The Fables of Rhiracien

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Arcadia

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    • 450 BF (Before Foundation): After The First Great Blight that Rhiracien has ever suffered, civilization splintered off into Rhiracien’s many isles to deal with the loss of so many brethren, and the need to murder their reanimated corpses once more. Those who blamed the Fae and Mages for the Blight that murdered their brothers, sisters, mothers and fathers moved west and formed The Confederacy. Those who blamed the lack of human effort, and the lack of assistance to deal with the metaphysical threat of the Blighted moved east, and formed the Ministry. Those who believed that humanity had done its very best, and curbed the greatest disaster they had ever faced, moved north, and formed the Lands of Triumph. Those who maintained their wealth moved to what seemed like the realm’s centre, and the Dynasty of Xialong claimed the island their home, as well as the largest merchant’s quarters in the realm, and finally, those who believed in the nihilistic view that there was no saving what had become of the realm, but believed magic could protect from all harm, moved to an island off the coast of what became the Ministry to form the xenophobic nation known as Primordium.

      10 AF (After Foundation)- Lord Draco Greycliff defeats the Ministry of the Fae at the Battle of Cydonia. Battle was fought due to differences over governance concerning the reach and containment of magic. Lord Etheriel Vermont, High Minister of the Fae, is pushed back toward Tempest Keep, the last section of land dominated by Faelish forces.


      15 AF- Morgoth Ghulwood is elected newest Inquisitor of the Confederacy through trial by combat, murdering Namiros Xialong, brother of Gangdian City’s leader, Lord Longwei Xialong. Longwei soon learned about the news, turning to the Faelish forces to assist in combatting the problem. Lord Etheriel agrees to support the Xialong dynasty if they provide capital and trading routes for the Faelish forces, from Gangdian City, to the wastes north of the island. The trade routes ensure that Faelish forces are well supplied, their forces steadily growing.
      The Seeker Order was established.

      17 AF- High Inquisitor Morgoth insists to his commander Ventus Ghidorah send a contingent of Seekers, warriors who are skilled in anti-magic techniques, from Briarmere to Stoneshade Hollow in order to eliminate a supposed cult gathering of rogue Paladins from the city of Indominus. Ghidorah and his contingent move to Stoneshade Hollow after weeks of travelling and sailing, only to find that Stoneshade Hollow was in fact the base of operations for these rogue Paladins, newly christened as the Fadesteel. Ghidorah and his men proceeded to pillage, devastate and desecrate the entirety of the town, murdering Paladin and innocent man, woman and child alike. Lord Etheriel soon finds out about the news by raven, and swears he will ‘purge the west of its stained and tainted human evils.’


      19 AF- After years of growth, both the Confederacy and the Ministry have colossal armies. The Confederacy is the first to make a move, and moves from Briarmere once more into the conquered territory of Stoneshade Hollow. The Ministry’s stealthiest mages lay in wait, however, using invisibility and intangibility magics to conceal themselves. Soon, the streets of Stoneshade were aflame once more, as the Inquisitor’s forces were burnt alive by the tens, those who were burnt to a crisp used as an example to warn the Inquisition of their power. This solitary action began the “War of The Fade”.

      20 AF- The War of The Fade enters into its first year. Lord Morgoth sends a letter by raven to Lord Greycliff, petitioning for forces to be sent to the Inquisition to crush the Fae for having butchered their soldiers. Soon after, Lord Greycliff agrees, and a thousand men are sent to Indominus and indoctrinated into the Seeker Order. Lord Greycliff, moved by the news, sends a contingency of warriors from the Tempest Keep to that of Tetras by navy, an approximate of 100 naval vessels sail past Gangdian City. The Xialong Fleet, captained by Longwei’s wife, Fenfang. Fenfang’s navy proceeds to decimate the enemy fleet, leaving little over 20 ships left to sail to the Isle of the Fae. Arriving in Tetras a night later, the Triumph forces heal their wounds, before consequently, a night after, laying siege to Tetras, a town in which the majority of citizens were Fae civilians. No Fae is left alive, and the town is pillaged for its resources. Lord Etheriel is outraged to hear the news, yet congratulatory of Fenfang’s destruction of the human menace. He orders for his most powerful Fae Mage, Leenadrel, to be sent as an ambassador to the Inquisitor.
      Leena is sent to Briarmere by boat, and is captured and escorted to Salem by the Inquisitor’s forces. She is imprisoned and questioned, before being released to the Inquisitor. They discuss the possibility of a peace treaty, to which the Inquisitor scoffs. However, Leena, magic brewing in her eyes, places a glamour on the Inquisitor, which forces him to bend to Leenadrel’s will. Leenadrel then ordered him to send a large contingency of Seekers to the Lands of Triumph, in order to stomp out a threat of revolution against him, before it can occur.

      22 AF- Morgoth sends the contingency from the port of Cascadia, to the city of Wyverntooth. In Phalanx formation, the contingency moves into Wyverntooth and conquers the city within a week of vicious fighting. The last survivor sends a raven to Cydonia before being beheaded by a Seeker.

      One month later, Lord Greycliff receives the note from the dead scout’s raven, and formulates a plan with his army’s advisors. He decides he must lure the Ministry and the Inquisition to the Lands of Triumph with offers of helping each other spite their enemy. However, Greycliff prioritises the building of his own army beforehand.

      26 AF- There were two years of inactivity for all opposing fronts. The Ministry and Inquisition had many small skirmishes during this time, but no large source of deaths. All armies have reached the tens of thousands in size. Confident in his plan, Lord Greycliff contacts both the Inquisition and the Ministry of the Fae. Both countries mobilise their forces, and march on Wyverntooth and Tempest Keep. Lord Greycliff’s forces wait in the wastes between the two cities, and in a short week, the three armies meet. Lord Greycliff petitions to the two sides to commit to a treaty and forge peace. Both sides adamantly refuse, and the War of The Fade’s climax begins. The damage is immeasurable, as thousand upon thousands of men from all sides are slaughtered. In the midst of the fighting, Morgoth’s arm is amputated by a Faelish longsword, whilst Etheriel’s eyes were gouged out by Inquisition arrows. Lord Greycliff, in the madness, falls off of his horse due to a stray crossbow bolt implanted in the beast’s thigh, and in it’s braying madness, Greycliff is stampeded to death, telling his lieutenant, Faowind Shadow, to create peace for the children of Rhiracien with his last dying breath. Climbing atop a pile of corpses belonging to both Triumph, Inquisition and Faelish forces, Faowind stops the armies from finishing their catastrophe with a speech, displaying the dead corpse of the man who tried to save the peace humanity and the Fae should long for. All soldiers reconsider their meaning in life, and Morgoth, and Etheriel’s advisor Ellenderel forge a peace treaty stating that within Inquisition land, no mages or Fae are to be tolerated, meanwhile in the Ministry, no Seekers are to set foot on the Ministry land. The terms are agreed to and signed, and the War of the Fade came to an end. The land in which they fought was transformed into a prosperous city, named Greycliff after the Commander who sacrificed his life to create the semblance of peace within Rhiracien.

      27 AF- The Inquisition finds an abandoned dwarven gold mine, and after months of smelting and manufacturing, becomes the richest nation in Rhiracien, controlling the Xialong Dynasty and in turn that of Gangdian City.




    • Tyhmjir- The God of The Earth:
      Tyhmjir is a god with control over the mountains and soil of Rhiracien. He is a mainly peaceful god, however, Tyhmjir’s Wrath consists of creating volcanic eruptions from long dormant mountain ranges, earthquakes that ravage the earth, creating ravines, and toppling cities.



      Ydrios- The God of Magic and Mages:
      Ydrios is the overlord of magic, the lifeblood of many natural processes in Rhiracien. Without Ydrios, mages would cease to exist. Ydrios’ Wrath consists of summon a rift that tears open the sky itself, pouring beings of pure magic into the world to rend the mortal world asunder.


      Nahvatrix- The Fae Goddess:
      Nahvatrix is the worshipped goddess of the Fae, a goddess with dominion over the forests and nature magic itself. Her Wrath is encasing the world in trees and vines, its citizens trapped in enormous Venus flytraps, and their life energy converted to energy for the imprisoning plants to grow for all eternity.


      Nedione- Godess of Life and The Afterlife:
      Nedione is the last face a mortal sees before they perish, a pale face with infinitely caring and deep blue eyes. Her Wrath is that of The Blight; she can reanimate the dead and spread the death sickness throughout the land. She was once in love with an ancient phoenix known as Fireheart, but the phoenix left her heartbroken, and in a fit of rage, she spread the First Blight across the land as compensation for his betrayal.


      Thereses- God of Judgement:
      Fereses is the scales of judgement in which humanity decides the moral high ground. Those who act as judge, jury and executioner pray to Fereses so that their decision may be held on highly. Fereses’ Wrath turns brother against brother, father against son, as an unavoidable mania spreads throughout the world, creating anarchy and devastation.


      Avianna- Goddess of the Sky and Angels:
      Avianna is the mistress of the sky and the clouds, and all of the beasts that inhabit the air. The Wrath of Avianna is consistent of tornadoes that ravage the earth below them, rainstorms and typhoons in accompaniment.




  • MAGIC LAWS
    1) MAGES MAY NOT USE THEIR POWERS TO HARM THE DENIZENS OF RHIRACIEN.
    2) THOSE WHOSE PERSONALITY SUCCUMBS TO NEFARIOUSNESS WILL BECOME A SERENE.
    3) A SERENE CANNOT HARM. A SERENE CANNOT ARGUE. A SERENE HAS NO PASSION FOR VENGEANCE.
    4) THOSE WHO ARE THE MOST POWERFUL MAY RISE TO THE POSITION OF REALM MAGE.
    5) MAGES ARE TO NEVER DISOBEY THE RULING OF THEIR CIRCLE. IF THEY ARE TO DO SO, THEY WILL BE FACED WITH SERENITY.
    6) MAGES MAY BE EMPLOYED BY THE COURT, OR AS A CITY’S DEFENSIVE MEASURE.

    GM RULES:
    1) The GM's word is law.
    2) Sexual scenes will not take place between members of blue stars and red stars. If a sex scene is to ensue between a red star and a red star, black it out, or take it to PM. Otherwise, the offending parties will be reported.
    3)If you have any questions, ask. I'm always attentive and ready to help.
    4) In terms of traits, each higher rank trait requires the previous trait to be unlocked. You cannot have a Rank 5 trait after unlocking the 2nd.
    5) No Godmodding, Powergaming, or anything else that can be deemed unfair. As GM, I reserve the right to do with your characters as I wish as punishment.
    6)You can make two characters, maximum.
    7) You will be required to post once a week.​
 
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MAGIC LAWS
1) MAGES MAY NOT USE THEIR POWERS TO HARM THE DENIZENS OF RHIRACIEN.
2) THOSE WHOSE PERSONALITY SUCCUMBS TO NEFARIOUSNESS WILL BECOME A SERENE.
3) A SERENE CANNOT HARM. A SERENE CANNOT ARGUE. A SERENE HAS NO PASSION FOR VENGEANCE.
4) THOSE WHO ARE THE MOST POWERFUL MAY RISE TO THE POSITION OF REALM MAGE.
5) MAGES ARE TO NEVER DISOBEY THE RULING OF THEIR CIRCLE. IF THEY ARE TO DO SO, THEY WILL BE FACED WITH SERENITY.
6) MAGES MAY BE EMPLOYED BY THE COURT, OR AS A CITY’S DEFENSIVE MEASURE.

GM RULES:
1) The GM's word is law.
2) Sexual scenes will not take place between members of blue stars and red stars. If a sex scene is to ensue between a red star and a red star, black it out, or take it to PM. Otherwise, the offending parties will be reported.
3)If you have any questions, ask. I'm always attentive and ready to help.
4) In terms of traits, each higher rank trait requires the previous trait to be unlocked. You cannot have a Rank 5 trait after unlocking the 2nd.
5) No Godmodding, Powergaming, or anything else that can be deemed unfair. As GM, I reserve the right to do with your characters as I wish as punishment.
6)You can make two characters, maximum.
7) You will be required to post once a week.​
 

The Returner

Brilliant Psychopath
Invitation Status
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Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
Male, Female,
Genres
Basically anything as long as it has a good story line.
[fieldbox="The Banished Child, #FA8072, dashed, 10"]Name: Chakha
Age: 24
Race: Human
Class: Animalia Dominatus Magi
Moral Alignment: Neutral
Personality: Outwardly kind and quiet, observant. Inwardly bitter and cynical, pessimistic.
Skills:
  • Given power: Animal Soul
  • Inherently known powers:
    Empathy, Telepathy, Manipulation, Scrying
  • 1st learnt set:
    Zoolingualism, Taming
  • Currently learning:
    Materialized Guardian
  • To learn:
    Feral mind, Morphing

Traits:
  • Coat of Arms
  • Doppleganger's Plea

Inventory:
  • Taming flute (magical item permitted by GM)
  • Dagger
  • Tamed Wolverine (exchange for armour)

Writing Sample:

"I'll find a way, little sister, I promise. Just hold on. Be strong, ok?" The voice of her brother was hushed by the gusts of wind in the port as he brushed her tears away. There was worry and care in his eyes, but she looked frightened and hurt. Neither could do much about her predicament. Neither dared to try. "I promise, Chakha. You'll be fine. No matter what our parents say." Just the mention of those people made her sob louder than she would have liked and she shook her head violently, taking his hands and pushing him away as if he suddenly became a viper. "They are no parents of mine!" Her scream carried over the loud crushes of angered sea, swirling just as her mind did. Her hate and pain was still fresh. At that point, Chakha doubted she could ever forgive them. Her brother, aware of her unstable nature, tried to reach for her, grab her arm and pull her in again, calm her down before she'd break even further, but the girl became fierce...ever since the ritual and his attempts were in vain.

"Lady Chakha! Quick! They are coming! We have to board!" The clatter of armour, shouted commands resonated through the air. Fear slithered into her brother's eyes as well, as they both looked back, seeing the lights of the torches coloring the cold night stone bright amber colours so similar to that of blood. "Lady Chakha, please!" The insistence was laced with fright. No one wanted to be caught by the Gangdian city's guards, not when they were out with the orders to catch and kill. Chakha was ready to go, ready to turn around and leave everything behind. It was too much. She couldn't bear it any longer. But then her brother suddenly took a strong hold of her wrist, stronger than he ever had before, that for a moment Chakha believed he too has betrayed her.

"I'll get money to you, little sister. Somehow, I will. It's the least I can do for you now. I am so sorry. So sorry for all this." Ushering her to the boat that would smuggle her off the island. It was happening. Her own family has turned its back on her, banishing her from her home just because of an accident she had no control over. No, she could not see herself ever forgiving them. The hardened sole of her shoes fell on the wood of the ship with a quiet thud, her brother whispering to her to take care as he pushed her towards the man she later became to call a companion instead of a servant to conceal their identity, up until the day he'd suddenly die, leaving Chakha truly alone. Yet that day, he was about to draw in his breath, address his mistress the way he should have, before the girl cut him off with words harsh and sharp, but serious.

"No. You will not address me as lady anymore. From now on, I am just Chakha. I am no longer the daughter of the Xialong family. You better remember that."
[/fieldbox]
 
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Arcadia

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[fieldbox="The Banished Child, #FA8072, dashed, 10"]

Name: Chakha
Age: 24
Race: Human
Class: Animalia Dominatus Magi
Moral Alignment: Neutral
Personality: Outwardly kind and quiet, observant. Inwardly bitter and cynical, pessimistic.
Skills:

  • Given power: Animal Soul
  • Inherently known powers:
    Empathy, Telepathy, Manipulation, Scrying
  • 1st learnt set:
    Zoolingualism, Taming
  • Currently learning:
    Materialized Guardian
  • To learn:
    Feral mind, Morphing


Traits:
  • Coat of Arms
  • Doppleganger's Plea


Writing Sample:

"I'll find a way, little sister, I promise. Just hold on. Be strong, ok?" The voice of her brother was hushed by the gusts of wind in the port as he brushed her tears away. There was worry and care in his eyes, but she looked frightened and hurt. Neither could do much about her predicament. Neither dared to try. "I promise, Chakha. You'll be fine. No matter what our parents say." Just the mention of those people made her sob louder than she would have liked and she shook her head violently, taking his hands and pushing him away as if he suddenly became a viper. "They are no parents of mine!" Her scream carried over the loud crushes of angered sea, swirling just as her mind did. Her hate and pain was still fresh. At that point, Chakha doubted she could ever forgive them. Her brother, aware of her unstable nature, tried to reach for her, grab her arm and pull her in again, calm her down before she'd break even further, but the girl became fierce...ever since the ritual and his attempts were in vain.

"Lady Chakha! Quick! They are coming! We have to board!" The clatter of armour, shouted commands resonated through the air. Fear slithered into her brother's eyes as well, as they both looked back, seeing the lights of the torches coloring the cold night stone bright amber colours so similar to that of blood. "Lady Chakha, please!" The insistence was laced with fright. No one wanted to be caught by the Gangdian city's guards, not when they were out with the orders to catch and kill. Chakha was ready to go, ready to turn around and leave everything behind. It was too much. She couldn't bear it any longer. But then her brother suddenly took a strong hold of her wrist, stronger than he ever had before, that for a moment Chakha believed he too has betrayed her.


"I'll get money to you, little sister. Somehow, I will. It's the least I can do for you now. I am so sorry. So sorry for all this."


Ushering her to the boat that would smuggle her off the island. It was happening. Her own family has turned its back on her, banishing her from her home just because of an accident she had no control over. No, she could not see herself ever forgiving them. The hardened sole of her shoes fell on the wood of the ship with a quiet thud, her brother whispering to her to take care as he pushed her towards the man she later became to call a companion instead of a servant to conceal their identity, up until the day he'd suddenly die, leaving Chakha truly alone. Yet that day, he was about to draw in his breath, address his mistress the way he should have, before the girl cut him off with words harsh and sharp, but serious.


"No. You will not address me as lady anymore. From now on, I am just Chakha. I am no longer the daughter of the Xialong family. You better remember that."
[/fieldbox]
Accepted. :)
 
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Arcadia

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Original poster
[fieldbox="The Glamorous Pyrophite, Aqua, solid"]

Name: Soren Lumina (Arcadia)
Age: 29
Race: Pyrophite Miasma, a race of beings from Calderagoth, made from pure magical energy.
Class: Gaias Magi
Moral Alignment: Chaotic Good
Personality: Soren is serious, calm, cool and logical. He will deal with situations with the same demeanor, but among friends, he is a whimsical and passionate soul.

Appearance:


This is Soren's true appearance, without a glamour in place.

Skills:

-Esoteric Flame Manipulation
-Smoke Manipulation
-Pyrokinetic Combat
-Combustion Inducement
-Steam Generation


Traits:
-Swell of The Tide
-Coat of Arms


Inventory:
- Soren's Pyrophite Katana
-Soren's Circle Mage Cloak


Writing Sample:

The soft earth crumbled beneath his feet as he tread the wastes of Calderagoth, the green mountains contrasting to the bare earth beneath him. Soren was home. Despite the lack of Miasma creatures to greet him, Soren enjoyed the peace and quiet. The wind in the trees whistled delightfully. The happiness Soren felt was short-lived as he felt something wrench his chest as if a demon was aiming for his heart. His soul felt tugged forward, and soon his legs buckled and obeyed to this outward, esoteric force. A tear in the realm appeared as he was pulled, and Soren was pushed through the Veil between realms. To spare the irreparable damage that would be caused by anyone gazing at the timelessness of the veil, Soren's conciousness blacked out. When he awoke, he was face down. He was on the isle of Veritas, and without anyone to confer with. Gazing around, he found a multitude of trees, and crafted himself a boat, having seen such tools in Calderagoth as decoration. Placing the boat on the water, he sailed to Gangdian City, and arrived there in two days.


He knew that something had wrenched him from peace, into the throng of Rhiracien's madness, he just had to find out who it was, and why they would do such a thing to an innocent being of Miasma. The streets were loud in colour and in noise, and soon, Soren's mind was filled with dark thoughts. How to silence these people. How to ensure that he acquired the sweet solitude of silence. But he could not harm. These denizens would not feel his wrath. Because it was not just. It was not right. He would need to wander the realm, and that wandering would be as close to solace as he could attain.
[/fieldbox]
 

The Returner

Brilliant Psychopath
Invitation Status
, ,
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
Male, Female,
Genres
Basically anything as long as it has a good story line.

Dawn

A Very Hostile Pudding
Invitation Status
, ,
Posting Speed
1-3 posts per week
Writing Levels
Give-No-Fucks, Beginner, Elementary, Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
Male, Female, Transgender, Futanari, , Primarily Prefer Male
Genres
Cyberpunk, Horror, Bizarre/Surrealism, Paranormal, Romance, Fantasy, Sci-fi, Supernatural, Grimdark.
I WANNA BE BLACKGUARD
 

Dawn

A Very Hostile Pudding
Invitation Status
, ,
Posting Speed
1-3 posts per week
Writing Levels
Give-No-Fucks, Beginner, Elementary, Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
Male, Female, Transgender, Futanari, , Primarily Prefer Male
Genres
Cyberpunk, Horror, Bizarre/Surrealism, Paranormal, Romance, Fantasy, Sci-fi, Supernatural, Grimdark.
Saeja.jpg

Saeja
Tenebrose Miasma
Blackguard
Chaotic Neutral

Personality
The perfect balance between crazy and collected. Outwardly, Saeja is playful, flirty, and adventurous. That is, when you're not his target. Only then does his inner personality leak through - cool and calm and ruthless. He's prone to episodes of what might be seen as "paranoia" and will mutter to himself and jitter like a crack addict.

Skills
Death-Touched | the ability to become intangible; time is the enemy
Voices In My Head | the will of the goddess whispers in his ear; he whispers back
Friends In Dark Places | controlling weak-willed shadows, mist, and smoke
Simon Says | freshly dead or long since buried, the call to rise does not discriminate; humans are beyond his talent
Thiefy Murder | stealing and killing come naturally to someone so agile and silent and deft with his strikes

Traits
Jackalope Slash | As a Blackguard who wields daggers, you have a spring in your step, meaning your jump is just as deadly. You have increased agility.
Shadowstep | Blackguards have the ability to almost fade into the background, and blend into the crowds and the darkness, preventing them from being seen.

Inventory
Lamellar Armor under a silken cloak with clasp
Dual Daggers

Sample
Cradled in the thick, inky restraints of a lonely Noctis spire, he heard a voice. Sweet, like sugar, although he couldn't quite be sure what sugar even tasted like because he couldn't recall. What did anything taste like? The voice appealed to him a second time and tugged and pulled at his bindings. Darkness stretched and peeled from the spire walls with his efforts like a stubborn ebony dough. The spire wasn't so willing to relinquish its power source.

But the voice.
Surreal and velvety song.
Seh called him to waken, to rise again, and so one by one the stretchy shadows snapped under his renewed will.

The last strand broke and he stood finally free; the test passed, the goddess pleased. She offered him his deepest desire. But there would be a price.

There was always a price.

Noctis faded. He took his first breath of rebirth. A name and an image lingered in his mind. A task. One of what would be many...​
 
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Slade

Selling out to the man
Invitation Status
Posting Speed
1-3 posts per week
Writing Levels
Advanced, Prestige, Douche
Preferred Character Gender
Male
Genres
Fantasy, Sci-fi
[fieldbox="The Heroic Traitor, Purple, solid"]



Name: Formerly known as Ser Garland, Servant of the Triumph and Oath-swearer to the Gaius Family

Current Alias: Gregory

Age: 52

Race: Human

Class: Warrior

Moral Alignment: Neutral Good

Personality: Garland is quiet and analytical, who listens more than he talks. This is because his social skills leave much to be desired due to the isolating nature of his "condition". With little to no one to talk to, Garland has been forced to look inward and is often a very reflective and critically thinking person. These qualities do not translate into timidness however, as his former reputation proceeds him as a killer who is/was capable of dealing out butcheries on a massive scale.

Skills:
-Dwarven Strength
-"Hardy as a blizzard coated mountain"
-Quick to parry, quicker to counter-attack

-The Aura of Filth
* Imagine an absolutely foul stench that you could not smell, but feel. Garland/Gregory has been permanently tainted with a vile aura that creates feelings of unease, fear and anxiety in anyone near his vicinity. This has it's benefits and detractors:
*Anyone who Garland/Gregory is in combat with has a distinct disadvantage since it's harder to concentrate due to the Aura's oppressive presence.
*Social situations are far more difficult and attracts attention to Garland/Gregory, people fear him and authorities are suspicious of him.

-In depth knowledge of magic

Traits:
-Dug in
-Stoneskin

Inventory:
Set of Plate Armor

one handed Longsword

Writing Sample:
The young man had finally begun to sweat after rowing for over 4 hours, his thick black hair had now become a drenched mop has he tried to battle the furious black waves with nothing but this dingy little row-boat. Though this was the only vessel that would work, anything bigger and the Fae would have caught them hours ago and thrown them into the ocean. The ministry's coast guard was very thorough in making sure no “undesirables” ended up in their lands. The fact that they had gotten this far without detection was due to the excellent scouting of the young man's master, Lord Warlock Cassius. Known throughout the Lands of Triumph as Warlock the Grimm and the leader of the insurrection against the Triumph.

“Keep rowing, we're getting close to the spot” Warlock muttered, darting his eyes across the dark sea in search of any Fae ships that would have spotted them. He made sure not to leave a trail but the Fae were unpredictable. There could have been a number of variants he could not have possibly taken into consideration. Taking this journey in general was a huge risk; he could leave his Captains to hold the front-lines and continue pressuring the Triumph's armies. But if he were to die or be captured here, his rebellion would be crushed. Tonight was do or die, he needed to reach the temple and unlock it's secrets.

“Garland, we're hitting the shore. Take the boat and hide it behind those rocks and cover it with loose branches. I'll scout ahead and meet you at the edge of the woods.”

Garland nodded curtly before stepping into the ankle deep water and began to drag the boat towards it's hiding place. The covert nature of this whole thing rubbed him the wrong way. He was fairly certain that the other nine Captains didn't even know about it, as Warlock had stressed absolute secrecy when he was let in on the plan. It took Garland a while to understand why Warlock wanted him to accompany him instead of the other Captains; whom it was universally decided were far more skilled, much to Garland's chagrin. Even if Garland was forced to admit that was the case, he still performed splendidly in the siege of Cydonia. Especially when it came to the more unruly peasants in the country-side.

Garland sighed as he quickly hid the boat and began to run to the meeting spot; maybe this was a test? Garland, at 22, was the youngest of Warlock's ten captains and the way he was treated showed it. He was tired of being seen as the “weak officer” and had proven himself in both mettle and tactical logistics. Didn't he slay that Dwarf berserker in Cydonia? Hadn't he burned all of the crops west of the besieged city? Maybe this was the night where Lord Warlock would finally declare him to be treated as an equal by the other Captains, instead of what he was seen as: a useful servant. He was better than that. He was better than them.

“According to the map the temple should be about a mile into the forest, this section of the forest hasn't had patrols for a long time so we should have no trouble. Follow me and don't lose sight, else you'll get lost.”

Garland nodded quietly as the two began to venture into the forest. In all honesty Garland had no idea where they were going, and more importantly, how Lord Warlock knew where he was going. The whole place was pitch black, with Garland trying his hardest not to stumble over roots and inconveniently placed stones. As the time passed he noticed the air began to become thicker, as if he could taste it and it wasn't a pleasant taste; like if smoke was thick and creamy.

“We're here” Warlock murmured as Garland began to see a clearing, who when emerged from the forest looked in awe at what appeared to be the ruins of a once grand temple. The stone brick was crumbling and all the pillars seemed to had fallen a long time ago. Small creatures and not-so-small insect scurried around the darken entrance. At this point, it felt like the air was suffocating Garland.

“What is this place?” Garland managed to choke out.

“An ancient sin the Fae try their best to forget and suppress, magic taken too far.”

“Too far?”

“Don't trouble yourself with these things, there are secrets that the young should never know.”

Garland was effectively silenced as they descended into the Temple. He thought that the second he walked in he would pass out from the air, but all of a sudden the air seemed... oddly pleasant. When the rush of fresh oxygen hit Garland's mouth the reservations he had seemed to just melt away. Though he still wasn't liking the large spiral staircase he was sinking lower and lower into in pitch black. His biggest fear at that moment was that he would tumble down and break a bone.

But with Warlock's guidance he stepped onto a flat surface and all of a sudden the room lit up with bright red torches, revealing a hall-way that ended with a raised platform that held a large, foreign structure. As they walked closer Garland figured out what it was: a large bath and on both sides were two deformed mouths carved from a strange purple stone and seemed to be where the water would pour from.

Warlock began to pace, looking for something and lost in thought. His face seemed like it was caught in a dazed dream. He let out a yelp of delight as he found what he was looking for; a small iron lever at the foot of the raised platform. He immediately pulled it and motioned for Garland to take a few steps back.

Suddenly the stone mouths began spewing out a strange liquid that seemed like it was a purple sludge. It's stench was indescribable as Garland began to gag and cough.

“What is this?” He gargled out pathetically as he tried to control his coughing. Warlock merely shrugged at the odor as he began to undo his armor.

“Its true name is spoken in a special magical language that the Fae developed long ago, though it's been lost and it's very existence suppressed. But from what I understand it translates into “bath of the damned”

Warlock threw his weapon down and began to strip his remaining clothes off.

“Whoever bathes in that tub will unlock incredible knowledge and power. But at a terrible cost. However, no cost is high enough for me!” He belted this as he beat his chest with Garland merely watching and closely listening to his Master's words. The hall way quietly echoed with the sound of a sword leaving its sheathe.

“My name will be echoed throughout history and I shall smash the Triumphant and rule its lands, this is the key to my success Garland! No cost outweighs the victory that shall be awarded to me. The Fae shall be too frightened to harm me and the Inquisition will be crushed before my boot heel”

He threw off the last of his clothes and turned to Garland, his thick brown beard hiding the murderous grin on his face.

But that grin soon turned into surprise, then anguish and then impotent rage as Garland ran him through with his long sword. His eyes narrowed on Warlock's like a predator watching the life leave from its prey's eyes.

“But what if I want it instead?”
_______________________________________________________________________________________


“T-Thank you sir,” the fruit-seller managed to squeal out before Gregory simply walked away, he was used to their frightened eyes that came from their insides feeling cold all of a sudden. If Gregory was in a crowd no one would be able to identify who was the source or that there was even a source at all and most people would simply write it off as a horrifyingly funny feeling they had before it quickly vanished, never returning again.

But when it was Gregory and another person, they knew. They knew that those feelings of revulsion and wracked nerves had a source and the source was Gregory. Deep down, people's intuition was never wrong.

The breeze brushed against his short, graying hair and his wrinkled face made an expression of disgust when he bit into the apple. Thing was barely fresh! He sighed as he took another bite, who knew when his next meal would be.

"Dammit..." he muttered in between bites



[/fieldbox]
 
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D

Darkagn

Guest
Original poster
I see you have tagged a number of people in your first post, is this an invite-only scenario or are you accepting others as well? I'm keen on your concept if you are accepting more than just your original list?
 
A

Arcadia

Guest
Original poster
I see you have tagged a number of people in your first post, is this an invite-only scenario or are you accepting others as well? I'm keen on your concept if you are accepting more than just your original list?
I apologise, but we are full up on players. Sorry for any inconvienience.
 

Cahill

Wolf of Words
Posting Speed
1-3 posts per week, One post per week, Slow As Molasses
Online Availability
Weekends mostly
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept
Preferred Character Gender
Female, Primarily Prefer Male
Genres
High and Dark Fantasy
Name:
Laineth Nórui

Age:
23 (In human years)

Race:
Elf

Class:
Blackguard

Moral Alignment:
Chaotic Neutral

Personality:
Not known as one of the most forward thinking of elves, Laineth enjoys living in the moment. She makes impulsive decisions and, even though these choices usually lead to trouble, never allows her optimism to sway.

1d57d54f2a275d65026a7c2ab85529cb.jpg


Skills:
1. Archery: With bow and arrow in hand, foes fall one by one as they're shot from a distance.

2. Bowfighter: A skill to combat the most glaring weakness of an Archer. Arrows can be used to stab and the bow can be used as a makeshift staff, keeping opponents at a distance.

3. Pickpocketing: The deft fingers that are used to loose arrows are just as effective in quickly pilfering someone's pocket without them noticing.

4. Arrowsmithing: An Archer is nothing without an arrow, thus making your own in the wild is essential. The skill allows for the easy and quick crafting of arrows, instead of the timely and arduous task it would've been.

5. Survivalist: From knowing which wood would make the best coals to what berry isn't meant for consumption, being a survivalist allows for, obviously, surviving in the great outdoors.

Traits:
Quickdraw: As an archer, you can fire more arrows with faster speed.

Elementalist: As an experiment, you began to craft elemental arrows for your bow. You can now do elemental damage.

Inventory:
Bow with accompanying quiver (contains 24 arrows)

Leather armour with metal accents (as pictured)

A hard day of toiling in the sun had finally come to an end. Sweat soaked men were entering the Drunken Ox, the only inn situated inside of their little town, to wet their dry throats. It had become a ritual of the farmers in the community to gather there at the dawn of dusk. To talk loudly of their nagging wives or naughty children. To partake in games of chance or hear news from the other parts of the land if a travelling merchant or band of adventurers had come to retire there for the evening. The latter was quite a rare occurrence, one that happened that day.

A man and his entourage had arrived earlier that afternoon with a wagon, towed by two mules, proving to the villagers that he was likely a salesman of some kind. Unfortunately, to many a maid and child's dismay, the wagon was covered up to make the wares on sale indeterminable. The few who were able to sneak a peak under the tarp were only treated to the sight of a heavy, square chest. The merchant had quickly retired to a room after trading words with the burly innkeeper known as Garth. He had requested news to be spread around town. Everyone was to gather at the inn the evening to witness the miraculous item he had for sale. Garth had immediately spread the word, since it would mean a lot of customers for him as well. Mystery was what ensured every soul showed up that night. The mystery of what was in the chest that the male half of the two guards took inside just before the sun started hiding its face.

“Exactly as planned,” Chunta muttered to himself as he came down the stairs, a sea of faces watching him expectantly. He paused on the landing where the stairs turned ninety degrees to the left and stroked at his beard. Chunta the merchant was preparing himself mentally for the performance he he now knew by heart. The chest was at the top of the stairs and he had a sample of the product in the breast pocket of his coat. The dark haired man took a final, deep breath and fell into his practised speech, a silken voice filling the room.
Outside the two apparent guards turned their backs on the inn, the audience now captivated. The night was clear, as the sunny day had been, a waxing moon taking the place of the sun. It allowed the two, clad in earthen colours, enough light for their plan whilst allowing them enough cover to stay unnoticed. Not that there was anyone left in the town to notice them. Windows were dark and houses were silent. The town had been as predictable as the others they had visited, flocking at the whisper of something new and exciting.

The sharp click from the lock's metal encasing rang in the dark as Marcus retracted the iron pick from the hole. He was losing his touch with all the easy locks of late, but he didn't give the thought perch in his mind. His partner turned the handle and pushed open the door, quickly entering. This was the routine the evening followed as they broke into each home, sniffing out anything of worth and hiding it back in their wagon. It was speedy work, since Chunta could only keep the people of the town occupied for so long with his snake-oil. The homes had very little to offer. Some silver in the form of religious symbols or family heirlooms and the odd uncut precious stone, gifts from husbands who hoed them out of the ground. They picked the houses clean, the general store and what passed as their smithy following suit, and hoped Chunta was able to do the same with the pockets of the folk eagerly listening to his lies.

Marcus finally pulled the final door for the evening shut behind him. In front of him, with a plump little sack over her shoulder, walked his partner in crime. The past few weeks had grown dull much more quickly for her. The routine of scouting out a new village each time and then reusing their ruse gave little of the excitement she craved. It was lucky for her then that Chunta had promised this would be their final town.

“I can't wait to be back in the city again!” exclaimed Laineth as she tucked the bag under the tarp with the many other ones. Marcus found his seat behind the reins of the already tethered mules, the young elf planting herself next to him. It was an odd trio, but one that worked thus far. A human, orc and elf. Most of the time a hood was enough to allow unfettered travel in judgemental towns, but the little ones they had visited never bothered with the lackeys of a “mechant”.

“The swaying is not for me,” Marcus replied curtly, ushering the tow animals into slow movement. If they had timed it correctly, Chunta would appear at any moment, having made some excuse to go outside.
“Scared of hurling again the entire trip? Bowed over the railings like a kid over a dad's lap?” The she-elf teased, leaning back to look at the dim stars in the sky.

“Blubber you fed...” his response was cut short as a door burst open. Chunta, half stumbling, half running, emerged from the light of the inn. A ruckus followed him, a flask passing over his shoulder and shattering on the ground.

“We need to go! We need to go!” Chunta shouted as more shadows filled the doorway of the in. The mules started at a trot, allowing Chunta to gain on the wagon, but the people of the town were gaining as well. The glances he threw over his didn't help his speed. A yelp escaped is lips as a mug hit him between the shoulder blades. Another stumble, but quick feet regained their balance.

By now Laineth was reversed in her seat, digging around for the only thing she could think of that would keep the people of the town at bay. The once quiet night was now filled with a cacophony of shouts and boots on earth. At last she pulled out her weapon of choice, along with its ammunition. She found her feet on the wagon that travelled on uneven road. Nocked an arrow and pulled back on the string. Aimed at the men, causing them to pause for only a stride, and then at the ground in front of their feet.

At that moment Chunta grabbed the back panel of the wagon and flung himself on board, Marcus whipped the mules into a faster pace and the wagon hit a rock.
 
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G

Grothnor

Guest
Original poster
Name: Gathran the Blood-Seer​
Age: 37
Race: Human
Class: Haemotophium Magi
Moral Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Personality: Obsessive, Meticulous, Sarcastic and Inquisitive, Gathran values knowledge above all, and looks down on those who are unappreciative of it. He sees most laws as restrictive and will selectively ignore them if they block his interests.
Appearance:

Skills:

Blood Healing- The magical art of cleansing tainted, poisoned or unwell blood, often through transfusion.
Alchemy (Blood)- Knowledge of the alchemical properties of blood.
Alchemy (Poison)- Knowledge of the alchemical properties of poisons and their antidotes.
Sanguikinesis- Telekinetic control of the target's blood.
Deceive- Lying, fibbing, bluffing, etc.

Traits: Coat of Arms, Swell of the Tide
Inventory: Magi Robes, Alchemy Kit (includes poisons and their antidotes), Bloodletting knives

---​

Name: Grothnor
Age: 34
Race: Snow Orc
Class: Warrior
Moral Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Personality: When fighting, Grothnor is loud, bawdy and crude. When he isn't fighting, Grothnor is quiet, bored and keeps silent except for grunts of affirmation. Grothnor loves fighting. Grothnor serves Gathran Blood-Seer.
Appearance:

Skills:

Blacksmithing (Repair)- Knowledge pertaining to the maintenance and upkeep of weapons and armor.
Two-Handed Weapons- Skill with great-weapons.
Heavy Armor- Knowledge of how best to utilize heavy armor.
Throwing Weapons- Skill with thrown weapons.
Tracking- The ability to track and follow animals or people.

Traits: Dug-In, Treesplitter
Inventory: Great Axe, Patchwork Splinted Chainmail armor, hand axe.

Writing Sample:
Ever since he returned from his expedition to the Northern wastes, Gathran's life and turned for the better. The circle had approved his funding, his shipments came precisely on time, he had almost completely stopped being harassed and now had earned something of a name for himself: the Blood Seer. All this was thanks to a few words spoken in a foreign, guttural tongue by a withered old shaman in a small hut in the Northern Wasteland.

He never knew what the words meant, but he had largely gathered their meaning. Ever since those words had been spoken, Grothnor, the large snow-orc guide, hadn't been far from his side. For a while, Gathran had tried to get rid of him, first by saying his services were no longer required, next through subtle hints, later through threats, but the orc had ignored them all. He had a perpetually bored look on his scarred face that made him seem like he didn't want to be wherever he was, but Gathran soon learned that he didn't mind doing whatever he was told. The orc had superhuman patience, often present in the incredibly dull or the incredibly disciplined; it was hard to tell which was the cause.

Gathran was quick to capitalize on having such a devoted, unquestioning and intimidating servant. The additional ethos the orc lended to his presence was a godssend; few were willing to say no to a man that had a giant looming behind his shoulders. Grothnor had also been instrumental in 'negotiating' his release from much of his underworld and black market obligations. The poison business was lucrative and had funded much of his research, but now that he was being legitimately funded, Gathran wanted to limit his risk of exposure. Being found out as the source of half the poisonings he cured would seriously impact his reputation, to say the least. Gathran was pretty sure that selling black market poisons could easily be construed as 'Succumbing to Nefariousness' and would warrant Serenity, but Gathran had little care for laws. Fetters for the weak willed and the weak minded.

Gathran sat in his alchemy lab and reflected on his successes. Sometimes it astounds me how much I've accomplished with the help of such a small-minded assistant. He thought. But after all this time, I do not truly know what he wants. He desires nothing save what all living creatures crave. I have offered him gold, freedom, even death, he rejects all save alcohol and the occasional woman I send his way. To what end does he serve? I wonder....
 
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Ai

The Red Queen
Invitation Status
Posting Speed
1-3 posts per week
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Adaptable
A

Arcadia

Guest
Original poster
ACCEPTIFIEDED!
[fieldbox="The Heroic Traitor, Purple, solid"]



Name: Formerly known as Ser Garland, Servant of the Triumph and Oath-swearer to the Gaius Family

Current Alias: Gregory

Age: 52

Race: Human

Class: Warrior

Moral Alignment: Neutral Good

Personality: Garland is quiet and analytical, who listens more than he talks. This is because his social skills leave much to be desired due to the isolating nature of his "condition". With little to no one to talk to, Garland has been forced to look inward and is often a very reflective and critically thinking person. These qualities do not translate into timidness however, as his former reputation proceeds him as a killer who is/was capable of dealing out butcheries on a massive scale.

Skills:
-Dwarven Strength
-"Hardy as a blizzard coated mountain"
-Quick to parry, quicker to counter-attack

-The Aura of Filth
* Imagine an absolutely foul stench that you could not smell, but feel. Garland/Gregory has been permanently tainted with a vile aura that creates feelings of unease, fear and anxiety in anyone near his vicinity. This has it's benefits and detractors:
*Anyone who Garland/Gregory is in combat with has a distinct disadvantage since it's harder to concentrate due to the Aura's oppressive presence.
*Social situations are far more difficult and attracts attention to Garland/Gregory, people fear him and authorities are suspicious of him.

-In depth knowledge of magic

Traits:
-Dug in
-Stoneskin

Inventory:
Set of Plate Armor

one handed Longsword

Writing Sample:
The young man had finally begun to sweat after rowing for over 4 hours, his thick black hair had now become a drenched mop has he tried to battle the furious black waves with nothing but this dingy little row-boat. Though this was the only vessel that would work, anything bigger and the Fae would have caught them hours ago and thrown them into the ocean. The ministry's coast guard was very thorough in making sure no “undesirables” ended up in their lands. The fact that they had gotten this far without detection was due to the excellent scouting of the young man's master, Lord Warlock Cassius. Known throughout the Lands of Triumph as Warlock the Grimm and the leader of the insurrection against the Triumph.

“Keep rowing, we're getting close to the spot” Warlock muttered, darting his eyes across the dark sea in search of any Fae ships that would have spotted them. He made sure not to leave a trail but the Fae were unpredictable. There could have been a number of variants he could not have possibly taken into consideration. Taking this journey in general was a huge risk; he could leave his Captains to hold the front-lines and continue pressuring the Triumph's armies. But if he were to die or be captured here, his rebellion would be crushed. Tonight was do or die, he needed to reach the temple and unlock it's secrets.

“Garland, we're hitting the shore. Take the boat and hide it behind those rocks and cover it with loose branches. I'll scout ahead and meet you at the edge of the woods.”

Garland nodded curtly before stepping into the ankle deep water and began to drag the boat towards it's hiding place. The covert nature of this whole thing rubbed him the wrong way. He was fairly certain that the other nine Captains didn't even know about it, as Warlock had stressed absolute secrecy when he was let in on the plan. It took Garland a while to understand why Warlock wanted him to accompany him instead of the other Captains; whom it was universally decided were far more skilled, much to Garland's chagrin. Even if Garland was forced to admit that was the case, he still performed splendidly in the siege of Cydonia. Especially when it came to the more unruly peasants in the country-side.

Garland sighed as he quickly hid the boat and began to run to the meeting spot; maybe this was a test? Garland, at 22, was the youngest of Warlock's ten captains and the way he was treated showed it. He was tired of being seen as the “weak officer” and had proven himself in both mettle and tactical logistics. Didn't he slay that Dwarf berserker in Cydonia? Hadn't he burned all of the crops west of the besieged city? Maybe this was the night where Lord Warlock would finally declare him to be treated as an equal by the other Captains, instead of what he was seen as: a useful servant. He was better than that. He was better than them.

“According to the map the temple should be about a mile into the forest, this section of the forest hasn't had patrols for a long time so we should have no trouble. Follow me and don't lose sight, else you'll get lost.”

Garland nodded quietly as the two began to venture into the forest. In all honesty Garland had no idea where they were going, and more importantly, how Lord Warlock knew where he was going. The whole place was pitch black, with Garland trying his hardest not to stumble over roots and inconveniently placed stones. As the time passed he noticed the air began to become thicker, as if he could taste it and it wasn't a pleasant taste; like if smoke was thick and creamy.

“We're here” Warlock murmured as Garland began to see a clearing, who when emerged from the forest looked in awe at what appeared to be the ruins of a once grand temple. The stone brick was crumbling and all the pillars seemed to had fallen a long time ago. Small creatures and not-so-small insect scurried around the darken entrance. At this point, it felt like the air was suffocating Garland.

“What is this place?” Garland managed to choke out.

“An ancient sin the Fae try their best to forget and suppress, magic taken too far.”

“Too far?”

“Don't trouble yourself with these things, there are secrets that the young should never know.”

Garland was effectively silenced as they descended into the Temple. He thought that the second he walked in he would pass out from the air, but all of a sudden the air seemed... oddly pleasant. When the rush of fresh oxygen hit Garland's mouth the reservations he had seemed to just melt away. Though he still wasn't liking the large spiral staircase he was sinking lower and lower into in pitch black. His biggest fear at that moment was that he would tumble down and break a bone.

But with Warlock's guidance he stepped onto a flat surface and all of a sudden the room lit up with bright red torches, revealing a hall-way that ended with a raised platform that held a large, foreign structure. As they walked closer Garland figured out what it was: a large bath and on both sides were two deformed mouths carved from a strange purple stone and seemed to be where the water would pour from.

Warlock began to pace, looking for something and lost in thought. His face seemed like it was caught in a dazed dream. He let out a yelp of delight as he found what he was looking for; a small iron lever at the foot of the raised platform. He immediately pulled it and motioned for Garland to take a few steps back.

Suddenly the stone mouths began spewing out a strange liquid that seemed like it was a purple sludge. It's stench was indescribable as Garland began to gag and cough.

“What is this?” He gargled out pathetically as he tried to control his coughing. Warlock merely shrugged at the odor as he began to undo his armor.

“Its true name is spoken in a special magical language that the Fae developed long ago, though it's been lost and it's very existence suppressed. But from what I understand it translates into “bath of the damned”

Warlock threw his weapon down and began to strip his remaining clothes off.

“Whoever bathes in that tub will unlock incredible knowledge and power. But at a terrible cost. However, no cost is high enough for me!” He belted this as he beat his chest with Garland merely watching and closely listening to his Master's words. The hall way quietly echoed with the sound of a sword leaving its sheathe.

“My name will be echoed throughout history and I shall smash the Triumphant and rule its lands, this is the key to my success Garland! No cost outweighs the victory that shall be awarded to me. The Fae shall be too frightened to harm me and the Inquisition will be crushed before my boot heel”

He threw off the last of his clothes and turned to Garland, his thick brown beard hiding the murderous grin on his face.

But that grin soon turned into surprise, then anguish and then impotent rage as Garland ran him through with his long sword. His eyes narrowed on Warlock's like a predator watching the life leave from its prey's eyes.

“But what if I want it instead?”
_______________________________________________________________________________________


“T-Thank you sir,” the fruit-seller managed to squeal out before Gregory simply walked away, he was used to their frightened eyes that came from their insides feeling cold all of a sudden. If Gregory was in a crowd no one would be able to identify who was the source or that there was even a source at all and most people would simply write it off as a horrifyingly funny feeling they had before it quickly vanished, never returning again.

But when it was Gregory and another person, they knew. They knew that those feelings of revulsion and wracked nerves had a source and the source was Gregory. Deep down, people's intuition was never wrong.

The breeze brushed against his short, graying hair and his wrinkled face made an expression of disgust when he bit into the apple. Thing was barely fresh! He sighed as he took another bite, who knew when his next meal would be.

"Dammit..." he muttered in between bites



[/fieldbox]
Accepted :D
 
A

Arcadia

Guest
Original poster
Awaiting GM Review

Name: Gathran the Blood-Seer
Age: 37
Race: Human
Class: Haemotophium Magi
Moral Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Personality: Obsessive, Meticulous, Sarcastic and Inquisitive, Gathran values knowledge above all, and looks down on those who are unappreciative of it. He sees most laws as restrictive and will selectively ignore them if they block his interests.
Appearance:

Skills:

Blood Healing- The magical art of cleansing tainted, poisoned or unwell blood, often through transfusion.
Alchemy (Blood)- Knowledge of the alchemical properties of blood.
Alchemy (Poison)- Knowledge of the alchemical properties of poisons and their antidotes.
Sanguikinesis- Telekinetic control of the target's blood.
Deceive- Lying, fibbing, bluffing, etc.

Traits: Coat of Arms, Swell of the Tide
Inventory: Magi Robes, Alchemy Kit (includes poisons and their antidotes), Bloodletting knives

---​

Name: Grothnor
Age: 34
Race: Snow Orc
Class: Warrior
Moral Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Personality: When fighting, Grothnor is loud, bawdy and crude. When he isn't fighting, Grothnor is quiet, bored and keeps silent except for grunts of affirmation. Grothnor loves fighting. Grothnor serves Gathran Blood-Seer.
Appearance:

Skills:

Blacksmithing (Repair)- Knowledge pertaining to the maintenance and upkeep of weapons and armor.
Two-Handed Weapons- Skill with great-weapons.
Heavy Armor- Knowledge of how best to utilize heavy armor.
Throwing Weapons- Skill with thrown weapons.
Tracking- The ability to track and follow animals or people.

Traits: Dug-In, Treesplitter
Inventory: Great Axe, Patchwork Splinted Chainmail armor, hand axe.

Writing Sample:
Ever since he returned from his expedition to the Northern wastes, Gathran's life and turned for the better. The circle had approved his funding, his shipments came precisely on time, he had almost completely stopped being harassed and now had earned something of a name for himself: the Blood Seer. All this was thanks to a few words spoken in a foreign, guttural tongue by a withered old shaman in a small hut in the Northern Wasteland.

He never knew what the words meant, but he had largely gathered their meaning. Ever since those words had been spoken, Grothnor, the large snow-orc guide, hadn't been far from his side. For a while, Gathran had tried to get rid of him, first by saying his services were no longer required, next through subtle hints, later through threats, but the orc had ignored them all. He had a perpetually bored look on his scarred face that made him seem like he didn't want to be wherever he was, but Gathran soon learned that he didn't mind doing whatever he was told. The orc had superhuman patience, often present in the incredibly dull or the incredibly disciplined; it was hard to tell which was the cause.

Gathran was quick to capitalize on having such a devoted, unquestioning and intimidating servant. The additional ethos the orc lended to his presence was a godssend; few were willing to say no to a man that had a giant looming behind his shoulders. Grothnor had also been instrumental in 'negotiating' his release from much of his underworld and black market obligations. The poison business was lucrative and had funded much of his research, but now that he was being legitimately funded, Gathran wanted to limit his risk of exposure. Being found out as the source of half the poisonings he cured would seriously impact his reputation, to say the least. Gathran was pretty sure that selling black market poisons could easily be construed as 'Succumbing to Nefariousness' and would warrant Serenity, but Gathran had little care for laws. Fetters for the weak willed and the weak minded.

Gathran sat in his alchemy lab and reflected on his successes. Sometimes it astounds me how much I've accomplished with the help of such a small-minded assistant. He thought. But after all this time, I do not truly know what he wants. He desires nothing save what all living creatures crave. I have offered him gold, freedom, even death, he rejects all save alcohol and the occasional woman I send his way. To what end does he serve? I wonder....
Accepted :D