The Pheraxis Saga: Rebirth ((OOC/Interest Check))

[Windsong]

Magic. The impossible made possible, flashy pyrotechnics and wondrous feats conjured out of thin air or a magician's hat. Grand tales of wizards using inconceivable power to seal away ancient evil, and epic fables of mages overcoming near-impossible odds through sheer force of will and a bit of arcane assistance. Truly, magic is a wonder of the world, and a modern miracle.

Forget everything you thought you knew about magic. Magic is real, to be sure; in the depths of basements belonging to those branded as insane or heathens. In the hushed whispers of the fearful or superstitious. In the workshops of otherwise normal geniuses who harbor a secret dark side. Magic in this world is dark, gritty, and gruesome. No fairy dust or magic wands here, this world plays host to the shadows and dark underworld. Welcome to Pheraxis.

Pheraxis is a world governed by laws much like our own. The difference is that the occult and dark arts are real and hold real power. However, it is shunned by the society who misunderstands and fears the arts practiced by sorcerors, witches, and others who would practice the black magic of Pheraxis. Enter the Syndicate, a secret society full of practitioners of the so-called "Dark Arts". The misfits of the world, outcasts of civilization, shunned by a superstitious society headed by an overzealous religious organization. The Ivory Inquisition is the leading holy power in Pheraxis, and has led many crusades and witch hunts into villages the world over, smoking out and eradicating all that they deem "unholy". As is to be expected from a misguided religious organization, the "unholy" weren't the only ones that the Inquisition slayed. Several innocent families have been subjected to the iron judgement of the crusaders on the claim that they practiced the Dark Arts, whether these claims held no merit or not. The Syndicate, though shady and mysterious, did not condone the killing of innocents and so found a new purpose other than providing a place for practitioners to gather. Of course, some of the Inquisition's paranoias are justified; there are indeed evil practitioners who use their dark gifts to enslave, torture, sacrifice, or otherwise subjugate those they deem "lesser beings" - which happened to be every non-gifted individual in Pheraxis. These evil practitioners are always on the lookout for more power, and remove any who stand in their way with extreme prejudice. Some of them seek to bring dark gods and unholy masters into the mortal realm to wreak their havoc and believe they will be rewarded for their service to the Old Ones. Any way you spin it, Pheraxis is a dark place, host to dark designs and dark mentalities.

However, none encompass the whole of what makes Pheraxis a decidedly grim place than Garibaldi, a Lich who stared deep into the abyss, and laughed when it stared back. In the modern age, Garibaldi's power is vast and absolute, and he commands a veritable horde of demons, undead, and even other practitioners who joined Garibaldi in hopes of getting a slice of the pie. For the first time in the history of Pheraxis, a single individual had gained so much power that even the Ivory Inquisition feared him. The Syndicate aren't fond of Garibaldi either, and as such the two feuding organizations find themselves unwitting allies against the united threat of the evil practitioners. You're a part of the conflict, whether you want to be or not. A member of the Syndicate, or a crusader of the Ivory Inquisition. A hapless civilian, or a neutral party. Perhaps even another evil practitioner, either solo or as part of Garibaldi's army. Pick your side; the Dark Days of Pheraxis have come, and they will leave a mark on this land.

~~~

In Pheraxis, black magic is classified into several different categories, with a unique name for those who practice them. The blanket term for all users of magic is "Practitioner", while the derogatory term for them is "Shade", dubbed as such for their supposed shady practices and habit of not getting enough sunlight. Any practitioner who becomes powerful in all of the Dark Arts is called a "Lich", and is truly a force to be feared. Most Liches tend to be evil, but there are instances of... not-evil Liches in Pheraxian history. The classifications of magic as a whole can be referred to as "the dark arts", "magicka", "black magic", or by their more ancient moniker, "Arcanum".

Classifications of Black Magic
Sorcery
Sorcerer / Sorceress
The closest one can get to traditional magic. Sorcerers call upon the life energy of the world and twist it into their designs, be it for destruction or creation.

Witchcraft
Warlock / Witch
Witchcraft relies on natural elements and is the main target of most superstitions. Witchcraft encompasses many strains of magic, including potion brewing, enchantments, and voodoo.

Necromancy
Necromancer
Necromancy is the ancient art of playing with death. Raising and speaking to the dead, traveling through the underworld, and dealing in plagues and disease.

Demonology
Diabolist
Demonology is the study of demons and the nether realm from which they come. Diabolists call upon demonic power to serve their purposes, often making deals and contracts with certain demons to serve as minions.

Hemomancy
Blood Mage
Hemomancy is the manipulation of blood and using the latent power held within it. Hemomancy is similar in form to Sorcery, using the energy of life to fuel their magic. Blood Mages are often confused for Vampires by the unintelligent due to their affinity for blood.

Alchemy
Alchemist
Alchemy is the fusion of magic and science, combining scientific theories and laws to the practicum of magicka. Alchemists follow the law of Equivalent Exchange: to gain, something of equal value must be given. It is the law that governs all Alchemists, but by following this law, they are capable of extraordinary things.


Character Profile
Appearance: What your character looks like. Can be text description, picture, or both.
Name: Your character's name. Be creative!
Race: Your character's race. Stick with supernatural-inspired races: Human, Vampire, Werewolf, Skinwalker, etc.
Age: Your character's age. Remember to keep it faithful to the race you're playing. Vampires are immortal, Werewolves live much longer than humans, etc.
Calling: Your character's "class", if you will. Crusader, civilian, mercenary, etc. If a practitioner, use the title specific to the classification of magic you practice.
Equipment: Your character's tools of the trade. Includes weapons, focuses, and other implements used in your character's Calling.
Affiliation: Your character's faction or allegiance, if any. Are you a crusader for the Ivory Inquisition or a practitioner with the Syndicate? Perhaps you're a free spirit, relishing your neutrality, or maybe you're even a member of Garibaldi's evil army. Or you might just be plain evil, with no affiliation at all.
Personality: How your character acts. Any quirks, tics, pet peeves, and traits go here.
Biography: Your character's life story. Be as detailed as you want, but remember to keep it a practical length.


A Note on Mythology
Also known as "Our X are different"

Vampires
Vampires are beautiful, seductive undead who require sustenance in the form of blood. Be it from animals or humans, they require blood in some form to live. However, the blood of a human is much preferable to animal blood; it's like comparing a gourmet meal to table scraps. Daylight sears the flesh of vampires, and prolonged exposure will result in death. The shadows are a vampire's friend during the day, though covering up completely in clothing will allow them to walk freely during the day. Their bite alone will not necessarily turn a human, but the bite is the first step in turning them. Vampires can release a venom in place of saliva, which infects wounds and attempts to hijack the victim's bloodstream. If the victim lives through the pain of having all of their bodily fluids removed from the inside, they are reborn as an immortal vampire. If a pregnant woman is turned before giving birth, her child will be born a Daywalker, a special kind of vampire that has no weakness to sunlight. Popular myth states that crosses, holy water, and silver weapons are lethal to vampires. These myths are false. To kill a vampire, one must expose them to sunlight for long enough or drive a stake through their heart. The material of the stake does not matter, only that it has a sharp enough edge to pierce through a vampire's heart.

Werewolves
Werewolves are poor souls who have been bitten, clawed, gored, or otherwise wounded beyond a scratch by another werewolf. The most effective way that werewolves turn humans is through biting, as it leaves their claws open to pin down their prey, leaves the smallest mark on the victim's body, and the werewolf has the most control over their bite than anything else. Werewolves appear like normal humans, though more than likely a bit more feral looking, with enlarged canines and unkempt, shaggy hair. Natural Werewolves, or werewolves born from the coupling of a human and werewolf, can shift into a wolf-like form at will. Cursed Werewolves, or humans that were turned directly by another werewolf, are forced to turn into a humanoid wolf beast every night, regardless of the moon's phase. Werewolves have a healing factor that allows them to regenerate any wound as long as it isn't a fatal blow, although wounds from silver weapons stay and heal at the rate of human regeneration. Severing the head, piercing the heart, or otherwise removing the brain or heart from the body will kill a werewolf outright. Killing a werewolf also cures all werewolves turned by that werewolf of their curse.

((Everything shamelessly stolen from @Solistor for the sole reason of bringing back an otherwise interesting and active roleplay.))

I've changed nothing and added nothing. Repost your previous Character sheets or not. I'll do my best to bump the thread as often as possible and make the IC thread as well~

 

[Andalais]

Here's mine. Same as before.

Orrib Rhovanion

Appearance:

Face

Armour

Name: Orrib Rhovanion
Race: Vampire (formerly Human)
Age: Actual - 269
Biological - 30
Calling: Blood mage
Equipment: His family armour, inherited from his father, made in steel and leather, including a chestplate, pauldrons, gauntlets and plates for his shins, knees and thighs, with pieces of leather filling the gaps. He knows the armour is worthless against modern weapons, and wears it mainly as a tribute to his old noble house, and also to intimidate his foes. Along with this, he wears a steel mask and a torn, black cloak. He carries with him a large, magical book, which he uses to focus and strengthen his usual spells, and also allows him to make more powerful, more complicated spells and runes with the knowledge written within. Finally, he carries a steel dagger by his belt, adorned with silver markings, including the sigil of House Rhovanion.
Affiliation: Independent; currently in a shaky alliance with the Syndicate
Personality: Refined and normally polite, though pompous and with an underlying arrogance, Orrib is a typical nobleman of the past. Although not outright evil, he is power-hungry, untrustworthy and ruthless. He is not cruel, however, as he does not take pleasure in the suffering of others; he simply does not care. He does not have much love of the Syndicate, but they are valuable allies against the commonly hated Ivory Inquisition as well as Garibaldi's dark forces.

Since losing his sense of taste for regular food and drink, Orrib has made blood and its many forms and qualities a passion. He sees blood the way many see different types of wine, and he enjoys all kinds of blood - even that of rats, which he describes as "pleasantly rough, salty and smoky, if a bit undignified".
Biography: Honour, wealth, prestige - an easy and happy life. That was all long gone now. Orrib was born into the illustrious noble house Rhovanion, as the oldest son of Lord Verdan - duke of Toris, count of Santhor Castle - and the only son to survive to adult age, as his brothers were all claimed by disease. At the age of 20, Orrib was himself crowned duke as his father shared the same fate. And Orrib ruled as would be expected from any other nobleman - taxes were collected, peasants oppressed, sometimes mustered for the occasional war. For a while, Orrib's life was easy and sweet, but would later take a turn to the more...complicated.

Around his tenth year as duke, Orrib felt as if he was being followed and watched. One night, he woke up in his bed within his manor to find himself, to his horror, staring into the bright yellow eyes of a person he had never before seen in his life. Terrified, Orrib dared not open his mouth to call his guards, whom he could hear just outside his bedroom. The unknown man kept staring into Orrib's eyes for almost another minute, before giving him a cruel smile, showing long, sharp fangs, before they were sunk into Orrib's neck. The following morning, Orrib woke up drenched in sweat, as if from a horrible dream. But he remembered no dream, and the puncture wounds on his neck showed that what had happened last night was all too real.

The mysterious man was never seen again, despite Orrib ordering a duchy-wide search for him. But he could notice that he was changing. Food and drink were losing their taste, the lusts of the flesh waned, love turned to dust. He felt his hunger and thirst for bread and water, replaced with one for blood. The young man became all the more reclusive in his attempts to hide what he had become. It worked well at first, but inevitably, after decades, it was noticed how the duke simply did not age. After he passed the age of 70 and still looking not a day older than 30, the truth would not let itself be hidden anymore. He was declared a vampire, an abomination, and was forced to flee his manor and his duchy, and go into exile. Covering every inch of skin on his body to protect against the now scorching sun, Orrib fled into the wilderness, where he found the ruins of an old citadel. For the first time in decades, Orrib now felt tired, and he simply lied down within a passage beneath the citadel, where he slept for a long, long time.

Upon waking, Orrib found the citadel above him gone, as if someone had come and took the stone to use for something else. He wandered the wilderness until he encountered civilization, where he was met with an alien world. Light without candles, wagon moving by their own accord, strange things he had never in his life imagined him. Orrib soon learned that over 120 years had passed in that small moment had closed his eyes. His duchy was gone, his castle abandoned, House Rhovanion was extinct. And something called the Ivory Inquisition ruled the land. It seemed, however, that Orrib's asking around and his knowledge and appearance of old times made the Inquisition find him before he found them. And he was found in the form of a hail of silvery bullets passing through his body as he stepped out of the local tavern one late evening. Probing himself up by his arm, he raised his arm at the soldiers as they prepared to fire another volley. What happened next changed Orrib's idea of existence forever.

The soldier directly in front of his arm dropped his rifle, clutching his head and chest in pain. With a gurgling scream, the soldier's blood was sucked out straight from his mouth, his eyes and his nose, splattering the ground red as the man collapsed, white as bone in the face. Equally shocked as the soldiers were, Orrib pointed his hand at another of the soldiers in a similar fashion, more blood coloured the ground as the man was emptied of his liquid vitae. Barely holding back their horror, the remaining soldiers continued shooting silver into Orrib's body, until seven men lay dead in the dirt, their blood forming pools by their feet. The ones whom were left ran, screaming of demons and terrors.

Satisfied, Orrib set out to find his dear castle, Santhor, as his mansion was no doubt either gone or occupied by some fat, rich man in the middle of hostile territory. Orrib found the castle, where has since lived in seclusion and secrecy, practicing his newfound powers daily while at the same time renovating the castle. Now, nearly eighty years later, Orrib has grown into a greatly powerful mage, made even stronger by his magical book - the Blood Seal - which he created during his lonesome decades within his castle. At the forming of the Syndicate, Orrib recognized their potential, and offered a deal: his powers on the side of the Syndicate in their fight against the Ivory Inquisition in exchange for the Syndicate helping him carve out his own kingdom out of enemy lands.

 

[Thomas McTavish]

I think I'll make a new character.

Gairus

Name: Gairus
Race:

Fleshbound

"Fleshbound" is the title given to a creature pulled from the realm of death, and bound into a mortal body. This insidious method of soul slaving keeps the spirit bound to the mortal plane even after the Master's death- which is usually at the hands of the vengeful Fleshbound. Fleshbound are used for many purposes- be them assistants, manual laborers, assassins, test subjects, etc. Though they remember nothing of their first time in life, they still possess skills they had then in unlife.

Age: 36
Calling: Rogue
Equipment:

Blades, Bow, and Others

This set of a full sized scimitar, a shorter version, and a matching dagger are his primary melee weapons and tools.
His handheld crossbow is a tiny, yet powerful compact version of the classic crossbow. With it, he carries various ammunition, such as regular, metal-tipped bolts, poison-tipped bolts, bolts filled with an alchemical oil that bursts into flame on contact with air, and grappling hook-tipped bolts. He also carries climbing gear for his hands and for his feet

Affiliation: Syndicate
Personality: Gairus is quiet, quick, and efficient. His single-minded determination has often been mistaken for stubbornness, but he is very flexible when it comes to plans. You have to be in his line of work.
Biography: Gairus was a thief and assassin in life, from what time or place is unknown. At some point after his death, a necromancer seeking the services of an assassin but lacking the coin to hire one summoned him, and trapped him inside the body of a young man, turning him into a Fleshbound. He worked in the necromancer's employ for seven years, as was their deal. At that point, Gairus was to go free and do as he wished. What Gairus wished, unfortunately for his ex-master, was the death of he who had interrupted his test and imprisoned him here. Since then, he has tried to survive as what he was and is- a thief and an assassin. At one point he was close with a fellow rogue, Callawyn Harrowfeld, but the two parted ways many moons ago. The Inquisition has hunted him, not only for breaking laws but for being an "unnatural construct of black magic and an abomination in the eyes of Ymius." His existence has only become more difficult with the rise of the Puritans.

 

[Wolfsin]

Appearance:

Name: Dyamier Bale

Race: Werewolf (Cursed)

Age: 31/171

Calling: Mercenary/Hunter

Equipment:

• Magical Greatsword (The Sword will be described in story, but as for its magical property I will pm the dm about this.)
• Hunters Longbow
• Fur and hide armor
• Ring
• Vials of elixer.

Affiliation: Trained Mercenary. Dyamier associates with anyone willing to pass him some coin, but he has his limits. Dyamier follows somewhat of an honor code, He will sometimes take a job for less money if it promises for a greater challenge, or better entertainment.

Personality: Dyamier is a very strong willed man with a hearty love for the challenges in life. He is cheerful in a tavern, and fierce in a battle, but over all he has a natural charisma about him in the way he tells stories. Dyamier can be considered brave and overzealous. A great many things are unknown about the man but it is said that he only appears for a day and by night he vanishes again, a constant traveler and topic of discussion among the inns of Pheraxis.

Biography:

As long as I can remember I have wandered, maybe it was for the best that id forgotten all about family or home, or friends. After all, I am not really one to deal in such things. By night I am always away. You see the villages don't have a place for someone like me, not at night, and I prefer it that way. If nothing else at least by being alone at night I have learned to apprecite the way the sun shines on this dreadful world, but despite all of that, this is the story I remember.

I was very young, a wee lad really. I hadn't even gotten my first pubic hair. The world was full of adventure, and my pa; a hearty man with a profession in the lumber industry always made it a point to keep me working. Ma was not very different, she was a kind woman that didn't hesitate to help anyone if she were able to. Every night it was the same, dinner and then pa might read about something or another. it didn't much matter what he read; but I preferred the fantasy stories.

One night the wind was as strong as could be. Pa braved the cold and went to fetch the cattle; he was adamant about things like this. Ma was obviously worried sick, and so was I after Pa was gone for a few hours. I was barely old enough to do much but I reassured Ma by leaving the house and searching for him. What I found will likely scar my mind for the rest of my life. I found Pa, but he wasn't the same.

Pa's body was a mangled bloody mess with pieces missing and large claw marks. I hardly had any time to breath let alone hold back the bile that built up in that moment, but something pushed me forward. Ma let out a scream from the house and I bolted for the door. I was far too late to do anything however. I arrived and seen the creature. It was furry, and it stood on all fours much like a human but giant in comparison. Ma screamed and I tried to rush to her need, but the creature had other plans. I watched as its large maw ripped out Half of Ma's shoulder and then he ripped her in hald as all of her insides spilled upon the floor. The devils golden eyes found me.

I was too scared to run, my body was frozen and I knew I was going to die. I knew I would be just like them soon, and that this creature would get away. I clutched the cross Pa gave me and prepared for it. The Monster lunged in and like that out of instinct alone I held up the cross as it embedded itself into the creature; the same time its large fangs bit into my shoulder. The pain was something I could never forget even now when I rubbed at the scar on my shoulder, but what happened next got me believing in Gods.

The Monster fell over as parts of its body seemed to smoke out. Its body was growing weak now and its form was changing. Before long there was no monster, only a young girl shivering on the ground. My first thought was to beat her, to take the beatin stick and crush her skull; to serve her some kind of justice, but the eyes that stared up at me... They were not the same as the monsters. She was human, just like them and she was afraid. A soft whimper left her pale pink lips. "Im so sorry" as tears ran like rain.

That was a time in my life I learned something, and soon after the reason it all had happened became more and more clear. There was no cure for my curse, no way to rid myself of it, and I was forced to leave, but before the raids came and paid there condolences, before the inquisition got involved and burnt my house I discovered something about my parents.

Deep under the house they had a fairly large tunnel which lead to an even bigger chamber. By the wall markings it was all part of a cave. I couldn't help but follow the clues. What I found in that cave was what designed my future. The truth I found in that chamber was what decided who I am even today. Yes I learned from my tragedy, I grew from it and there is more than what I am telling you, but perhaps the rest of my origin is a story for a different day. Don't you agree Kyra?

 

[Andalais]

That is one puny little crossbow, Thomas, I hope you've got your rule of cool with you :b

 

[Windsong]

Equivalent of a medieval 9mm. Might not kill your opponent. But a bolt in the ribs is sure to slow them down.

 

[daird]

Have something up tomorrow

 

[Andalais]

Equivalent of a medieval 9mm. Might not kill your opponent. But a bolt in the ribs is sure to slow them down.

Physics say it would need hundreds of pounds of power in order to do anything at all. :b

Not criticizing, I just think it's funny . 3.

 

[Windsong]

Physics say it would need hundreds of pounds of power in order to do anything at all. :b

Not criticizing, I just think it's funny . 3.

I'd equate it more to being stabbed really hard.

Also could be magic.

 

[GreatWest]

Nessa Fellaryl


Appearance:

Spoiler

Art by Sakimichan.

Name: Nessa Fellaryl

Race: Elf

Age: 105 (human age: 21)

Calling: Witch

Equipment: - An old spell book;
- A bag full of herbs and other materials;
- Cases for potions;
- A potion book;
- Small daggers used for self-defense, or other things.

Affiliation: None. Even though she has helped the Syndicate in past situations, she is in no way officially associated to them, she merely gives her assistance in times of need. However, Nessa is willing to side up with the Syndicate during the war against Garibaldi's army.

Personality: Nessa doesn't have the politeness and elegance that all the other elves seems to have. While she does have the beauty, her sarcastic and potty mouth quickly wash the illusion away. The elf isn't a bad person, however, she won't jump at irrational heroic decisions just out of the goodness of her heart. She'll do what she deems best, and always with her own life at mind. With those who she loves, she'll be affectionately sarcastic and will always keep them at an arm's length, sometimes being extremely touchy. In another hand, with those who she holds no love, she'll be mercilessly snarky and will try to maintain them as far away as possible.

Biography: Nessa comes from a family of four: her father - Erucion, her mother - Selebil, her big sister - Mariel and herself. Since as a child, she has lived as the "Sister of Mariel", the imperfect child, the freak. Nessa didn't inherit the endlessly beauty of her mother, Mariel did, Nessa didn't inherit the gracefulness of her mother, Mariel did, Nessa didn't inherit the politeness of her mother, Mariel did. Elves of her village believed she wasn't an elf, but a human in the skin of one. At the start, the girl tried to put herself above the expectations of everyone, tried to prove them that she could be the elf that everybody wanted to be, that her sister was. However, this only resulted in laughter and jokes. Having found out about her affinity to magic, witchcraft in special, at that time, she used it to prank those who had insulted her. Sometimes they were harmless pranks, but others, cruel ones. The elves, realizing that those who messed with Nessa ended up losing their house, or their plantation, or just lost something dear to them, started to avoid the girl. Soon enough, Nessa found herself staring at the back of her own family. Feeling betrayed, she cast herself out of the village.

Nowadays, the elf accepted her odd but unique personality, and embraced it. She lives traveling, never stopping at a same city for more than a year. It has been a decade and five years since her casting out, a decade and five years of perfecting her witchcraft, a decade and five years of freedom, a decade and five years of loneliness. During all this time, she has made little errands for the Syndicate, a little job here, a little job there, running from the Ivory Inquisition, nothing new. And it's starting to drive her crazy. Nessa has been asking for a big adventure to light up her life, something to make her blood run with adrenaline, however, this bloody war that was coming was something that she never asked. Perhaps, it was too much an adventure for her.

 

[Andalais]

Also could be magic.

Nah, no need for magic. This is fantasy - rules of physics need not apply :P

 

[Andalais]

Nessa Fellaryl

Appearance:

Spoiler

Spoiler

Art by Sakimichan.

Name: Nessa Fellaryl

Race: Elf

Age: 105 (human age: 21)

Calling: Witch

Equipment: - An old spell book;

- A bag full of herbs and other materials;

- Cases for potions;

- A potion book;

- Small daggers used for self-defense, or other things.

Affiliation: None. Even though she has helped the Syndicate in past situations, she is in no way officially associated to them, she merely gives her assistance in times of need. However, Nessa is willing to side up with the Syndicate during the war against Garibaldi's army.

Personality: Nessa doesn't have the politeness and elegance that all the other elves seems to have. While she does have the beauty, her sarcastic and potty mouth quickly wash the illusion away. The elf isn't a bad person, however, she won't jump at irrational heroic decisions just out of the goodness of her heart. She'll do what she deems best, and always with her own life at mind. With those who she loves, she'll be affectionately sarcastic and will always keep them at an arm's length, sometimes being extremely touchy. In another hand, with those who she holds no love, she'll be mercilessly snarky and will try to maintain them as far away as possible.

Biography: Nessa comes from a family of four: her father - Erucion, her mother - Selebil, her big sister - Mariel and herself. Since as a child, she has lived as the "Sister of Mariel", the imperfect child, the freak. Nessa didn't inherit the endlessly beauty of her mother, Mariel did, Nessa didn't inherit the gracefulness of her mother, Mariel did, Nessa didn't inherit the politeness of her mother, Mariel did. Elves of her village believed she wasn't an elf, but a human in the skin of one. At the start, the girl tried to put herself above the expectations of everyone, tried to prove them that she could be the elf that everybody wanted to be, that her sister was. However, this only resulted in laughter and jokes. Having found out about her affinity to magic, witchcraft in special, at that time, she used it to prank those who had insulted her. Sometimes they were harmless pranks, but others, cruel ones. The elves, realizing that those who messed with Nessa ended up losing their house, or their plantation, or just lost something dear to them, started to avoid the girl. Soon enough, Nessa found herself staring at the back of her own family. Feeling betrayed, she cast herself out of the village.

Nowadays, the elf accepted her odd but unique personality, and embraced it. She lives traveling, never stopping at a same city for more than a year. It has been a decade and five years since her casting out, a decade and five years of perfecting her witchcraft, a decade and five years of freedom, a decade and five years of loneliness. During all this time, she has made little errands for the Syndicate, a little job here, a little job there, running from the Ivory Inquisition, nothing new. And it's starting to drive her crazy. Nessa has been asking for a big adventure to light up her life, something to make her blood run with adrenaline, however, this bloody war that was coming was something that she never asked. Perhaps, it was too much an adventure for her.

An elf? Excellent. Elf blood is delicious :P

Also, I don't know what's going on with the posts when I quote them, it just started recently.

 

[The Philosoraptor]

I'm thinking of making a new character. I don't feel too comfortable with Sitis any more. I'm still stealing from League of Legends though...

 

[Thomas McTavish]

@Andalais It doesn't have to be big. It's modded to be as powerful as a regular sized crossbow, and it's not like his main goal is to puncture the armor of and kill a knight in full platemail armor. If anything in combat, it's for a precise shot to the relatively unprotected throat of a common guard, or a poison bolt into the unarmored chest of a dignitary. Anything tougher than that and he can just sneak up and use his blades. It's more meant to launch the fire bolts into whatever needs to be set aflame, and the grappling hook bolt high enough to reach the lip of a wall.

 

[Andalais]

@Andalais It doesn't have to be big. It's modded to be as powerful as a regular sized crossbow, and it's not like his main goal is to puncture the armor of and kill a knight in full platemail armor. If anything in combat, it's for a precise shot to the relatively unprotected throat of a common guard, or a poison bolt into the unarmored chest of a dignitary. Anything tougher than that and he can just sneak up and use his blades. It's more meant to launch the fire bolts into whatever needs to be set aflame, and the grappling hook bolt high enough to reach the lip of a wall.

I know, and as I said, I'm not criticizing. Again, I just think it's funny. If you want to know why, watch this video.

 

[Thomas McTavish]

Skallagrim! :D Love that guy's vids. But yeah, Now I see why you find it funny. XD

 

[The Philosoraptor]

Andalais, Thomas McTavish, and Windsong:

Since I'm not using Sitis, I've come up with quite a few ideas and just need some input and favoritism. I like them all, which is why I made them. But I would like to know who other people find more appealing to RP with. Here they are:

• The Desert Necromancer, allied with no one and intent on gathering souls.
• The Demon Hemomancer, intent on initiating a world war regardless of who he has to serve.
• The Half-Dragon Sorceress, siding with the Syndicate in order to exact her revenge on Garibaldi for slaying not only those humans who she lived with, but also her draconic mother.
• The Straw Diabolist, a demonically-possessed scarecrow summoned to the Earth by Garibaldi.

Opinions? Again, I like all of them. This is just a poll of popularity.

 

[Andalais]

I say the Straw Diabolist. He'd be a fine replacement for Sitis.

Let me guess, you're gonna use Fiddlesticks for his image?

 

[The Philosoraptor]

I say the Straw Diabolist. He'd be a fine replacement for Sitis.

Let me guess, you're gonna use Fiddlesticks for his image?

Exactly. I'm debating Pumpkinhead or Classic. I was going to use Classic Shyvana and Ironscale Shyvana for the sorceress, and Aatrox Classic for the HemoDemon. The only non-LOL artwork is for the Desert Necro. I'd be using a piece of concept art for Prince of Persia's Sand Wraith.

 

[Andalais]

Exactly. I'm debating Pumpkinhead or Classic. I was going to use Classic Shyvana and Ironscale Shyvana for the sorceress, and Aatrox Classic for the HemoDemon. The only non-LOL artwork is for the Desert Necro. I'd be using a piece of concept art for Prince of Persia's Sand Wraith.

A pumpkin would be really out of place from my point of view, so it you're gonna have Fiddle, use classic.