “The face,” she noted, pointing towards the depiction of a grinning woman on papyrus, an outline for a future disguise. “should be more handsome than beautiful. ‘Pretty’ is fine, preferable, even, dealing with nobility. But unless the character needs it, never beautiful. A beautiful face will stay with someone in their lonesome, tender moments - their thoughts will wander back to you, and they’ll remember you like a man - or a woman - remembers the only dream they've ever managed to remember. No good.”

    Her fingers jumped from freckle to freckle on that papyrus drawing, and then to shaded pockmarks - not near so many as to be unwelcome, but enough to tell stories of the hardened woman with the storm-wind in her face. It was the subtle telling of a story, the inference to be placed in their mind, a tale that hid the sinister truth. She continued.

    “But a kind, handsome face, they’ll forget, just a few moments after. But when they see you again, they’ll smile. They’ll remember you as a happy flicker, and nothing more - they’ll speak to you, if you will it, and they’ll leave you just as fast, if you will it. That’s something we can use.”

    The new inductee was enraptured, she noted. That was good, perhaps - a point of focus for him to base his new fledgling career upon; in a craft that in many ways was worse than battle, but cleaner. The look on his face was not passion, passion required time, if it were to come at all - Lyriana hoped that it would never be passion. What she taught was only art in the hands of a performer, it was a tool in the hands of a Whisper. One did not, should not, wield a tool with passion, only precision. The two of them had been soldiers, after all, not pretentious artisans.

    “Still, these are just tools, meant to trick their heads into thinking what you want - to make them stare at your left hand, before you strike with your right. This,” Lyriana pointed to the papyrus drawing again, and the mounds of clay that would form the disguise, “is mostly worthless. Just ink and clay, clay and ink. A shifter who doesn’t understand the mind hides less than a naked old man, you understand?”

    The silent nod of the understudy indicated reception. “Good. And speaking of naked old men, let’s eat dinner... I jest. But I could use a feast or two before I face down months of fried whale meat. One of those Faledrin charms you might learn of one day.”
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    The Fading Light​
    Age: 27

    Race: Human - Maldviri Vindicator

    Magic: Inner Light

    Specialization for the Cult: Espionage
    The ability to transport his soul over short distances allows Ilias a distinct advantage when it comes to spying. From strategic vantage points, he can observe events up close without being seen, search for signs of trouble or traps without physically endangering himself, and easily listen to conversations out of physical earshot.

    Weapon(s) of choice: A staff used equally as walking stick and weapon.


    Standing at 6'1'' with a weight of 135lbs, Ilias is the very near walking visualization of a human beanpole. He stands ramrod straight and dresses neatly, preferably in varying degrees of white. His movements and gestures are stiff and measured, with an almost irritating calculated precision. His limbs and fingers carry the bare minimum by way of muscle (as if to protest even bearing their own weight) giving him a semi-gaunt appearance at first glance. His eyes are a deep, warm brown offset by a naturally dark skin tone, and light, fine black hair. Not one to maintain a perfectly clean shave, he is most often seen with the tell-tale signs of a five-o-clock shadow.


    Ilias never had the benefit of knowing his father, raised instead by a young, nomadic mother with a penchant for Shadow Magic. Most of his early childhood was spent traveling from one place to another, never settling down for more than a few months at a time. Bordering on neurotic even apart from Shadow Magic, his mother practiced with a greedy relentlessness, always pushing far past the limits of caution and lending herself to less than reputable actions.

    When Ilias reached his fifth year, his mother reached her breaking point. In her last weeks, she returned to Maldvir with her son and made arrangements for him to be cared for by her cousins. While her intention was to leave and end her life quickly before her rabid use of Shadow Magic could end her, her time was gone and it took her all the same.

    Throughout the rest of his upbringing, Ilias was firm in his resolve to follow in the opposite direction of his mother's ways. Having witnessed the corruption and agony brought to the world by the Darkness not only to those who made use of its power but those whose lives they influenced, he promised himself that he would spend his days eradicating it.

    In his early adult years, Ilias pursued the life of a Vindicator with abandon, dedicating himself to the pursuit of a pure, vibrant soul to combat the Shadow he would face. When the alliances between Maldvir and Faledrin fell into place, he took advantage of the opportunity to travel to Faledrin with a few others contracted to assist with troubling scenarios involving Shadow Magic.

    At the end of a year, a particular situation arose where Ilias suffered a difference of opinion from the official facilitating the duties handed to him and the others. Shortly thereafter, they parted ways and Ilias found himself working alone, chasing rumors of Shadow Casters that eventually led him to Windfell.



    | Cautious | | Patient | Rational |


    | Passive | | Judgemental | | Closed Minded |

    Ilias is a quiet man who reserves his words for what he believes truly needs to be said. Being passive and entirely non-assertive, he will often wait to offer his opinions until asked to provide them. He is calm and evenly tempered, taking tension and stress in stride. It is difficult to raise his anger, and simply a matter of asking to earn his forgiveness when wronged.

    While he is forgiving by nature, he often harbors unspoken judgments of others, criticizing them by comparison to himself. He believes that all men have a far greater capacity for goodness than they typically portray, and is irritated when it is evident that a person is not endeavoring to apply themselves to the pursuit of such goodness.

    Perhaps his most prized possession is his reputation. He cares deeply about how others see him and how he will be remembered and strives daily towards the goal of leaving behind a legacy of good character.

    On occasions where he is asked to speak up or offer advice, Ilias is not one to sugar coat facts or ease the impact of hard truths. He is blunt and concise and would tell anyone who doesn’t like what they hear that they should not have asked to hear it, or that being upset by honesty and denying the truth of it will not help them.

    Contrary to what one might expect, he can at times seem to be more cynic than optimist. One might hear him profess such beliefs as that most men are inclined to be more good than evil, but less good than they should be. He also rarely assumes that people are likely to be honest or trustworthy, and is quick to note the extensiveness of their faults.


    Windfell was not a nice city. It was cramped, dirty, it stank, and even on sunny days it felt gloomy and depressing. On this particular day, the pouring rain and rumbling clouds pushed the air of the city past appearances into a pit of mud and chilling damp. Despite the months Ilias had spent in Windfell, only rumors and hearsay of Shadow Casting had reached him. Every idle comment or detailed account led nowhere but to the most reasonable conclusion of lonely, self-depraved people leading dull lives and making excitement for themselves through danger that was not real.

    Today, the common room of the inn where he lodged was filled with patrons in search of liquor to warm them from the inside as well as a roof and warm hearth to shelter from the rain. The crowded space filled the air with the musky scent of half-damp clothes and bodies washed in all likelihood most recently by the rain. Coarse laughter and the think-slosh of toasts banished all pretense of peace from the room. Ilias sat in the corner with a bowl of soup on the table before him, silently watching the occupants of the room while he ate.

    The front door burst inward, ushering in a gust of cold wind and wet mist in the wake of a short, gangly man. He latched the door to shut out the harsh outdoors, eliminating the brief draft to restore heavy, warm stillness to the air. Ilias tracked the man with his eyes as he barreled his way up to the bar and elbowed into a spot near the bartender, loudly demanding a drink.

    Quickly losing interest in another gutter rat looking for a temporary cure to his sorrows, Ilias returned to scanning the room. If the rain let up today, he planned to make a trip down to the harbor and inquire of any trade ships returning to Maldvir. The fruitlessness of his efforts to date was beginning to wear on him, and the urge to visit the family he hadn't seen in nearly two years grew strong with the passing days. Once rejuvenated, it would be time to return and begin the fight again.

    A tankard dropping heavily onto the table across from him jolted Ilias from his thoughts. He looked up to see the man who had entered several minutes before inviting himself into the only other available chair. He propped it back, and raised his feet to rest on the edge of the table. Ilias straightened and leaned back, eyeing the man with a frown.

    "Are ye from them Southlyn parts?" the man asked, taking a long, slurping gulp of his ale. He lowered it long enough to add, "Maldvir, is it?"

    Ilias folded his hands, holding the man's gaze with an even stare. "I am." The man chuckled, taking another long sip.

    "Thought so. I don't s'pose you be one of 'em - " he gestured with his hands, spilling a bit of ale out of the cup and prompting a curse, " - 'em sunshine dally-doers, er whatever they be called."

    "If you are referring to the practice of the Inner Light, it is the practice of our people, yes. But it has little to do with the sun. Is there some way I can help you, sir?" Ilias was curious as to why this man wished to approach him, but if as he expected the extent of it was to poke fun at a foreigner, then he did not intend to encourage it further.

    The man pounded his mug back onto the table and dropped his feet to the floor, leaning across the table with an angry flare to his features. "I jest been comin' from Caterly street. There me was, goin' about me business, when some god-fooled Tainted comes barreling down the street, hackin' n' slashin' at 'erryone 'e got close to. Some bloody fools got 'em down and turned t' normal looks, and we was right close t' beatin' the tainted life right out 'o 'is sorry hide, but one of 'em fools gets up an' flashes some fancy steel, and sends us all off." He leaned back slowly, shaking his head. "I cain't tell ya what them fools did with 'em, but" he slammed his fist against the hard wood of the table, shaking it hard enough to knock Ilias' spoon to the floor, "I ain't lettin' some masked fool bandits make off rescuin' some Tainted. Ought to die, it does" he added in a mutter.

    Ilias bent to snatch his spoon from the floor, and dusted it off with his fingers before setting it carefully back in place beside his bowl. "You say you just came from there? How long ago was this?" The man shrugged his beefy shoulders.

    "Not more n' an hour, I'd wager." Ilias pushed back his chair and stood, sliding his bowl of soup across the table to the stranger.

    "I bid you a good day, sir" he said quietly, turning to take his staff and cloak from where they rested against the wall. Throwing his cloak around his shoulders, he ignored the man's protests and demands, making swiftly for the door with staff in hand.

    He had business with a Tainted and the band of thieves that stole it.

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  4. Character approved! I will get with you soon as to your intro and her assignment!

    Please note: the role of The Whisper has now been filled!
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  5. Character approved! I'll get with you soon about your intro!

    Please note: the role of The Fading Light has been filled!
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    scavenger | scoundrel | king
    "For it is, it is a glorious thing to be a pirate king..."

    When I sally forth to seek my prey
    I help myself in a royal way
    I sink a few more ships, it’s true,
    Than a well-bred monarch ought to do;
    But many a king on a first-class throne,
    If he wants to call his crown his own,
    Must manage somehow to get through
    More dirty work than ever I do

    age | thirty-seven || race | human || location | faledrin || specialization | jack-of-all-trades
    ⎈ History ⎈

    Malcolm Wells will tell any willing to listen the harrowing tale of life, born into a family of crime. Not a word of it true, but this is neither here nor there to the self proclaimed Pirate King. Whatever the truth about him really is, Malcolm is a master of spinning a good story, with a veritable pantheon of them under his belt, some borrowed from those he's met along his journey, some entirely contrived in his own mind. This, coupled with a charming nature and a knack for reading people makes him very good at what he does.

    But even a man with a reputation that precedes him occasionally must seek berth and comfort. And for Malcolm, there is no better place than the scum-ridden streets of Faledrin, where good ale is hard to come by, but cheap'll get you just drunk enough, and the ladies love a good tale.

    This, according to the man (something which can only be taken with a grain of salt), is where he says he hails from - born a strapping lad to a nobleman and his wayward lover. On the streets, he learned his trade - studying those around him, adapting to all manner of circumstances. He is a thief, a conjurer of exotic medicines (some of which -actually- seem to do their intended work), a salesman, a scavenger... A King.
    ⎈ Appearance ⎈

    Appearance: A man of many masks, Malcolm Wells is handsome, if not weathered, with sun bronzed skin, dark hair, and a mustache and beard kept with near religious care. A charming smile and deep set eyes in a rich brown hue disarm and distract from a world of personality flaws. Malcolm is a shorter build, lean, with broad shoulders and large hands and feet.

    A deep baritone voice is his greatest treasure, however - booming and charismatic, he is as gifted in entrancing a room as he is clearing it, and uses either to his advantage whenever necessary.

    On his person, Malcolm carries an array of weapons, including a cutlass with an ostentatiously ornate handle, a small stilleto and an collection of valerian tipped darts sewn into his jacket.

    ⎈ Writing Sample⎈

    "And that, Thomas... is why I always tell you to have an alibi on hand."

    "I thought you always told me never to forget their names?"

    "...Ah. Was that it? Well... solid advice, either way, son. Now fetch a round of ale for the house!" The empty tankard slammed onto the table and a roar of laughter bellowed from the man's chest, as he rolled up out of his seat, claiming the empty one nearest a young woman, washing linens in a cast iron tub. Twisting the chair backwards, he sat, leaning against it with a curved smirk.

    "Hands as lovely as yours, Dear Lady, ought to be better occupied. Your master is either a cold man, or a jealous lover... to keep you so cruelly detained."

    Looking up, the woman chuckled softly, swatting at his with one of the dry towels, "Ah, none of that, Wells. You know well enough I got twice as many to wash in the back, and you won't be distracting me, this time."

    "Adelaide... my Love. My Cherished flower. My darling..." Reaching, he caught her hands and pulled them, suds and all, to his lips, pressing a kiss to the knuckles, "You do me a crime... But alas, I cannot stay, as it is. I am off!" And bolting upright again, nearly upsetting the chair, which Adelaide calmly kept from staggering over, he swung round to the room, eyes fixed on the man as his voice rose.

    "Tonight, my friends, I travel to my home! Tragically, my kinfolk have need of my aid, in a most dire predicament... There is a chance, I may not return, but do not fret... do not mourn. For I, Malcolm John Fenrick Wells the Third am immortal in your hearts!" Removing his hat, he swept it to his chest and bowing, stirrup clad feet clicked and clattered him out the door.

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  7. [​IMG]
    Anaro "Marten" Adler of Faledrin
    Black Mask Survivor
    Escaped convict

    Anaro Adler

    Alias: "Marten" is his go-to cover name.

    Age: 30

    Race: Human​

    Magic: Shadow Magic.

    Anaro has an ability to see into the shadows in a form of low-light vision.

    He has also displayed abilities to step into the darkness- and cross large amounts of territory in the shadow realms to reappear in the normal plane. Though this was something he has yet to be able to repeat.

    Anaro stands at an average height, and sports an athletic build. He has shorter cut dark hair normally left unkempt, and doesn’t often find himself having time to shave. Persistent short beard or shadow is separated by a few lines of scars on his face.

    He has pale blue-green eyes beneath strong dark brows. His nose is long and straight, over a small, sullen mouth. Judging by his face he always seems to be in a state of displeasure.

    He is generally wearing what he would call ‘road’ gear. A sturdy dark slate-blue long-sleeved shirt with an asymmetrically-buttoned collar. He also wears an (often un-buckled) thick leather vest that doubles as armor. The sleeves of his shirt are often pulled up to his elbows, which exposes his forearms that lead to dark leather gloves and bracers.

    He wears a thick leather swordsman belt, as well as a normal belt to hold smaller pouches that carry things like lockpicking tools, as well as some other basic necessities.

    His pants are a dark gray color, covered by dark leather hosen that tuck into sturdy knee-length leather boots gaitered in a dirty brown fabric.

    Overtop all this would be a worn dark cowled cloak used for the elements, and a satchel carrying other useful road gear.

    His clothes are also well travelled, so none of them are clean, or crisp. Depending on when you’ve caught him, it also may even ‘look’ like it smells like road sweat.

    History (open)
    History (open)

    Anaro is a disgraced noble from the Adler family in the east of the Faledrin territories. They held a manse in the mountains beneath lake Novae. They held a sizeable amount of territory in the mountains and surrounding towns, owning some small agricultural plots.

    His father brought him up well, providing him with training from an experienced armsman, as well as academics. He was a third born son out of 5 children, giving him two older brothers, and two younger sisters. The family was fairly close, enjoying their comfort.

    When Anaro was about eleven, he was sent to squire for a Knight of Faledrin, a slightly larger, more influential family of thin ties to the Adler family house. They were located just south of the Valanar woodland. Being a ward and squire of the eldest heir to the ‘Paleflower’ family- Sir Theus Paleflower. He was a just and cool headed knight, but Anaro learned a little quicker than Theus could teach. Theus was a good friend and close brotherly figure to Anaro however, and despite Anaro’s arrogance- always seemed to be on good terms with one another.

    This really opened the eyes of how dirty the nobility could be. The patriarch of the Paleflower family was as depraved as one could be- and still be within the confines of the law. Thankfully Theus, the eldest son, was not of similar mind, and was eager for his father to pass on ownership of their lands.

    Anaro at the time didn’t care, he just wanted to learn the in’s and out’s of court life, how to ride, fight- the typical things young Noble boys care about. Learn he did, though… The charisma to negotiate, training with blades, the bow, and riding horses. Local law, trade, and when to stop drinking the wine. Also humility by cleaning up after and caring for his master's gear, filling cups, other basic serving duties... It would take some time to begin his slippery slope into thievery.

    Theus began to increasingly steal from his family, and undermine them. Not stealing en-masse, but definitely skimming off the top. He’d take what he stole and provide to the oppressed smallfolk on the Paleflower lands. Caravans of grain and other goods were basically being extorted from the towns by his lord father, and Theus would usually cut them deals under his father’s nose. This was something Anaro was good at helping with. He was always good with his hands, and misdirection- lifting a guard’s purse here, a sack of grain from a cart there… Though it was all under Theus’ command. Anaro’d probably have those things for himself, had he different supervision. Theus and Anaro would ride from town to town, gaging their well being, and checking on caravans ‘under his father’s order’ to make sure the towns had enough to keep going. Otherwise, Lord Paleflower would leave them with near nothing. Their existence was prolonged with these goods provided. They weren’t comfortable by any means, but they had enough to hold out hope for the next harvests.

    Just as he was beginning to grow bored with his duties after the few years squiring, he and his master were caught in a string of skirmishes with a group of robber knights. Disenchanted landless knights with enough money to buy horse, armor, and weapons, but not land. He was to be knighted at sixteen after proving himself in battle where his master was fatally wounded at the final skirmish. Theus succumbed to his wounds before bestowing the gift upon Anaro, however.

    Deeply saddened by the loss of his close friend, and feeling slighted- Anaro set to trek back to his homestead, feeling the weight of futility. Surely had he not left, he still would have been titled, but he got caught in a fit of emotion. In his arrogance, he left alone- and despite his skill, it was certainly not safe.

    A Paleflower patrol tipped off the local robber knights and they hunted Anaro down, thinking him a traitor. The spiteful Paleflowers wanted to see Anaro dead. They found him walking his horse under a storm. Quickly surrounding him, they stole from him, stabbed and beat him, and left him for dead in a ditch near a deep wood.

    A wandering shadow caster found him barely clinging to life. A tall, gaunt figure. White of hair, long, dirty, braided beard. Wrapped in violets, blues, and blacks. Nursing him back, he was bound to the caster as something of a thrall….and bound by a curious draw to the power he witnessed periodically.

    The shadow caster called himself ‘Tormalore’. He ran a very small operation of others like Anaro. Those previously left for dead, and slightly able bodied. Tormalore had them stealing for food, money, goods, the like. Training in the shadows, using irregular tactics. He was made to become something of a highwayman between the borders of Falederin and Thallas. They stuck mostly to nobility, trade caravans, merchant groups, the like. They’d only go for more lucrative deals, the ‘sure things’ where their skill and numbers were more than enough for success.

    Anaro was good at it, commanded a good sense of respect among his men- skill with the blade, and slight of hand. It was Tormalore’s leveraging Anaro’s disenchantment of the nobility that kept him interested. Though truly it was the love for his own life kept him at the terrible deeds- fearing worse the things the caster could do with his magics. He watched as he raised the dead themselves… Cast shadow magics to appear out of nowhere, and cause pain to those who thought of crossing him. That wasn’t someone he was willing to cross yet.

    After some time, Anaro was imparted with a bit of that power to assist him in his duties- a thrall to the sorcerer needed something to crave to continue serving without seeds of rebellion. He was taught the ability to see in the shadows, as were the others. Something often used in the field. As darkness came, they would channel this ability to allow them to see through it. It wasn’t like night-vision, it was like another sense entirely. Where they would look would still be ‘dark’, but it was almost like they were able to feel where everything was, and imagine the world with another sense entirely. The way he visualised it was in darkness, he could still see rather well, though it generally lacked color, and as it got darker, he was only able to see outlines of objects, people, the like. It was only indoors and underground with no sources of light that he was left utterly blinded, just like normal folk.

    It took some getting used to, but he did get used to the life- he made sure none ever knew his name, or face. He wore a flat mask under a black cowl and hood. The mask- deep black-violet in color, with tiny slits for eyes. Others wore similar masks while on the job. This life wasn’t for everyone, but he was good at it. Whether holding up and strong-arming the travelers, or quickly coming, lifting goods, and leaving silently.

    Keeping to his duties as a bandit- he, and the rest of his troupe became a bit of a feared entity in the area. Colloquially called the 'Cowled Brothers', 'shadowcloaks' or 'Black masks'. This was for their normal attire of wearing dark (though natural) colors, black cowls, and blackened masks. Treated like a myth, a rumor. Showing up alone or in small number in darkness, in wooded forests, or light. Stealing trinkets and items of value, casks of wine, trunks of gold. Sometimes killing every soul, sometimes never drawing his blade. If he didn't come back with proper loot, he'd be reminded of who his life belonged to. They all seemed to hate and fear their overlord, but somehow fear kept them in check. Likely another shadow magic trick used to keep them broken.

    The Shadow caster was really just trying to eke out their own powerful existence underground, having minions steal the things he needed to increase the size of his hidden manse. He was enjoying his ruse of power, and wanted to create a black market ring of thievery and assassination. An upstart, but an individually powerful one. It was likely this very aspect that kept he and his new thralls alive- relative personal anonymity.

    Somewhere in his early twenties Anaro began growing a conscience, coupled with new confidence in his martial abilities. He was happy to keep the pressure on the high society, but he was growing weary of the extremes he was put to.

    So…. He plotted, and attempted the murder of his overlord with the others. Clearly underestimated the task at hand, he was the only survivor of his group’s failed attempt. Those still loyal to the sorceror struck down those that weren’t killed personally by the Tormalore himself. Tucking tail and running for his life, he fled. He kept his personal effects, and would use them to get himself by, making his way back to Faledrin. Keeping alive by stealing coin from nobles to buy food, then passing most the rest of it off to peasants in need as he made his way to the next destination.

    In the meantime- this was when the shadow caster leveraged one of those beneath his influence, spreading ‘rumors’ to area marshalls about Anaro’s involvement in the crimes across the kingdoms. A few watchmen of a local town spread to their supervisors, that lead to spreading to the town watches, to the marshalls. Word reached a Faledrin Sheriff, and the sincerity of the crimes was not treated with being brushed under the rug. This was when he was picked up by yet another captor.

    On the run in mid Faledrin he was caught by none other than one of his own family- His elder brother Kandrus. Now a marshall of the land, he sought and persecuted criminals. After cutting down several of his brother’s deputies, Anaro was caught and subdued. Charged with several counts of murder, robbery, assault, arson, and even conspiracy with shadow sorcerers, he was disowned by his family, and to be put to death in Rosenfall, due to all the crime committed there. They only confirmed it was him because he was in possession of the famed mask, and cowled attire reported during the attacks. It was a loose conviction, but one that stuck hard. The nobility was eager to point the finger- and the sword- at anyone who could have been responsible. During the brief scuffle- Kandrus himself also witnessed Anaro’s use of shadow magics. This meant it was a done deal for Anaro. He was caught, and was lead to Rosenfall under lock and key.

    All was seemingly lost. He was placed in the dungeons at the castle there. In only a few nights he would be hanged to death. Stuck in the prison for almost a week already, he began to grow desperate. Enough so to even consider the skills he learned from his previous captor. Though as he communed with the shadows he had become so at home in, he escaped the dungeons of Rosenfall on the night of his execution. By some omen, he was was able to tap into and use the power of the darkness- some shadow magics he gleaned from his old ‘master’. Delving into the shadow world itself for the first time, he left the darkness of his prison, and emerged outside the city gates. It was like jumping into a pond, only instead of splashing into water- it was another….reality… He hasn’t been able to replicate that ability since, but it both shook him, and gave him a sense of awe of the power the shadow caster had. As he leapt into the darkness, he instantly appeared elsewhere outside the dungeon- outside on the ground level, thankfully.

    The Darkness gave him a sense of dread, seeing things from another side- it felt as if it had tainted him. He also felt a little numb for a moment after- as if he’d been running all night. Maybe the darkness felt his desperation, or maybe his desperation had lubricated his ability to work with the darkness itself. He didn’t know, and he has yet to try it again for fear of what his old overlord told him about- the corruption that the darkness brings.

    Ever since his escape, he has been making his way as a cutpurse, and heading closer to the lands he previously helped during his wardship with the Paleflower house. Brushing up on his skills of urban environment navigation. Being adept at traversing the wilds, he has used his agility and upper body strength to transfer skills to climbing, and getting into places harder to reach ‘directly’. Stooping to burglary in times of need, both in the alleys of fancy bricked neighborhoods, or burglarizing the homes of the rich. Getting promptly back on his feet, he had to keep moving to stay alive.

    He’s making what little living he can, keeping some goals in mind. There were things he needed: a few lives he wanted to claim, and a pardon for his crimes… though it has all been an uphill struggle. Thankfully most didn’t know his face, but he still lived on the run, in fear. Of both the shadow caster he slighted, his family, and the random bounty hunters that would crop up from time to time. Stopping the weekly shave, he also began growing a bit of a beard, to keep himself as unrecognizable as possible.

    For now, he would focus on himself- though his heart was in the right place. Wanting to gain some small influence by helping out those in need- the smallfolk. Having experience as a thug and highwayman, he’s begun gaining some influence with the peasants he’s assisted already- small though they be.

    Weapon(s) of choice:
    His weapon of choice is a longsword- something he doesn’t have at the moment. But what he does have-

    A shortsword- pretty standard, but well built piece of steel. The blade is straight, and has an acute point. Overall, the weapon reaches to about 27 inches in length. The crossguard is standard, and the hilt is wrapped in leather. This is in a hard leather scabbard belted to his left hip.

    Two knives. The knives are fairly simple fare, as well. One is longer and straight, the other is single edged, and slightly curved, with a ring for a pommel. The straight bladed knife is in a leather scabbard on his belt at his right hip. His curved knife is sheathed along the small of his back.

    Role for the Cult of Thieves: The Fugitive. On the run from a dangerous shadowcaster he betrayed, and the Thallas kingdom wanting his head for crimes he’s committed against their noble families.

    Writing Sample (open)

    It was near midday, sun was high on a mostly overcast day. Sweat had begun to run down his back uncomfortably, though he quit noticing. He was much too tired from lack of sleep, and exerting himself the previous night. His horse seemed spirited enough still, though, so he began to drift off into a daze- allowing the horse to remain on the trail he was travelling. A main road- a dangerous task, but he was desperate.

    Coming to- his eyes shot open.

    Dense thudding of hoof-beats trampling the ground toward him drew him back to the present. Blinking hard, he looked about- reins in hand, leading his horse on a gentle trot. The path he was on was rather hilly, and the area around him was thick forest. Echoes of voices bounced around the trees.

    “Up ahead!”

    “One, on horseback.”


    “Don't let him out of sight.”

    All unfamiliar voices. Though the tone- that was familiar. He was being hunted by a party of what sounded like about six horsemen. Spotted by an unseen scout, no doubt. Panic began to set in, washing away all fatigue he had.

    He slowed his horse to a stop, made sure his gear was packed away on his saddlebag, and placed a seemingly calm hand casually on his sword hilt. The horsemen came into view bouncing over the hilltop before him, two by two- all the path would allow.

    All well armored for the road. Half plate and gambesons. Some had spears and shields. Most just swords. Though one was donning full plate- clearly the ringleader- and his shield held none other than the herald of Anaro’s family crest. A black field with a golden eagle center, a red crown over it's head.

    ‘friends… oh thank the fates…’ Anaro thought, raising his hands to show he was to be non confrontational.

    “Good eve, gentlemen.” He spoke, his voice gravelly from lack of sleep.

    The troupe stopped a few yards ahead, the clattering of their armor plates halting, as well.

    The one in full plate approached, his voice echoing slightly beneath his helm.

    “Travelling alone is dangerous, you know. Where are you headed, master….?”

    “Adler.” Anaro nodded casually to the man's shield.

    “Yes, I am Kandrus Adler. The marshall of this area. I am the one asking the questions here.” Ever dutiful. Ever gallant. “Your name…?”

    Anaro gave a smirk, and nodded his head.

    “No, big brother, I am of house Adler.” He gave a warm smile. It had been years since he saw his older brother. The second born. It was strange. The voice sounded familiar, but not as he would have imagined his brother's voice to have evolved.

    The man in plate stepped his horse back, and lifted his visor, looking Anaro up and down.

    “No…" His brow clenched and lowered, "Anaro…?”

    “One in the same…” Anaro wasn't sure to offer a hand, or a blade. Still unsure, scared, anxious. He didn't want to draw on his brother. Plenty of nostalgia to fall back on there. Though Kandrus was a marshall now, and Anaro was wanted. Kandrus was always one to never think for himself, and just do as he was told. The perfect second born. The first born was to be considered the heir to the house, the second born to be the dutiful 'backup', and the thirdborn male was generally the backup to the backup- a forgotten afterthought.

    “Ha!” a burst escaped Kandrus’ clean shaven mouth. “Anaro! Gods, you’ve barely changed! I thought I recognized you, but never thought it'd be something like this.”

    “My lord-” an impatient voice urged from behind Kandrus. One of his men, or likely a colleague wanting to remind Kandrus of his duty here.

    Kandrus closed his eyes. Sighed, and looked to Anaro, his honey brown eyes looking sadder now. “Is it true?”

    “Is what true, brother?” Anaro stepped his horse back as well. To which three lightly armored men stepped from the brush, blocking any easy escape path.

    “You! A deserter…. A murderer… a thief…”

    “A deserter??” Anaro barked to his fully armored brother. “You think i-”

    Though the elder brother continued, “I couldn’t believe it.” He clicked his tongue, “I could always see through you, Little brother. You're not denying it...” Kandrus was talented at many things. One of those things was being an amazing judge of character. He knew his brother was guilty, though he wasn't sure of 'how' guilty. Sentences tended to be exaggerated.

    “Kandrus. Think of what you're saying here…it- it's madness.”

    “Just come quietly.” He wasn’t listening. He slouched forward, as if he were unimpressed and unwilling to continue at the same time. "I might be able to let you plead your case."

    He tried to plead, “I can't go with you right now. Kandrus, trust m-”

    “Quietly….” his posture began to straighten up. The tension began to rise exponentially. Both of them knew that this was not going to go either of their preferred ways.

    The others on horseback began to swell out from behind Kandrus and approach Anaro. The sound of blades rasping from their sheathes cut through the tension in the air.

    Heart racing, Anaro placed his left hand on the longsword at his hip. His fingers wrapped around the hilt, his teeth gritted, and his jaw set.

    This was going to go poorly.​
    #7 Spectre, Oct 27, 2017
    Last edited: Nov 17, 2017
  8. Ardlith Amarra || The Scavenger

    "First impressions are the only impressions."

    Hair: Blonde
    Eyes: Bright Blue
    Weight: 145 lbs
    Height: 5'5"
    Age: 23
    Race: Half Sur Elf
    Distinguishing Marks: a mechanical foot up to the knee, engraved -- built by a Vuaturi friend, well-maintained and well-loved; orcish tattoos across her arms, back, and chest; three earrings in each ear
    Magical Affinity: Arcane

    "What lies in our past dictates our future."

    Ardie did not ever have it easy.

    At the border of the Sur Woodlands, where Faledrin ended and elvish land began, lines sometimes became... blurry. Ardlith's mother, a trapper, often made sojourns to Faledrin's border towns to trade her pelts, and it was here that she met Ardie's father, a local lord. Foolishly, the two began a tryst, and as luck would have it, Ardlith's father was married. Upon discovery of the affair, the enraged and scorned Lady threatened to expose his infidelity to his people as an elf-lover, and she gave him an ultimatum -- make this disappear.

    Ardlith's mother guessed the Lady's intentions and ran, already two months' pregnant. Thus, Ardlith's life began on the run, switching between caravans traveling the Northlyn continent, going as far as Northal in Baladur. She quickly grew to be a child with an intelligent mind and a dangerous curiosity. Ardlith took to rebellion like fire to twigs, and Ardlith's mother found it difficult to control her.

    At the age of twelve at the north edge of Valnahar, Ardlith found herself left behind during a river crossing. After several weeks waiting along the river for her mother, passing Sur elves noticed her distress. After much coaxing, they convinced her to come to Eversyth with them to Elder Lannya's home. However, even among other half elves, she felt foreign, not to mention restrained by so many walls. After four years of tutelage, she ran away despite showing promise magically. She joined a traveling band of Vuaturi headed to Valnahar, where she first encountered her true calling: treasure hunting.

    For the next seven years, with the help of a Vuaturi elf she befriended, the two dug their way across Valnahar and bartered with orcs and men. In the course of her travels, Ardlith lost a leg when a Baladuri archer stuck her with an arrow, and a consumption took hold of her. Fearing for her life, her Vuaturi friend was forced to cut off her leg and fashioned for her a metal replacement. Lately, she's stuck closer to Faledrin. She is curious about who her father was or what he might have been like, as her mother had given her no clue as to her true parentage. However, unbeknownst to her, she plays something of a dangerous game. In the meantime, she has been on the hunt for a particularly rare book to add to her collection called Ambrose, reported to hold forbidden knowledge about Shadow Magic...

    "Know thyself, and take hold of the wheel to life."

    Ardlith is a free spirit overall. She hates the power others may have over her, bucking at authority. However, Ardie also has a strong sense of justice for the downtrodden, the weak, and the diamonds-in-the-rough. She considers herself a realist and relativist, that morals are often something that could be bent for the situation at hand.

    She feels quite strongly about most things, and there are few subjects upon which she does not have some sort of opinion. A keen conversationalist and charismatic despite her almost demanding nature, it is obvious she has a knack for reading others and understanding their motives. She would rather defuse situations than fight, but if violence is called for, she joins in with almost reckless abandon. Her determination is often what gets her through most sticky messes, and once she has something in mind, she finishes it, sometimes to her detriment. She is not easily swayed, and often she takes things too personally, jumping to the defense of others before thinking things through. Often, her Vuaturi other half has to calm her down and get her to consider other options.

    "I care about what you can do, not what you can spout."
    Weapon(s) of choice: Several. She has a small knife hidden in her boot and a mailbreaker for tricky chain mail hidden in her fake leg. Her main weapon, however, is a hatchet.

    Specialization in the Cult of Thieves: Acquisition, usually of rare artifacts. She has a large network of buyers and sellers that she has procured over the years, and that which she cannot buy, she finds. She also has a large repository of knowledge about history, ancient languages, and styles of elvish or human make regarding weapons, books, jewelry, pottery, and tapestries. She specializes in jewelry, mostly.

    Strengths: Ardlith can haggle like nobody else. She is adept at negotiating prices, as well as reading the seller. Years of watching her back has given her an acute intuition about others, and she immediately knows whether or not she likes someone after a few minutes. Her knowledge of artifacts and other languages also makes her invaluable as an assessor, able to pinpoint location, time period, and make of most antiques, as well as their going price. Ardlith also has a mind for finance, able to keep good records of how much money is spent where -- and how to launder it. As far as magic goes, Ardlith is rather crude in her use of the Arcane, typically going for very straightforward magic blasts. A more trained Arcane mage might be able to teach her how to use her abilities better.

    Weaknesses: The half-elf can be rather too straightforward, sometimes forgetting her goal for oneupmanship. Typically cocky, she also overestimates her own ability, especially if she feels that others are holding her back. With such an independent streak to her, it will take a firm hand to reign her in and get her respect enough that she would willingly work in the way intended. Her insatiable curiosity also leads her to pursue avenues outside of the original goal. ​

    • Love Love x 1
  9. [​IMG]

    Elizabeth "L" Greenwich of Faledrin

    The Outcast
    Age - 23
    Race - Human

    Elizabeth is beautiful girl. Her flowing black locks framing her soft delicate face perfectly. The darker blue eyes don't have a striking appearance to them but draw a mystery. Her button nose always referred to as cute sits perfectly in the center of her face. Rose colored lips draw attention to Elizabeth from suitors and leave them longing for a kiss.
    Always adorning her face is aquamarine jewelry, the light blue bringing together her dark hair and deep blue eyes. Yellow gold headbands sit in her hair and on her forehead coming together with a jewel, keeping her thick black hair down but still keeping an elegant look.
    With skin as soft and as white as snow, you can't mistake Elizabeth. Her body is lithe and just the look of it seems graceful to everyone. Each step of hers looks rehearsed as if she's bouncing softly instead of walking. The bubbly look of the young girl makes her look innocent.

    The beauty of a Elizabeth was undoubted, she was sought after by suitors and offered life filled with luxuries. Although Elizabeth was no fool, she wouldn't let her life be ruled by a man, so she waited until one came who would give her power. Phillip was an older man than Elizabeth, offering her a lifetime of wealth and any jewels she requested. Being mistaken as someone who could fall for trickery she declined nicely. Phillip was desperate sending gifts and a flower to her quarters. Nothing could explain Elizabeth's annoyance until she realized someone so desperate would be able to molded to her will. She met with Phillip and made sure he knew that she was no force to be reckoned with. This gave him cold feet as he backed off for a couple of months, finally returning. He agreed to allow Elizabeth to have her life how she wished if he could have her hand in marriage.
    So the light rose up the next day and Elizabeth was married to Phillip, securing her place in nobility. She was adorned with flowers and aquamarine jewelry, and turned the heads of everyone in her dress. The ceremony lasted for the day, and when they were partying having a good time, Elizabeth slipped away from Phillip. She started to network, make friends and find out who really had the power and money. Playing it off as a happy newlywed who just wanted to talk, giving away useless facts about her life and the other gave her the information she needed.
    Slowly Elizabeth made her way into the world of parties and her married hand worried countless men. She would always calm them with a kiss on the cheek and say.
    "Do not worry my dear, dance with me"
    While dancing Elizabeth would find out everything about the mans life, and making him talk. No one would say not to such a beautiful lady, and that's all she was to them. No one suspected how much information Elizabeth would slowly amass overtime. With this information she would hold it against nobleman to gain access to parties and secret meetings. No one would want their wives to find out what they had been up to. When she couldn't blackmail her way in she would simply play people on her finger, and sweet talk them.

    Elizabeth knew of the Cabal, hearing it in the whispers of nobles. She sided heavily against it, losing her sense of cunning she voiced her opinion. It made her slip and lose her cover and her information. People wouldn't talk to her as they started to ostracize her and her husband. It was spread that Elizabeth didn't agree with the Cabal through the nobles word of mouth. Elizabeth slipped the wrong words to the wrong man and people looked at her not as a beautiful women but a stranger. Although Elizabeth made this her ambition to grow stronger and fight harder.

    Elizabeth prefers to staying out of combat, using her words as weapons. Carrying with her secrets from the nobles and of the area. Although when she can't deal in secrets she carries a small golden dagger adorned with an aquamarine.

    Role for the Cult of Thieves - The Outcast


    Glistening light danced over the furniture like ballerinas. Slowing making it's way to Elizabeth's face, as light took it's last step and landed on her eyes. Awoken Elizabeth frowned and pulled the silk cover off of her lithe body and over onto the other side of the bed. Turning she rubbed her eyes and made her way to the window. Yanking both curtains over she let the light shine into her room, as her robe lightly caressed the ground. Today was a big day, she had been invited to a ball, where a nobleman Jack Witcherson was. She could never get to him and never find any information on him, he was a mystery. Making her way to her bathroom the maids had poured a fresh tub of hot water.
    Pointed feet tapped the surface of the water as soon her whole body was engulfed by the water. Scrubbing herself and getting the mop of black hair clean was a chore. This was her least favorite thing to do she eyed the dress in the corner. The beautiful sapphire blue and crystal accenting was one of no other, to grab the attention of Jack. She knew Phillip would want to go but she told him to stay home. Knowing a sob story of how he was sick would make most people gush about their personal lives.
    Later on she was adorned in her dress the beautiful piece shined on her and brought out her hair so elegantly. She opted for white gold and sapphires in a turn of events. Pulling out her dark blue eyes she turned the heads of everyone. She knew tonight was the night to get any invite she wanted and to find out everything she needed. To get it at any price she would. Letting her hair down she grabbed her sapphire earrings, and headpiece. With everything in place she slowly turned to the door. Her hand fell silently on the brass doorknob as she turned it the creaking made her feel nervous. Something she hadn't felt in a long time, and with a deep breath the nervousness was gone and she took the first step out for the night.

  10. @Elle Joyner @Spectre @Doctor Jax @Dramma I haven't forgotten about you guys! RL takes precedence in my roleplays, and unfortunately RL took a turn for me. But I will still address your entries as soon as I can read through them all! If I see any issues they will be discussed privately, and once approved I will note it here publicly.

    For those of you unfamiliar with me as a GM, I try to post once every other week, but the end of the year is one of the busiest times for me IRL! Patience is appreciated and it won't hurt my feelings if you're not feeling my pace!
    • Love Love x 3
  11. Character approved!
    • Love Love x 1

  12. Name: Lady Betaley Roussille North

    Age: 18

    Race: Human

    Appearance: For a Fallenite, she could be considered above average in appearance with a slightly thinner frame than most other nobles. There's a pleasant sort of plainness about her appearance, perhaps due to how little she cared for the luxuries of imported makeup to heighten her complexion. Ivory cheeks dappled with faint freckles hold the slightest hint of natural rouge giving her pale complexion a better sense of liveliness. Long, wavy locks of a rich and deep brown frame her stark features carrying a slight frizziness brought about by Windfeld’s constant humidity.

    She is of an average height when not wearing the standard 3” heels deemed the latest fashion for Fallenite nobility. Her hair struggles to keep its place when done up per social standards, to which she prefers it down. And so, by noble standards, she comes across as unkempt, yet not a lost cause. With the right products and pins the frizzy locks can be tamed.

    There is a particular demeanor about her that allows her to disappear from a crowd and go unnoticed. She lacks the flamboyant drive for peer affirmation. Her observant gaze would often go unnoticed by anyone lacking a keen eye. Her tell is in the faintest smirk that curls her thin lips.

    History: Born from one of the most notable and wealthiest of noble houses in Faledrin, Lady Betaley North has never known a life of struggle. She is the youngest daughter and middle child of the latest generation to grace the North Estate within the Noble District. Saleith cast a dark shadow over her life being the first born as well as deemed one of the most beautiful ladies Faledrin had to offer.

    Her childhood was a whirlwind of jealousy as she learned all too quickly that life was not fair for those who did not fit certain standards. These standards were heavily enforced, and she was often reminded that her place as a noble lady was important, moreso than her childlike wishes to play or run about freely. Even as her brother was born and raised to his own standards she noticed neither he or his sister endured such a strenuous regimen.

    It was in her early years she was rebellious in an open sense. She refused to comply to their desires for her to act her birthright often running off and ruining her dresses in adventures within the walls. On her tenth birthday she ran off in the day as her parents had told her they purposefully would not host a party as she was far too petulant to deserve it. This led to her venturing beyond the walls of the Noble District through what was likely a smuggling hole crafted by servants.

    Her venture into the Commons was a frightening experience, and one that would strike a permanent place in her mind. It was a stark contrast from what she had ever experienced due to the complete depravity that plagued Windfeld. There was a severe lack of order creating an environment that worked solely around survival of the fittest. She became easily lost as the culture shock caused her to wander aimlessly, or often running for dear life.

    She came across a girl close to her age she ended up befriending in her brief time in the Commons. Skritch was her name, or the name her friends called her. That's what she introduced herself to Betaley, and the girl never questioned it. The pair stuck together as Skritch promised to help Betaley get back to the Hole. It was a thrill and an adventure that had her steal and eat stale bread for the first time.

    She returned home that night to a lashing. It wasn't until she turned thirteen that she saw Skritch again. The commoner had landed a job as a scullery maid in the North household, and the two girls would meet in secret through the many hidden passages in the estate. Betaley would share sweets she would steal from her meals and taught her friend how to read and write.

    If it weren't for Skritch, Betaley might have never changed her rebellion. From her tenth birthday on she went from defiance to clever compliance. What she once resisted she instead chose to follow through. She knew she couldn't help herself by residence, nor could she help others like Skritch. By the time Skritch landed a job in her home, she had become a nobody in the house, and so her secret gatherings with her friend went unnoticed.

    Of course, the girls gossiped. The two combined shared a complete story of the inner workings of the Noble District, and the more they gossiped the more they began to realize something wasn't quite right. Betaley began documenting the comings and goings in her journal, often filling it with frivolous talk of boys and fashion to make her observations look a little less suspect should anyone come to read.

    While still not fully aware of what exactly is happening in and around her home, Betaley has shown herself intuitive in this past masquerade both in her findings and in her quick thinking regarding the Tainted.

    Weapon(s) of choice: Wit and survival instincts

    Role for the Cult of Thieves: The Double Agent

    Due to only just coming under the Cult’s radar, and perhaps seeing a bit too much, she would not become a member but rather monitored and put to their use while still kept in the dark. She has inside knowledge as well as close ties to the nefarious deeds involving the Cabal.
    • Love Love x 4
    AGE | Twenty-Five || RACE | Fallenite || MAGIC | None ||


    Adelyn Finagri was born with one blue eye and one green eye, an oddity she honestly despised. Because of this, when she was learning the art of thievery by her brothers, she would wear an eye-patch to deter from her strange eyes. Her skin is only lighter than most Fallenites because she grew up in the shadows rather than working in the sun and toiling away. The body Adelyn was born with is one she also seems not too happy with, but uses to her advantage. Her bottom half is rounder, meaning she has flared hips and strong thighs. Her waist and upper half are smaller, with rather jutted out collar bones. Eyes are larger and doe-like, accompanied by bushy eyebrows, her lips also small, but full on the bottom. Her jaw slightly pointed at the sides, but much rounder than her chin, that juts out in a point. Adelyn’s nose is straight, only slightly rounded at the tip, and it turning up only slightly, with small, very slightly flared nostrils. Her hair is dark and tries to curl at the ends, but is straight everywhere else.

    There is a self-inflicted injury on Adelyn’s blue eye in order to hopefully stop the Baladuri from ever finding her, making the eye no longer bright, but if one looks closely, they can still see the brilliant blue. She can see from the eye still, but not like she used to. But, the young woman is still good at what she does, using her other senses to get her jobs done.


    Adelyn Finagri was born into a family that prided themselves on being criminals, because that was how they survived. Her mother seemed capable of producing children one after the other, giving the family many little thieves to send out and do their dirty work, usually starting at the tender age of 6. The Finagris were expansive in their own right, meaning Adelyn had aunts and uncles and cousins and so on that seemed to always pop up out of nowhere. The main family shared a humble home that no one would assume produced little scoundrels out to steal their purses and their valuables.

    Our dear Adelyn was the 12th youngest child and first daughter of Fay and Eustice Finagri; only sons seemed to have graced the Finagris before Adelyn had come along. Less than a year after Adelyn’s cold, snowy birth, did her mother become pregnant again with a 13th Finagri babe. That child unfortunately only made it a few months within the mother’s belly before being born much too early and dying only hours after Fay pushed the child from her womb. The child had been another girl, and Fay mournfully named the child Katya, buried her, and then shut herself away. Eustice Finagri tried his best to care for his grieving wife, but could not get her to talk to him, let alone lay with him again in hopes of having another child to add to the growing clan of Finagris.

    Due to the loss of Katya, Fay wanted to hold on to her only daughter, and not have her go out with her brothers when she turned 6 and learn to steal, pickpocket and the like. But, Eustice Finagri would have none of it. Adelyn turned 6 and was sent out with her older brothers to learn how to provide for the family. The girl caught on quick, looking up to her brothers as if they were the heroes of the world. They were more her parents than Fay and Eustice, whom were always fighting rather late at night about things Adelyn was too young to understand.

    The young girl grew into a young woman, a young woman that was curious and wanted to explore the world. Her brothers strongly objected to this notion, caring too much for their baby sister to see her go out on her own and possibly get in all sorts of trouble. But, the Finagri family was breaking at the hinges with the announcement of Fay’s pregnancy, a pregnancy not produced through laying with Eustice Finagri; the couple had not been intimate since the birth and death of Katya Finagri. Fay’s infidelity thrust the home into chaos, with Eustice becoming angry and physically abusive towards his pregnant wife. The Finagri sons invested most of their time into basically stopping their father from killing their mother. Other family members became involved, but Eustice would not stop his onslaught of rage. He demanded to find out the father of the unborn baby, swearing to kill the man, but also swearing to stop his abuse towards Fay. But Fay, stubborn and pregnant, refused.

    With such an environment taking place, it was easy for the ambitious Adelyn Finagri to leave on her own, leaving only a note to her favorite brother, the 6th eldest, that she was gone to see the world, and make her own way, far away from the domestic trauma of her home.

    Fast forward a couple years later, and Adelyn was part of a small band of thieves set on stealing the only most lavish of properties, such as well-bred horses, expensive and rare jewels, and so on. Most of the group were talented and trustworthy, but one Adelyn did not trust, a young man from Baladur. Something about him kept her on her toes and she watched him carefully, but not carefully enough.

    The group was mainly stationed in Baladur. One fateful night they wished to steal a prized horse from a rather wealthy man. Things went terribly wrong because the Baladuri man betrayed them, apparently promised much more coin then even Adelyn could dream of for turning in the group that had been terrorizing Baladur. The majority of the group were enslaved, forced to work in the mines. Adelyn was sold as a house slave, to be considered a decorative add to a home, due to her bright, different colored eyes. The family who bought her, the husband in particular, lusted after her, but Adelyn wanted nothing of it. He grew tired of her objections and one night intended to force himself upon her. Adelyn did not let him, pulling a dagger from the man’s belt and brutally slashing his face. The man, angered and injured, wished to have her executed for her assault on him, not mentioning what demented intentions had led to his attack from her. One of the other slaves learned of what had taken place, and helped the young woman escape, giving her daggers and a small amount of coin to hopefully escape Baladur and find her family again.

    Adelyn found her way back to her home in Faledrin, only to be met with a pile of ashes where the Finagri home once stood. The young woman asked around, keeping to the shadows, trying to find what had become of the Finagris. It had been five years since Adelyn had left her family, and not even her extended family seemed to be around. Some of the local riffraff remembered Adelyn Finagri, and told her as much as they could about what had happened to her family.

    Apparently, another rather influential family that had made their wealth in similar ways had begun to quarrel with the Finagris. Outright war had broken out between the families when it was discovered the child that Fay Finagri had given birth to was in fact the daughter of one of the sons of the other family. This feud resulted in most of the Finagri families being slaughtered, their homes being burnt down, but it seemed, the majority of the brothers had managed to not be a part of the slaughter. The oldest one had stayed behind and was killed, while the others had gone out in search for Adelyn, most likely spread throughout the Allied Kingdoms.

    Grieving was not an option for Adelyn; those she escaped may have been after her and her brothers could come back at any time. So, she vowed to survive and maybe gain revenge, the only way she knew how, stealing and thieving, tricking those not as smart as she, and possibly becoming a recruit for the Cult.


    Adelyn prefers daggers, usually a bevy of them hidden on her person for throwing, stabbing and slashing.

    A fugitive without a family and a home, Adelyn knows how to take what she wants from whom she wants it from, stealing best she can. Her brothers trained her well, and being the last Finagri in the area, her skills would be an asset to most if he agreed to help them of course.


    “Leaving so soon, my dear?” The man that Adelyn had slept with the night before had awoke, watching the bare back of the young woman as she washed her face in a basin of water. “Stay another night, yes? I don’t think you’ll regret it.”

    Adelyn shook her head as she ran her wet hands through her dark hair, before braiding it, and tracking down her clothes on the floor. The night with the man had not been very pleasurable for her, but more of a necessity, in order to gain information. He had been too rough with her, as if Adelyn was a shell for him to treat however he pleased; in truth though, she felt more and more like a shell of a human as the days passed.

    The man had promised information on the man that had impregnated her mother all those years ago, in exchange for her body in his bed for a night. Vengeance had started to spread throughout Adelyn’s heart, and she wished to find the man responsible for all her family’s problems and make a not so swift end of him. It seemed the family responsible for the demise of most of the Finagris had dispersed after their slaughter, maybe afraid of the Finagri sons coming back and hunting them down. The child born of Fay Finagri had been taken by the biological father, and was rumored to look too much like Fay, and barely anything like the murderous father. Maybe the man’s death wouldn’t bring her family back, but it would make her sleep better at night, for a few nights, at least.

    “Do you have anything else to give me? You’ve told me where the man was seen last. Do youhave anything else to say for yourself?” The young woman raised her eyebrows at the man, her clothes now on. “That was the deal, wasn’t it? And please, don’t offer me pretty jewels unless their worth more than the royals themselves and don’t offer me coin unless it’s more than you’ve ever given to your past lovers for sleeping with you. But, you lack any of that, hence why I’m taking information as payment, not wealth.”

    A moment passed, and all of a sudden a small child burst through the door, dark hair, and bright blue eyes almost the exact same as Fay Finagri’s. The young girl gasped, realizing she had entered at the wrong time and quickly retreated. Adelyn spun around to the man, having a dagger at his throat in a split second.

    “How dare you! I would have found out your lies soon enough! How dare you!” She wanted to slice the man’s throat then and there or maybe even torture him to death, but waited to see what he had to say for himself. There was no doubt in her heart that the child was her mother’s and that the man who lay naked in bed was the child’s father.

    “Please. I, I knew you would find me eventually. Others said the Finagri girl had returned. I just wanted to get my daughter to safety, please. Don’t harm her, she’s your sister!”

    “Half sister!” Adelyn took a deep breath, thinking quickly. No wonder the man with a name no one had heard of had sought her out. Killing the child was out of the question of course; the girl was an innocent in the games of the families. “I’ll grant you one kindness, a swift death and I will get the girl to safety. That’s all.”

    The man opened his mouth to beg for even more mercy, but Adelyn slit his throat unceremoniously, letting him bleed out all over the sheets she had laid in the night before. She didn’t care to find the rest of the family. He had said they were long gone, and that seemed truthful enough. But the little girl was another matter.

    It took quite a lot of soft words and coos to calm the crying girl down, after Adelyn told her that the man she called father was dead. The child was too young to understand how he had died, and Adelyn kept it from the little thing, not wanting to scare her any further. Leaving the home, she had to get rid of the little girl somehow, or at least find her a place to stay. A family that had been helping Adelyn when she first returned agreed to take the small girl in while Adelyn survived on her own. She slept that night, with the blood of the man who had destroyed her family stained on her clothes and on her thoughts.
  14. cassius levane

    Nicknames/Alias/Titles: Cas, Eivan Becara, Defector

    Age: 23

    Race: Human; Bastillosi

    Magic: Shadow

    Appearance: Cassius is a handsome man, despite his habitual scowling and the darkness clinging to the skin under his eyes. Brown hair, recently cut to his shoulders, has a tendency to curl when not weighed down. Genuine smiles are rare to come by, but when it occurs, they have the ability to ignite his hazel green eyes. Cas will always have some kind of facial hair, be it a goatee, full beard, or mustache, and likes to keep it groomed. Standing at 6'2", Cas is tall, lean, and deceptively strong.

    History: The second son of Lord Levane of Bastillos, Cassius was raised in the shadow of his father's will and the politicking of noble court. His youth was a myriad of highs and lows as political tension weaved itself through the caverns of Bastillos. Despite not being the eldest son and heir, Lord Levane still expected much of Cas, as well as the rest of his children, and never hesitated to make that clear. Regardless, Cassius Levane lived a privileged life where most wants and needs were a beckon away.

    However, when he was sixteen Cassius rid himself of his father's oppressive will and joined the army. Though not pleased, his father kept face and only chided him behind closed doors. In the events that led up to the civil war and perhaps a bit of help from his lineage, Cas raised through the ranks. During this fleeting time, Cas becomes more and more seduced to thought of wielding shadow magic.

    After the civil war he falls into the lap of a Cabal representative's employ. It isn't long before he felt compelled to learn how to tap into the Darkness. To gain the kind of power he couldn't have otherwise. Along with his duties as a soldier, he's given assignments to fulfill. The more he completes, the more he is taught, until finally he's honorably discharged in order to fully submerse himself in training.

    Over the next few years he's taught how to harness his abilities, to produce magic he never thought possible. His mentor imprinted her own expertise upon him and perhaps his first seedling of doubt. While he never truly becomes a member of the Cabal, they make use of his skills. Quite frequently. He never questioned their motives or asked questions. He felt indebted to the Cabal, for the new life they'd given him. But that didn't stop his mind from thinking, his heart from feeling confused, and his pride as a Bastillosi snubbed.

    After years of growing disenchanted with the Cabal's rule over Bastillos, Cassius fled, cautiously and without word, hoping to attract as little attention as possible. After going about his duties as normal, Cas departed his homeland after a fruitless stop at his family's estate. Weeks of weary travel have led him to Windfeld... and the terrors within.

    Weapon(s) of Choice: Due to his time in the Bastillos army, Cassius is proficient with swords, daggers, and bows. He prefers a short sword over a long one, despite his already long reach. Overall, he prefers a combination of his magic and a dagger.

    Role for the Cult of Thieves: Assassination

    • It was clear early on that a blade came to life once within Cassius' grasp. Perhaps that was the reason he was allowed into the Cabal's embrace. He learned a great deal from them, even outside of his training of shadow magic and was able to hone miscellaneous skills he had learned in the army. But what makes Cas so useful is his ability to break the impossible down into small, manageable tasks, allowing him to tackle almost any situation. In a way, his creativity is his only limit.

    Magic in Depth

    • Ghosting - Capable of turning his body into a "shadowy" form. Allows Cassius to fly short distances and travel at a quick rate. He cannot pass through anything solid and can still be hit with attacks.
    • Violet Orbs - Compacted shadow magic, capable of striking fear into the minds of his victims or stunning them, mentally, with the force of a cannonball.
    • Love Love x 3
  15. Character approved! Two in the same role approved privately.
  16. Still looking for a fugitive?
  17. [​IMG]
    Delvin Hex a.k.a The Fugitive
    Age: 28
    Race: Human
    Magic: Luck ( cause you don't become the best thief with skill and dashing good looks alone) whether it's the art of the dusgise, slide of the hand, or lock-picking, or even Charming the prettiest or wealthiest aristocrat. I manages to pull off some of the most impossible jobs with power of luck on his side. Let's just hope my luck doesn't run out.

    Appearance: Tall dark and handsome...need I say more? My skin is pale with with a bit of color in the cheeks. Teeth whiteners pearls off a princesses neck. Broad shoulders dashing smile. Hair is brown and so are my eyes. But they seem to the glimmer very nicely in the Moonlight so I'm told. I do have some tattoos on my shoulders and on my back but you'll have to take my shirt off first to find them. Sorry I'm getting to full of myself again. If there is one flaw it might be the scar on my forearm caused by a mistake I'm not so proud of from the life I left behind. Maybe someday I'll tell you about it. I usually like to strut around in my leather outfit stylish but Tactical never know when I have to be handy on the job. But I'll also change outfits when I like to practice my disguises. When I'm on the top of my game you probably won't even recognize me.

    History: I was born in the slums and ratways of Fallenite. My mother was one of the prostitutes of a brothel. Never knew my father. My real family was the Beggars and scoundrels of the streets. It was from them I learned all the tricks of larceny. Ever since I was a boy I always wanted to be a thief . I grew up on the stories about the Cult of Thieves. Over time I was a fast learner sometimes too smart for my own good as I got in a lot of trouble with hustlers and the law. Growing up has done a lot of bad things for money. Somehow I was always two steps ahead of everybody else who was coming after me. That was until the day my luck ran out. I was caught in framed for a murder I didn't commit. The murder of a mark that I was keeping an eye on. I was going to slip into his house at night to break into his jewelry box. When I found the right time to sleep in I found he was dead murdered in his own bed blood everywhere. Next moment I knew the guards were crashing down the door and had me cornered by all sides. They were going to sentence me to death but I was going to let that happen. My luck came back to me and I was able to escape from prison. Now I'm on the run and I'm hiding doing my best to keep out of sight. Maybe one day I'll find that cult and thieves that I heard about in stories . Swear that I would never let my luck run out again.

    Weapons: I'm pretty handy with throwing knives and a dagger. Very good for cutting coin purses. I also know a little trick using a bit of black powder and sulfur and maybe a few other things to create a nice bombs Not to cause harm but they're good for a distraction.

    Role for the Cult of Thieves: if I ever join them I probably would be their best Thief. Larceny is in my blood. Espionage pickpocketing lock picking, being sneaky being Charming. Stealing with no one could possibly and making it out unscaved with a little luck of course.

    Writing Sample:
    In the time between Giants falling into the Seas to reshape the world and the rise of song being woven into history there was a world undreamed of. Land filled with magic and wonder Beyond Your Wildest Dreams. It was an age Heroes, Mystics and adventur. But there is one Legend that would never be lost from the tongues of man or beast. A tale forever put in song. The story of a beautiful princess and a great warrior coming together. Forming magic and steel to create the first enchanted weapon. The Arcane sword. Together they would use to Vanquish evil and create the Golden Era. This was their story.

    Long ago before history was worth remembering there was always a bitter rivalry between Man and Elves. Many battles were fought between the two races over territory and Dominion over the world. However the Gods had different plans for both races. Eventually it ended in a stalemate. The Elves were wise and their skill in magic was something to behold. However human's skill in craftsmanship and combat had such ferocity that was also unmatched by any others. At long last the High Elders of Elves and the Warchiefs of Man agreed to a truce splitting the land from North and South. Elves would live in the Lush dense forests in the South. Man would live in the mountains and Tundras in the North. For 200 years this truce was never broken and gave them time to mend wounds that was inflicted from both sides.

    Much has changed after a 200 years, especially in the North which was now known as Kyrule. Since the humans no longer fought with elves they spent over a century fighting amongst each other like savage beasts. The cold Tundras of the north was harsh which made men fight harder to obtain resources they need to survive. This only made them stronger and more battle-hardened . But one great man would rise to power harnessing the gift of Sacred Steel. With it he conquered all the North uniting the Warclans under his iron fist. He became the first true king of Man. Krom, Lord of Steel, master of the Great Forge, High King of Kyrule. He created an iron Fortress on the slopes of Mount Golrung where the Great Forge was kept. This was important because the great Forge was where Krom found the secret of Sacred Steel. He forged weapons unlike any that was ever crafted. The metal used in these weapons was virtually indestructible and was said to be capable of repelling magic. A useful trait if ever attacked by elves gifted with magic. But Krom respected the truce that was made by his forefathers and kept the whole of Kyrule under his control.

    And so both humans and elves lived in relative peace for a very long time. But all good things must change Like the Wind and the Four Seasons. In the land of Kyrule on the slopes of Mount Golrung, the great king sat on his iron throne with his steel crown placed over his troubled brow. He rested in his chair contemplating on whatever Great Warrior of his stature would dare contemplate about. ( which is another way of saying who knows) Krom found himself in a deep thought. He hould not eat, would not sleep and barely drink for three whole days. Three days and nights he sat in his chair fixed in his deep thought. Until at last he was granted a vision.

    This vision told of a prophecy that was to come to pass. It's spoke of an omen. A great Darkness that threatens to sweep over the land consuming all that was good and fair in this world. But from the darkness a light would emerge. Magic and steel coming together, bringing a light that would wipe away the darkness and create a new era to all. Krom took this a a sign given by the Earth Mother herself.

    After this vision Krom stood from his iron throne after long three days of meditation. He demanded Ravens to be sent south. They would to carry messages for the great elders in the
    Southern Realm. These messages were a request to create an alliance between the Man and Elves. To have his son arranged to be married to their most beautiful daughter. He waited patiently for messages to be sent back to him. Until they finally accepted his request. And so with his only son and two of his best warriors Krom would ride South to the Grand forests of the Elves. This is where our story truly begins.

    OOC: I hope this is okay. I've been seeing your post advertised all the time and I was really excited to play a thief. I hope you be able to accept my character
    "Well, shit."

    Name: Olivier Whyte
    Age: 34
    Race: Human
    Magic: None

    Appearance: Olivier is a handsome man of middling age if not a large one. He's taller than most and his shoulders are as solid as they are broad. His jawline is strong and his gaze is often accompanied by a brow either furrowed or quirked. Beyond that, Olivier is rather muscled, his upper body in particular hone and bolstered right down to his core from years and years of life as a laborer.

    Naturally, transformation makes him look nearly unrecognizable. His eyes remain their distinct shade of blue but beyond that any trace of the man is replaced by an intimidating mantle of a beast, muscle and bone covered in a coat of sandy colored fur that all work in conjunction to kill, mercilessly.

    Personality: Olivier was a simpler man before. He was the sort to drink and cheer at the local pub and he was humble and good-natured because his beginnings were. Becoming Tainted changed him irreversibly, twisting and contorting his soul into something unrecognizable. On the outside Olivier has become surprisingly whimsical about it all, sardonic even. He treats nearly everything with an inappropriate amount of levity but does so knowing the harshness of the world all too well. His humor and dry wit is his form of coping as Olivier is constantly and relentlessly tortured by his affliction but only allows himself to truly feel it in private.

    History: The Whytes pride are a hardy bloodline. For what they lack in money and reputation they make up for it with stubbornness. Olivier's mother died shortly following his birth so he was raised under the stern but loving hand of his father alone. Through his father, a dedicated whaler who never let his child truly see the devastation his wife's passing had on him, Olivier learned early on that it wasn't the status that made a man but his beliefs. It was the first of many lessons Olivier had to learn about the cruel and harsh reality of the classicism in Faledrin.

    As a child he was well behaved and responsible but during his teenage years he grew a little more rambunctious and fun loving. When he wasn't apprenticing under his father, he was out and about drinking and charming what ladies would give a young man like him the time of the day. His years as a young adult were hallmarked by countless nights of debauchery and yet every single time, being the kind of man that he was raised to be, Olivier Whyte met his father at work the next day. Head splitting pain and all.

    He loved that man and it was a tragic day when he died of a sickness Olivier could not afford to cure.

    Olivier's response to such a tragedy was to pour himself entirely into his work as a whaler. He labored and fished and worked until it ached so much it felt like his bones would give out on him. The pain was a form of self inflicted torture and in that torture he felt like he was paying respect to his father who gave his entire life to raising him. It was only when a young man who reminded Olivier too much of himself for his own good came to work at the whaling company did he finally relent. Thomas. That young man's tongue was coated in such silver that Olivier would joke that he should cut it off and just live off of the profits.

    Despite it all Olivier took to Thomas and assumed the role his father had played for him. He mentored the young man, let him have his fun, but always made sure that he came back... and one day he came back with such fear in his eyes that the image still haunts Olivier to this day. Thomas had made a mistake, a grave mistake, he had stolen money he could no longer return and it all traced right back to the warehouse. When the guards came for Thomas it was Olivier who took the blame and Olivier who was presented to the noble that was wronged.

    He expected a lashing, jail time but the noblewoman felt like she had a better idea. In a course of an evening Olivier Whyte went from whaler to servant, from his own man to a manual laborer and a verbal punching bag for Faledrin's aristocracy. Indentured servitude became his hellish reality... and that was before shadow magic got involved.

    Weapon of Choice: Longsword. Himself in desperate times.
    Role for the Cult of Thieves: Having spent plenty of years under the service of the nobles before they cursed him, Olivier can be quite the everflowing spring of information in regards to his captors and tormentors. Dirt, secrets, promises... he's heard his fair share and is more than willing to extend what he's learned to whoever might guarantee his freedom. Olivier can serve the cult as an Informant and if worst comes to worst, a monster.

    Writing Example: Sometimes the pain reaches a point where you truly don't care whether you live or die. You are just there, hurting, and you are convinced it no matter the outcome you will always continue to. Olivier Whyte, as he was strapped down once again, was at that point. Having long forgotten the number of sessions he had had by then, Olivier was delirious, groggy and sweat caked the rags that he had been subjected into wearing.

    They stood a few feet from him dressed in silk and fine jewelry, the nobles, and the familiar sense of magic that made his breathing stop and his eyes panic grew with every foot they came closer. Olivier could hear them speak, indeed they often cared too little to filter themselves around him, and he heard of their considerations in regards to killing him. He was resistant to the taint and for the love of everything holy they could not figure out why.

    Olivier didn't know the answer either of course but knowing the frustration he was causing gave him enough energy to crack a lopsided smile.

    But then she turned, the black haired beauty whose face contorted with such anger that it scared Olivier, and the smile on his face faded. Perhaps she was a sadist or maybe she just enjoyed torturing him in particular, either way the noblewoman made it very clear she was not giving up on him just yet. The sense of magic heightened and the pain came in torturous waves.

    His shouts were bloodied and said things he never thought were capable of coming out of his mouth. The pain was just too much, it was too intense. It boiled his blood, thrashed his heart and suddenly... suddenly the bindings weren't enough to hold Olivier. His form contorted and his mind went red. Up until that point in his life Olivier had been a great deal of things. A son, a charmer, a whaler. But now, as his body took on a whole new form, he became a monster. He became one of the Tainted.
    #18 Bears, Feb 23, 2018
    Last edited: Feb 27, 2018
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  19. Character approved! Player and I had an arrangement for a late entry.

    Sign ups for this roleplay are closed.
  20. Character approved. I thought I approved this a long time ago!
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