Adventures of Caelereth

Archives => Old RPG Stories Archive => Topic started by: Tomás Valentín on August 27, 2005, 12:18:22 AM

Title: Character Descriptions (old thread)
Post by: Tomás Valentín on August 27, 2005, 12:18:22 AM
There are nine Main Characters in this story, separated into two parties. Party A (bad guys) and Party B (good guys).

Party A
Nystacea Korlsdaughter
Xaod Shadow
The Ghost
Darién Gulath

Party B
Tasul'i Rose
Elendilwyn Gwaihir
Luca the Thief

Guests (and party where guesting)
HeironImus Kupfdrubus (C)
Ishmaelion (C)
Tythle Fi Thea (C)
Mimi Dorgren (C)
Vince Dark (C)
Kain Cristar (A)
Yarg Anklebiter (B)
Bahran Bahran (B)

There may be other characters as Guest Characters join the story. Guest Characters may be someone that joins a party for a while, or simply someone the parties meet. Guest Characters may become Main Characters if we the mods feel that their character integrates well within their party and their personality compliments that of the other party members.

Post your character descriptions here, including the history (however long it may be). Main Characters should post their name at the top of the CD in gold and font size 4. (Select custom as the color and medium as the size and click "set font". Type gold in the text box that appears and click on ok.) Guest Characters should post their name at the top of the CD in skyblue and font size 4. (Follow the instructions above and type skyblue in the text box instead of gold.)

Your contact info (email, MSN, AIM, ICQ, etc...) should be posted above your CD, with a line to seperate it from the CD.  

Edited by: Tasuli Rose at: 2/7/06 9:38 am

Title: Re: Character Descriptions
Post by: Nystacea Korlsdaughter on August 27, 2005, 05:31:22 AM

Nystacea “Nasty” Korlsdaughter
Gender: Female
Age: 24
Race: Human
Tribe: Caltharian
Height: 1 Ped, 1 Fore, 2 Palmspans, 7 Nailsbreadths
Weight: 1 Pygge, 1 Od
Occupation: Thief, sometime prostitute
Title: Hedonist

Overview: Nystacea is a pleasure-seeker who will use any means to live the high life, as long as it provides immediate results.

Physical Appearance: Nasty has a long face, with a strong jaw and a pointed chin. She has pale skin, and light whitish blonde hair. It is curly, but quite thin and soft, like downy wool. She wears it scraped up into a strip which runs along the top of her head, held in place by combs, except for when she is drunk, when the combs often get lost, and it tumbles wispily down to her collarbone. She has large, hooded, light blue eyes; a long, sharp nose, and full but not pouty lips, which can curve in a cruel smile, or press into a hard line when she doesn’t get her way. She tints her lips red with kellberries, which leaves her mouth as a shocking slash of red in the midst of her otherwise pale features. She likes this as she thinks it makes her look at once sensual and deadly. Her weight tends to fluctuate due to her lifestyle- periods of overindulgence then periods of hard travel, but she tends to be generally relatively slim in general.

Clothes: Nystacea favours a red woolen hooded cloak trimmed with orange and golden beads. It is quite flamboyant – she bought it from a troupe of black butterfly rovers. She wears this at all times, unless stealth is necessary. The cloak is lined with brown fabric, so she can turn it inside out for slipping away from a scene, but when running from guards she has purpose bought clothes which she wears.

When in town she wears dresses under her cloak. These change regularly as she will often wreck them on a binge, and simply buy a new one. At the moment she wears an off-white one decorated with golden corsetry panels and trimmed with gold.

When in transit she wears plain trousers, a wide-scoop-necked singlet, and a high necked, button front tunic over that, depending on the season. These all muddy green or brown in colour, and are generally form fitting at the beginning of a journey, but baggy at the end. She will wear her red cloak over these when able, but at other times she wears a dark brown, deeply hooded cloak to hide her hair’s brightness from watchful eyes.

Personality: Nystacea is the youngest child of a loving but perhaps overly permissive family. She was spoilt as a child and now spends her life in pursuit of pleasure. She is innately selfish, but when things are on the up she is warm, fun, and full of life.

She has no problem being cruel to people or animals; she sees it as a means to her own ends, and finds it fun to wield that sort of power. She enjoys being cruel to people, but not as much as she enjoys a good party.

Nasty has quite a theatrical personality. She affects nobility, and will stand in poses which she thinks look regal, or at least sensual. Along with this theme, she also licks her lips a lot, and when she wishes to appear dangerous-but-nonchalant, she will clean her nails with a dagger.

She is fairly easily angered, especially if someone who knows her background reminds her of her less-than-noble roots.

Nasty travels Santharia looking for the best fun and the quickest money. She wants to have it all, and thinks living on the edge of the law is a small price to pay for her comfort, easy money, and fun. She thinks law abiding citizens who work for a living are saps, and that a person’s situation can’t be changed by hard work, that one needs to play outside the rules to get anywhere. As evidence, she cites her father – a hard worker with vast talent who despite these things, never “made it”.

Inasmuch as she worships anything, she worships Etherus, the God of pleasure. She doesn’t, however, hold with his religions, as that would require doing as the priests told her, and she is the only one to tell her what to do!

Nystacea is capable with her daggers.

She is beautiful and knows how to use this to her advantage.

Is intelligent, and able to plan deviously when not addled by her choice of entertainment.

She has a weakness for girl-children who are on the streets. They remind her of herself. She feels a kind of motherliness toward them. Could be easily upset if something happened to one whom she had met.

Weakness around her family. Loves them very much. Would be devastated if they knew what she did, let alone if something happened to them. When she is around them, reverts to role as a cosseted, and somewhat whiny youngest child.

Gets angry when someone says she isn’t noble, if she knows they know, and also when she doesn’t get her way.

Is very hedonistic. Likes to get drunk, and eat too much.

Can be distracted from a task/quest by the prospect of having fun. Could have used her talents to devise a long-term scheme to become well off in the long term, but almost always opts for the lesser, but instant, gratification.

Nystacea comes from a loving family but poor, Caltharians living in Voldar. Her father, Korl, is a woodcarver. He moved with his wife, Buthie, from a very small village in Enthronia (the town is situated at the edge of the River Wynein, at the point where it splits into two) to Voldar when they were in their late teens and early twenties respectively, to sell his pieces in the market. This enterprise went well for long enough for them to feel financially comfortable enough to start a family. They had three children: First a girl, then a boy, then finally another girl, Nystacea.

Times were good. Ennie, the eldest, stayed with her mother and learnt to cook and sew, and helped with looking after Nystacea. Draul, the son, went to work with his father, helping in the shop, and learning his trade. Nystacea was a bright little thing, and so when she was old enough, she was sent to a school. Each child was happy with their place in the family, and enjoyed their daily routine. Korl and Buthie loved them all, but particularly doted on their youngest, Nystacea, giving her anything she asked for.

One day, the small Nystacea strayed on her way home form school. She met some beggar-children who were sat in a circle on the ground, playing a game of Tomi Tall-Tales. They asked her to join them, thinking to make a fool out of this girl with clean clothes and a well-fed look to her. She did sit down and join in, but she was quicker than they had thought, and by the end of the game she had them all rolling in the dirt, howling with laughter. Nystacea was quickly accepted by the street-urchins after that, and it was then that she was first nick-named “Nasty”, simply because it was easier to say. She began skipping school to spend her days with her new friends, all unbeknownst to her family.

It was not many months later when the accident happened. Her father was pushed into the road by a stray shove from a bar fight that had spilt outside, causing him to fall under a cart. The wheels ran over his right hand and his left forearm. His right hand was broken in too many places to be healed properly, and both hands suffered damage which made it impossible for him to grip hard or wield small instruments. He still has some trouble with knife and fork, let alone his carving tools.

After the accident the family moved back to the village where her parents’ families lived. At first Nystacea tried to fit in, but she missed her friends and the urban street rat lifestyle terribly. In an extended family situation she was always being watched and asked to help out with chores. At the age of 14, she left home and went back to Voldar. She told her parents that she was leaving to become a scholar, but in reality she had no intention of doing any such thing. When she arrived she immediately sought out her friends. Welcoming her home, they told her about their somewhat different lifestyle now, and introduced her to both of what were to become her two professions. She excelled at both, especially when combined, and after some tutelage in the use of daggers from an old thief they knew, she became known for dispatching her more violent clients rather than just robbing them, giving her old nickname new meaning. She enjoyed the money her work brought in, and learned to spend it freely. She acquired a taste for fine clothes, fine liquor, and finer men. Over time the gang has dispersed, through jailing, deaths, fights between them, and movement to new places to escape guards. Nystacea has moved around a fair bit herself.

Since she left her family, she has had three pregnancies, the latter two of which ended in relatively early miscarriages, probably brought on by her hedonistic lifestyle or by the hard travelling between party stops. The first, however, did come to term. It was when she was young, living in Voldar as a prostitute/thief. The baby was born, and she took it to the Temple of Nehtor as soon as she could run again. She didn’t want to keep it, as it would ‘cramp her style’. She felt no sense of responsibility toward it as it was forced on her, as she saw it. She has no contact with it, and most of the time doesn’t even remember that she has a child out there, somewhere.

Weapons: Two daggers, kept sharp. These are the only things she never loses.

Belongings: Varies wildly, but she usually has lots of money. She carries a large wardrobe of clothes when she has a horse, and usually has a variety of carved hair-combs to keep her hair pinned up with. Often has some sort of liquor within easy reach.

Familiars: Nystacea sometimes has a horse, usually stolen.

Nasty Lady

Edited by: Nystacea Korlsdaughter at: 1/26/06 20:08

Title: Re: Aurelian (“Ace”) Cyrosá Asaen
Post by: The Ghost on August 27, 2005, 09:36:22 AM
Best way to Contact me is via PM or IRC or Email.
Email =

The Ghost
Name – Yggrasillas [eeh-GRAH-sill-ahs] Tanalian [tah-NAIL-ee-uhn] (Always refers to himself as The Ghost)

Gender – Male

Age – 418

Race – Elf

Tribe – Ahrhim

Occupation – Vagabond, wanderer, takes jobs as anything, or just steals.

Title – Blood Child [I would like this new title please, but only if the rest of the CD is approved]

Physical Appearance – The Ghost stands just shy of 2 peds, and weighs 1.6 Pygges. He is believed to be an albino (see Personality), for his skin lacks all pigmentation, as does his long, unkempt hair. His eyes, however, are striking in their oddness. There are a very dark karikrimson (Blood Red). This mixture of looks gives The Ghost an almost otherworldly aura about him, which is where he got his nickname. His face rarely shows emotion. His eyes, however, are always filled with the deepest and darkest of loathing. It is quite an intimidating sight.

Clothes – The only thing The Ghost wears is a tattered nor’sidian (black) robe and hood to shield his sensitive skin to the sun. His robe contains many hidden pouches in it, where he hides his money pouches and his dagger. Although few ever notice it, The Ghost never wears footwear, making it very easy to move silently. After doing this for nearly 3 centuries, The Ghost’s feet are heavily calloused, and small pebbles, sticks, or even shards of glass no longer bother him.

Personality – The Ghost is hate incarnate. He hates all those around him, be they man, woman, or child. He will not hesitate to murder those around him should the opportunity present itself. He lives only to cause pain to others, and he realizes that he cannot do this from a dungeon, so he is careful not to put himself on the bad sad of the law, and thus he has concocted his act.

His act is very simple. He always acts as if his right leg is crippled, and he has the swordcane to make it more realistic. He uses this in two ways. One way is as bait. A crippled beggar is a tempting target to any thief, especially if the crippled elf shows that he has money. He baits thieves into mugging him, and then summarily kills the thieves, and the authorities do not care. He also uses it to thwart the authorities. Nobody suspects a crippled beggar with a cane to be the man who just killed 3 people in the street, all the victims possessing sword wounds. He has perfected this act for nearly a century. It has become second nature and there is no chance that he will “slip up.”

The Ghost was born with his hate, although it became much more defined with the death of his family, but the actual reason for his hate is much more horrific. The Ghost is a blood child, part demon. His mother was possessed by a wraith (the details of the possession are stated in History) before he was born, and a part of the wraith was transferred to The Ghost. This has caused many “symptoms” in The Ghost, the most blatant being the bloodrages he has. His “albinism” is actually caused by the possession, which explains his eye color, and his feelings of hate are also fueled by the demon. In fact, both hate AND love are fueled by the demon, each being more pronounced whenever they are felt, although due to The Ghost’s past experiences, love is a dead emotion to him. He has no knowledge of this possession, and neither did his parents.

The Ghost rarely finds the need to talk, and then it is usually to deliver one last comment to someone he is about to kill. If he is speaking to someone he does NOT intend to kill in the immediate future, it is always with sarcasm and a total lack of respect to whomever he is speaking to.

Swordplay – Through over three centuries of practice, and two decades of military training, The Ghost has become exceedingly gifted in the use of his sword and its scabbard. He can use it effectively as both a sword and a club, and can even wield both at the same time (the sword and the empty scabbard, for it has been hardened) with a great amount of skill. Three centuries of constant fights have proven that The Ghost's skill with a sword is something to be feared greatly. He can also use his dagger exceptionally well, either in melee or as a thrown weapon.

His Act – The Ghost always acts as if his right leg is slightly injured, hobbling about as if he is crippled. He uses this to make everyone underestimate him, be it criminals (people he can kill with the excuse that they tried to mug him) or be they authoritive (people rarely suspect that the crippled beggar hobbling down the street was the person who just robbed three people in a crowd blind). He has used this act for over a century, and has it perfected so much that he no longer has to think about it.

His appearance – The Ghost makes use of his frightful appearance to scare and intimidate those who are easily frightened. He also enjoys the fact that the last thing his victims see is his otherworldly visage staring back at them. The looks of horror on their faces as they die please The Ghost very much.

His Strength – Like all Ahrhim elves, The Ghost is stronger than most people, and A LOT stronger than he looks. He uses this strength for devastating blows with his sword and scabbard (club). He is stronger than most humans (but just as strong as your average Ahrhim), and uses that strength to his advantage.

Animosity – The Ghost’s life has led him to have many, many enemies. He has done many heinous and vile acts, and many people would gladly see him dead. He must wait decades to return to towns in which he has killed, on the off chance that someone recognizes him. Luckily, he is a long-lived elf, and waiting those decades is possible for him, if an extreme hassle.

Bloodrage/flashbacks – The possession of the demon causes The Ghost to go into a “bloodrage” in times of great stress. A bloodrage is like a blackout, he loses all conscious thought, but instead of going unconscious, The Ghost attacks anything and everything he sees. He loses all control over his actions, and all training he has had goes away. Often times, (but not always) he just throws down his sword during these rages and fights like an animal; with tooth and nail. These bloodrages can be caused by anything that causes major amounts of stress, but they are most often caused when The Ghost has flashbacks of his family’s murder. Whenever these flashbacks occur, the stress causes The Ghost to go into a bloodrage, where he attempts to destroy everything around him in a murderous rage. If this occurs while anyone with ANY weapons training at all is around, The Ghost will be in alot of trouble.

His Temper – The Ghost will use any excuse to pick a fight, be it an offhand comment someone near him makes about his appearance, someone bumping into him, or merely someone referring to him as “Ghost” instead of “The Ghost”. One day he may bite off more than he can chew, and attack the wrong person.

His Appearance - While The Ghost enjoys the intimidation and scare factor involved in how he looks, it also causes him quite a few problems as well. When entering a town, the guards are often wary of this strange looking, phantom-like elf.

The Sun – Due to lack of pigmentation caused by the possession, The Ghost’s skin is extremely sensitive to sunlight. He burns very easily and the chances for skin diseases are very high. He must always keep his skin covered, which is why he has the robe and keeps his hair long. Due to two centuries living in the dense Almatrar, The Ghost's eyes are stung bye the light of the sun, something that has yet to completely go away. It is hard for him to see in the sunshine without his eyes causing him pain, but during combat he willingly goes through this torment.

Camaraderie – Because of all the fights The Ghost picks, it is possible that he picks a fight with someone whose friends want to join in on the brawl. This leaves him outnumbered, which is always a bad thing. He must always be careful of the fights he picks, and his urges to pick them.

Weapons – The Ghost carries no obvious weapons on him. He does, however, keep a dagger hidden within the folds of his robes, and he always has his swordcane. His swordcane is a custom made sword a sheath made to look like a cane when sheathed. The wood of the sheath is hardened, so it can be used as a club if need be. It requires little effort to pull the sword from it’s scabbard, and only the most scrutinizing searches of the actual scabbard would show that it is not in fact a cane, but a sword.

Belongings – The Ghost only owns his robe, his swordcane and dagger, and any money he might have looted, stolen, or (doubtfully) earned.

History – The Ghost’s history actually starts 37 years before his birth. His parents were living in the Almatrar forest, as they always had. A wizard lived in the same village, and he was in the employ of the crime boss, Tenechlon. The wizards name was Denuin. Tenechlon had hired him for his knowledge in demonology. Granted he wasn’t an expert, but they’re were no experts. Tenechlon hoped to someday have Denuin summon demons to fight for Tenechlon, but both knew that was a long ways off. They were both elves, however, they had time to be patient.

During one of his experiments, Denuin actually managed to summon a wraith, one of the weaker demons roaming the Netherworlds. Denuin, however, was not strong enough to control it, and it just floated off. It would have possessed the mage then and there, but Denuin was not completely unprepared, and he had certain precautions up.

The wraith did not have to go far to find a host. He soon found an elf maiden, one who would later become Yggrasillas’ mother, and possessed her. Of course the woman never knew of this possession, but it was definitely there. It did not affect her strongly, only making her more prone to mood swings.

Nearly four decades later, Yggrasillas was born. Unbeknownst to the parents, Yggrasillas also “inherited” the demon, which had given part of itself to the child during birth. Yggrasillas became a Blood Child. His skin and hair lacked pigmentation because of this. Albinism, however, is common in the Ahrhim tribe, and his skin and hair color (or lack thereof) was not surprising.

His childhood was a good one. He had many mood swings and he didn’t have very many friends, but he wasn’t necessarily disliked. His home life was good. Life was good.

Yggrasillas met a girl when he was about 80. He soon fell in love with her, and the demon that was passed on to him fueled that love, and made it into an extreme. They were married, and had two children, a boy and a girl. The demon fueled Yggrasillas’ love for his children as well. Yggrasillas became a local authority figure, a sheriff of sorts. He was formally trained as a swordsman and given basic military training. He took to this training quickly, and showed himself to be a very talented and skilled fighter. Life was better than ever.

Then, about 20 years later, Yggrasillas was on a patrol, when he spotted a young woman getting mugged. Yggrasillas rushed to save the young woman, and finally did, but he had to kill the attacker in the process. This did not bother Yggrasillas too much, for the man deserved it. Yggrasillas had done what he had to do.

About a week later, Yggrasillas was returning from patrol very late. All the lights in his house were out, this did not surprise Yggrasillas, considering what time it was. He entered the house slowly, not wanting to wake his children. When he opened the door, however, he saw to his horror that his children won’t be wakened. They were lying in the front room, gruesomely mutilated; their bodies hacked almost beyond recognition. Yggrasillas screamed his wife’s name, and ran to their bedroom. The sight there was even more horrifying than the last.

His wife lay on his bed, in a position that showed she had been ravaged, her torso and head had been slashed and beaten. Blood was splattered all over the walls. On the desk there was a note. It said:

You have killed a family member of mine, and for this travesty, I have taken your family from you. Your parents are also dead, and their house burned. Your life will be spared, so you need not fear that. That is my generosity.

Hate flowed through Yggrasillas, fueled by the demon inside of him. He vowed revenge. He spent a century asking questions, and doing favors, and joining ranks, and all other sorts of actions until finally he was firmly entrenched in the criminal underworld. It was then that he found out who had ordered the killing of his family. It was none other than Tenechlon himself, the crime lord of the area. The mugger Yggrasillas had killed was Tenechlon’s nephew.

Yggrasillas was patient however, he had waited a century, and he could wait awhile longer. He found out where Tenechlon lived, and he found out where Tenechlon’s parents lived. He then made his move.

Yggrasillas first went to the parents’ house. He murdered them both and set fire. He then went to Tenechlon’s house, while Tenechlon was out. As he opened the door, Tenechlon’s wife came in to greet him, thinking Yggrasillas was her husband. When she saw that it wasn’t, a look of horror came across her face, and she was about to scream, but Yggrasillas stopped her with a single sentence.

Scream and watch your children die.

The children were obviously asleep at this time, for they had not made an appearance as of yet. The mother closed her mouth, and a look of resignation came to her face. The Ghost gave her a command:

Come with me.

He took her to the bedroom and proceeded to ravage her. When he was finished, he killed her, and mutilated the body. He then went to the children’s room, and killed them in their sleep. He moved the children’s bodies to the front of the house, and went back to the bedroom, and hid in a closet, to await Tenechlon’s return. He did not have to wait long.

Tenechlon’s reaction to finding his murdered family was remarkably similar to Yggrasillas’ own, with the notable exception of not finding a note on the dresser, instead, in his bedroom, he found Yggrasillas himself. As soon as Yggrasillas made his presence known, Tenechlon attacked him in a murderous rage. Yggrasillas quickly dispatched him, and knocked him unconscious, and tied the crime lord to a chair. He then brought out of his knapsack a dagger, torches, and bandages, and waited for Tenechlon to regain consciousness. While he waited, he heated up the dagger with the torch. He did not have to wait long. When Tenechlon awakened, Yggrasillas said:

Do you know who I am? You took my family, over a century ago, much the same way as I have taken yours. Your parents are dead, and their house will be burned to ashes. Like you, I will show generosity, and spare your life, but my vengeance is still not appeased. For the century it took for me to find you, I will take more. But know, if you ever come for me, I will return and destroy you.

With that, Yggrasillas took the heated blade and proceeded to remove all of Tenechlon’s fingers, his feet, his left ear, his genitalia and his right eye. Had it not been for Yggrasillas’ military medical training, Tenechlon would have died. As it was Tenechlon lived, he had gone unconscious again due to the shock and pain, and Yggrasillas left him at a healing temple, then set fire to his house and his parents’ house. Yggrasillas then left the Almatrar.

He started traveling towards the town of Yorick. On the way, he noticed that he started having flashbacks of walking into his house and finding his family murdered. He would black out during these periods. Being alone in the wilderness, it did not matter much. He did not know it, but these were the first of the bloodrages caused by the demon inside.

Yggrasillas soon entered Yorick, and spent a few weeks there. However, soon after his entry into the city, Yggrasillas was walking down a crowded street, when he had another flashback. He blacked out again.  When he came out of it, his sword was in his hand, and people were running away. He looked to the ground and saw multiple dead bodies, including a little girl at his feet, still holding her doll. Yggrasillas ran, and hid.

This became a common occurrence, but all in the town of Yorick, and since Yorick is not an especially large town, Yggrasillas was bound to get caught. He was caught after awhile and sentenced to a public execution. Yggrasillas was happy for this. Perhaps death would be an escape from a life of pain and anger. But Fate decided differently. There was an elven woman named Alinna who was a respected member of the community for her charity work, and one thing she did was talk to the condemned, to try and give them peace before they died. She met with Yggrasillas, before he was sentenced to die. She talked to him for days, and finally decided that he was not to blame, and that he could even be redeemed. She went to the local magistrate and begged that he be released into her care. Because she was a citizen of good standing, the magistrate acquiesced. Yggrasillas was sent to live with Alinna.

They lived together for months, and Yggrasillas fell in love with her. The love was intensified by his possession. She had also fallen in love with him, and they decided that they were to be wed. Yggrasillas was even allowed to carry his sword once more. Yggrasillas had not had a flashback since meeting Alinna, and they were both happy.

Then, 3 weeks before the weeding was scheduled to occur, Yggrasillas and Alinna were shopping at the market, when Yggrasillas saw a young elven boy with his mother. The boy looked remarkably like Yggrasillas’ murdered son. Suddenly, Yggrasillas was not in Yorick. He was back at his house in the Almatrar, walking in and finding his dead family. His vision blurred, and when he came to, he saw that the elven boy a woman had been killed, spitted through with Yggrasillas’ own sword.

As had Alinna.

Again, Yggrasillas ran and hid. He hid and stole for weeks to survive. Then he saw the wanted posters. The witnesses didn’t know his name, but the description they provided gave him a new name. The posters showed a picture of Yggrasillas under the alias under the alias ‘The Ghost.’ Yggrasillas thought it fitting, and decided to never again go by his name, to only be known as The Ghost. For Yggrasillas died that day with Alinna. Now, wrapped in his hate, a hate fueled by the wraith, he was irredeemable. He was lost, forever to be a purge against those who lived. He decided then and there that Alinna’s death was not his fault, but the fault of the world, and decided to cause pain to all those living in it.

The Ghost left Yorick then, and went to the city of Hog, on the borders of the Almatrar. He stayed there for a few weeks, making work as a mercenary. Then, after a few weeks, he was staying at an inn, when an elf walked in. He saw The Ghost, and his eyes went wide as he yelled:

Tenechlon has pay handsomely for your death!

With that, the foolish would-be assassin attacked The Ghost. He was dispatched quite easily. But this angered The Ghost. He had warned Tenechlon about seeking revenge. The Ghost would just have to show Tenechlon what it means to earn The Ghost’s ire….again.

The Ghost returned to the Almatrar, and easily located the crime lord again. After The Ghost’s attack, Tenechlon was always with his two bodyguards, and because of his condition, he was always in a unique chair. It’s legs have been replaced with wheels, to accommodate his lack of feet. The Ghost was patient, and waited for his opportunity, and then struck. He killed both guards quickly, and then knocked Tenechlon unconscious. The Ghost then rolled the crime lord back to his house, and waited for him to awaken. When Tenechlon did, The Ghost lit a torch and said:

You were told not to try and find me. Did you think I would not come back? Did you think I would forget? Did you think you were safe? I am the darkness between the stars. I am the silence between whispers. I am there in your darkest of dreams. I am The Ghost, and you cannot escape.

With that, The Ghost set fire to Tenechlon’s wheelchair, and his house after that. He set fire to three more houses and temple, then started a forest fire, thus destroying every last memory of Yggrasillas Tanalian. He then left the Almatrar, never to return.

He has been wandering the continent ever since, going from town to town. He would have his bloodrages and kill someone, and have to leave that town. It mattered little to him, for he would just move to the next town over. He continued doing this for each town he entered, slowly traveling the entire continent over two centuries. He would return to towns he hadn’t been to in decades, for their memory of him had faded, as had their short lives.

About a century ago he started his act, and had the swordcane made. He has it remade every decade or so to make sure it is in good shape. He has perfected this act to an art over the century he has done it.

The Ghost continues to travel from town to town, causing all sorts of mayhem wherever he can. He lives merely for the sake of causing pain to others, be it merely words, or be it stealing, killing, arson, rape, or anything else that comes to his now dark and twisted mind. He will continue this existence until finally he is killed; for it is unlikely that one of his personality will die of old age.

Edited by: The Ghost  at: 8/28/05 20:25

Title: Ratdragon
Post by: ratdragon on August 27, 2005, 10:43:22 AM


Name: Ratdragon
Gender: Male
Race: Elf
Tribe: Qualhoirhim
Age: 239 (looks 27.5 years of age)
Title: Blade Singer of the Silver Sword
Occupation: Bowmaker, Mercenary
Height: 2 peds
Weight: 1 Pygge, 1 Heb, 3 Ods, 4 Mut.

Overview: A lithe elf with high dexterity and finesse with the bow.

Appearance: Ratdragon stands at an average height of 2 peds. His body is lithe and slender. As is customary for elves, his supple body is unusually muscular and durable. His light frame hides the fact that he is actually well built, being Qualhoirhim he is better built than most elven tribes. His smooth skin is pale golden in color. The face is angular and well defined, with an exotic beauty. His handsome, fragile features include high cheek bones, long, sharply pointed ears, and slanted, almond shaped eyes. The irises are a deep violet, holding a mischeivious light. Unlike most elves, he wears his hair fairly short. His golden hair is worn spiked, each spike tipped with purple.

Clothes: Ratdragon wears a dark purple tunic trimmed in gold. The the tunic is belted at the waist, and splits from there to reach to his hips. The tunic's sleeves reach to the elbows. The belt is made of a thick, intricate chain, the links gold and violet. His pants are emerald leather and tuck into his boots. The boots are made of leather, with pointed toes and iron shod soles. They reach half-way to his knees and are a deep purple in color.  Over his shoulders he wears a high collared cape, a deep, royal purple in color. Around his hairline he wears a silver headband. He also possesses a dark purple, hooded cloak for the cold, or when he wants to appear mysterious.

Armor: Ratdragon's battle gear is as follows. He wears elven chainmail, deep violet in color. The helm covers his neck and head like a hood, casting a shadow over his face.The chainmail covers his torso and arms. It is belted at the waist where it splits to flow to his heels. The hood has a hole on either side for his long ears to come through. The chainmail is very light, weighing about as much as leather, allowing for him to use his agility in battle. His ears are protected by metal plates, covering the back and sides of the ear. He wears gloves of violet chainmail as well, and he still wears his iron shod boots.

Weapons: Ratdragon's primary melee weapon is his longsword, Steel Song. The hilt and pommel is golden in color. The hilt is carved to resemble a talon on each end. The blade is long and slender, silver in color with a razor sharp tip. This sword is sheathed at his waist.

Ratdragon's favored weapon is his bow, Oath Hawk. It is a composite longbow, built with a recurve, meaning it stays in shape even when unstrung. It has a much better range then normal bows or short bows, and can go entirely through a foe at close distance. The bow is pure white, intricate swirling designs mad of silver decorate the bow. Over his shoulders he wears a quiver of 20 arrows, each arrow has a steel head and is fletched with eagle feathers.

Ratdragon also possesses five silver coated daggers. Three are belted at his waist, one also in each boot.

Jewelry: Around his neck, Ratdragon wears two necklaces. One is an intricate silver chain, with a pendant depicting a silver sword at the end. The second is a thick, golden chain, made of rectangular interlocking links. On his left index finger he wears a silver ring carved to resemble interlocking feathers.

Personality: Ratdragon is usually cheerful and very social. He enjoys talking to travellers and sharing stories. He has a slightly mischeivious nature, having a chaotic side. He enjoys danger and excitement.
He is polite and kind, always trying to do his best to help others. He is gallant and genorous. His trust is difficult to gain, and he is cautious when giving his loyalty.

He is also a daredevil. He had a reckless nature and can't seem to sit still for long. He tries to keep his patience, but has a tendancy to lose his temper. Ratdragon enjoys proving himself, and showing others his skill. He is stubborn at times, and overconfident. He tries to force himself to do more then he is capable of, and often drives his body too hard. He hates running from a fight or challenge, and doesn't like to listen to those who tell him to do so.

Overall, Ratdragon is a kind and caring person. He is prone to be sarcastic at times, but is usually pleasant to be around. He gets nervous around females, and usually only associates with them after observing them for awhile.

Familiars: Serving as his mount is Rip Fang, an O'quader riding snake. Rip Fang is huge, as his species is, being 15 peds long and a ped in diameter. He is a dull yellow in color, with red, black, and orange stripes along the length of his body. His eyes are huge and yellow, with a friendly look in them. Rip Fang is usually docile and friendly, as is customary for his species, and is very low maintnence as he even catches his own prey.

Ratdragons second pet is a large eagle, Devastatrix. He is  1 Ped, 4 Nailsbreadths from the tip of his beak to the end of his tail, weighing 15 ods, with a wingspan of 1 Ped, 2 Fores, 3 Palmspans, 1 Nailsbreadth, 2 Grains. His large golden eyes are on either side of his head, his beak is 8 nailsbreadth in length, golden in color and hooked at the end. His strong feet are a golden yellow, scaled with jet tipped talons. The feathered legs are black. The rest of his plumage is dark brown with the nape of his neck a dull golden color (If you havn't guessed, this a a golden eagel). Devastatrix was given to Ratdragon by his mother, who had bought it from an Eyelian. Deva was bought as a trained chicklet. Deva is loyal to Ratdragon, as he spoils and pampers him. Deva hunts for himself, but enjoys treats such as fruits and sweet meats. He is slightly headstrong like his master, and can be arrogant at times. Deva is also trained to attack on command, but demands much attention and grooming after such demands.


Dextrous- Ratdragon has trained long and hard to refine his elven grace. His dexterity is very good, making him difficult to hit. He is very agile, and uses this to his advantage. He is difficult to catch in a fight, and hard to keep track of, making it easy for him to quickly take out an opponent.

Bow Skill- Ratdragon's ability with the bow is far beyond most. His dexterity aids him in his skill with the bow, and he has trained himself for decades in use of the it. He can hit targets in vulnerable areas from far distances with rapid speed.

Defensive- Ratdragon's fighting style is mainly defensive. He is skilled in parrying, dodging, blocking, feinting, and disarming. He knows how to twist out of the way of an attack, and also how to roll with a blow.  He is trained to return and counter attacks, making it deadly for a foe to strike at him.


Hot-Headed- Ratdragon is fairly hot-headed, aloof, and arrogant at times. He is stubborn, and doesn't like to be told he's wrong. He can lose his temper in an argument, and doesn't take insults well. He has been known to get into many fights for little provocation.

Offense Lack- Ratdragon has concentrated on his defensive skills, but neglecting in the offensive. He isn't very skilled in attacking an opponent, and has difficulty fighting hand-to-hand and actually landing blows. Even most of his slashes and lunges are mainly defensive, used to keep the enemy at bay or drive them back.

Dare Devil- Ratdragon loves to prove himself, and hates to show weakness. He doesn't give up easily, and often attempts tasks that are beyond him. He doesn't give up a challenge easily, and relishes a good dare.

History: Ratdragon was born in the Zeiphyrian Forest, living in Elving; the base of the Qualhoirhim navy. Ratdragon lived with his father; Quellos, his mother; Starflower, and his older brother; Xiloscient. His mother was a bowmaker, his father and his brother served in the Qualhoirhim navy. Ratdragon spent his early years working with his mother, making intricate bows. He learned how to string a bow, how make it's shape just right, he learned how to fletch an arrow and make it the proper length and weight. His reckless nature was ill-suited to bowmaking, however. He always longed for more, more excitement, more adventure, more prestige.

He spent much of his free time practicing with the bow. He picked targets, certain parts of a tree or rock usually. This held little excitement however, and he soon hit all these targets with ease. He decided to go hunting in the Zeiphyrian Forest. Hiding behind a large tree, he waited for prey to come by. Soon enough, his sharp ears detected a rustling, and a large boar came through the brush. Ratdragon quickly took aim and fired, unfortunately striking it in the leg. This drove the boar into a charging rage, causing Ratdragon to flee. He decided instead to hide on a low branch, he was afraid of heights, to better protect himself. Gradually, he became a better shot, learning how to aim, listen for movement, how to hold your breath as you fire so as not to off-set the shot. His friends dared him to bring back bigger and bigger trophies, and he did so. He brought bears and boars by the dozens, his skills in archery increasing daily, as did his pride. At the age of 23, his older brother encouraged him to join one of the archery units in the Qualhoirhim army, and possibly become a mounted force (he didn't bother suggesting he join the navy, Ratdragon was prone to sea-sickness). Ratdragon eagerly agreed.

He was quickly accepted into the second archery unit. Xiloscient (his brother if you weren't paying attention earlier) offered to teach Ratdragon sword play. Ratdragon agreed, and was trained by Xiloscient and a few of his brother's battle partners. They taught him the basic fighting moves, which he easily mastered. He learned defensive particularly well, and practiced his defensive skills ernestly. The other elven soldiers dueled him often, teaching him to correct the errors he made. Ratdragon did excercises to improve his dexterity and strength. Xiloscient and his fellows helped Ratdragon to improve his hand-eye-coordination, his flexibility, his physical strength, and his dodges. He soon developed a unique fighting style. This style consisted of rolls, dodges, blocks parries, swerves, jumps, fancy footwork, and intricate spins and whirls. His movements were beautiful to behold, graceful and fluid. As he spun his sword through the air and whirled it with great speed it emitted a high pitched, eerie whistle; hence the nick name Blade Singer.

Ratdragon practiced sword play as well as archery during his free time now, continuing his excercises. He frequently dueled his friends to heighten his skill, and gained the admiration of his fellows. Several of the elven maidens found him charming and tried to win his favor; but he wasn't comfortable around them and was ignorant of their attempts to court him. He did however make friends with one such elven maiden, Gemflower. He met her while he was dueling his fellow soldiers, watching in the crowd. They quickly became best friends, Ratdragon quickly attracted by her charming smile and large, luminous eyes. She was a 3rd level wind mage, having recently returned home from Ximax. He was also ignorant of her wooing, but she didn't mind. They made each other laugh and were always there for each other.

One day, when Ratdragon was 115, Gemflower decided to return to Ximax to continue her training and insisted that Ratdragon accompany her. She invited him to bring his family as well. Ratdragon instantly agreed, and told his family. His father and brother eagerly agreed, wanting to see the great city of magic. His mother declined the offer, wanting to stay home and work. Xiloscient invited two of his friends from the navy to join him, they planned to find fellow warriors to train with and increase their skill.
That night the group left, Gemflower, Ratdragon, Quellos, Xiloscient and his two friends. When they were a little more than a league from the main part of the forest, they were ambushed. Stepping from behind a tree was an elf with jet black hair that reached to his shoulders, olive colored skin, and dark blue robes. Ratdragon immediately recognized him as Vranthis, an elf who was banished from the forest due to the fact that he was plotting against the Qualhoirhim and aiding allies. He was caught by Quellos, Ratdragon's father, and had somehow gotten word of their departing from the forest. He was a mage, though Ratdragon didn't know his level.Drawing up beside him was a large man wearing a large steel helm and half-plate armor. A shaggy brown beard showed from his helm. He had a large sword in his hand, and grinned beneath his helmet. Quickly surrounding these two was a group of warriors wearing studded leather and rusty swords. Ratdragon counted eight of them.

Smiling nastily, Vranthis stared at the group with his dark green eyes. Laughing he spoke, Hello Quellos, my dear friend, it seems we finally meet again. You know me of course, this he says pointing to the man beside him, is Gorsh. He'll be aiding me in killing you all today, as will his soldiers. He will of course receive a handsome payment. He said grinning evilly.

Suddenly, one of the soldiers let loose a crossbow bolt, the bolt slamming into the shoulder of one of Xiloscient's friends. Ratdragon quickly drew his own bow, sending an arrow into the man's chest in the blink of an eye. The offender dropped his crossbow and toppled to the ground. Meanwhile, Vranthis concentrated on a spell, making a fist in front of him. Ratdragon slung his bow over his shoulder and drew his sword, As did Quellos and Xiloscient and his unharmed friend, and charged at the enemy while Gem Flower concentrated on a spell.
Ratdragon fought along side Xiloscient. One of the soldiers was trying vainly to get through Ratdragon's defensive moves, and was quickly run through, overcome by the elf's fancy footwork. And so the fight continued, until the remaining soldiers had been dispatched, leaving only Grosh and Vranthis. Grosh shook his head ruefully, and leaped at Xiloscient, swinging his sword in great arcs. Xiloscient tried to parry the blow,s but his sword was sliced in two, and his chest slashed open as he fell to the ground. Ratdragon screamed out in rage, throwing himself onto Grosh in a fury. Grosh was caught of guard, and sustained several nasty gashes along his arms and chest, unable to overcome the elf's swfitness. But Ratdragon soon learned that he lacked in the offensive, and could only fall back as Grosh fell upon him, grinning hideously beneath his helm. Vranthis released his spell, sending a blast of air toward Ratdragon, hitting him squarely in the chest and pulling him from his feet, landing him heavily several feet away.As he lay there breathless, he watched as Gem Flower ran forward, shouting in anger, clapping her hands together and causing several small bolts of lightning to descend from the sky and strike Vranthis and Gorsh. The human fell to his knees, his armor crackling and beard bristling, but Vranthis seemed little affected. So, you want to play games girl? Well, you lose! He said cruelly, extending his hand as a bolt of lightning flew from his fingers. The bolt hit Gem Flower in the chest and lifted her  off her feet. Ratdragon watched her fall to the ground, limply. He watched as his father charged at Vranthis, and then fell into unconsciousness.

When Ratdragon woke he found the entire group dead, except for Xiloscient's friend that had been shot by the crossbow bolt. His name was Bral, and he had been knocked unconsious in  a fight with Gorsh. Ratdragon and Bral made their way back home, where they recovered. Ratdragon trained harder than ever to increase his skills, for the day when he would get revenge against Gorsh and Vranthis. Ratdragon still remained fairly cheerful, but there was a sadness in his eyes that wasn't there before. He left his home to travel the land in search of Gorsh and Vranthis, and has still not found them. He tries to be as gallant as he can and right as many wrongs as he comes across in his travels.

Edited by: Tomas Valentin at: 8/27/05 18:25

Title: Xaod
Post by: Xaod Shadow on August 27, 2005, 12:24:22 PM
The easiest way to contact me would just be to use my santharian address.

Xaod Shadow

Name: Xaod Shadow
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Tribe: Helcrani
Age: 38
Height: 1.7 peds
Weight:1 Pygge, 1 Hafeb, 3 Ods, 9 Mut.
Occupation: Assassin
Title: Silent Stalker

Overview: A cunning assassin that uses stealth and trickery to deal silent death.

Appearance: Xaod is average height, with a lean build. His body reminds one of a predatory cat, in the way he moves, the way he holds himself constantly ready to pounce. His right eye is ice blue, his left eye is missing . Where the missing eye used to be, Xaod now has a slanted ruby eye instead. This gives him a disturbing look, making his gaze disconcerting. His short hair is jet black. His handsome face has sharp features. His skin is tan. These features are rarely seen however. A dark hood covers his head and flows down to his neck, casting a shadow over his face. A black cloth is wrapped around his mouth, nose, and throat. This leaves only his glinting eyes to be seen of his face. A jet black cloth hangs from his shoulders, splitting at the chest and flowing to his elbows. A long-sleeved black tunic with iron gray trimming covers his torso under the cloth, going a little past his waist. This is tucked into short leather gloves dyed black. Black cotton pants cover his legs, loose fitting. Black cloth with soft leather soles cover these pants up to his knees, serving as boots. A black belt covers his waist, with a strap that goes diagonally across his shoulders. This strap has six holsters, each of which has a black-hilted, gray-bladed, dagger. A short sword of matching colors is at his left hip. A wickedly curved black dagger is at his right hip. A black cape flows from his neck, the bottom resembling bat wings. This dark figure seems to absorb all light into him, and to many victims appears to be the very specter of death itself.

When not on a job, or just simply wanting to blend into a crowd or gossip, Xaod wears a black cotton tunic with short sleeves, and brown leather pants.

Weapons: Xaod's six throwing daggers are well balanced, and used to take out targets from a distance. Each dagger is black hilted, and gray bladed.

The short sword is for fighting in close quarters, used in combination with his fighting skills. It is also black hilted and gray bladed.

The wickedly curved dagger is used for sneak attacks. The dagger is longer than his throwing daggers, but shorter than the short sword. It's edge is serrated, and the blade has a crescent shaped curve.

Xaods prized weapons however, are his gloves. On his left hand he has Razorpaw. This glove has two razors riveted to each finger. His right hand wears pain grip. This glove has thin steel spikes sewn into the palm.

Personality: Xaod's personality is usually silent. He prefers not to talk to much, and mostly stays to himself. His mien is grim, as is his sense of humor. He does, however, like to associate when he needs information. He knows the working of the human mind, and can drill you for information just by pleasantly inquiring. He is slightly insane at times, and has a twisted way of thinking.


Tricks of the Trade- Xaod is a professional in his art. He is skilled in scaling walls, sneaking, hiding in the shadows, back-stabbing, poisoning, disguise, and lock-picking. Anything to aid him in getting an assignment done.

Charm- Xaod knows how to please people. He can earn ones trust, and make one think he was their best friend.

Hand-To-Hand He is skilled in hand-to-hand combat. He knows that sometimes one is caught, and cannot always rely on concealment. His kicks are deadly, knowing vulnerable spots to hit. He knows just where nerves are centered and knows how to hit them with disabaling skill.

Stealth- Xaod is an expert at stealth. He can be silent as a cat on the hunt. He sticks to the shadows when on an assignment, few ever knowing he's there until too late. He has turned his backstabbing ability into an art, and can catch an opponent off-guard with a disabaling strike.

Weapon Finesse- Xaod is fairly skilled with his throwing daggers, able to hit vulnerable areas from medium range. His skill with the short sword isn't very refined, usually used as a last resort. He is trained well with his curved dagger, able to sneak up on an opponent and give them disabling blows. Xaod's favored weapons are his gloves, Razorpaw and Pain Grip. Xaod uses these with his hand-to-hand skill for a painful combination. He is able to quickly render an opponent dazed with staggering blows while wielding these gloves.


Mood Change- Though usually charming, He can change mood drastically in seconds. This causes him to loose his cool, often having bad effects on people he happens to hold his knife to.

Overconfidence- Xaod is quite proud of himself, sometimes overly so. He often gets himself into something he later wishes he hadn't, and under-estimates his opponents at times.

Travelling Since he relies on stealth, Xaod is reluctant to use horses. He doesn't like to use any type of transportation, this makes it slow for him to travel on far away assignments.

One-On-One- Though Xaod is an excellent assassain and even a good hand-to-hand fighter, he has trouble fighting groups of people. His tactics are made mainly for singular targets, and he cannot concentrate on too many opponents at once, this has caused him difficulties in the past, as he often gets caught up in multi-person fights.

One Eye Xaod's missing eye can be a great hinderance to him. He obviously cannot see out of his left eye, so he can be caught off guard from the side.

History: Xaod's Beginning-
Xaod Shadow was raised in Milkengrad, being the Helcrani that he was. His mother and father treated him kindly all the time. They were a rich noble family, His father a retired knight. Xaod's father was still an important diplomat, sent to negotiate with other cities. His father had attempts on his life several times. The former Helcrani knight had made several enemies in his career, serving as a guard as well. His father always managed to fend them off however. One day, when Xaod was twelve, his father had returned from his last job.  That night, a group of assassains slew him in his sleep. They captured Xaod and his mother, taking them to their employer.

                         Xaod's Darkening-

Xaod was taken to a small, walled castle. They were brought to the owner of the castle. The man's name was Redithidoor. Redithidoor was the angry father of a son who had been killed by Xaod's father. His son had been attempting to assassinate the noble his father was working for. Redithidoor gloated over his success in slaying Xaod's father, and his capture of the family. Xaod and his mother were tortured, for months they endured the pain the torturers inflicted upon them. One night, Xaod and his mother were freed by a group of men for whom his father had fought along side. They told Xaod that Redithidoor was gone at the moment, on some self-appointed task, undoubtedly a cruel and evil one. They had found the breaking into of the small castle easy, as most of the guards were gone as well.
Xaod had a deep hatred that had not been there before, the murdering of his father,  his torture, watching his sweet mother endure the same horrors he did, all had filled him with a voracious hatred. He swore to kill Redithidoor.

Xaod's Training
The nearly thirteen year old boy was filled with an anger few of his age had. He knew that he could not kill Redithidoor as he was now, he needed training. Xaod sought someone to train him in the arts of assassination, for weeks he sought but to no avail. While Xaod was slinking down a dark alley, a hand grabbed him roughly from behind and jerked him backwards. Turning around to see who had grabbed him, Xaod saw him looking into the face of Trah, one of the most wanted men in Milkegrad. Trah the Stalker was infamous for being one of the best killers for hire in the city. Staring in horror at the cold face, Xaod wondered if he was Trah's next victim, sent by Redithidoor perhaps. But Xaod soon found that Trah had heard of the death of his father, and knew too of Xaod's attempts to find someone to train him. Trah needed an heir, as he was soon retiring to live like a king with his spoils. He was impressed with Xaod's eagerness to learn, his ambition, and offered to teach him all he knew.

Xaod agreed, and for the next 20 years went through rigorous training. Xaod learned to hide in the shadows. Learned how to track, to sneak behind a target and stab them in the back. For 20 years, Xaod learned every trick of the trade, working with a fervor that surprised Trah. Xaod became fast friends with Trah, and learned his arts even faster. Trah taught Xaod how to scale walls, pick locks, how to circle around someone and slit their throat. Xaod learned how to fight hand to hand, soon Xaod became a master assassin. Trah had been training Xaod with training dummies, but now he gave Xaod a few targets. Xaod slew his victims quickly and soundlessly, all of them being guards of Redithidoor in the city. Soon, Trah told Xaod that he was ready to take on Redithidoor.

Xaod's Revenge!
Xaod eagerly took up the task of slaying Redithidoor. Dressing up in his new assassin outfit, he traveled to Redithidoor's castle that night. Scaling the walls silently, He hid up a tree in the courtyard. A guard passed by the tree, then instanly dropped to the ground with a dagger in his chest. Dropping from the tree, Xaod retrieved his dagger and stayed to the shadows. Reaching the door, Redithidoor pulled out a long thin wire from a pouch, Xaod quickly picked the simple lock. Sneaking through the shadows, Xaod quickly disabled the few guards he passed. Reaching Redithidoor's room, the same chamber where they had first encountered, Xaod padded behind the guard in front of the door. With a lightning quick motion, Xaod wrapped his hand around the guards mouth, pulled his head back, and slit his throat. Lowering the body to the floor, Xaod silently picked the lock. Redithidoor was apparently just getting ready for sleep, sitting on his bed and sipping wine. His cruel face was overcome with a look of surprise as he saw the figure covered in black. With a quick running leap, Xaod had Redithidoor by the throat.
Staring into the hated eyes, Xaod whispered: Your son is waiting for you! and plunged his blade into Redithidoor's black heart.

Xaod's Occupation continues-
Xaod continued to hone his assassin skills, training for three hours a day. He became a well respected killer for hire, working for fair pay, and delivering satisfying service. He did not however kill harmless innocents, unless they got in his way. After consulting with his mentor Trah, Xaod searches for a guild of assassins to join.

* Assassin outfit, for assignments
* Casual clothes, for blending in to a crowd
* Set of daggers, used for throwing
* Short Sword, for close combat
* Wicked, curved dagger
* Specialized gloves
* Money pouch, full of his latest spoils
* Set of tools used for infiltration and lock picking

Edited by: Tomas Valentin at: 9/29/05 23:22

Title: Re: Character Descriptions
Post by: Darien Gulath on September 03, 2005, 09:38:22 PM

Darién Gulath

Gender: Male
Age: 36
Race: Half/elf
Tribe: Helcrani
Occupation: Assassin
Title: Predator

Darién is highly respected in the underworld working as assassin in criminal organisations.  

Physical: Darién is about 1.8 peds tall. His weight is a little bit less then 2 pygge. His hair colour is black and he has two different  eyes. His left eye is dark-blue and his right eye is light-blue. (The left eye looks brighter with the shade that mostly covers Darién's face)..
A scar is visible; crossing vertically over his right eye. He wears black clothing ( Black pants and a Dark shirt; with his strong muscles naked. He has rags of leather wrapped around the wrists (like a street fighter). And also a black bandana, dancing behind him elegantly in the wind(Bandana endings are about 0.7 ped in length). Darién has something mysterious, but also creepy in his way of behavior (giving people the Shudder's for some reason..) Mostly, his face is covered in shadows from his cloak which he wears in town. Or, once he is active during the night, he has always kind of a dark shade covering his face. His right-eye, which is deformed with the scar, becomes really noticeable. He has kind of a arrogant look in his eyes; like he feels himself your superior. Darién has two swords crossed behind his back which he wears with him wherever he goes.


Darién is a unusually intelligent man for his expertise. He is closed and silent and does not really respect life. His horrible youth combined with his twisted way of thinking made him the way he is now. A freelancer who’s only intension is to complete his job, And to make money.

His social-behaviour lacks, mostly working against him. For he is arrogant, Selfish, greedy and quickly enraged. When he is drunk (He practically lives in Inns) he is even worse; He could kill somebody for only spilling beer on him.

He has a strong will and with that he can accomplish much, He rarely panics and can take care of himself. His intelligence and physical strengths are remarkable for someone like him and he knows to deal with lots of situations. He is always aware of his surroundings; And is quickly awakened when he sleeps( which saved his life more then once!).
He also managed to develop a deep love for the forests (which might be something from his elven-nature?). He can also live alone for weeks; Hunting and entertaining himself in these woods rarely getting lost.


-His physical condition is formidable. He is very healthy and overly alert. Agility and strength combined with a smart intelligence make him a dangerous opponent. He can move with stealth or attack in a raging bold fury. He can be a silent assassin but also a loud-thundering warrior that is able to maim his opponent when necessary.

-He has almost spend his entire live mastering his 2 War-swords. This is in fact his specialty and gives him a advantage against single-handed sword fighters. He has multiple tricks and moves and knows to move both hands separately doing different attacks at the same time. War-swords tend to be heavy swords but Darién has managed to move and curl the blades like feathers. He hes mastered this skill to a formidable level.

-Darién is also a formidable opponent when he is disarmed, He can deliver some heavy punches and kicks and moves with a supreme elegance avoiding his opponents attacks, He doesn’t go easily down; not even when the opponents do succeed to hit him. He is almost like a berserker fuelled by rage and liquor. A skill he gained from countless years of bar-fighting.

-A strange affection for the forests guided him into becoming a good hunter. He has a good memory for tree’s and will not quickly get lost there. He can be completely independent for months which is a useful advantage in his long and lone travels. When his enemy enters his district; He can become even more dangerous then he already is…

-His stubborn mind can be his strength and his weakness. His mind is stronger then his body and is not easily broken. If he sets his mind to something then he will get it done; Even when it is nearly impossible. His stubbornness also guided him through the training together with his lust for revenge which was his motivator for almost his entire live.

-Furthermore his tendencies towards evil and his lack of respect for live also work in his advantage, For his mind is twisted and his ways of thinking or different he has no trouble progressing all of his poor victims (innocent or not) in his conscience.


Mayor physical weakness:
-His eye with the scar has been slightly damaged during his youth and can barely stand the sun. He is almost blind when the sun shines in his eye. He therefore prefers staying out of the bright lights so his enemy’s can-not exploit this weakness. If he is forced to confront his current opponent and there are bright lights; he gets quickly disorientated.

Mayor physical weakness:
-He has an addiction to liquor and is rarely completely sober. It has slightly affected his reflexes and quick mind. And when he reaches his climax and becomes entirely drunk he passes out, looks for trouble or vomits. His enemy’s have less trouble overpowering him and every time he gets drunk he puts his life at heavy risk.

- His social-behaviour lacks, mostly working against him. For he is arrogant, Selfish, greedy and quickly enraged. When he is drunk (He practically lives in Inns) he is even worse.
He is also involved in prostitution, assassination and any other criminal activities increasing his list of enemies. There are not many who can put up with the guy; And often a brave fellow steps up to confront him. For some of the more sophisticated people he is evil reincarnated. The very reason Darién is alive is to create chaos and destruction into the civilized world.

-Bounty hunters are searching, hunting and following him to wherever he goes. With every kill the price on his head grows; resulting in new bounty hunters or brave guards to capture and terminate him. The safest place for him is in the underworld. Hanging around lowlifes and criminals in the dark alleys where the town-guard is to afraid to come. Darién leads his life always on the run.

-His stubborn mind can lead him into situations that his body can not physically handle. He often thinks to high of himself trying to take on to many opponents. Or accepting jobs that are nearly impossible. In some cases it where simple factors of luck that kept him alive.

-He hates mages and any type of magic; His mind is set to record every reasonable event; He calculates it and the outcome makes sense, However with magic it does not. He hates the things that go beyond human comprehension. He does not know what it is that mages are capable of and fears it. He does not accept a job when the target is a magician.

-He looks down upon almost everything. Especially species that are not humanoid. He looks down upon orcs and their kind as if it where dogs resulting into many conflicts. He can keep his temper tough, However he always manages to search conflict if one of the orcs makes a wrong move or gives him wrong feedback.

-Nightmare’s are a part of his fears. Darién has had nightmare’s for as long as he can remember. He doesn’t really remember his “dream” the next morning but he does manage to wake up bathing in sweat, headache’s and sometimes he squeezes his nails in the palms of his hands until it bleeds. The nightmare’s have grown worse and occurred more often the more he aged. The only way to prevent these “nightmare’s” from happening is to fall in sleep as a rock. Usually with the help of some liquor. The nightmare’s also explain his addiction towards liquor.


From Before Darién’s birth.

The Family tree

Darién is told to be a descendant from Drulock, An old and yet long forgotten Arch-mage with tremendous powers, but got killed before he could actually put his full power to any use. However his brethren lived and contained his ancient processions to study for themselves to reach the same magical skill as their father. To unleash a greater evil into the world bend on only one thing; Destruction and chaos. The books where supposed to be originating from the very war of the chosen and the scripts inside where written in another language, And the wielding mage had a whole other magic system, entirely different then that of the Ximaxian ways so a small army of intelligent decipherers and gifted ones where needed to unravel the secrets of these dark arts that where contained within (and sealed from mortal knowledge after Drulock’s death).

The ancient war in where Drulock had played such a powerful role in had not been forgotten,. Drulock was a faithful minion of the Moch’ronn in his time and he was supposed to have brought live back to many of the dead in a devastating battle against the dwarves and was therefore also one of the main battle mage’s during the horrible battles at the aurora fields. Yet Saban received all the credit in the Book of Paths written by Artimidor and Drulock was forgotten by the majority of the historians. In the end it where only his descendants that could keep the legacy of their over-grand-father high.

The family that had originated from Drulock were of course not at all ordinary folk. At first they where a cult with many followers and even in the control of some small towns near Voldar. However their dark arts where quickly noticed by Santhros’s new forming legion and they found themselves exterminated and hunted by the growing army of this new found legion.

In the end; the knowledge to wield their artefacts, The mythical books from the war of the chosen; were lost. And all what remained of the Cult was a mere shadow of the glory and power so many generations ago. Beliefs and prophecies where held high and believed to it’s full extends. Prophecies that where made by powerful seers and minions of Drulock in his time during the Third Sarvonian War.

The cult struggled to survive and it became harder and harder to find serving minions for their beliefs and after yet another disastrous exterminating collapse with the king’s forces; they found most of their members dead. And more importantly;… There where almost no more BlackBloods left (The bloodline was dying!…, And if the bloodlines died;.. So would all the prophecies!).

The Prophecy and the turn of events:

The many prophecies where written in the same language as the mythical books from Drulock and since this language was lost during the extermination of the cult it was passed on from tale to tale for those who where interested (Likely the few “dozens” exile minions of Drulock that still exist up till today). And so the prophecy might not entirely be correct as it is told now…

The prophecy tells us about the birth of a “chosen”, A Dark Lord of Shadows, A disciple of Coór (Strangely the date inputted here is the same date as when Darién is born) who will fulfil a great destiny. The destiny of unleashing the Fourth Sarvonian War, And this time the Chosen one will indeed succeed in unleashing the full reign of Coór into the world, Destroying and annihilating everything that exists up till today. And the BlackBlood families where promised to each have their own seat of power within the newly shaped world.

The cult’s minions believed in Darién as to be their salvation. And as he was born they planted many dark spells and enchantments on him before he was snatched away by Demion; who would be his father for the oncoming fifteen years of his life…

The prophecy was doubted, But Drulock’s most faithful minions believed that their Dark Lord’s faith could no longer be changed. Others tried to retrieve their “destined lord” but did not ever manage to succeed. A long sinister dark adventure played around Darién’s birth, involving betrayal, Death and ancient myths; Strong beliefs that claimed many people’s lives.

More fragments of the Prophecy contained several historical events that actually took place at the exact dates on which they where prophesised. Yet one thing was incorrect, The books of Necromancy that had belonged to Drulock where not in the procession of Darién but in the procession of another BlackBlood member. Jax was the one most “pure-blooded” of his family and had earned the right to use the books for his purpose. Prophecy’s had announced that the “Chosen one” would receive the powerful books; But with the kidnapping prevented Darién from ever touching and reading the books and it would deny his full power of becoming the force of annihilation that he was destined to be.

Jax got caught up in the books and learnt some magnificent spells;.. He showed a promising talent in Necromancy and would eventually start to believe that the Prophecy’s had gone wrong and that Darién had missed his date with destiny; And that faith brought him and his dark artefacts together…

Interesting is that the oldest of the minions believing the prophecy claim that the current prophecy was told wrong and a whole different course would be taken to fulfil the will of Coór. The old scrolls containing “The Shadow Lord’s” prophecy was in the hands of Vanessa. The elfin mother of Darién… And even tough she deciphered and read them; She would take her secrets with her to the grave when she was murdered by Zharock’s men(Darién’s third father-like person was Zharock, the arch-enemy of Demion) the same day that she managed to fully decipher the riddle.…

Becoming The Predator

Darién is a person who lives in the presence. He cares little to nothing about what has happened to him in his long vague troubling history.

Darién was born in the city of Voldar his parents being on some kind of journey passing trough the city. His father was the mighty heroic commander named Demion. And Darién was as a child immediately educated by the best schools money could buy. However an ongoing fete between a criminal leader named Zharock and Darién’s father lead towards the death of Vanessa;.. Darién’s elfin mother. Demion vowed revenge and succeeded in destroying, capturing and killing his new arch-enemy’s troops. However every action asked for a counter-action and Zharock on his turn kidnapped Darién during a bloody ambush on one of Demion’s patrol’s.

Zharock’s force was big and influential. Not only where he and his own men professionals in their line of work, They also harboured strong criminal alliances, And they had a small base of operations hidden in the forests away from busy Milkingrad where they kept slaves to get some work done. They where an organisation based on obtaining illegal money. This was where Darién was taken too around his 15th year, And this was where he had to work. Forced to work against his will. Around this time it was already known how disturbed the little kid had to be, Some say he was driven insane by Demion’s lust for revenge; Other’s say he was driven mad by Zharock’s men where he had to work like a lunatic and never received any reward, but torture instead that was also not uncommon there. Darién already knew the basics of live (To read, Politeness, He was a promising determined kid) and was plunged immediately onto the darker side of the world when his mother died at his young age of 9, Possibly all these events played a role in the shaping of his personality…..

So… He was driven mad and expressed his feelings when he received a whip with a skaugere of his master during the slavery. He grabbed a wooden log and smashed the slave master’s head into a bloody pulp when he was only 18 years old. Broken free; He used his intimidating personality (A feature from his dad- who was quite a character!) to lead a rebellion of slaves that where at that current camp to smash trough the gates into the forest during a bloody combat. Most casualties where on Darién’s side and their freedom didn’t last long. The same day Darién was retrieved by Zharock’s men to eventually get beaten to half death.

Strangely this “act” of him had actually granted Darién the favour of Zharock. Zharock was just like Darién on the same age; Even though the man was raised on a different level he couldn’t help compare his temper with Darién’s including the sheer determination to get “it” done no matter what. Towards the surprise of his own men Darién was kept alive and raised by Zharock as if it where his own sibling. Darién was given some wise lessons and even the privilege to carry a sword and after one year sent to do a job and a strange bound of trust between the criminal leader and Darién was established eventually.

At the age of nineteen he had done nothing else then serve Zharock putting his live at risks every time again. Starting as a decoy to lure enemies into traps building himself all the way up towards leader of a individual raiding group. Darién and Zharock trained together using their 2 handed sword technique’s. A skill where Zharock was a master in; Just like Demion;. Darién’s real father. So after a delay of only 3 years (as a slave) he could start and resume his technique that he once so eagerly practiced with his dad.

His broken spirit was healed when he discovered his new power and he builded an ego of determination and will that could never again be crushed now that he had the favour of the mightiest man he knew. He was introduced into the world of prostitution, liquor, death and criminality. The tactical jobs Darién managed to complete made him grow in respect even more. He became so cocky that he even set out to kill the criminals who had tortured and turmoiled him during his days as a slave. He feared nothing and cared only for the presence; He walked the thin line of almost crushing his trust with Zharock and his own death during the fights that had spared him with luck when he set out to complete his little revenge action.

His memory became as a sponge trough his many alcoholic experiences on rather young age and remembered only what he needed (and wanted) to remember. His passion was fighting with his 2 handed swords which definitely separated him from being just being a “moderate” villain. He also fell in love with one of the slave woman’s (Luciana). And on his 21th he had already over  “one hundred” confirmed kills on his name. He was unstoppable and his respect had grown towards the level of Zharock himself.

However Demion had found out about their base’s whereabouts and set out to destroy the base with a high number of his soldiers. Zharock and Luciana both died during the assault; The very people that mattered most in Darién’s live. So Darién vowed revenge on his turn and he mustered the final remains of the scattered destroyed guild. He kept a speech  so powerful and intimidating and used the criminals loyalty towards Zharock to pay the Commander of the Helcrani a visit that he would never forget. With over 60 men they set out during night under the command of himself to wage a full-front attack on the guards garrison located in the middle of the city. Darién lead his men straight into their own demise. The upper hand was with Darién but when reinforcements from the castle arrived the roles quickly turned. It changed into a massacre for Darién’s force. Darién however had made his way into the garrison, Killing every guard on sight eventually facing up to Demion. Demion immediately recognised his son and tried to talk Darién over in surrendering. He almost succeeded but Darién was then “hit” with a boost of rage and tried to kill Demion for what he had done to him. A fight worthy to be seen was fought at the scene and Demion eventually lost the battle; Dropping on his knees he begged for his live. But cold-blooded Darién beheaded him without any further regrets. Miraculously he escaped from the garrison by jumping trough a window over the rooftops chased by “dozens” of guards to find a horse and retreat into the forests as only survivor of the guild. He extinguished his final rage by murdering his persecutors in the forests one by one. Using his stealth and knowledge ( obtained by a strange love that he always had for the forests) to move unseen and as a ghost in the darkness he achieved to kill more people in a single night then some assassins would do in their entire lives. This was where he had gained his title; The Predator. And he left to never be seen again around the city and villages of Milkingrad. A unbelievable story up to today, And a status of a living “dark” legend had been obtained. Years later Darién’s existence would be faded out of the mind of the scared villagers and the story was no longer believed to a certain degree.

The course of Death:

Darién proven to be a killing machine changed his profession in assassin. The only things in his live where educating his 2 handed sword fighting which he practiced for day and night; Never ceasing to rest and always determined to be better then everybody else. And he proved to be stronger then everybody by a long shot. Using his agile but strong gesture he could make the most incredible moves. And he controlled both swords separately which was insane difficult on it’s own already. He rarely found someone who could truly compete with him in a bloodthirsty duel; And Darién longed for action. He travelled trough middle sarvonia in search for jobs and within 2 years he had managed to build good connections in Voldar…
Darién’s entire live was an struggle to stay alive,… Not only his line of work was dangerous on it’s own,.. There where also authority and angry relatives he killed (who hired bounty hunters and the like) and there where prizes put on his head that could stir up entire towns. But Darién’s high prize and that he didn’t got captured also grew lots of fear in the hearts of his enemy’s and it was here and there believed that Darién couldn’t be killed. That he was in fact a demon sent by Coór or Querprur to decimate the population growth.

Darién,.. a descendant from the Blackblood family line, Who where highly skilled in the arts of Necromancy and they where also seen as Clerics worshipping Coór. The coming of a new order lead by The Predator was prophesised a long time before Darién’s birth by his relative bloodlines, And so a dark aura of yet to be fulfilled prophecy’s always surrounds him.  

2 War swords
A sharp dagger (sometimes more the one).

Mostly a small bag of gold and some liquor.
His processions range from time to time.
He owns a few houses and a inn at the crime district of Voldar, Yet abandoned and left for purposes in the future.

Darién doesn't know of the prophecy, and nobody is going to mention it to him, so it will have no real concequences on how he is played, if anything like the prophecy should want to be used by me (for perhaps a future story) then i will ask the admins permission.

Edited by: Tomas Valentin at: 10/5/05 22:45

Title: Re: Character Descriptions
Post by: Tythle Fi thea on September 28, 2005, 09:16:22 AM

Tythle Fi'thea

Gender: Male

Age: 136 yrs -or 24yrs human

Race: Elf

Tribe: Quaelhoirhim.

Occupation: Forester/hunter

Title: Ranger

Character Portrait:

Physical Appearance:
Tythle is very tall (about 2 peds), well built from living in the wild for so long, and his skin is quiet dark due to the long and sometimes extreme exposure to the sun. He has light blue eyes and light golden sun-bleached hair that hangs to the middle of his back, random braids are seen through out his hair. His face has the standard look of the Quaelhoirhim, though the length of his ears are longer than most others seen. He has a tattoo on the right side of his face that means: `One who as learned Wisdom’. He has a thin scar going from his left ear down to his right collarbone, a wound that has caused his voice to be reduced to a loud rasp.

Tythle primarily wears browns and greens to meld in with the forest. The clothes them selves are close fitted but flexible, and durable. The clothes still do have what humans would call an elven look/cut to them. He doesn’t like wearing bright colors (red/yellow/orange etc.) but instead prefers pale, or dark colors (navy/pale greens and blues/ black/gray etc.)  

Tythle is an outgoing person but has been forced to appear as silent due to his injury to his vocal cords. It hurts him to talk for long periods of time, resulting in him coughing, and bleeding in his throat. His past view of the world was very different to what it is at the present. In the past he viewed the world like “his head was in the clouds”. His outlook on life was very bright and optimistic. Now he sees the world through eyes of one that has had what he thought was reality ripped out of his mind and shown the real world in one of its harshest realities. Through the deaths of his close cousins, he now has a more sober, cautious outlook on life. Though his past has saddened him, he still as a quiet happiness or joy with him as he wanders around.

Strengths and Weaknesses

a) Strengths
His physical strengths are his eye sight and hand-eye coordination which give him an advantage at ranged and close combat this allows him to be fast and accurate during a battle. He has the skills to make and design his own bows and arrows. He has a wide knowledge of the forest and the creatures it holds (normal ones anyways).

b) Weaknesses
His weakness physically is he has very little brute strength. It would be very hard for him to fight in close combat with say a barbarian, giant, or larger, stronger races in general. A mental weakness he has is: he hates being underground. He feels trapped and finds it hard to think or breath. He also has random night rages that while asleep he will go through the the deaths of his cousins and the tortuer and battle of his past. This results in him waking up having destroyed, or hurt something or someone. The only way for the night rages to stop is if somebody shoves some sort of light sorce in his face.

Tythle and his family live in Elving, where he was born and raised for the early years of his life. Tythle was close friends with his immediate family members (brothers, sisters, and cousins). Tythle grew up in mainly peaceful existence; a few attacks by bears and wolves are the only violent encounters in his childhood years on trips to the woods. He was the last of his parents’ children and was sheltered a lot as child because of this. Both parents raised him as well as they could. His mother taught him his forest/herb lore and his father trained him his weapon making skills.  He learnt his weapons skills and such from an uncle in the family who was a weapons master in Elving. The most major event in his life came when he reached the age of 35 still in the beginnings of what elves would call their “teen years” Tythle and two of his closest cousins decided to split off from the family for one summer. (Which was allowed and often done in his family) They traveled into a dangerous area  by the city of Marcogg, where they were attacked by a band of thieves, about 20 strong, in an ambush. They sought gold but when they found that Tythle and his cousins had none they tied and slit his cousins throats and where about to so the same to him but decided that it would be more fun to tie him up and interrogate him the next day for information about where he had hid his money (which he really didn’t have any but they thought he was lying). Before tying him up though they beat him and burned him with fire heated swords, leaving scars on his back and torso. During the night Tythle managed to cut off the rope that bound his hands on a forgotten axe head and attempted to leave the thieves camp. The leader who was taking his turn on the watch noticed this and came after him. He caught Tythle 20 feet away from the camp and they fought. The fight ended a few hours later with  a stroke of luck for Tythle. He was able to stick a hunting knife into the mans lower lung killing him. During the battle Tythle had received the wound that caused the scar and the loss of his normal voice. This incident caused him to go into a deep depression for about 5 years, he was brought out of it by his older sister; her stubbornness to see him well again, with the help of the rest of the family brought him back to a place of contentment and quiet joy. He continued on living with his family until the age of 105 and then he began to wander on his own. By this time he had Notre with him as a close companion, and acquired Scion three weeks later in a village from a bird vendor on the western edge of Caelereth. Tythle found and saved Notre from a pack of hungry wolves that had found her, when her owner failed to return for her. He treated both bird and horse well and both have become bond companions. After getting Sicon he traveled northward again to join his family for winter  for two years. He fought in over 20 battles against man and beast since he left his home the second time (started at the age of 107) and now he is looking once more for his family that has seemed to disappear. He has wandered all over Caelereth trying to find his relatives; so far he has been unsuccessful and is still searching to the present day.

Longbow, Composite-bow, Two thin driks a little longer than most and his tattoo is carved on to the hilts and the blades. (About 3 and half nialbreadths longer)

Familiars (optional)
Tythle has two familiars: the first a horse who is of sturdy build, able to travel many types of terrain, white in coloring, quite tall and noble looking and a female. The horses name is Notre. The second animal is a hawk/kestrel bird and is a male. The birds name is Scion.  

Edited by: Tomas Valentin at: 9/29/05 23:31

Title: Re: Character Descriptions
Post by: Hieronimus Kupfdrubus on September 28, 2005, 06:42:22 PM

Hieronimus Kupfdrubus

Name: Hieronimus Kupfdrubus

Age: 61

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Tribe: Helcrani/Eyelian

Occupation: Restless Wanderer

Title: Cleric of Grothar

Height: 1 ped, 2 fores, 2 palmspans

Weight: 1 pygge, 4 hebs


Hieronimus is a former famous cleric of Grothar who lost his faith in his abilities at one point in his life. He regained it to an certain degree, but doesn‘t normally work as cleric anymore now, but wanders through Santharia investigating the needs of the population of Santharia for the clerics of Grothar in Carmalad.


Hieronimus Kupfdrubus is a rawboned, thin, but sinewy old man.  His nose is protruding a bit more than he liked when he was young, his ears have starting growing again with the coming age as well, his eyes lie like grey lakes on a rainy day deep in his wrinkled face . They are accentuated by the nice dark tan of his skin which he has required through his former occupation as a cleric of Grothar and his recent wanderings. This grey of the eyes is a strange color, it seems to change with his mood and can well darken to a stormy turbulence. You better look for a hiding then, in case an unsuspected rainshower falls out of a blue sky. Hiero‘s lips are thin, but they seem  to smirk somehow all time. Most times. Not when his eyes take on this stormy color. To Hiero‘s despair his hair has lost its former glory, and though he is not bald by any means, it gets thin on top of his head. But nevertheless, it is thick enough to allow soft silvery grey curls to fall on his shoulders.

Grey is his color as it is the color of the god he worships. Grey, white and silver. Grey are all his clothes, dark grey his pants, a slightly lighter grey has its hooded robe, which he cut to a length just  under his knees, hoping that not everybody would see at once a cleric in him. A rope serves as belt, he has various pouches with useful things hanging from it. He says, his hair is silvery, and so he needs only something white to have all colours of his gods with him. For this purpose he carries a piece of cloth with him, nearly the size of a ped in each direction, a blowrag, which he uses frequently. Sandals grey with dust and bleached by the sun complement his clothes, summer as in winter, what he wears underneath his robe nobody has seen yet.


Hieronimus has a heart of corn, he is a merry old man, somebody who is good to have most of the time. Though he can be annoying quite often as well, it is not meant as an affront , but happens unmindful, he just doesn‘t notice, that he is a pain sometimes. However, what he likes to do is teasing the people around him, be it his friends or companions on a journey, or somebody he has just met in a tavern. This trait is strongest when he is in a good mood.

There is a time in the day however, when he is a grumpy old man - that is in the morning, when he awakes and all his muscles are stiff and it is a pain for him to get up. Better not talk to him, till he had his morning tea!

Our cleric is not easy to frighten. Though he has sometimes doubts concerning his abilities as a cleric, he believes strongly in his god Grothar, he has laid his fate in his hands and after a filled out live full of experiences and adventures he has lost the fear of  death.

He has a weakness concerning woman - not young ones, those he regards as kids, but woman around his age or not much younger have his deepest respect. Being always too shy to approach somebody of the opposite gender he never married and doesn‘t know how he should treat women. So if any of these older women tell him to do something, he will hurry to fulfil her wish, regardless what it is - as long as it is not connected with him being a cleric of Grothar . Fortunately, not many know this due to his travels, otherwise it could end easily in a disaster.

This merry and gay nature however, which he shows most times, has to give way sometimes to an earnest and serious personality you would never expect. Then the famous Grothar priest he has once been shows, his serenity, his wisdom, his knowledge, his passion towards people. Even his facial expression is different then. But the occasions to meet the Will Weatherman, as who he was known then are extremely rare.

Clerical Magical Abilities

He is,  though not practising it now, a cleric of Grothar, a priest with all the knowledge how to influence the weather by praying to his god. However, due to his lack in believing in his own power his prayers will only be successful when  small things are asked, like

- stopping a heavy rainfall , a blizzard or storm for a short time
- letting it rain for some time, if the weather isn‘t too dry, snow, if the    weather isn‘t too hot, call a heavy wind for some time.
-  produce a lightning, if he is emotionally strong in this moment, though directing it is problematic.
- gather some clouds where there were none before.
- predict the weather very reliably,

and not even then.

In extreme occasions of need and emotional tension, when a friend would be in danger to die because of his lack of faith his abilities may surpass this.
And of course he could teach an apprentice all the prayers and rituals used by the clerics of Grothar.


His strengths lies mainly in his personality. Being afraid of not much helps him to react wisely in  difficult or dangerous situations which could otherwise be deadly. Most people like him and help him therefore due to his merry attitude and his friendliness. That is a great advantage when travelling with not much belongings through the world.

Hieronimus is quite good to defend himself against occasional robbers or other not very well trained looters with his staff which he uses normally for walking. He has of course no chance against a good fighter or warrior with a sword. But he never came into trouble so far, being a canny coeval.


Being not a young man any more, he suffers from stiffness of his limbs in the morning and generally feels pain in his joints on rainy or cold days. And though he doesn‘t admit it, he is hearing not as well as he used to - though sometimes his friends have the impression, that he pretends only to be a little deaf -  his sight has waned as well and other limitations of his age like a decreased strength and endurance add to his weakness.

Apart from the weakness caused by his body, others lie in his personality:

Though he is a full trained priest of Grothar, and is rooted deep in his faith to his god, his prayers fail very often, not because he doubts Grothar or his ability to help, but that his faith is strong enough to move Grothar to help. So when he prays he believes that he will fail at the same time. And so he will, the more complicated the prayers are, the more often they will fail.

On the other side, he is able to call a shower out of the blue sky, but he does this without intending to do so. His inner bond to his god is so tight, that every thought , every emotion is a prayer to Grothar. Especially when his feelings overwhelm him, this connection seems very close. So if anything makes him very angry - which is not the case very often, but happens now and then, he uses to call out: „Grothar will chastise you with...!!!“ And what ever has come just to his mind will happen, be it  a shower of three minutes or an icy blizzard for an quarter of an hour. Some of his few friends think, that the capricious Grothar must find pleasure in fulfilling him just these prayers coming out of his subconsciousness.

Hiero has a weakness, which is not very grave, but nevertheless a pain to his comrades. He has a wonderful voice, a full , deep baritone. But he is not able to hold the tone pitch for more than a few seconds and he can‘t  memorise a melody not only roughly. He always liked singing, and so he does it with fervency and a loud voice while wandering along his path, be it in company or not. The listener is just able to identify which tune it is he wants to vocalise, but otherwise it is so terrible wrong, that it hurts. Some say, the reason why he was so seldom ambushed on his wanderings is, that he scared the bandits away with his singing, because only looters as bad in music as he is were able to go after him.
Due to his habit of singing  he sometimes has to abandon the security which brings travelling in company. Despite his merry nature, people may chose to travel without him.


There is not much a cleric of Grothar needs. He has just the pant , the robe  and the sandals he wears. On his back he carries a leather rucksack which contains nearly all he has, which is an additional shirt, a woollen waistcoat and one pair of long woollen socks which he only uses when the weather is extremely cold - and his food. A woollen blanket and an additional thin one out of leather for sleeping in the open are fastened on top.
All he needs for his meals apart from his knife is a pan, a bowl, a mug and a  flask made out of a pumpkin which are hanging from his belt  - along with a variety of pouches. The bags are containing several things  which are too personal to mention.
He has two staffs which he uses for walking. Now having acquired a horse, they are fixed behind him on the saddlebags, which contain nothing. He is used to carry all his belongings on his back and doesn‘t change this habit.


He has a horse, if you want to call this animal a horse. Sharp tongues claim, that a baneg must have been one of its ancestors, because it s back is so broad and its head looks weird. But otherwise it is more build like its master: Thin, rawboned, stronger  and more persevering than expected. His back is sacking, but its legs are strong.  The hair is scrubby and its mane shaggy,  but it is grey, overall dark grey, just the mane and tail is of a lighter shade.
Hiero has called it „Grey“, not being very inventive when choosing a name.
It has one disadvantage, it is a bit short which has the effect, that Hiero's feet are  nowhere near the belly of the beast when riding, but are reaching a good bit down to the ground. But all that doesn‘t hinder him to develop an affection towards it, for most times it is willing to do what he wants.


On an even for Varcopas unusual rainy day in the month of The Changing Winds in the year 1603a.S.. a little boy was born to Fianna and Helm Kupfdrubus.

Helm Kupfdrubus was a Helcrani merchant whose business and marriage with Fianna had brought him to live in Varcopas. At least he felt he was a Helcrani, though his father was from Cavthan in Enthronia and the name Kupfdrubus and the appearance of the boys grandfather  causes tongues to wag, that a gnome was in the fathers lineage. But his mother was a highranked lady in Milkengrad, he was raised in his grandfathers house and for your education has an great impact on what somebody represents, he was in his heart an Helcrani.

Fianna, though raised in Bardavos, wasn‘t Stratanian either. Her mother Lilian was from the Eyelian tribe, an half elf though -  her father being an elf from the Quallian - and came to Bardavos due to her musical talent. There Lilian attended the Goutonch School for Ladies for a short time and was about to became a famous singer, when she met her later husband, Olran, who  loved music as well. Though he was a good singer, he didn‘t want to spend his entire life as travelling bard, especially not with a family, so he married Lilian and opened the famous tavern „Northern Moon“ to be in a town full of music. There Helm, travelling in business for his grandfather, met Fianna, who served in the tavern of her parents. Helm wanted to marry Fianna, but Fianna didn‘t want to leave her family and live in far away Milkengrad, so Helm‘s grandfather arranged, that Helm could oversee his dependance in Varcopas.

So it happened, that this special little boy was born in a house facing the sea, the windows to the garden were open to allow the fresh air in to help the delivering mother in her pain. Fiannas labour was long, and during it her eyes rested very often on the willow in front of the window, as if she could draw strength out of the the hanging branches. So it came quite natural to her, that she named her little boy Willy.

However, this was not a name noble enough for such a prominent family as the Kupfdrubus - at least the father felt they were - and so the boy was registered in the town archives as  Hieronimus Kupfdrubus. The father called him always Hieronimus, his older sisters however just Hiero, or teasing him when he was afraid of doing something with saying: „Our little Hero will surely have no problems to accomplish this or that!“ In the mother‘s heart however he was always her little Willy, and not even Helm dared to speak against it.

Will or Hiero seemed to be a thin, fragile child, but he was stronger than expected. And he developed a strong will. Though he never disobeyed his father openly, he always tried to do what he thought was right. His means were not opposition, but diplomacy , giving partly in where it was possible but insisted, where it was necessary. Generally, he had a merry childhood and was an open, friendly child. Already then however, he liked at times to tease other people, be it his young comrades, his older sisters, his adult relatives in Bardavos who weren‘t as strict as his father. He never meant to do them any harm playing jokes on them, though he was of course not always successful and had then to suffer under his fathers punishments which followed regularly. He always promised to stop doing it, but obviously the next frog was too tempting and had to be placed in his sisters bed.

Being the third child and first son he was meant to work in the business of his father when grown up. Hiero  deepest wish was however  to become a bard or musician of any kind like some of his relatives in Bardavos. Early as ten he took some lessons, but it was soon obvious, that though he had a marvellous voice, he had no feeling for the music itself. He never wanted to believe that and didn‘t cease to sing for himself all day long, but finally he had to give in and  settled with the idea of following his fathers path.

However it came different. Already as a little child of seven or eight years, he could tell in advance, when it would rain or when the sun would shine again. He was so good at this, that he bet on it and generally the other kids lost their sweets to him. It didn‘t take long, and they called him Will Weatherman when playing. Nobody recognised it, but looking back to this time he now knows, that he even managed to influence the weather already with eleven. If he wanted to finish a play, he sang one of the children's songs asking Grothar for a favour and it never rained before he wasn‘t finished with it. Or a sudden wind arose, when he and his friends played pirates on the beach and they needed some storm to escape. He wasn‘t aware of this, but with the time, his mother got suspicious.

When he was about twelve years old, Fianna took him to Grothar‘s temple and soon the hidden talent was revealed. It didn‘t take long and he started to learn Grothar's ways in his home town.

There he got his further education and was trained to serve as a cleric of Grothar in smaller towns and villages. His wish however was to learn more, so when he was about twenty he left his family, his temple and his home town to visit the big temple of Grothar in Carmalad with the hope to meet teachers who could help him to advance even further.

In Carmalad he received more exercise and reached finally a level, where only the god himself could teach him more. He stayed there and served his god till he was 33. But somehow he never was very happy there. Though he could be a serious  man, when clerical things were on duty, and though he was quite intelligent and had never problems to follow any disputation his fellow brethren had from time to time, he didn‘t feel easy when they were around. He didn‘t like the scholastic talks about divine issues, his faith was straight and simple, he loved his god and was not interested much in what the others clerics found highly interesting. He had a  simpler nature and loved a joke now and then and laughing out loudly. But this seemed not appropriate here.
Most clerics very polite to him as was their nature, they were friendly and some were true friends, but somehow this was not a place, where felt he belonged to. It seemed to him, that his clerical brothers resided in higher realms, that as clerics of a wind god they lost their contact to the earth.

So he decided to become a wandering priest, serving those villages and small settlements which didn‘t have an own priest. There his name was not always known, but he was just called the weatherman. And it didn‘t take long, and he was remembered as Will Weatherman, and the name his father had given him was forgotten.

Though this life was often full of privations, he loved it and travelled along every known road in Santharia for 25 years. The simple people understood his jokes and he was happy. His faith was strong and so his god was pleased and Will was able do great deeds in the name of his god. With the time he got so famous, that he was called over great distances to end a draught or stop a long during rain period.

Till one day when he was near Marcogg. It was late autumn. The harvest was not yet in, but the crop was ready for reaping. Dark grey clouds covered the sky, an icy wind threatened the people, thunder and lightning increased and it was clear, if not something happened quite quickly, the harvest would be damaged.

Full of faith in his ability and sure of the grace of his god he performed some rituals  and then started praying to Grothar. But nothing happened. He wasn‘t even able to weaken the breaking in forces. Once he had dissolved bigger thunderstorms and the heavy clouds had drifted away to release their load over a forest or an empty land. Now the whole crop north of Marcogg between Chrondra and Simsy was destroyed what meant, that hunger would reside in the small huts in this region. Not only this, lightning had destroyed what was gathered already in more than three places along the sentinel route.

The people were suspicious and it didn‘t take long and the rumour was spread , that Will Weatherman had lost the favour of his god. He fled in the Mithral Mountains and finally came over the Crazy Woman Pass. Not far away from the little village town of Nepris he found a place where he lived as hermit for quite some time.

Long weeks and months he spent praying, hoping that his god had not left him entirely. In sleepless nights he posed himself the  the question again and again, why he had failed. Had he been too sure of his success?Had Grothar punished him for haughtiness? Had he been not humble enough?
With the time the fisher folk of Nepris got to know, who was their new neighbour and they started to visit him and ask him for small favours. First only to tell them, if the weather would be fine the next day, later to influence it, to hold up a major storm for a while till the last ships were back. He succeeded again in these minor tasks and regained a little bit of confidence, though the moment of doubt was always given.

One day however he had a special visitor, an old friend from far away Carmalad, named Grophilus. He was a high esteemed cleric of the temple there and send to bring Will back into the world. Long talks in the following days reassured Will, that it was time to come back to live in the world again - and to be merry again.

And Grophilus had come with a new task for Will. He wanted him to travel the lands again, not with the duties of a priest, but searching for  general information which could be of interest for the clerics of Grothar. What was going on in the country, what were the people thinking, in which places were Grothar's priest needed, where should  a new temple be built, which places or towns were hit hard by unpredictable weather. The experience of a man who knew Santharia so well should not be lost. To Nepris, which inhabitants had won Wills heart by now,  should be send another priest, that Grophilus had to promise to Will.

In the days after his failed prayer, Will Weatherman‘s hair had turned white and in the last  years of searching why he had failed, he had grown old.
Now wandering again through the village and towns he visited during his long years as a cleric of Grothar, he didn‘t want to use the name he was famous for back then. So he took again his family name: Hieronimus Kupfdrubus.
He will most times react as well, if you call him Will, but Hieronimus is what he wants to be named now.

And once again he wanders the lands as in old happy days and has mostly - with small exceptions - found his balance again.


Edited by: Hieronimus Kupfdrubus at: 9/29/05 19:52

Title: Re: Character Descriptions
Post by: Ishmaelion on September 29, 2005, 12:18:22 AM


Name: Ishmaelion Shi’gén
Gender: male
Age: 54
Race: human
Tribe: Erpheronian
Occupation: Philosopher, Doompreacher
Title: Philosopher

Physical appearance
Being 1 Peds, 2 Fores and 1 Palmspan high makes Ishmaelion one of the smaller people in his tribe, where men usually become bigger. He has always been mocked by other for his lack of muscles and you might even describe him as skinny. He walks slightly hunched as if the weight of all mankind rests on his shoulders (although if that were true then he would be smitten to the ground, never to arise again, so lets keep to poetic freedom, shall we). Ishmaelion is often described as extremely clumsy. His hair is the same dark red color which is so characteristically of his tribe. However, when traveling through other parts of Sarvonia this is regarded as otherworldly or just downright ugly. Rumors were amassed by those people which I will address later in the history section. Despite being a philosopher, Ishmaelion doesn’t have a beard because he thinks that if you have a beard all your ideas do not escape via your mouth (words) but escape out of your chin (hair). He has gray eyes, not unusual about them. One odd thing about him though are his feet. They are huge, and when I say huge I don’t mean like in Giants huge, but somewhere around 1 fore. Because he can’t find any proper sandals anywhere he almost always walks barefoot.

Ishmaelion wears a brown worn-out robe which is far too large for him. He often drapes the hood far over his face so you can only see his mouth. One can clearly note that this robe is very cheap and therefor Ishmaelion is often thought of to be one of the lower class. He is never seen taking his robe of, so what might lie beneath it remains one of his greatest mysteries (although you can ask yourself if you truly want to know).

Well, you could say that Ishmaelion has an interesting personality. After proclaiming himself philosopher after having lived in the local library for two years (literally) he has taken upon him the task of showing the other people in Santharia that he IS an true philosopher and will miss no opportunity to break into a lecture about the elements or other truly worthless subjects. He never speaks in normal sentences but weaves a web of words and proclamations in which he eventually says what he wanted to say (if you’re lucky). Some call him arrogant, some call him mad, some even call him Pete, but that are all superficial taunts directed at this great and brilliant man in envy! One of his favorite subjects of preaching is the end of the world. If the conversation is starting to lead in that direction you should decide if you want to hear the lecture soon or you’ll be caught in the conversation. He will follow those who either say that they believe him or those who contest his facts and theories.
He has a great disdain for orcs, gnomes, goblins, trolls, brownies, elves and humans. Oh, I forgot the dwarfs, he doesn’t like them either. But he believes that everyone/thing can be saved if he\she\it embraces the truth of Ishmaelions words. He believes it is his sacred duty to bring those creatures to the truth.

Strengths and Weaknesses

- Ishmaelion Shi’gén can preach and debate like few can, it is therefor often that his enemies find themselves debating instead of fighting while Ishmaelion questions their goal in live, aspirations and ambitions. His low powerful voice forces respect on others and he can make himself look very intelligent and mighty indeed.
- Much combined with his other strengths is his ability to have his cane in his hand when a few seconds ago there was only air. He has a walking cane which he keeps in a secret pocket in his robe whenever he isn’t using the cane for matters as walking and such. He is swift with this cane, and it happens often that he smacks his enemies on the head while debating with them. “curing them of their warmongering thoughts” he calls it.
- Ishmaelion’s big feet protect from almost all spells and winds which try to blow him of his feet. He has a good sense of balance.

- Ishmaelion Shi’gén can preach and debate like few can, it is therefor that he will grab any opportunity to start a discussion. In the past, this has served him not always in a positive way, insulting some high placed officials and starting many a tavernbrawl.
- While good with his cane, if his favorite walking stick is taken from him, he is completely harmless. He couldn’t even squat a fly without his cane. Not that he loses any of his potency with his tongue though.
- His big feet are a curse when sneaking though bushes or trying to be very silent, as his clumsiness makes sure that he trips and falls occasionally. It is impossible for him to remain in the shadows and not be seen by others. (except if the other is a blind deaf mute dog named Pogo)

Born in a small village near Voldar the history of Ishmaelion is very hazy until his adulthood as Ishmaelion was smacked on his head several times in a brawl and can’t remember much about his childhood. From records of his village it is shown that Ishmaelion was always mocked by the other children in his village for his lack of muscles and fighting spirit. After the brawl he was accused of having killed the bard who was singing there, although the charge did not ring true as the accuser was the bard himself but the elders of the village decided that Ishmaelion was a menace to society even so and wanted to toss him in prison for two years. Not wanting that to happen Ishmaelion bribed his guards and hid himself in the library. After three days in the library he was discovered by a strange being, namely, the dog Pogo. This dog brought Ishmaelion a share of his food and what he was able to catch in the library. Pogo was the guard-dog of the library.Water was provided by the dog as well, well, Ishmaelion drank from Pogo's waterbowl. This enable Ishmaelion to remain there for some two years in which he did some reading (he lived in a library after all) and one can say that this changed him a bit. When Ishmaelion was found he didn’t stop murmuring about elements and gods and such. He was brought before the elders again and this time he was accused for escaping and bribing the guards, which was the same as insulting the elders which in turn was the same as blasphemy. For this great crime he was banned from the village and after having had a farewell speech that lasted a full morning he was of into the outer world. In the years that followed Ishmaelion lived as a hermit in the woods of Vardynn, not seeing a living soul in ten years. When he came out of the forest he had a cane with him and still wore the robe that was given to him when he left the village. He later claimed that while he was in the forest he was visited by the benevolent god Seyella and sent out to spread her truth, which was only taught to him. He started preaching in villages and cities and not before long city gates would be shut when he arrived and villages wouldn’t allow him anymore. He became known as Shi’gén after he was rescued by an elven hunting party while he was captured by a rather hungry pack of wolves who were about to have Ishmaelion for lunch. So the elves called him Shi’gén (flavorful) and this name he has carried with him in his countless journeys. After having escaped his own hanging again for insulting the leading elder of one village he did not show his profile that often and covered his head with his robe whenever he entered a town lest he be recognized. Having to fend of a lot of disbelievers he soon became proficient in the use of his cane as a mortal weapon and made a hidden pocket in his robe where he keeps his cane hidden from sight if he hasn’t no use of it. Having seen much of the world during his travels, not much holds a surprise to Ishmaelion any more, as he thinks that earthly things are no match for the power of the mind. But he has a dislike for magic because he isn’t any good at it. So he dismisses it as unnecessary.
This history will be elaborated often, but for now, this is a good notion of his history.

When reading this paragraph, one should keep in mind that Ishmaelion was knocked on the head several times in his past, and some think there is a connection between his ideas and that incident, although he himself claims to be visited by Seyella herself. The goddess had told him, so he claims, stories about the end of the world and also of the world and it’s truths. Ishmaelion preaches the word of Armageddon, which is summarized below.

“And thence forth will cometh the true beings, the reflection undone by the mirrored truth! In their benevolent wisdom, thee will all be vanquished and will no long remain unseen by the unseer! No, the unseeing eye will be opened to the reflection of dreams which are cast by the contramirrored beasts of DOOM!”
This is the beginning of the ‘litany of Armageddon’, written down by Ishmaelion himself. The story is full of riddles and metaphors but one can easily understand the outline of it: the fall of all that we know. Some returning factors are the unseer and the notion of reflection. Some say that the unseer is the sleeping Avá and that the reflection is the real world, outside the Dream. This explanation leaves some holes in it, like Who are the true beings? And how can they come to our world? And who are the Beasts of Doom? Maybe a dream within a dream? And how does one mirror the truth? Would that be lies? If you delve deeper in the text all will not be much clearer as shows the next extract from the second chapter, near the end:
“Oh, thee, who in returning to thee, will be crushed by the unguarding light, in which the twelve are born and torn. The unseer will wreak vengeance upon the twelve, dissident from their truth, seen by first house, deafened by the thunder of the second house, slaughtered in the wake of the third house, loved by the fourth house, played upon by the fifth house, drowned by the waves of the sixth house, blessed to unbeing by the passive seventh house, withheld from the mirrored heavens by the eighth house, cultivated by the ninth house, murdered by the dark tenth house, bandaged by the serving eleventh house, and from the twelfth house will come the inferno!”
The twelve is probably a vague reference to the twelve minor gods, although not much is known about their supposed role when the One (Avá) awakens. The litany of Armageddon ends with these words: “When will this happen? Well, it happened countless times already in the mind of the unseeing one, being bereft of speech and sight, passive until the history repeats itself, and this day will come soon!”

The world

“The world is not what I thought of it”
- Ishmaelion -

The elemental theory:
According to Ishmaelion, the most important part of the world is the elemental section. He distinguishes four kinds: Earth, Wind, Fire and Water. He believes these elements are everywhere, even within persons. How does this work? You ask yourselves, well let me explain:
It is off course clear that water consists of a lot of water elements, and earth full of earth elements, etc. But in persons this is more subtle. The amount of elements is determined by birth, and does not change in live. Everyone has a mix of all elements. The amounts of them varies, altering one’s character. If you have a lot of earth elements in comparison to the other elements, you grow up to be a sturdy man, who is not easily angered or otherwise emotionally shaken, but once aggravated is the most persistent of al persons in the finishing of that particular matter. If one has a lot of fire elements in him, he will grow up to be a short-tempered person, often flaring out in sudden bursts of rage or other emotional outings. In the case of an abundance of water elements, one is tranquil, preferring peace and calmth over struggle and conflict. Often seeking to compromise and relegating matters. If bestowed with a lot of air elements, one is fluent in the matters of speech and mind. Often appearing smarter and wiser than they truly are.
Next update soon!

His cane, named Pogo, after the dog, is his only weapon (not counting his mind). There is not much special about the cane, it’s just a wooden cane.

His sharp humor.

Edited by: Tomas Valentin at: 9/29/05 22:53

Title: Re: Character Descriptions
Post by: Mimi Dorgren on October 06, 2005, 07:17:22 PM


Mimi Dorgren

Mimi Dorgren







Annoying Travellers


Character Portrait




 Mimi is a  little girl which lives in Nepris with her grandmother. Her favourite occupation is to annoy travellers up to Norgerinths tomb, by turning the signpost around and asking for sweets to tell them the right way.    Of course, this is not her only activity.

Physical Appearance

Mimi looks like a nice, though dirty little girl, just as you would imagine any other little girl. Red curly hair frames a little pretty looking round face, which seems to need a cleaning almost every time. Especially around her mouth traces of the meals of today can be seen which melt easily with the freckles on her nose and cheeks. But her huge green eyes let you forget the dirt in her face. She wears her worn out dress, which might have been green once, like the daughter of the King himself and her lack of shoes comes in handy when she gets up and climbs the sign post or a tree or anything other which was made to climb up. She is about a ped tall,  her small stature   often fools people who think she is much younger than she actual is. Her skin colour is  of a healthy tan, but what is really sunburned or dirt is not to be judged easily.   She loves the lotann as the sunsmile and often carries a blossom in her hair or fixed to her bandana.


  Most times Mimi is a cheerful and charming little girl who likes to laugh and joke with her friends. Her laughter can often be heard throughout the village and her smile is touching you, feels as if a sunspark has broken through a cloudy sky. With her love for the sunsmile she is often called  „sunspark“.
She is very helpful and friendly  and will do nearly everything for you, if only asked nicely. However, if you have a bribe with you, some cocoa nutbars or some chocolate cookies from Ilbeth, she will run to Marcogg for you to get you what you want - at least she is willing to do it.

But that is only one side of this little girl. She likes teasing others, in a friendly way, be it her friends or the adults of the village, but she can be easily angered, if somebody else teases her, especially if this is done in a mean way, mentioning her dead parents, or  that her father may have been  a doubtful person.
Therefore sometimes, if she has been in a bad mood anyway, she even tries to start a fight which results in a brawl with kids of her age - or she storms up to an adult, hitting with her little fists on what ever she reaches. Because this has no effect, but she earns more laughter on top, she finally withdraws on to a high tree, pouting for the next hour. But though she has sworn herself, not to get down until sunfall, most times she is in a better mood soon and  when seeing friends playing  on the road, she is quickly amongst them again.
However, sometimes this is more serious, often she feels as an outcast, because though she is raised by a loving grandmother, she is jealous when seeing other intact families and is  therefore sometimes in a sad mood, which either results in a fight - or she runs away,  disregards any threat for her life,  risks falling down high trees or the rocks at the beach or she doesn‘t fear the wild animals in the deeper forest, to which she flees.


     Mimi is very agile and able to climb every tree quickly, good at hiding when adults want her to do something and charming to everybody, if it is needed. This doesn‘t mean, that she does it deliberately, uses it as a tool. It comes just natural to her, that she pleases people, if she is in a good mood. She knows a few herbal plants and their uses from her grandmother, the herb woman of the village. If you would be in need of a leader through the village and the surrounding woods, ask Mimi, she can show it to you. She knows all what happens in the village, though she not necessarily understands, what she has seen or heard.
Slight accuracy with a selfmade bow and arrows, pretty good in throwing her own little knife.


Her temper often brings her in trouble. Either the kids avoid her, when she is in a fighting mood, so she is alone and has nobody to play with, or adults get really angry at her and lock her up in a cellar for a  hour or two to teach her behaviour.

Having lost both parents she is not fully integrated in the groups and bands kids form. Due to her sometimes aggressive behaviour, she is not always allowed to played with the others which leads to her feeling of loneliness and the impression, she is not loved. Then she risks her life in adventurous behaviour.

A cough, which doesn‘t go away and shakes her body in the least expected moments.


1956 a.S. Born in Marcogg as the first child of Arina and Miro Dalgren
1957 a.S. The mother dies while giving birth to their second child, a son who dies as well. Mimi is brought to her grandmother to Nepris, Pelaghia Dorgren. She never says she missed her mother, but is quite withdrawn for some time. The loving hand of her grandmother however brings the merry girl back soon. Her father , working as a fisher in Marcogg, visits her occasionally. At these occasions he takes her out in the woods, telling her stories about the forest and its inhabitants, both true and fiction and teaching her how to make a little bow and arrows . The village-people see in him a person who has to be  observed carefully, rumours of illegal activities spread every time when he was in the village.

1963 a.S: Her fathers dies at sea in a storm. But till then he has told Mimi a lot of „secrets“ about the forests , caves and other hidden places in and around Nepris.The last time he visited her, he brings her a little knife and shows her how to throw it - at marked points on trees - and lampposts. She practised from then on with fervour, especially when she learns, that he will never return. From this time on she seems at times older than her age would her allow to be.


A self made bow with arrows, could hurt if it finds accidentally a target.
A little knife, present of her father.




Actually none, but she is friend with one of the villages straying dogs, which follows her word occasionally.

Title: Re: Character Descriptions
Post by: Rheine on October 21, 2005, 04:22:22 AM
Yahoo: vasklseere


Race: Human

Sex: Female

Age: 20

Hair: Shoulder-length; red in colour

Eyes: Dark brown

Height: ~1.56 peds

Weight: 104 ods

City of Birth: Marcogg

Tribe: Erpheronian/Stratanian

Occupation: Rheine is a very poor girl and is thus reduced into many low-class means of making money. Her primary occupation is as a streetwalking prostitute.

Title: Drifter (Female Human)

Detailed Appearance:
Rheine is a strikingly beautiful woman, bearing a curvaceous body and soft features. She possesses an innocent, ye very seductive face, large brown eyes oft hidden beneath a dark layer of black eyeshadow. Her face lays hidden by her straggly, unkempt crimson-red hair, which often completely covers her right eye, and sometimes a portion of her left.

Her eyes are rather large and expressive, and are often curved seductively, and can entrance men into being caught staring into their gaze. Dark windows to her soul, Rheine tends to wear a dark shade of black eyeliner to further deepen the appearance of her eyes.

Enveloping the eyes is a soft, slightly tanned skin; delicate and smooth. Her flesh represents a naivity yet also represents a very attractive young woman, and she bears soft, mildly sized lips, toned only slightly darker than the rest of the skin around them.
Framing it all is her fiery and uncontrolled red hair. Her hair is soft yet crisp; tangled and curled, though she strives to keep it as straight as possible--rarely succeeding. Her hair further hides the beautiful yet stressed face beneath, much of the straggly hair serving as a cloak for her eyes, which adds to their seductiveness.

Rheine is short, though her shapely body gives insight to a physically matured young woman, bearing attractive hips, long and slender legs, a slim waist, and a relatively well-endowed chest. Her slightly tanned skin was soft and delicate, yet at times muddled with dirt and grime--a sad result of living in poor conditions. Rheine always tries to carry herself with a strong, fiery stance, though can easily be reduced to a frail, weak woman, shoulders slumped forwards and body moving sluggishly as she finds life to difficult to bear.

She has several small white scars on her wrists, the result of despairing self-mutilation.

Rheine's outfit and a general picture of her appearance can be found the following link. Her shirt is of a dark navy blue colour (and the back portion is mostly bare and open), and the baggy part of the pants a dark maroon. The boots would be of a leather-brown colour. She also tends to wear a black hooded cloak when travelling and in bad weather, though it isn't shown in the picture:      

Rheine is an emotionally scarred young girl, hiding her woes and pains behind a wall of false emotions and feelings--indulgement, lust, trust, and hate.

Rheine has been living on the streets, told that she is worthless and unimportant and regarded as no higher than dirt for her entire life, which has caused her to develop an inferiority complex--that is, she feels very low self-esteem, lack of worth, and often places the blame for events not even relating to her on herself. She hates herself for her own failings (even if imagined), and hates many around her out of jealousy for their well-to-do lives (even if they are not, for in her mind, everyone is better than her. This has caused her to develop a false superiority complex, in order to try and be more powerful than the dirt she believes she is--prejudice. She is openly racist, loudly and rudely degrading anything that is not human. Through this, she gains a feeling of self-worth, for the suffering of others, the case fact that there are people (races other than human) of who she is naturally superior to. In terms of magic users as well, Rheine views them them as freaks, defilements, and cursed monsters, out of her own need to feel better than them, and out of her jealousy of the powers they possess.

Rheine also hates small children, envious of their laughter and play--happiness she never had herself as a child.

Rheine appears on a first glance to be very fiery, prejudicing, and rude. Through the fire of her spirit she attempts to become as powerful as the people who hurt her, to relish in the flames of their suffering and her own false elevation. Rheine exerts her strength and individualism, but when confronted it takes only little before she breaks down and runs out of that zealous flame. Still, she is a strong woman, for breaking out of the female mentality of being subservient to men is one not every woman can do, especially standing up to stronger men to defend her beliefs and rights.

Rheine often drinks and uses mood-lifting drugs--to find self-worth, and escape. Rheine will drink to the point of being drunk, drowning her sorrows in liquor, and hiding her own feelings, hate, and sorrow behind a screen of emotion-lifting drugs and plant intoxication. She tends to use these very often, making periods without very taxing upon herself, for she fears the loneliness and to actually have to deal with her problems directly.

Rheine will always try and attach herself to people, even to the point of a loving relationship, just to have someone who will care for her, treat her well, and just as someone to hold tight onto. Due to this constant desire to love and be loved, she sells herself as a prostitute not only for the money but for the sexual pleasure and closeness she derives from it. Engaging in her primal ecstasies allows her to temporarily escape from the loneliness of her life in the comforting arms of another man, even if it is only for his sexual pleasure and amusement. She is like her mother in that she falsely places her love in another man and believes that everything that comes from him is love in return, and that it is her fault when she is hurt because of it, not his.

Despite this, Rheine is very fiery and individualistic. She will not falter in standing up for her rights and her beliefs, and making sure everyone around her sees her as tough and able to take care of herself. While she desires the compassion, sympathy, and care of others, she doesn't want others to see her as weak. She is pretty much a bully and a punk. It makes her feel better about herself when others are hurt because of her insults, because they are in worse conditions than herself, and she is able to exert dominance over them, instead of them over her.

To summarize the above, Rheine is simply, a drifter. She latches on to anyone who will make her feel better about herself, even if their opinions of her are only superficial. Indeed, a lot of the friends she has had in the past have actually hated her, but pretended to be her friend in order to get her in their bed. Rheine travels from group to group and person to person, always trying to fit in to where she can be loved and cared for. Always though, she is trying to exert her dominance over the people in the group. To make them see her as a strong woman, not a weak child. Which often serves to push them away, unfortunately.

Rheine's personality is demonstrated symbolically in her appearance. First, her eyeshadow--dark black, rimming dark brown eyes, a tint that she can see out of yet others cannot see in. Representing her fear of showing the real her, of hiding behind a dark lie.

Her hair, bright red, represents the ferocity and rebelliousness of her spirit that she exerts to try and fit in with people and be as strong as those who hurt her, to relish in the power that has been exerted over her. The hair falls over and covers her right eye and sometimes left eye, symbolizing how she uses that strength and ferocity to hide her soul.

She feels that she is cursed and will never lead a happy life, thoughts that further lead to her depression and anger. However, she still acts as only a child, and is thus very confused, unsure of where her life is and what she is doing with it. She is corrupted by the numerous amounts of drugs, sex, and 'living at the moment' things. Her mind is a mess, but amidst it all rests the small, hurt girl inside her, desperate to escape from the corruption that plagues Rheine's dark, scarred mind.

Religious Beliefs: Rheine does not believe in the 12 gods or Ava and Coor. She believes and fears that death is an entrance into nothingness--a dreamless sleep with no awakening. She is highly suicidal but this fear of post-death is enough to stay her hand.

Rheine has few areas that she truly excels in. She is scum and a low-life, and has thus been tempered with a life in the streets. She is light and lithe, and has very quick fingers, able to pickpocket, pick locks and steal with a minimal likelihood of being caught. Rheine has a very attractive appearance, and her biggest strength is her sexual appeal. She has the looks to get any man she wants, and she knows just how to work even many resistant ones around her fingers.

One of Rheine's strengths, though it could easily be turned around and called a weakness, is her fiery, individualistic and strong demeanor. She is not willing to back down for what she believes in, and she will always try and present herself as being strong and able to take care of herself (even when she really can't).

She possesses minor magical abilities, but cannot do anything major willingly--for this to occur she must be in a state of extreme emotional distress, where then the powers are designed to harness her physical prowess, making her wild and powerful like an animal, and uncontrolled.

On the other hand, Rheine is very weak, often distracted, a coward, and a scrambler. She is physically very weak, and fatigues easily. Though her physical tolerance is already at a low, her mental tolerance is even lower, she will back down and flee, lie, beg, or scramble in any way that she can to survive and suffer as little amount of pain as possible. This also counts for her ability at keeping secrets--she isn't good at it. Interrogation, torture and threats will quickly cause her to reveal everything, and she will betray a friend to prevent harm to herself or said companion, even if revealing the secret could in the long run prove far more disastrous. To expand, Rheine is not good at thinking ahead. She lives in the moment, and will act on her base emotions without any regard to what the consequences for her actions might be. She will scramble around when in danger, often having not taken the time earlier when in new areas to find places where she can escape should things prove messy. Her thoughts and mind become chaotic during perils, and she is a heavy pessimist, always fearing the worst and breaking down for what could, not certainly, happen. Figuratively and literally, Rheine often is found backing herself into corners in times of trouble.

In terms of education, Rheine has none. She was never brought up in school and never given any sort of education, and thus cannot read or write, and has little to no knowledge of history, lore, or how to survive in the wild--another weakness, which limits her to Marcogg alone for any hope to survive.

Rheine's stubbornness, temper, and racism also are often a problem, leading her into fights she cannot win and strained relationships amongst friends.

Rheine is also unwilling to kill. While she may often threaten people with violence and perhaps say she will kill them, she could never bring herself to do it. If she ever does, accidentally or after one of her rages (see below), she will become very emotionally traumatized, her willpower sapped and her mental reserves to be able to do anything left to being sluggish and slow, if she can be brought to doing anything at all.                

Special Abilities:
Rheine has a strong magical affinity, but is untrained and unable to focus or use these powers at will. At times in emotional duress, she may enter into an uncontrolled frenzy and be able to harness this magical ability, her body increasing in strength and toughness, like a wild animal, however, in this state she cannot be controlled, and could even harm those around her if she is deep enough into the rage. After such an exertion, Rheine becomes very weak, tired, and almost unable, or, more truthfully, unwilling, to support her own body-weight to walk for several days. (This exertion is pretty much an uncontrolled, potent version of the fire spell Boiling Blood)

Despite this however, this ability does not show it self often. The trauma must either be emotionally driven or she must be so sure she is about to die (and even that is not a sure thing) before she can actually enter into such a state. (In practical terms, the likelihood of this happening in one story is slim to none. If it does happen, likely never more than once in the course of one story. So this isn't a common ability, this is merely an explanation of the potential, even if it never does happen in a story)                

Fighting Style:
Rheine is not much of a fighter. While she'll put up a fight, the moment she takes any kind of damage (a knife wound, or a decent battering in a brawl), she'll quickly back down and try and flee, or get on her hands and knees and beg for her life, offering everything she has in return for mercy

If she enters into a rage, she will utilize her magic abilities through pure force of will (which in the end is all that magic is. Formulas, reagents, and so on are only used to help a user concentrate). She doesn't use established spells, and cannot use defensive or support magics at all. All the magic she uses is designed to inflict harm.

Rheine has few possessions, among them her clothing, a small curved dagger, a small pouch, and a small amount of money.

Rheine was to be born into nobility. Her mother was a beautiful Stratanian woman, bearing dark red hair, tan complexion, and eyes that glittered silver as mithral steel. She was a noble, high class, well-established. A middle-class woman who married into the family line of an Erpheronian knight, an honourable warrior, and a great man. The future looked bright for the couple, who seemed to exude such an aura of love and compassion. It seemed that, should they have a child, this child would carry on the rich family name with great pride and honour—a lord of the noble’s house, a leader of the people, and a cunning warrior. The couple would be able to rest in happy serenity, buried in a tomb decorated and lavished with flowers and care.

Such a noble future never came.

It is not known how he really died. He lay in bed one final night, and never woke up again. The wife was devastated. She wept and wept for days, woeing the unnatural death with much sorrow and tear. In her anguish, she fled. Fled south. She didn’t know why. No one knew why. She desired to be away from the city of her husband’s death, to flee where the memories surfaced and the city coldly whispered.

Some say she went mad. The wife had left behind a mountain of treasure; a horde of fine possessions, eloquent artefacts and beautiful tapestries. Those were not her things. She hadn’t married into such a life. That was not her. Only he was her. But now he was gone. His treasures could return to dust, as his love had turned to dust.

It is not known just how long the wife wandered. Some months, or perhaps years later she wound up in Marcogg—oddly enough, the city of the rich, the onetime capitol of Avennoria, upon which she arrived with none of the great treasures of her husband.

She roamed the streets. She worked enough to survive, and survived enough to work. Her life was not what it once was. Her life would never be what it once was. She needed love. She needed a man. Someone to be with and love until her days had come.

It is not known how she met him. A thug. A scoundrel. A street-rat alcoholic. Yet she attached to him as a lover, endured his beatings with forgiveness, and gave birth to his daughter. He never accepted her. He never loved her, nor the daughter to follow. She was his play-thing, his punching bag—his property. So too was his new daughter.

This daughter was Rheine. The child who would have lived in wealth and in nobility, honourably carrying the proud name of her father and of her mother. Instead, she lived in poverty. Little food. Little money. No education. Abused, beaten, hurt and ignored. When she strived to find acceptance and care from her mother, she was responded to in silence. When she asked her father why he was beating her, he only beat her more.

The mother did try. At least in the beginning. She fought the father, and tried to reason with him. She tried to love her child and protect her from the evil of the father. She tried to explain to the child as blood ran from her nose and tears fell from her silver eyes that she would always be there for her, always stand by her, always be there to love and rescue her.

Eventually though, the rescues stopped coming. Eventually the mother sat in silence, and lay beaten in silence. She stopped trying to protect the child. No more rescues came when the father forced the child to the bed. No more rescues came when the child quivered and hid in the closet as the father roared through the house in a drunken fit. No rescue came when the child watched as the father finally beat the mother to death. There would be no more rescues, nevermore.

The child did not spend much time at home, considerably. Rheine fell in with other low-life children such as herself, small gangs and pranksters. From young ages Rheine was always falling into trouble with the law, participating in random childish acts of destruction with these ‘friends’.

As Rheine grew older, she spent more and more time away from the household. She learned to steal in order to provide herself with food. A quick swipe of an apple here or a piece of stiff bread there; after many run-ins with angry shopkeepers and guards the child finally began to make off with success. It even became somewhat of a game for her, and she’d often curse and spit at the shopkeepers as she ran off, laughing from making off with her prize.

However, living was always difficult, and she was forced to most everyday return home to her father, for he would beat her for her desertion should she spend multiple days and nights away from home. The beatings and abuse endured for many years as the child trudged through life. It was the age of 13 when Rheine could no longer take it anymore.

The fire consumed nearly a whole block before it had stopped. Peasants and townsfolk spoke in hushed whispers among themselves over the cause. Superstition and awe convinced many that the child of the man had somehow done it, for Rheine had been seen staring eerily at the structure as it burned to the ground, a darkness and hatred blazing in her eyes.

However, as the days and weeks went on, the fire without a cause was soon forgotten, stressful and poverty-stricken families going back to their daily economic and nutritional struggles. Rheine, however, seemed to start asserting herself more. Openly racist, quick to anger, flinging curse words and insults, the child quickly became involved with many more violent gangs of rebellious youths, where she was introduced to various mood-lifting plants such as simple vhin smokeweed and the hallucinogenic lofoforalt cactus skin. She actively made the authorities and adults in the east district aware of her obvious discontent towards them—thieving, burning, and beating, with a number of other social delinquents and youth criminals.

She fell into sexual relations with other youths, and soon began prostituting herself, needing money to pay for her rapidly increasing drug habits, as well as relishing in the comfort of her primal ecstasies.

Much of her seeming strength however came from her companions. Through numbers she felt protected and able to do whatever she wanted. They were not true friends, however, and she often only used them for the comfort of being around them and for sexual activities. As the years moved on however, the depressive tendencies and memories Rheine tried often to suppress began to assert themselves more vigilantly, and again she retreated into her shell. During this age she began to prostitute herself more often, walking the streets in search of clients to comfort herself with. She also several times contemplating suicide, and often came to cutting her wrists.

Rheine tended to frequent taverns and bars, both as an indoor outlet to offer herself and to begin her drinking habit. Eventually she was thrown out of several bars for often becoming sickeningly drunk and sometimes starting fights and brawls.

Her wrecked life was falling further and further into despair and isolation, and she often felt like she could not keep up with it all. She fell deeper into her drug addiction, to the point where it was becoming highly expensive to maintain it any longer. In addition, she was becoming a focal point of taunts and jests, the public’s common perception of her as a child of sin for her sexual practices was either a forcing her away from the public eye or to face discrimination. There even began to arise of disturbing allegations that she was a ‘witch’, many rumouring to her sexual practices, attitude, and even preposterous ideas of her summoning demons.

The worst of these allegations came from a nobleman whom desired a young woman for his bed than his old and ugly wife. Rheine took the job, of course, for it was often talked about among Rheine and other prostitutes that by a prostitute involving herself with nobles, it was a path to riches herself. However, rumours soon abounded among the common folk of having seen Rheine enter the man’s estate. In order to quell the rumours of his indulgement, the nobleman used his influence to place the blame on one of his servants. Having the servant discreetly killed and later ‘found dead’ in his chambers, the nobleman publically blamed the death as some sort of vile demonic ritual and act of sin.

The allegations of Rheine’s being a witch not unheard of among the populace, this final say almost completely proved it, and quickly the fact that the nobleman might have had sexual relations with a prostitute faded from view. Rheine however was suddenly the target of heavy discrimination. She was banned from all public buildings and avoided by most everyone, and, eventually, officially banished from the city under pain of death.

She stayed in the city for awhile longer, scurrying about in the sewers like a rat, along with other criminals, dredges, and washouts, but eventually she fled the city.

Though she was not good at travelling the wilderness, Rheine always found ways. She'd sneak along with merchant caravans, stealing food and so on and staying hidden as they travelled to other cities. Other times, she'd join up with gangs of raiders and so on, often as the gangs' wench in payment for travelling with them.

When stopped off in cities, Rheine could stay for a few days, or weeks, sometimes months, if she found it hard to stick with an old group or find a new one. When in a new city, she'd continue to steal and prostitute herself to survive, before moving along to a new city with an old or new group.

She's constantly drifted along like this ever since leaving Marcogg, trying to find some group or people she could fall in with. She's never really felt entirely belonging with any of the groups she's travelled with, and so continues to drift on, unsure of where her life is taking her, and not particularily caring anymore.

"She wants to go home, but nobody's home
It's where she lies, broken inside,
With no place to go, no place to go
To dry her eyes, broken inside."
-Nobody's Home, Avril Lavigne

Edited by: Rheine at: 10/20/05 20:23

Title: Re: Character Descriptions
Post by: Elendilwyn on November 20, 2005, 07:54:22 PM
MSN: (do not use this for emailing)

Elendilwyn Gwaihir

Name: Elendilwyn Gwaihir
Age: 30
Race: Half Elf
Tribe: Daughter to an Eyelians tribesman (Eagle Clan) and a Maeverhim female
Residence in normal times: Marcogg
General Occupation: Barmaid
Title: Aspiring Minstrel

Physical Appearance:
Elendilwyn is a slender female of about 1 ¾ ped. She has waist length black hair that shows a tinge of brown in the sunlight. Usually, it is tied in a single ponytail with a yellow ribbon that has 2 feathers attached at either end. Unlike most of her father’s people who have black eyes, she has eyes of a silvery bluish-grey shade. While definitely not a beauty, there are some who find her piercing glance and silence a cause for curiosity. She has slightly tanned skin of a light brown shade, lighter than her father’s but much darker than a Maeverhim. Despite being half-elf, she looks exactly like any other human person and the only indication of her elf-blood is her height and the fact that at 30, she still looks like a girl who is barely 20.

Elendilwyn is partial to greens and browns and is usually sighted in a simple white blouse with loose long flowing sleeves and a knee-length brown skirt with a green sash round her waist. Her clothes are simple to avoid attention though occasionally, she chooses a blouse with a lower cut that hints of a well-endowed bosom. Other times, she wears a dark brown bodice over her white blouse which is tied together with crossed ribbons. The only jewellery she wears is a small silver diamond-shaped locket over her neck with an engraved leaf on the cover, which she herself is been unable to open. It was the only thing her father left to her before his passing.

For a barmaid, Elendilwyn has an undeniably quiet persona and will not engage in the frivolous banter of drunken tavern-goers. In fact she is frowned upon by the tavern-owner for being less cordial with the men and refusing favours of any sort. Despite her lack of social skills, she does her work well, serving drinks and cleaning up after customers leave. While seemingly aloof, she listens to the stories travelers bring for they are her one and only key to the world outside Marcogg.

Once, a fight in the tavern, where someone accidentally tore her sleeve, showed to those present an eagle-shaped birthmark on her right shoulder. None have ever seen it hence.

Personality and History
Elendilwyn has always been a quiet girl for as long as she can remember. She prefers the realms of her thoughts rather than outward conversations but has the ability to hold an intelligent conversation if she finds a conversationalist worthy enough. Generally, she prefers to listen. While few have seen her smile, even less have seen her laugh. She does not view the world in black and white. To her, truth is always subjective and everything is perpetually in a flux. The process of creation is sacred to her and until an event is set in stone and song, she will deem it as passed forever into the recesses of the unknowing where there can be no truth. Even then, stone and song is still subjective truth.

To compensate for her lack of conversation, Elendilwyn has a very powerful imagination. Since young, she has had a recurring dream that comes with every passing moon. She dreamt that she sat by a lake so large you would think it was the ocean. By that lake was a house of grey stone ruined with the ages and the place was a place unknown to her. Reflected on that lake was the deep night sky that was never covered with clouds no matter what the real sky above it showed. It was like an endless chasm where the constellations came alive and indeed, for deep inside this lake was the universe. If you looked closely enough, you would see stars live and die, an infinite process of creation and destruction. This lake is the birth place of stories, tales of the future and ages old, waiting to be told to whoever cared to listen for a while. Such is the purpose of the deep blue lake beside the house and Eldendilwyn was there, watching things come alive and die. For a while she thought that it was a passing dream but it followed her through the years as if some destiny laid in wait within and she kept it close to her heart and soul, unknown to those around her.

When she is alone, Elendilwyn will sit and dream or sometimes, when she is allowed leave from the tavern, she will wander the streets and recreate in her mind the lives of the nameless faces around her. Her imagination has made her introverted but part of that introversion is also due to her past.

Elendilwyn is the daughter of a humble book-store assistant. While she knows her father is from the tribe of Eyelians, she is not entirely sure why he left though she assumed that like herself, he wanted to see the world beyond his dwellings. Her mother he has never talked of and she has no clue as to whom her mother is—almost as if it were a forbidden part of her father’s life. While she suspects that her mother is not human, she is not entirely sure. Her father was taken ill suddenly when she was 18 and before he passed away, he gave her the locket which is the only clue to her past and her heritage. To open it, she has to find her mother but where, she is unsure. He died without telling her.

She has been taught to read since young and has an insatiable appetite for books though the twelve years in the bar have deprived her of this pleasure. She came to the bar when her father passed away, having no other visible skills but the ability to read—who wants a woman who can read? In the end, the barkeeper decided to give her a chance seeing that she is hardworking and unafraid of hardship. Serving in the tavern was what she could do to earn a few coppers which she prudently saves so that one day, she can leave this place to search for her identity and destiny. Currently, she detests her life and her only comfort is to live the alternate life of adventures before she sleeps and in her dreams.

The other talent of Elendilwyn is that she has a flare for both writing and singing. That said, the last time she sang in the presence of another was in her father’s home where she would sing the words she read in books, encouraged by her father. Singing the books keeps them in her memory. Elendilwyn’s knowledge of the beauty of her voice is unconscious though she only remembers her father telling her that she should be a minstrel one day. She is unable to play any instrument, having never been taught to do so but she has a good ear for melody and can follow any tune effortlessly. Singing is part of her ability to record events in song and poetry. Her desire to be a minstrel to record events in song is also part of her own attempt to fulfill her recurring dream that speaks of her and the process of creation.

Elendilwyn does not have a spectacular history. If anything, her life has been simple, the complexity of her mind fueled only by the books she reads. To many, she is native of practical experiences. The lack of excitement in her life is probably a contributing factor to her wanderlust and desire for something beyond the ordinary. Travellers’ tales and stories she hears only serve to drive her passion for the unknown further. There are too many unanswered questions in her life. Who was her mother? Why did her father leave his tribe? Why choose to settle in Marcogg? Where did her skills come from? It almost seems as if life has some bigger purpose for her that she has not discovered yet.

Elendilwyn for all her silence is brave. She is not afraid of unruly tavern goers and will stand up for herself or for someone whom she feels was treated unjustly. She will not hesitate to give a slap to those that violate her modesty. That has earned her a few slaps in return but nothing she cannot deal with. She seldom involves herself in fights unless she is trapped in one and when in such a situation, she uses her reflexes which are of average for a woman of 20. While she has no fighting abilities, she is witty and is agile in movement, a trait she inherited from both her father and mother. This has enabled her to get out of numerous tavern brawls without spilling a drop of blood or attaining a bruise of sorts.

Elendilwyn also has a wonderful memory BUT it has to be placed in song. When she sings, she remembers in extraordinary detail but outside the singing, her memory is like the average person you find on the street. The other gift which she probably inherited from her mother is the ability to grow plants effortlessly. The small potted plants that she grows in her room flower at a higher than normal frequency and show leaves and flowers of brilliant colours that can only come from extremely healthy plants. Also better known as green-fingers, it is an almost inconsequential gift but present all the same. Some might mistake it as magic but to Elendilwyn, it is simply a natural ability. She currently has no magic that she knows of.

Elendilwyn’s silence is sometimes more of a bane than a gift. It has caused her to miss many an opportunity offered by a passing person due to a fear of the unknown (even though she desires adventure). For all her dreaming, there is an inertia within her, a hesitation to leave the only world she knows and all that she is familiar with. Since her father died, she has always been alone and guards her personal space jealously. Few have been able to penetrate her defenses. She does not speak of her misery nor does she of her situation. Many a good person has come and gone and each time she lets it go because she does not know how to voice herself. She can be a bit of shadow, forgotten and un-noticed.

Another unfortunate point is her short attention span. No doubt she has an excellent ability to listen and a good memory to aid it, her mind often wanders once the topic of conversation is out of her interest. Not a good trait for an aspiring minstrel who needs to listen attentively all the time. Her attention span grows proportionately with the rest she gets. The more well rested she is, the longer she is likely to listen. Most of the time, she rests in the morning when there are few customers in the tavern.

Elendilwyn has no weapon but she has a book of songs she has written.
The first page goes as follows:

Play her a tune on a silver spoon
A fool's symphony of night time blues
Whispers on the wind, melody of the breeze
An hour of music where time shall cease

Show her a vision of your smile
Dance in her eyes a heavenly style
A shadow of beauty she never shall see
For this is held by love's true keys

Drink her a cup of light winged hope
Catch her the stars upon a rope
Flirting upon a distant sigh
Such are things only dreams can buy

Write her a poem to close the night
Present her a dream to bless her sight
Sing her a lullaby to calm her soul
And into the dawn she'll safely go

First Companion to the History of Elendilwyn
“The Story of Gwaihir and Earendil”

Part 1

And so story goes as it is sung in days of old, not of heroes and great quests, but of romance at its best. Two different races, uncommon but not unique, a story of chance and timing, of Elendilwyn’s beginning.

It starts in Southern Savonia, by the mouth of Thaehelvil River. There Gwaihir sat in the warm heat of day. He thought of life and where he was and decided there must be more. Pray do not misunderstand for he really loved his home, but he thought there must be more than the grassy hills he saw. He was very intelligent, as the Eyelians often are, but he was restless too as his manhood steadily grew. He sought his elder’s blessing and went along his way, a path of new adventures to guide his newborn day.

It really is quite silly, the story of what happened next… but silliness should not be forgotten as it usually is so, for this is a simple story of how from silly something grows.

In the lush green forest of beautiful Sharadon, Gwaihir met his match. It was an agile running beast he hunted for a feast. He never got that beast for he tripped and had a fall, and a nasty fall it was that left him indisposed. But at that very moment, his pain had turn to shock; a laugh from high above that forever changed his course.

Part 2

It was on this fateful day that Gwaihir met Earendil, a short but beautiful romance from where Elendilwyn has her roots.

The laughter Gwaihir heard had a disturbing haunting quality. It was mellow yet sharp, soft yet penetrating, a sound the Gwaihir will remember for the rest of his life. It took him a while before he realized that the laughter came from above but when he discovered the source he stared as in a trance. He had never seen an elf before and the beautiful creature on the tree both startled and captivated him. The elf that he would later know as Earendil had long black hair which accentuated and brought out the blue in her deep-set eyes making her fairness even more obvious. Something about her reminded him of an eagle that Gwaihir saw when he was a young boy—she had the grace and magnificence of that beautiful bird he saw flying in front of the setting sun.

She smiled at him and Gwaihir thought that if he died that very moment, he would die with no regrets. It would be many days before they actually spoke. Earendil would always be near where he was, be it hunting or resting but she always kept her distance. This was until the day she finally broke her code and came down from the trees. What went on between them no one really knows but in the cool shade of the forest, Elendilwyn was born. Those early days were heaven to Gwaihir and he would have gladly remained there for the rest of his life.

But as fate would have it, it was not to be. Earendil had violated more than one unspoken rule of her family and without a word, she left him one morning before he woke, leaving nothing but a silver locket in Elendilwyn’s arms. Gwaihir was devastated. He searched the forest in vain. There are nights he thought he heard the sound of someone crying but every time he woke, there would be nothing but the night sounds of the forest.

About a month later, he left the forest with Elendilwyn. He made his way to Marcogg where he settled down as a bookstore assistant—a quiet and peaceful life was what he thought would be best for him and his daughter. It was the end of his adventures and the beginnings of Elendilwyn’s memories.

Beyond the Tavern Life
One summer’s night, after many years of dreaming when staring out of her window at night, Elendilwyn made a secret promise to herself, known only to the moon; she was going to see the world that her father only knew through books. She will wait and listen in the tavern to spot an opportunity and hopefully a group that is due to leave the city will allow a simple woman to travel with them, earning her keep through simple chores. It was high time she placed her inertia behind her. The tavern-owner would not miss her help. There will always be someone in need of a job who will replace her.

In the Duchess's Service
Elendilwyn came to be employed in the service of the duchess as a personal servant not long after she left the town of Marcogg. Her meager savings could not keep her wandering on the road for long. Her original intention was to find a tavern to offer her services as a barmaid to earn a bit more so she could continue on her travels. However, most of the taverns she visited expected a bit more in terms of service from their waiting girls. Her body was not something Elendilwyn was willing to compromise. It was through pure chance that one day she overheard some women on the street discussing the Duchess of Chylikis, that she was hiring servants for the castle. It was better than starving on the street or selling herself—Elendilwyn had made her choice then.  

Edited by: Elendilwyn at: 6/10/06 10:28

Title: Re: Character Descriptions
Post by: Kain Cristar on November 24, 2005, 04:10:22 AM
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Kain, The Divine Aspect

Height:2 peds 1 fore
Weight:1 pygge 8 hebs

Eyes:Pale Cerubell and Ithild
Hair:Cyhalloi Snow with Sor’inyt Orange highlights
Skin:Pallid with Karikrimson tattoos

Title:Aspect of Divinity


Kain Cristar is a Mage of confused intentions. He expresses his rage for all life by changing it to his will. In this he finds a vastly superior poetry. The basis of Kain's being is that he is driven by an inner darkness. A darkness which urges him to destroy all other darkness. He hates himself and yet covets his pitiful existance. He hangs onto life with an iron will and scorns all that tries to snuff out his raging life force. Kain is certainly not a heroic man, yet he his only purpose is destroying all evil around him.


Kain is tall and striking in appearance, with pale flesh covered in Karikrimson tattoos. Most noteable are areas around his eyes,  The symbol for Static Bolt on the palm of his left hand, and the incantation for Clap of thunder across his chest. Most tattoos are  different spells that he has memorized, bled onto his chest with pain and ink, though some are merely dark symbols that frothed up from the raging storm of his mentality.

Kain's body is thin and lanky, sporting soft muscles and no hair. His gracefully long arms lead to spider like fingers, which seem to always be poised, at the brink of unleasing furious death on all around him. He is unkempt and wild, yet dashing in a windswept and chaotic way.  

His face is dark and sharp. Kain's eyes are Ithild around the pupil, and pale Cerubell at the edge of the iris. Like a blue sun surrounded in a storm of snowy grey. They are always focoused on something, always fiery and intent, though their color has dulled. His nose is sharp and points downwards, toward his thin and sneering lips. Thin sor’inyt hair rests raggedly atop his head, which is over all covered by a light cloak's hood.

Kain almost always wears his cloak, which ranges in shade from deep nor'sidain to pale barsha dusk. This garmet is unique in many ways, first of all the cloak stops at his midrift, giving him ample room to manuever. Also instead of being open at the front, Kain's cloak is slit open at the left side, with a large triangular opening. The inner lining is filled with hidden pockets, which hold all of Kain's reagents, runes, spell book, and spell scrolls. Lastly, the cloak is crafted so that it hides half of his face. The tailorship is hard to describe, and it is best to just look at the portrait provided.

Under the cloak Kain wears a strange one piece outfit. The suit is form fitting, and is held together with a serries of brass rings attached to white strips of cloth. Once again it is best to just consult the provided portrait. This outfit has sections of thick boiled leather at the chest, groin, outer thieghs, shins and boots that absorb damage. There are no arms, and the leather sections are small enough that all of his key joints are given ample flexabilty. His abdomen, knees, inner legs, and ankles, are covered by thin nor'sidain cloth. He also wears a belt with a large circular brass ring at one end, which he uses as a pressure clasp to hold it together. The belt holds his heavy short sword. Kain carries this more for the appearance of capability than anything else. He is far to weak to wield it effectively in battle, and without any formal training. Kain will also use it as a focus point for the casting of intense his magic, though he is more likely to use Moh'epher for such a task.


Kain is an evil being, yet acts much like a hero. He is driven by dark lusts and psychotic ambition, yet he desires for little other than the complete erradication of that which he believes to be wrong. This makes him heroic in a twisted sort of way,  yet he does not follow any of the archtypical conceptions of classical heros. He wants to stop evil, he wants to fight the shadow he is driven to decimate all darkness. At the same time, he hates the common man, he yearns for power beyond the imagination, and draws his greatest powers from the shadow itself. In the classic hypothetical situation, if Kain is to hear a call for help, he is less likely to rush in, slaughter the minions of hell that have entrapped the maiden in distress, and ride into the sunset; then he is to run in, slaugher all the minions of hell that have entrapped the maiden, then suck her dry of power so that he may challenge the evil lord who rules the minions of hell who he just slaughtered. The main deciding point is an equation which involves the beauty of the maiden and her repusion to himself. Thus Kain has problems. He dispises all that is not pure, yet he himself is the cess that most cess stays away from. Born of rape and murder, raised by Co'orhem elves, and weighted down by thousands of sinful acts, Kain is disgusted with himself in every concieveable way.

This loathing shines through when he interacts with other people. He keeps to himself in most situations. When he does talk, it is either to condemn himself, defend himself, or condemn annother. Kain believes that all, even and especially Avá the beautiful, are corrupted and twisted. Each has a potential to do good acts, and each will always convert to evil in the end. He is suspicious of everybody and has never trusted anyone in his life. He is more fluent in words in books than actual speech, and so his speech has an archaic flair.


Kain carries with him an extremely potent sword that he calls Móh'efér. This blade is thousands of years old and originally wielded by the bone queen, then later dubbed the midnight blade and used by one of the choosen. This weapon enhances his magical spells in truely gruesome ways. Wind spells are known for thier healing of the soul and the body. Kain uses them to deal justice upon those deserving it, giving them a taste of their own torturous medicine. The weapon warps the effects of his spells, making them more powerfull, and much more malicious. Usually this means that when he casts a violent spell, it gives him some of his target's life force. Sometimes the blade makes a spell more deadly by imbueing it with vile powers. With this weapon Kain's already formitable spells become utterly devastating. A blast from Kain can easily rend powerful enemies to peices. When Kain attempts to heal others with spells such as enlightenment, the effects are both good and bad. On one hand, the person will indeed find themselves cured of what had ailed them, and Mo'epher will instensify Kain's abilities. On the other  Kain is often burdened with some of the wounds that he heals (mental or physical or spirtual), and the weapon taints the very person Kain is trying to save with its dark malevolence.

Such a powerful tool comes at a terrible price. The physical effects of this soul drain show in his eyes, which appear to be washed out and faded. Also his body is physically weakened. While using the blade to cast spells, he is physically damaged. This damage ranges from sore muscles, bloody noses, and burnt fingertips to broken bones, large lacerations, third degree burns, and internal bleeding. Each different wound is of course granted with its own ingenuitive form of pain. Each wracks is body with more horrible pain than even an elven mind can handle. A spell with a longer casting time usually means more damage, as his wounds grow over that period of time. The basis of the wound, or its beginging, is determined by the power of the spell. He must concentrate through the pain in order to finish casting the spell. This, in addition to the chaos of battle, is a daunting task indeed. When over exerting himself, Kain can black out due to the pain and damage his body has taken; this can lead to disasterous effects, like spell fizzling. If he can stay awake through the a powerful spell, then he will invariably black out just after the spell is finnished.

His body is not the only aspect that the sword thrists for. His mind is slowly maddened by its power. Each moment that he holds the blade in his hands, it urges him to do evil acts. Casting his spells for nefarious purposes, slaughtering the innocent, rape, pillage, murder, and the pursuit of chaos. Each day his will is broken more and more, until it brings him to do its bidding. About once a month, Kain is driven mad by Moh'epher's dark intentions, he remembers everything he has done, he watches himself do it in Co'or's vile name; yet he cannot stop himself. By the time he regains control, it is absolute. Sometimes it takes minutes, sometimes it takes days. Every time, however, he once again has complete control of himself, only for the cycle to begin again. As the time of his breaking comes closer, his mind can lose control at vital moments, such as the directing of one of his powerfull spells. This usually leads to him scorching one of his team mates rather than the monster they are facing off against.

Kain's soul is also drained by the weapon's power. This cycle is guided by the light of the sun. At any time where the sun is comming onto the blade, Kain grows weaker. By high noon on a sunny day Kain could more more cast a spell than you or I, as the blade needs his spirit to defend itself. He feels frail and weak, as he indeed is. His body is more suseptable to damage, as is his mind. He is much slower and the world seems to be a blur rushing ahead of him. But by Midnight he is rejuvinated and all the life that he had lost surges back into him, with the additional boost granted by the sword's might. He feels like he could crush stones with his bare hands and can feel his magical potential pulseing in his ears and fingertips.

Lastly, Móh'efér's influence on Kain's spells wanes by daylight. If Kain could summon the energy to cast any spell in pure sunlight, without a cloud in the sky, which he can't, it would be as pure as any good wind mage's. But by midnight, or on a stormy day, the spell is more the sword's than his own.

For these reasons, Kain is mainly a nocturnal person. He tries to sleep through the day, though it makes him much more vulnerable. When he is adventuring with other hero's this is a difficult thing to do. Most adventurers are awake in the day and sleeping at night. Therefore Kain is not nearly as useful a party member as he would seem to be, if the party leader met him at dusk or during the night.

A blade of this power was not built this century and surely not in the century before that. Many years ago, when the "midnight-blade" was well known and feared (being in the hands of a powerhungry mad man, Whom the blade eventually slew.) sages debated the blade's origin. Some clerics stated that the blade was built for Lokath by Kahlkaroth, citing its ability to corrupt wind magic, other mages were sure that the blade had been forged for use in the war of the chosen, and others decided that the blade was much older, created for the Bone Queen. No body knows why it harms its wielder so, some say it is because the weapon is ment to be handled by a Demon Lord, and uses the godly powers of such a master to enable much more powerfull effects, others assume that the mortal creator of the weapon was mad. The only two written accounts of Móh'efér supposedly originated in a piece of literature that escaped the ruins of Fa'av'calar, and much later, an ancient tome in the Aellenrhim Library. The writtings are broken into two very differant time periods, One is old beyond dating, and the other is dated around 8000- b.S. Both are now lost, due to a devistating orcish raid. That is all beside the point however. Within these newest papers it is stated that the blade was mended within massive forges of pure liquid flame (this is assumed to be taken as within the heart of a volcanoe.) and cooled within a pool of an elven slave's blood. The smith of the weapon is not clearly stated, though it is said that he had powers of demonic origins. The Tome's subect is centered around the times of 9000 b.S., which is about the same time as the war of the chosen. This leads to the belief that the blade may have been created by one of the Archmages to be used in the battle of the winds. The coloration of the blade being a deep crimson black seems to suggest that it might even have been hammered within the bloody forges of Tak'Dinal. Yet it is noted that the entry specifically used the word mended, which infers that the blade had already been forged, and was simply being reshapen. The first and elder document is far older than the first and its origins alone truely date the Midnight Blade. The scroll tells the tale of the bone queen and her battle with the orcish general, Us’gar Loc’um’rak. It clearly states that she is armed with a gigantic blade with devestating magical powers, which is broken in the heat of battle. Whether or not any of this is true is up to the reader.

Though it would expain why Kain found the blade where he did. The battle that ended the War of the fallen took place near the castle of Tak'Dinal, where there now resides the Eight Winds Bay. In this battle a massive spell was cast the destroyed the surrounding area and all of the warriors in it, including four of the Choosen. Considering the proximity to The Archmage Eckra The Cruel's (who was master of Tak'Dinal) homeland Kain assumes that the blade was carried by him into the final battle, which he fought to the bitter end.

The tome calls the weapon "The Midnight Blade" goes on to further detail about the blade's creation and uses. Many of the powers that the book speaks of seem unlikely to really have been inbued within the weapon. Such as the notion that the blade eventually mutates the wielder into a demonic apperation. The book literature in stating that the blade was last taken into a great battle of wrongful death, and where no man lived. "With the twelves will, the blade was burried beneath sand and water for all of eternity. Let us all hope it shall never touch mortal hands again."

Moh'epher is a heavy two handed sword, with an oddly pocked and pitted blade, making it resemble volcanic rock. The sharp edge of the weapon is deep Karikrimson, and the fuller is a void of Nor'sidian. This makes the blade look like it is perminatly stained with blood. The hilt has an intricate design, though it is unknown just what the design depicts. Because of what seem to be horns acting as the hand gaurd, it is usually assumed to be a very stylized representation of Kahrlkaroth. The actual hilt is wrapped in supple Ilthid leather and easy to hold, with a light pommel which does little to balance the weapon. No one is quite sure what the weapon is made of, though it is easily stronger than good steel, and seemingly impervious to rust.


A helpfull list full of links of spells most commonly used: Kain is level 5

I. Vanish
II. Confusion
II. Enlightenment
II. Wind Walking
III. Reign of Dakness
III. Insubstantial Shield
V. Dark Bolt

Kain began to learn the ways of wind magic when he was 33 years old. At this age he came to Ximax. He was tired from his escape from Nybelmar and yet eager for knowlege. Many of his teachers took kindly to his will to learn magic for the helping of others, and his urge to destroy the minions of the shadow.

His ability to easily focus in on the world around him and to quiet his mind became useful assets for the next century of his life, in which he learned to master wind magic. He moved up the ranks by his own speed, assuring himself that he was a master of each aspect of a spell before he moved onto the next, studying each sphere with obsessive accuracy. He did not move quickly up the levels, but he did move thoroughly.

Kain became devoted in nothing but the ways of the Car'all and rarely did anything other than study and train. His already haggard and thin body became starved as he prepared himself for a deadly reunion with his father, and the evils which he represented. Kain would practice his aim and stamina outside the city walls on anything that he could find. He would fire his spells untill he was drained of all power, then do it again the next day. Slowly he built up his will to resist fatigue and also the accuracy with which he could hit his foes.

His mentors became concerned with his increasing intrest in spells like Clap of Thunder, Confusion, Touch of Fate, and Static Bolt. They told him that he must seek balance, yet left him mostly to his own.

As he rose in level and was granted access to more of the Ximaxian Library, he found a new intrest. The War of the Chosen. The power of the ancient mages astounded him, as did their greed and corruption. He read everything that he could get his hands on, and discovered quite a few referances to a blade of dark powers.

He spent more and more time researching this blade, and soom was obsessed. He had to have it. His mentors grew disturbed and as he was on the verge of his sixth level they informed him that he must change his ways before they allowed him access to such power. He fumed and raged and after six days of intence planning, left for the northern lands.

Some of Kain's spells have been modified by Mo'epher's influence. The two most changed are static bolt (dark bolt) and Clap of thunder (reign of darkness).

When Kain casts Static bolt, he unleashes and thick black stream of energy from his outstreched palms. The writhing blast connects him and one opponent for a few seconds, frying his foe to a charred husk, and feeding Kain his life force. The bolt can be manuvered with Kain's palms, as the normal static bolt. The rush he feels is like falling off of a mountain. He feels alive as it drains his foes. The target feels a burning sensation, much like being hit with lightning. They can sense their flesh boiling for as long as they stay concious. Also they should feel their nerves spasm as they are overloaded, a sharp pain that roils across their body. Much like being struck with actual lightning. More hearty foes, who can ignore the pain to a degree, sense something like a river flowing down form them, along the center of the black energy, and into Kain. They can feel their strength leaving their body, and a sensation much like having large amounts of your blood pulled from your body.

When casting Clap of thunder, for instance, the weapon summons a Nor'sidian cloud into existance, which forms into the shape of a fanged skull. Then black lightning bursts from its open maw, slashing down Kain's foes. After the spell's effects damaging are complete, Kain gains some of the energy that his enemy lost, making him stronger, healing his wounds, and granting him unholy virtility. His foes feel a pain similar to that of Dark Bolt.


Kain is suprisingly well armed for somebody who knows almost nothing about swordplay. The pointy end goes in the other person, and not in you. That would sum up Kain's skill with the two swords he carries. While his short blade is much smaller than Moh'epher, its broad blade gives it alot of wieght, and he is slow to the draw to say the least. While Kain could theoretically fight an unarmed and untrained foe with some hope of a living outcome, such theory is not advisable. He has slit quite a few throats, and uses the blade to disembowl unsuspecting foes, but if it comes to actual combat, Kain will simply fry his foes. The blade is also used for various non violent tasks.

Moh'epher is always carried upon his back, With its sheath strapped to a leather strap that swings from his shoulder. The blade is so long, almost 2 peds in length, that it cannot be worn at the hip, and is almost useless in combat. The blade takes a long while to draw, being longer than most men are tall! Since Kain must be holding the blade to use its postive enhancements (if they could be called such a thing) he usually just reaches behind his back and holds the hilt while casting. When he needs both hands he will pull the weapon off of his back and spear it into the earth, and then begin his incantations. Sometimes he just holds the blade, but because of its immense weight this is very tiring and done sparingly.


Kain is battle hardened and experienced in the ways of killing. He can keep his cool while wading in pools of blood and mutilated bodies. He is couragous and does not psyche out easily, having lived through some of the worst terrors imaginable.

Cunning is one of Kain's most over looked abilities. He is devious and quick of thought, he formulates intricicies and  has the time to alow such longminded planes to work themselves out. Kain is quick of thought and not at all unimaginative.

His ability to focus on one thing not only makes him a powerful mage, it also alows him to singlemindedly persue a task with all of his powers. Whether it be kill that man, or get that sword, Kain is very good at single tasks.

Will is Kains strength of spirit, which has few bounds. Kain is willing to die for what he believes in, and to go down with a fight. Kain will not give up, and will give his dying breath to a battlecry. His force of will, his will to survive, has stayed him during the worst of times, under the worst of tortures. Where full grown men would perish, Kain has thrived as a child. Now Kain has faced the twisted north, were few ventured, and scorns that which has tried to end his life.

Kain is a powerful mage. His ability to destroy is awesome to behold, he wields the power of lightning and wind. He smashes his foes and blasts them to oblivion. His quick focus and flexible car'rall both give him an edge, as does his centuries of experience in the ways of magic and his devotion to its ways.

Mo'epher is an artifact with few peers. Wrought many millenia for the use of a blood thristy elvish queen, then brought back to use for one of the Choosen, its history alone is impressive. Its capabiltiy to corrupt, torture, and defile both its master ands his foes are both terrible and beautiful in a dark way. Kain wields its powers uncaring of the damage he does to himself, so long as it does greater or even equal damage to the forces of the shadow.


Kain is frail, his body is starved from his long journey and he is very weak. His very being is twisted by the evil places he as resided for the past fourty years, and his capacity to take damage is greatly reduced. Where his spirit is strong his body is weak. He would have a hard time lifting half of his body weight, and grows weary easily. Long treks and prolonged battle are hellish for this elf.

Single mindedness. Once Kain has his mind on something, it is nearly impossible for him to see the outside his tunnel. Not only is this bad when facing situations with multiple factors which must be faced at once, it is also disaterous to what little people skills he may possess. He is right, and he will not reason with his rightousness. There is only black and white, good and evil. Anyone who thinks otherwise can burn.

He is burdened with dysmal people skills. Companions are not a luxury that Kain can afford. He lacks the gold to pay them off, and the charisma to keep them on his side. Kain usually works alone, or at least outside the main body of the group. This is usually a bad idea in battle, since Kain has now way of defending himself when his considerable skills in magic are not an option.

Kain's mind is fractured. His childhood and his recent years in the northlands have ravaged his sanity. He is unstable and cannot be trusted. He cannot have friends, he trusts no man, he fears love and caring. The closest things he has felt to these abstracts are admiration and respect, which he could care less about. With the added effects of Mo'epher, one can never be sure who Kain might strike down with a rain of vile lighting.

Mo'epher has many down sides, and has driven him more than slightly insane. When it holds sway, Kain is a blood thirsty ravager. He consumes innocence and spits out death. The sins that the Midnight Blade has caused him to unleash upon the world are too terrible to speak of. Kain hates himself with the same fervor that he hates all other evil, and is almost as likely to vaporize a friend as a foe. Kain can black out due to the damage that Mo'epher inflicts upon him, and has a hard time casting his most intensive spells.


Kain was born of rape and lust. He never knew his mother, who was a young Kayrrhem woman with ideals of peace and harmony. She died giving birth, as is all to common. He would rather not know his father, an older Co'orhem filled with a need to fuel hate, chaos, and greed. Kain grew up lonely and despised for his lesser breeding and his half blood status. Yet, we jump far ahead of ourselves, it all began in a cool dark night...

The stars shone down with a twinkling embrace, wrapping their adoration about S'ishay. She walked confidently under their gaze and within their arms. It was late and she was still far from home, but she was not afraid. Nothing had ever happened on this route back. Insects chirped and the air was clean. She moved slowly and beheld the beauty about her. Birds cooed their last songs, before falling into peaceful slumber.

Shadows shifted behind her and an icy breeze clutched about her neck. Suddenly she could feel razors race down her veins and her heart clench tight in terror. She did not know why she was so afraid, but something within her told her that evil actions were afoot.

She spun around, eyes wide and eyes darting in every which way, fearing what she might find. The path was clear, naught but a leaf swirled across its dusty surface. The trees about her cackled mightily, and what was once a beautiful nightscape was now a nightmare. The stars were hidden in malicious clouds and the moon was a sliver of hateful yellow light looming in the horizon.

Hot breath slid down her back, and a deep voice spoke vile words. Before she could act she was held within arms like crushed the air out of her lungs. She could do nothing, she couldn't even plead for her life.

By the morning she had staggered back to her village. Tear streamed down her face, and cuts and bruises adorned her body. Her beautiful dress was stained with blood and dirt, and her mind was nearly broken. She had not even seen her assailant, a dirty piece of cloth had been wrapped around her face as he did his dark deed.

Her family cared for her as she regressed in health and mentality, she would not eat nor drink by herself. In her mind she was forced to relive that night every moment for the rest of her life. She would scream some nights, and others she would be silent as death. As the months passed, it became apparent that she was pregnant, and a great debate arose as the whether or not the child should be slain. On the day of Kain's birth S'ishay made not a scream of pain, nor a groan of agony. Despite this, it was apparent that something had gone wrong, as she began bleeding profusely. As the midwife held the child in her arms, and prepared to end it's short life, a whisper arose from the deathly pale girl, "Let him live." The midwife, who happened to be the S'ishay's sister, slowly lowered the knife who's purpose was to slay the infant. Those words gave Kain a long life to live, and fueled a vehement vengeance within him.

Kain grew up with his mother's family, though he was always kept away from the other children, and never allowed to eat at the same table as the rest of the family. Other adults would whisper about him, spreading rumors of his heritage. The most popular belief was that he was born of a Co'orhem father, though some when as far as to say he was spawned of Co'or himself.

Needless to say, Kain was given much alone time. With this time Kain would study himself, he would sit for hours concentrating on the objects of life around him, he would write sad poetry about everything he saw and heard. He felt that he could imprint some of his being into the things he wrote about, and strove to make himself and those things one. Most fascinating of to him was the wind. It's freedom and power bewildered him.

Because of his outcast nature, Kain was rarely found within the village limits, and preferred to sit in the midst of a thick grove of trees and bask in the filtered radiance of the sun and the wind licked his cheeks and hair. He would speak to the wind, though it never said a word back. He would tell it how the others hurt him and shunned him, and would whisper his deepest darkest secrets.

Though the other elves scorned him mostly because he was the spawn of his father, he would fantasize about who his real father was. Most often he was a daring seaman, who braved monsters and evil mages to get sad people to a happy place, or a powerful mage himself, who studied arcane knowledge and healed the dying. Once, when he told his grandmother of his daydreams, she slapped him with a cold glare, telling him never to mention his father again. This just agitated Kain more then ever. Maybe he was being hunted by the village for some injustice or another. Kain would write stories about being rescued from the village by his father, and living in a great palace and becoming a powerful mage. Most of them ended up in the fireplace.

As the years passed, Kain grew closer to the wind. He was able to feel its touch in ways that he could not explain, and he could touch it, not in the usual way, he could really touch it. He was only able to do simple things, he would shape it and move it to his whim. Now the wind spoke back. And as Kain neared his twenty ninth birthday, it began to speak ill oaths. Dark brooding was carried by the winds words, carried by the swaying of the giant trees that surrounded Kain's home.

He was out in the forest, in one of his favorite tree groves, and brooding in the cool shade. He was falling in love with one of the village girls, but she would never pay him any heed. He grumbled to himself and scratched hateful words into the soft dirt. The deep gray clouds above him carried the scent of his hatred, like cinder and fire. The roiled with screams as he growled at his misfortune, and they glowed with an eerie orange light as he fumed and beat the huge oaken trunks around him. He rested for a short while after he had worn himself out, he rested and wondered where the sun had gone.

As Kain walked back to the village, a horrible rot took root at the pit of his belly. He could smell the stench of burning and he could now see the thinning smoke in the sky. He feared for his family and for himself. There was no place to hide. Marauders were not so uncommon in these parts, Co'orhem with cruel knives and torches would attack small villages like Kain's own and decimate them. Yet Kain had never imagined that something like that could happen to him.

As he neared the village, the stench of seared flesh assailed his nostrils, and the weeping cries of the wounded called out to him for aid, aid which he was eager to give. Kain spent the day and night healing and comforting those who had shunned him all of his life, and felt at ease by his bloody task. He felt accepted and at ease, he felt like this was the kind of thing his father would do, this was a hero's task. Only a handful of his fellows lived through the night, and each owed it to him that they did, and knew it. They were grateful and two even apologized gently. Kain vowed that he would find the men who brought such pain to the world and destroy them by any
means possible.

After four weeks of obsessive nursing, many of the elves were able to take care of themselves, and the others who were wounded with broken bones. Kain found a heavy bladed shortsword under the soot of one of the charred houses, and left to complete his vow.

The boy had no way of finding the assailants, and was not sure of what he would do when he did find them, yet none the less spent every waking minute searching for tracks. In the end, they found him, not the other way around. A lucky thing too, if he had found them first he would be dead.

Kain was soon lost in the wild and starving for food. He had never strayed more than a strall from his home village and had never slept a night alone in the thick forest. As dusk came on the youth began to grow worried. His shortsword was heavy in his hands and his eyelids felt even heavier, he wanted to return to the village but he had no idea were to go. Eventually, the weary elf curled up under the protective branches of a large tree and fell asleep.

He awoke to quiet voices and started up to his feet, grumbling something about killing him after sun up, or at least in his sleep. He reached for his sword and felt a sharp pain on the back of his head. He did not wake for some hours after the blackness settled from around the edges.

When he did awaken, it was to the same raspy voice. His head hurt, his wrists hurt, his mouth hurt, and his ankles hurt. After a few moments of self inspection he discovered that his wrists and ankles were bound, and his lips were cracked and bleeding in several places. He was in a large cage and two sinister looking elves, with pale skin and nor'sidian hair were studying him carefully. They seemed to be debating whether or not it was worth it work to keep him alive for use as a slave. At this point Kain would have agreed with the shorter one, he was starving and weak and not worth the labor. But the taller one, who was easily two and a quarter peds tall disagreed. He said he saw something in the child. Something familiar. Kain saw it too. This tall elf looked like him. Some kind of good was exchanged between the two men, and the cage was opened.

Obviously the short Co'orhem had not noticed the relation, it was hard to see. Kain's father had black hair and pallid flesh, a twisted smile and a lanky body, which was adorned with cruel peircings. He had mutilated himself several times and was missing his left eye. Yet in that other eye there was a certain spark, this man was certainly Kain's true father. The young elf might have been disappointed, but was far too scared for his life to feel anything but terror. For one, his father was wearing a sacred necklace from one of Kain's village elder's necks, and for two, was splattered with specks of blood. Kain was unsure whether his father realized his role in Kain's life, and never found out, but felt deep down inside that the man was too seeped in his own evil to see anything but the next vile task at hand. He bought Kain out of his own egotism, he realized that there was something similar about he and the child and saw a little bit of himself. Also he purchased Kain because he was thin and frail, scared and dirty. Kain was perfect for his various needs.

The father, who's name was Vraal, lived with a group of Co'orhem raiders, who survived by sacking near by Kayrrhem villages. Vraal was their leader, and lead by example and pain. Kain became a servant for the other men, and a source of amusement. He grew to hate their evil with a soul burning passion and schemed secretly about killing them in their sleep. When he was not called upon, he would practice impressing his own spirit into the wind, hoping to merge with it and be wisked away to a wonderful paradise. At these times Kain found a semblance to happiness, and his connection with the wind slowly grew. At all other times, Kain feel more and more into brooding hate. He hated the people who the Co'orhem attacked for not killing the Co'orhem, for being weak and defenseless. He hated the Co'orhem for being evil and weak to their crude lusts.

He hated everything and more than all else, he hated those sinister and evil beings that had ruined his life. He did not hate them because they hurt other people, those other people had hurt him to the point that they were beyond redemption. He hated them because his father was one of them. Evil had taken what little he had to live for and shattered it. Because evil had taken his last chance at acceptance. Evil had taken his mother and evil had swallowed his father. He was alone in this world because evil had taken all the people who might have loved him, before he even had a chance to show them how wonderful he was.

For eleven years he lived like this. Obeying the rule of the mighty, starving and scarred. He grew tall and his intellect rose with his height. He was witty and quick, cruel and cunning. His rage cleared his mind, and he could focus all of his intentions upon single entities at a moments notice, planning and calculating. Most of all he wanted to take his sword, which one of the men, called Histhar, had kept for himself, and slit the raider's throats. He wanted them to look into his eyes in horror as their blood burbled forth onto his rusty blade. His eyes grew intense and cruel as the rest of him withered from lack of compassion and nutrition. But the aspect of him that grew the most was his hatred. Kain learned to hate as other men learn to breath. He hated without thought nor discrimination, he hated to survive. He existed to hate. Every night they would lock him in a small cage. Four years into his entry to hell he had learned to pick the lock with a pin he had swiped from a smoldering woman's hands. He had hidden the actoin by kicking her as she screamed. The men had laughed and not noticed as he swiped the tool.

It took him five years to raise the courage, or build up the blind hatred. Yet nine years after Histhar had come upon a Kain's heavy shortsword, it mysteriously slew him. When the other raiders awoke to find the blade shoved into his spine from his gapping throat, most of them took it as an omen. There were no signs of struggle, yet the body was badly mutilated, The sentries reported that a lizard could not have crept past their watch, much less an assassin. And Histhar was coming into bad luck anyways, he had nothing valuable to steal. Evil men sometimes die in evil ways. Vraal had intoned, then pulled the blade out from his partner's neck. The leader dropped the sword onto the leaf strewn earth, gave a glance to the securely locked cage in which Kain slept. "Check it."

The cage was locked, and after a thorough search, Kain was found to have nothing but the rags upon his back. The men then beat him and used him in the ways the usually did, then left him bleeding in his cage. After they had left Kain reached into his hair and pulled the pin from his scalp, wincing with pain and tears. Five men died in the next two years, and Vraal told his men that they would move, he told them that he feared that the villages had banned together and paid for skilled assassins to pick his men off one by one. He had the war band travel south and east, the prosperous human harbors, were he decided they would raid farms to escape the threat of assassination.

It was only a matter of days before the men raided a profiable Farm. They used what they stole to buy drink and women, then partied and satisfied their carnal lusts. Kain was beaten worse than he had ever been beaten before, and survived horrible attrocities that were commited against his mind and body. That night Kain escaped once again and slit annother man's throat, Yet this time, Vraal was waiting. Vraal had suspected his slave of the bloody handywork that had been taking place, he had seen the hate filled eyes. He had senced the blood lust. Yet his sinister and cruel whims willed him to wait and watch in the darkness. To watch the child coldly slit the mans throat with one hand over his mouth, then cut the body just so, slicing off key body parts and placing them inside the man's mouth. He watched in facination as Kain took a ring from the man's finger as a trophey then raise that old rusted blade, the one that had always been found burried deep in the victims neck. Then Vraal strode out of the darkness. He never spoke much, especially to a lowly slave, yet this one was so depraved, that he deserved special attention. "Why do you do it?" Kain, lept up startled and scared, Yet he kept quiet, the men may have fallen into druken slumber, but Kain was always weary. Vrall was expecting a snide remark or at least a challenge, as he would have put forth. Yet, his son was a much more direct creature. In a moment of fear and rage he lept forward and swung the dagger, Catching his father's head with the hilt with a sickening crack. The other man crumpled without a sound, His eyes turned upwards in suprise. Kain chuckled quietly at his newfound luck. He grabbed all the money he could off of his father's unconcious body, then crept out of the camp.

With the money Kain bought himself a set of archane looking clothes and an odd cloak that appealed to his wild interests. Lastly he purchused himself passage to Caelereth, were he had heard there was a school for those gifted with strange talents. By this time Kain could effectively move wind to his will and with great concentration cause sparks to eroupt from his fingertips. The trip to Caelereth was calm and swift, and by his 33rd birthday he had come to harbour in Milkengrad. From there he traveled south, toward Ximax.

Every day he worked on his magical abilities, by now he had learned what they really were. His outlook changed for the better, though the scars of his days on Nymblar (spelling is irrelivent my friends, completely irrelivent) still haunted him. The change was so dramatic that he even stoped constantly thinking about rape and pillage every once and a while. Though whenever he had a chance to stop evil he took it. He still distained most people, but he no longer wished to kill them in horrific ways. Now he just wanted them to leave him alone so that he could prepare himself to exact revenge on that entity that hat wrought so much wrong upon his life. By the time he reached Ximax, he was speaking Thranian fluently and had enhanced his limited magical powers enough that the instructors who met him were mildly impressed. They allowed him to stay, and sent him to the tower of wind. Kain had a thrist for knowledge, which many of his peer's lacked. While they stared and pretty girls he practiced night and day, though his constant obsession with offencive spells sometimes put his instructors off, they simply atributed it to his youth and boyhood. He never showed any signs of instability, when he did talk it was about heroism and stoping evil and cruel beings. He was accepted in the wind tower, His appearnce was not so odd to people who delt with esoteric magics every day, and his lust for knowledge and introvertive personality were not very odd either. Ximax was the closest Kain ever came to home.

Kain left the academy without having become a full fledged wind mage, though he was very powerfull in the ways of wind magic. He traveled up through the Sarvorian continent toward the old ruins of Tak'Dinal searching the northern wasteland of Caereleth for the blade which would give him the power to crush his foes. After ten harrowing years in which he grew skilled in using his magic in battle situations and honed what spells he had mastered, He could see the terrible ruins in the distance. Many a strange unearthly beast had he fought, and may times had he almost lost his life, yet his spirit still screamed with the stregth of a lingra as he set out to find his weapon.

The books had agreed that after the great battle in which water had swallowed all, the blade had gone missing. Kain theorized that the artifact would be found at the bottom of some large body of water, and thought he knew just which battle the tomes were refering to. He spent his time in and near the ruins studying wind magic and began to develop the spell that he would need to retreive the blade. A spell that would surround him with a protective bubble of air as he decended into the watery depths in search of his blade. Insubstantial shield seemed like it would work, and with but a few failed trails and some quick modifications, Kain could slip into water with air to breathe, though if he stayed under to long the increased intensity of the water car'ral would dissapate his spell, and if he ever lost concentration while he was too deep, he was doomed.

His years in the north changed him, he grew dark and even paler, he tatooed himself with arcane and esoteric symbols which represented his prowess as a mage and the destructive spells which he would gladly unleash upon evil foes. In a night of insane machosism, he tatooed the flesh around his eyes and his eyelids with a needle and dye made from the blood of an orc he had killed with clap of thunder. Kain recognized that the area was twisting him, changing him and maybe even driving him insane. But he knew he was so close to obtaining Mo'epher, and so pressed on, that morning he began his journey to the bay of eight winds.

After living life in the horrid northernlands for twelve years he finally came to the resting place of the sacred Mo'epher. He meditated for a day, not eating and cleansing his mind for the journey he was about to partake in. He had no idea how deep the lake was, and less of an idea as to where he might find the blade. He thought that he would search around the center, as Eckra seemed to be the kind that would appreciate blood splatting across his battle armor. He make a make shift camp on the next day, and readied himself for a prolonged stay. He would not leave this place until he had the weapon within his grasp.

It took annother two years for Kain to reach the bottom of the lake, and what he saw amazed him, though he would never speak of it. Nothing grew at the bottom, and the earth was still hard and blasted. There were no skeletons, the battle had taken place far to long ago. No fish ventured this far down, which was good for Kain, as he had had to escape from to many hungry sharks to appreciate their destructive beauty. He only had a few seconds to wonder though, as he had not yet become adept at keeping the spell stable at such depths, and was growing weary.

Twenty years of searching, his will was failing, his sanity gone, his body a wraith of its former self. he was covered in bloody tattoos, which gave further testimate to his power, he grew more and more powerful, from his terrible experiances underneath the waves he became hardened to fear and death. He accepted that there were times when his life was in the hands of fate, and that at times there was nothing he could do but his best. He had found a few mundane artifacts at the bottom of the lake, and would sell them for what little moneys he needed to survive.

Then, he found it. Struck into the muddied earth like a crusifix, seeming to glow with darkness. It called to him to set it free. Beside it was a set of ancient armor, which he was carefull not to touch. He grasped its mighty hilt and pulled, but it was at least a ped deep in the ground and would not budge. He studied it and wondered what to do, then marked the earth around the blade so that it would not be so hard to find.

It took annother six years to move the blade from its home. Coaxing it with magic and what little muscle he had, it grew to trust him, and it marked its vile mark upon him. His eyes grew deathly pale as his flesh. When he finally pulled the blade from the home it had kept for tens of thousands of years, he brought it to the surface and rejoiced.

It was the next morning that he began to realize that the blade might be as evil as the tomes had suggested. He awoke amidst the charred and mutilated bodies of five humans. He was just outside of a farmstead, and could remember everything. He just could not stop himself. He wanted their innocence, their joy. He wanted them to feel his pain. The things he had done, just like his father, worse. And so did Kain realize the evil he had unleashed from his own dark soul, he also realized that he could never end his own evil, that his only hope was to redeem himself by destroying all the corruption of Co'or that he encountered.

You have lived a life of cruelty and atrocity, you have bathed in the blood of the innocent, you have considered every act of depravity and your corruption knows no bounds. I am the angel of justice, I am the accumulation of all of your sins. Prepare for your redemption.

-Kain Cristar, Divine Aspect

Edited by: Kain Cristar  at: 11/23/05 21:45

Title: Re: Character Descriptions
Post by: Luca the Thief on December 03, 2005, 02:57:22 PM
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Name:  Luca

Gender:  Female

Race:  Half-elf

Tribe:  Azhorhria/Aeolrhan

Age:  65 but appears just over 20 by human standards.

Class/Title: Outcast Thief
Luca could be described as the carefree incarnate. Her no-worries attitude and sense of humor makes her a wonderful person to be around as soon as one looks past her rude and outspoken ways. She has no problem with crushing, battering and in any other sense, breaking the law though holds strict morals towards those deserving. Though on the outside the thief has a very happy-go-lucky way of life, in actuality, Luca has had a rough past and knows that things will never be cherries and rose buds. At least not for her.

Luca is proud to go by several titles other than the obvious one of thief, some of which include pirate, merchant, barmaid, dancer, prison guard, prisoner and livestock (the latter is a long story, but sure to a smile on anyone’s lips).

Luca is a very pretty young woman with softly blended features of both her elven and human heritage. She is well formed with a slender build and a good balanced grace. Her skin and face are soft from her mother’s heritage but with a strong, almost defiant jaw. Her bold brown eyes are large and almond shaped with the fiery spirit clearly evident behind her dark eyes. When her soft pink lips aren't twisted into a cocky grin showing two rows of straight, white teeth, her face is bright with cheer that is reflected in glimmering eyes.

Luca's hair is a dark brown that is naturally highlighted with dark blondes and a very faint copper. She cuts it conventionally short just at the chin with a choppy and uneven cut along the bottom. It is not uncommon to find Luca’s hair done up in whatever fashion she minds. Bandana’s are common, a red scrap of cloth (well stained with what appears to have been food in a past life) is sometimes tied around her forehead. Luca is sometimes seen with random braids or beads or other small things tied into itself, and it’s far from strange to find a needle or lock pick hidden in there somewhere.

Luca is not very tall for one of elven blood, standing nearly a fore under two peds. Her ears are noticeably pointed in an elven fashion though not as long as usual for the Aeolrhan. She is slightly built, more for speed than strength, and her skin has been bronzed a crisp golden brown from many days under the sun. Even her nose and cheeks are lightly dotted with freckles, for Luca prefers walking during the day than under the starry night sky. Luca’s hands are nimble and quick as comes from living as a cutpurse since an early age. The half-elf is athletic, with slim, trimmed arms and legs toned for speed and agility.

Luca's clothing is quite basic. She wears a gray thick woolen sweater with the sleeves either hanging just short of her finger tips or rolled up below the elbow. Underneath the sweater she wears a tight fitting, white sleeveless shirt with a low, square collar. On her hands is a usually pair of faded black, fabric gloves that are loose on her palms. The fingers of her gloves are ripped off to allow Luca’s nimble fingers the maximum movement needed to be the skilled thief she is. Beneath the gloves Luca’s right hand is bound tightly in a long leather ribbon. Underneath the ribbon is a branding mark few have ever had the horror to see and so hideous that only some kind of terrible magic could be to blame. It is a complicated pattern of twists, turns and spirals burned into her flesh, the skin hardened and callused a weird white.

Luca is always sporting her short, dark grey skirt made of a heavy, canvas like material. It's frayed edge falls about midway her thigh and shows a healthy amount of leg. While on the road, the half-elf bears a long fold of fabric, colored a soft sage green. She wears it wrapped about her hips and tied firmly in a large bundle at one hip, allowing the loose folds to drape from side to the other, still allowing for open movement and a flirtatious slit up the side. Around her waist at all times is a thick leather belt holding only her daggers and a various collection of purses and pouches that she keeps on hand. Luca always wears a pair of well made boots that look like she’s never taken them off for all her sixty-some years. The soles are worn down to barely a layer of tough, hard-boiled leather, but still thin enough for the street-sensed thief to feel the cobbles beneath her feet as she walks.

Sometimes found around her neck is an old cloak made of a light material colored a violet so black it appears black, with a deep cowl to hide her face in the shadows when needed. Stitched inside are various pockets and hidden compartments into the cloak, allowing her to conceal whatever she fancies. Luca rarely wears the cloak, only in cold weather which she tends to avoid at all costs, and it can usually be found stuffed into her well worn pack.

Luca has a wonderful sense of humor and loves a good joke or prank, even if it is played on her. She can almost always be found cracking jokes and is always ready with a smooth comeback. Few can catch Luca off guard with an insult, unless it really hits home (whether on purpose or not), especially when it refers to her past. In these cases, the half-elf shows little of her hurt or surprise, but simply tries to escape the situation as smoothly and quickly as possible.

She is very laid back and unless she is immediate danger, her cares are more often than not worlds away. Some find it very irritating the way she brushes serious issues aside without a second thought, but it is all common place to the wanderer. Luca hates plans and taking orders, so more often than not, she follows neither. Since her way of life isn’t exactly legit, Luca sees no harm in breaking the law, or in her case, crushing it. She happily breaks into houses and spends the night, perhaps picking up a snack or some of the silverware. The thief is very rude, up-front and outspoken about her opinions. She speaks her mind and rarely thinks before she opens that mouth of hers. This gets her into trouble often and the thief can never understand why some people are just so uptight.

Luca’s personality is not exactly the most compatible one available. Few care to partner with her as Luca’s pranks and teasing are occasionally crude, and sometimes just plain mean. Her nonstop breaking of rules gets her landed in city dungeons and more than a few inn and shopkeepers and raised their blade to her wrists. Luca is easily liked if you get to know her, but she can make enemies just as easily, if not more. Luca is openly a thief; she does not hide her lifestyle and rarely hides her hands.

The thief has a tendency to blame herself for things that she is barely even involved in. Her intentions are good and her heart is pure, but Luca's mind is convinced that she is not worth being helped. The half-elf constantly walls herself away from people with shields of sarcastic comments and apparent independence. She tries to help from a distance and rarely takes credit for it if her intentions were pure from the start. It has been rumored that a shadow lurks city dungeons, picking the locks of the young or innocent, when Luca is in town.

Luca is very down to earth and honest when she wants to be. Though it seems that her head is in the clouds most of the time, Luca’s mind is always working to find the best way through something (though sometimes her idea of best does not match those around her). Her realism can sometimes be seen as pessimistic, but Luca only tells it as it is, even if she is leaving out some more gracious details. Bitter and cynical at times, the last place a person wants to be is in a debate with the thief on something like poverty, leadership or honor. She takes friendship very seriously and is not quick to honestly call somebody one. Sincere promises (though these are quite different from scheme promises’, the two sometimes hard to distinguish) are always kept and Luca will go to any length to help somebody who she is involved in. Though difficult at times to work with, the half-elf truly is a team player and is always trying her best, even if it isn’t quite “good enough” for others.

Luca has never been a religious person, whether with her homeland beliefs of the ten gods and the fae or the introduced ways of twelve gods of the elves. As a child, as reflected in the grown woman she is today, Luca and her friends never thought very highly of the ten gods but they did believe in them and they did give the temples their space. A few street urchins, kids from a very different ilk that Luca was used to, would go so far as to steal from temple offerings, but this was almost as low as stealing from the poor or elderly. Luca still believes in the ten gods and firmly sticks with the idea that the fae wander Santharia as well as her homeland. As for the twelve gods that she’s been hearing about for the past fifty years, she believes in these as well. In fact, Luca will believe any faith that is thrown at her. As usual, the half-elf has twisted common knowledge around with her own explanation. Any religion, any faith, any sect, any cult. They are all right. Every god that has ever had a follower exists. How much work they actually do in the world is completely up for debate. The half-elf’s theory is a little unorthadox, sure, but, granted, it can make for some very interesting conversations.


- Luca is quick and agile with reflexes like a cat. Her mind is always picking out exits and possible assets when she is in a new area. She can move with silence when needed and harbors good balance and hand-eye coordination. The thief excels at running long distances, her long legs carrying her far for long periods of time. Her ability to dodge and tack is uncanny and Luca has a fair share of skill when it comes to climbing.

- Calling claim to part elven heritage, Luca’s eyesight and hearing is better than most humans, though far from that of pure elves. Luca’s eyesight is excellent for spotting small details in crowded or cluttered areas, though her long distance vision, especially in bright sunlight, is none better than the average human, if not worse. Her hearing is excellent and Luca has an innate ability to pick out distinct sounds within noise, though identifying those sounds is difficult for her.

- As to be expected, Luca is quite one with her hands. Especially if they happen to find themselves in another’s pocket or purse. She has various thieving skills, such as exemplary slight-of-hand and pick-pocketing skills (her light as feathers touch is almost never felt when it shouldn’t) and a head full of schemes, plots and cons to get her way and pay. Luca is also fully equipped with a kind of charm and wit that some find either indescribably irresistible or irritating.

- Luca is very skilled with the dagger, her weapon of choice. She always has at least two on her person at any given time and is quick to retrieve them. The half-elf is also good at throwing her daggers and her aim is true. This skill comes from starting at an early age on the streets (though, at the time, the knives were only used for cutting ropes, fabric, pockets and dinner) and then with decades of practice.

- Luca is excellent when it comes to persuasion and talking people in or out of things. She has a way with words and can manipulate the weak minded easily. The half-elf has no problem lying or manipulating the truth to better suit things her way. Excellent at keeping a straight face, Luca is also capable of playing along with any story thrown at her. She has also picked up a scattering of understanding of the elvish language, though is far from fluent or even able to speak it and often gets words mixed up and confused (which can prove more of a trouble than an aid, especially when the half-elf is relied to translate…never a smart move). She is also well versed in the bizarre lingo of Thieves Cant which, in some circles, could be called a language of sorts (though that term is more than generous for the ever changing, mostly guessing, way of communication).

- As opposed to what most would think, Luca is a terrible realist. She understands that some people can be trusted, and some can’t. This realism can aid her as the thief understands how bad things can really get. She has a deep understanding and personal sympathy for the underprivileged, and knows from experience that the greatest of help and best of people can be found in the most unexpected places.

- Luca carries an enchanted amulet that allows her to summon lifelong partner and close friend, Pick. Pick is an eagle who will answer to Luca’s call and can communicate telepathically through the amulet with Luca so long she is wearing it. Pick can act as a spy (though the bird’s insane coloration can give anyone under watch pause) and navigator for the half-elf, though Luca usually calls upon her for simple companionship.

- Luca is truly at home in large cities, the busier the better. She can navigate back alleys and sewer systems with uncanny ability. She relates well with people, mainly other thieves or others of the same ilk. She is, as previously mentioned, fluent in thieves cant and knows the unwritten honor and rules within the systems. Luca knows that large cities are built more or less the same. Certain buildings or certain people can be found with ease if you know how they operate and, no doubt, Luca does.

- Luca is a petite woman, short and with a slight build, as well as physically weak. She can easily be overpowered. The thief does not take kindly to pain and has difficulty working around injuries, no matter how small or superficial. Luca is rather clumsy if she is not paying attention, her innate gift of silence wasted when she knocks things over. She is also rather easy to spot in a crowd, her less than common hairstyle an easy mark to find and if she is wearing her sweater, it is hard to miss the half-elf when walking down the street.

- Luca has never been properly trained with either a weapon or even basic combat skills. She is too small to wield large weapons and finds swords or other long blades cumbersome and difficult to maneuver with. Luca cannot parry or match attacks with any amount of skill, preferring to simply run away than face somebody in direct combat. She has a tendency to back herself into corners or lose her weapon at her own fault. Though much of her success is thanks to luck and a flailing array of blade wielding arms, Luca is more likely to strike an enemy down in an unmatched, chaotic melee than fighting a one on one duel. She does not fight well with allies and has tendency to drag the uninvolved into her “situations”.

- Luca has a tendency to ramble and perhaps let things slip that she shouldn’t. The half-elf’s sharp tongue and unthinking ways tend to land her sticky messes that could have been avoided. The thief’s lies can occasionally double back on her, leading her to a situation she cannot handle or bodging up whatever story she was trying to pass. The half-elf strictly believes that nobody should get any shred of respect until they’ve personally deserved it, no matter their social stature, age or where the tip of their weapon is.

- Luca has a general distrust of magic and the people that use it. She has no experience with magical items with the exception of her amulet, and refuses to use them. Luca is against magical healing and will decline it if she can (can usually translating to conscious). The thief has firm and very unusual views on the gods and religion and is quick to speak her mind, despite present company.

- Though Luca’s realism can be a great asset, it has also fueled her pessimistic side. On the outside, Luca seems like one of those fanatic optimists who will never shut up about how great life is. On the contrary, Luca has seen some terrible sights, most of them from her own life, and knows how bad things can, and will, get. She is distrusting to most and very slow to get close to anybody. Luca takes friendship serious to a maddening level and can sometimes become irate with people who don’t.

- Luca is not as well prepared as one who travels constantly should be. She does not carry her own tent or even a decent sleeping roll. Her cloak is a joke (no pun intended) and is barely fit to keep her warm or dry. She rarely has food stored with her and carries only a single water skin, which she sometimes neglects to fill when the chance arises. Luca is easily sidetracked and has very little self-discipline when on her own.

- Luca’s people skills are questionable. Though the thief is fun to be with, she takes almost nothing seriously and shows little outward sympathy to those she can’t relate to. Few wish to partner with the half-elf as it is obvious at first meeting that the thief could be more trouble than help. She harbors a general dislike of elves, people with money and authority figures.

- Luca is a thief. She disrupts the peace and breaks the law. The half-elf frequents jails and dungeons as well as having to deal with victims who wish to take matters into their own hands. Luca shows respect to few she knows, and never to somebody she has just met. Luca, especially in areas where this is little chance of finding a victim, has no way of providing for herself. When she travels, the half-elf relies purely on hunting rabbits and eating fruit, following streams and other water sources from town to town. If sidetracked or somehow handicapped on her own, the half-elf has next to no chance.

- To put it bluntly, Luca is really quite daft. She lacks any formal education and knows only what she has seen, as well as suffering from illiteracy. She can be stubborn as a mule at times and closed minded to new ideas. The half-elf lacks a certain amount of common sense and is slow to understand things when put to words. She never thinks ahead or of the consequences, preferring to things on a whim than plan things out. Other people’s plans never seem to click in the half-elf’s head, and even though she may appear to be nodding excitedly, its more often than not going in one pointed ear and out the other.

- Though Luca is not a greedy person, a situation which could aid her is very appealing to the half-elf. She is quickly veered off topic and promises of a reward can cloud her good judgement. Though she is pure hearted and likes to help others, Luca can’t help but think of herself and sometimes puts herself in front of others. This was how one had to survive on the streets, and the half-elf doesn’t look to change anytime soon.

Luca has a permanent set of twin daggers that she keeps snugly hidden away under her belt. They are just under two palmspans long from base to tip of the blade. The daggers are of elven craft with perfect balance and a wooden hilt fitting for Luca’s thin hands. The bases’ of the hilts are topped with a thick cap of copper which Luca uses often to knock unsuspecting victims out while she does away with their belongings. Along with these daggers, Luca usually has one or two stolen ones stashed about.

The magical amulet that allows her summon Pick is extremely valuable to Luca. At the end of the thin leather thong, hangs the single talon of an eagle. Engraved on the claw are special runes and symbols of a language unknown to the half-elf, the language of magic. When Luca summons or dismisses the bird, the runes and carvings on the amulet glow a faint white light. She wears it around her neck like a necklace, while a simple ring band with mirrored runes is worn about Pick’s right talon where the claw used to make the artifact had once been. At times, when Pick is stressed or lacking energy, the amulet feels heavier and slightly warm, the claw being directly connected with the bird and the magic used to allow the two to communicate. The amulet does not so much let Luca read Pick’s mind, but more for Pick to read bits of Luca’s mind and implant thoughts of her own back into the thief’s mind. The power of the amulet is not limited to only Luca, for anybody who wears the claw around their neck has the ability to communicate with the eagle, but Luca would be very stupid to allow somebody to wear such a precious item.

Luca does not believe in carrying around bulky packs with tons of supplies. She has a simple bag that hangs easily over one shoulder from its one remaining strap. She's had it most of her life, having kept personal items and small amounts of money in it as a child and bringing it with her to store stolen goods. It has several pouches on the outside that carry small items she uses regularly (steel and flint, small cooking knife, etc.) while the main compartment holds larger items like a small skillet and her cloak when she isn't wearing it.

Pick is Luca’s magical eagle and best friend since she left the desert. The bird is about a fore tall with a great wingspan just over two fores. Her feathers are of the oddest coloration, having taken on a crimson red hue over the many years in close contact with strange and powerful magic. The eagle’s true age is unknown as Pick refuses to reveal it to Luca (you know how women are) but the bird has been known to Luca for over fifty years and has mentioned previous owners. The eagle can communicate via the amulet to whoever is wearing it, which is why Pick could never talk with Luca when she wore it on her ankle. Speaking with Luca or just being near the bearer of the amulet, drains energy from Pick and she must return to her home to regain her strength. Nobody is quite sure where Pick goes when she is not summoned by Luca, but the bird rather enjoys her times of solitude in the forest.

Pick has a very defined personality. She is rather cynical and incredibly sarcastic. The eagle has a relationship with Luca that borders on sisterhood and babysitting. Though the two appear to fight constantly, there is an incredibly strong bond between Luca and Pick and they would fight to the death for each other. Pick, being able to read Luca’s mind through the enchanted claw, can pick up subtleties in the half-elf’s thoughts that Luca herself might not notice. The eagle knows the shadows that plague Luca every once in a while and knows when to keep quiet, just to be there as a friend and supporter.

Luca was born to an upper class Aeolrhan elf maiden from Shan’Thai, an acolyte in the temple of Léarin. Her father is believed to be a trading human from the Azhorhria tribe who was passing through the port city on a trading caravan. If he had any true feelings for Luca's elven mother it is unknown, but before Luca was born, he left the city and Luca's distraught mother heard nothing more of him.

Half elven children are not especially accepted in the community and are watched carefully since the crossbreeding tends to point towards a dishonorable family history. Some elves look down on half-elves, calling them “dirty-blood” and some like names. On occasion, half-elves grow up ashamed of their heritage, disowning their human or elven parentage, usually the former, preferring the noble and elegant elves in comparison.

Luca’s mother was still young when the young thief was born, barely thirty, and was not ready to care for a child. Luca’s mother, understandably, felt bad about leaving her child. She could just imagine what the young girl would grow up to be like to think that nobody loved her. So her mother took one of her current obsessions from around her own neck and tucked into the folds of her baby’s linen. The baby was left with nothing to tell her of her family except for a simple trinket; an amulet made from a single claw of an eagle.

But luckily, Luca’s tale didn’t end there. The baby, wrapped tightly in black linen, was discovered by an orphan boy no older than eight years old. Ano took her in and taught his new and only family member everything he knew, and this included survival by being a thief. He gave her strict rules and principles to follow, like never taking more than you need and never stealing from somebody who couldn’t afford to miss it. The children, and their small group of friends who had helped Ano raise Luca, or Lucky as she was known, stuck mainly to stealing from the market or the ports, where stocks of food and supplies were always in high supply. Despite the hunger and cold nights out on the streets, these first 9 years were the best of Luca’s life. They were filled with friends, stories, music and laughter.

Most of her childhood that was not spent running from city guards and being scolded by Ano was spent at the home of a retired old ranger named Dargth who was an elf of some great age from the distant lands of Santharia. Dargth had traveled almost all the world and had many tales to tell the local children, street born or not. Dargth inspired Luca to become a ranger and explorer, for her love of adventure and a longing to cross the borders of her home city was one shared with the frail old man.

But one dream overpowered her want to explore; all Luca had ever wanted was a real family. And one day, when Luca was about nine years old, she thought she found that. A middle-aged man with a nasty scar running down one side of his face approached Luca. He introduced himself as Doman and befriended the young girl, much to Ano’s dislike. After a while of friendship, and various hinting of a “long lost daughter”, Doman succeeded in convincing Luca that he was her father. The man was extremely persuasive or Luca’s good judgement was shattered by her need to have a family. Either way, perhaps a mixture of the two, Luca never doubted his word.

She followed him back to the thieves guild, an organized, power-hungry, underground community that stole from anybody worth stealing from and ‘disposed’ of anybody who got in their way. The guild went to all expenses to gain power in the city, everything from bribing and blackmailing city officials to killing prominent members of society who outwardly opposed them. Within the guild, treachery and betrayal was expected, even respected, hierarchy and wealth as important as life itself, and far more important than the lives of others.

Luca lived in blind misery for the next year, going on missions to steal from friends and people who could barely survive on their own. Doman was taking full advantage of Luca’s persuasive skills and abilities in the thieving arts. Finally Luca was given a mission to rob a wealthy noble’s home and return with a few select items, destroying anybody who opposed her. Luca knew she couldn’t do this big of a job on her own so she went to the one person she knew she could trust to help her. She asked Ano.

Ano was wary at first and tried to convince Luca that what she was doing was wrong. But the young thief’s need to please her ‘father’ overcame all rational thought and Ano reluctantly agreed. All was going well until the two were stopped by the noble’s only child, a daughter no older than six years old. So Luca did what she was told to do. She charged at the little girl with a rough dagger she had managed to get for herself, prepared to dispose of anybody who tried to get in the way of her, the guild and her father. But Ano, horrified at what Luca was willing to do, stopped her. In a mad rage, Luca pushed Ano as hard as she could. He lost his footing and fell back, knocking the base of his skull on the sharp corner of a low table. As the last light faded from his dying eyes, the young man’s death mask was a pleading and sorrowful look.

Luca was horrified beyond belief and tried to revive him. But the little girl had taken the time to flee and retrieve her father. The man took no time in calling the city guards, having Luca thrown into the dungeons, no doubt for a very long time. Nobody came to save her. The terrified ten year old faced execution and nobody was coming to help her. She had brought this upon herself. She had killed the only person she had ever been able to really trust. Luca would kill never again. She pledged this to herself and she planned to live up to it until she drew her last breath. Another question wracked at the young girl’s mind. Where was her father? He must have known where she was. And he could surely pull strings to get her out unmarred. As leader of arguably the largest thieves’ guild on the continent, her father had connections in ever part of the city.

She huddled in the corner of her small cell and clasped the amulet she had worn as about her ankle (the long string combersome around her neck) her entire life. It was the only connection she had to her parents now that she had doubts the words of the guild leader who claimed to be her father. The strangest thing happened at that moment. The runes that swirled and decorated the strange claw glowed a faint light and, soon, sitting in the barred window of Luca’s cell was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She had seen pictures of eagles in some books that Dargth had let her flip through, despite the fact she could not read. But it was not like the eagles in the old man’s library.

Instead of having the brown and white feathers like the images showed, this bird’s feathers were a deep crimson, like sweet summer berries. Before Luca could react to the strange appearance of this amazing and imposing bird, it flew to the side and perched itself atop the lock of the door. It stuck one of its talons, this particular foot missing one of its prized claws, into the iron lock and with a few deft twists, opened with a gentle click. Luca didn’t ask questions.

When she approached her father later that night she asked him bluntly if he was her father. He didn’t bat an eye at the remark and shook his head seriously, staring down at the young thief. Luca felt heartbreak like she had never known. The past year of her life had been a total lie. But before she could react, Luca was dragged off to a small room lighted by a single torch. Already in the room when they entered was the guild wizard, a middle aged man who was rumored to be the guild leaders own cousin. The wizard went to Luca and grinned evilly. He produced a strange metal device.

Perpendicular on the end of a long iron rod was a series of twisted bars that glowed red with heat, but no fire was seen in the area. The guild leader roughly grabbed the terrified young girl’s right wrist and held her palm out wide. The searing pain of that branding iron against the tender flesh of a young child was more than most people could ever know. But even worse, this was no ordinary branding mark.

After Luca’s thoughts had cleared she stared down at her skin through the hot tears that streamed down her cheeks, smoke still rising from the burnt area. The scars moved and writhed like a collection of serpents on her skin. The image twisted and turned a pain in her hand that matched, if not succeeded, that of the initial branding itself. The guild master lifted her by the throat and uttered a word that would haunt the girl the rest of her life: hunted.

The entire reality of the scar was unknown to Luca, for she was only told the bare essentials. These roughly described a macabre hunt that would follow Luca for the rest of her life and will ultimately result in her death or torture. A tradition among guilds (thief, assassin and otherwise included) was to brand the persecutor of the most haneous crimes against the guild and leave them for the hunt. The highest ranking in guilds all shared a similar, universal car’all, the kind of mindset one can only achieve from years of high ranking status in a criminal organization as terrible as this, one that could be detected by the magically imbued scar. When detecting a mindset so terrible and cunning, the branding mark will begin to burn, a pain gaining and gaining in potency the closer the predator is to honing in on the branded one. The guild members were permitted to go out in search of the branded and instructed to return the branded hand, attached to the live victim, to the given guild leader (the hunt would never expire, unless the hunted was killed long before the capture. Some hunts would go on for decades). The prize for the scar’s return? By the code of the thieves guild, the person who returned the marked hand would be awarded position second to that of the guild leader, a ranking coveted in the region because of it’s power and influence. And the fate of one captured? More often or not, the live prey are caged and kept alive, just barely, as some kind of sick prize or trophy. This was Luca’s fate.

Luca was given a full day to get out of the city and to get as far away as possible. After those 25 hours, the guild members who went out in search would be set free to hunt her down until Luca met whatever fate was planned for her.

Luckily for her, a ship in port was to leave at dawn the next morning. This gave Luca one last night to say goodbye to her friends and to recover from the brutal tortures she had endured. Before the thief made it to see her best of friends she stopped and realized something: Luca believed, without doubt, that if she revealed to them how she had killed Ano, a young man with a fiance and a capable dream, they would hate her beyond belief. And Luca was in no mood to fabricate a story. But there was nobody else to aid her. Luca was truly alone.

She crept aboard the ship easily enough as a stowaway and managed to keep her presence a secret to the crew, surviving the ride by sneaking into the kitchen in the night and stealing what food she needed, as the ship headed for the city of Strata. Things were going better than expected the first week on board, until one faithful night.

Luca was rummaging about the ship’s kitchen when a noise alerted the half-elf. She turned for the door, but saw the captains son, a human boy of Luca’s age, who was quick to turn her in. The crew wanted her cast overboard, killed and left for the sea to judge her, but the captain, though superstitious and wary of having a woman aboard, was still a reasonable man and father. He agreed to ship the obviously distraught and babbling girl, who seemed to have burned herself badly somehow, to Strata and leave her there to her own devices. It was the best offer Luca could ever had imagined.

It was not long until Luca learned the truth of the ship she had boarded. This was no merchant ship, like most that made port in Shan’Thai, but a pirate ship. It looted and attacked merchant vessels that crossed their path. The Sea Rat people called it, one of the best pirate vessels on the southern seas. It was a small schooner that was quicker than most with a crew of skilled rogues and outcasts. Luca was quick to befriend much of the crew, especially the jolly captain who took a fatherly liking to the young girl over time.

It didn’t take long for Luca to find a place among the Sea Rat’s crew. She stationed herself in the crows nest above the main mast, happily spending days at a time isolated from the boisterous crew and watching the sea. Luca was curious about the eagle that had visited her on the cell that faithful night, until one day it dawned on her. The young girl clasped her amulet and called to the bird, and to her joy, the bird returned. But this time it spoke.

The voice of the crimson eagle filled Luca’s mind, and she was terrified. It took some time for the bird to convince her that it was no minion to the dark forces or some kind of demon. After some time, Luca embraced her new friend as an ally, and they’re friendship grew. Luca and Pick, named after the deed the eagle preformed for her back in the prison cell (Pick was, of course, a little dumbfounded at the incredibly uncreative name. But when facing an overjoyed child, there wasn’t much she could say), made a formidable alliance in the crows nest. Pick taking watch with her keen eyesight or flying out along the waters to scout out other ships. Luca and her friend were welcomed into the crew.

When they landed in Strata, Luca was ready to go out on her own. But something held her back. The crew accepted her now and she held doubts if a half-elven from a strange land would be welcome in the strange new world. And so Luca stayed. And grew.

For fifteen years Luca lived aboard the pirate ship, honing every skill she had but never killing a soul. The crew marveled at her progress and embraced her as a daughter or sister, watching as this terrified and shy little girl evolved into a beautiful and outgoing young woman with the looks and wit to strike one down. She was known now as the ship’s little jewel, every man on board ready to die for her. Especially one.

The little boy that had turned her in had grown into a young man of Luca’s age. It was no secret that the two were more than just friends. Dominic was Luca’s first love and they were a fabulous couple. He would often come visit her up in the crows nest, the two able to talk for hours on end and watch out over the sea. Dominic was the only one aboard the Sea Rat that Luca granted the full truth of her past and torture. He was an excellent companion and comforter, whom Luca would die for and love to spend the rest of her life with. And Luca was happy, truly happy. She was adored. She had a family. She had love. But something was missing. There was something about the limitations of the sea, having only the ship to explore, that Luca found caging. She dreamed to visit the vast and magical forests that Dargth had told her of all those long years ago or to meet a dwarf with a great beard or maybe even a wizard of great power.

It was a hard decision, but Luca decided to leave. Not forever, she vowed, for she promised every crew member personally that she would return to the sea one day.

Weeks became months became years and after fifteen cycles Luca was in a port city along the Yanthian Gulf when she heard news of a schooner pulling into port. The Sea Rat had returned.

But time moves differently for the elves, even those who are only half granted the gift of long life. Though Luca had barely aged a few years, the time she spent away not making too much of an impact on her, fifteen years was quite some time to the humans. She returned to find a whole new crew, only the dwarven cook and still young albino elven boy remembering her. The captain had retired and been replaced and was living with a wife in Strata. And of Luca’s love? He had aged more than Luca dreamed possible. He was in his forties now, married and with a son of ten. Now he was the captain, just like his father had been, taking both his young and beautiful human wife and sweet young boy aboard with him. The man had not forgotten Luca or what they had had, but time passed and he just couldn’t wait for her anymore.

Luca was heartbroken. With hurtful memories and shattered ideals of what could have been, she left the ship. It was too hard for her. She was half-elven. In her travels, Luca had found that some elves did not take kindly at all to her tainted blood. And the humans had no place with her, for she would outlive them all several times over.

So Luca left and wandered. She traveled and saw the world, met new people and tried new things. The thief could do well on her own, stealing to survive easily. Sometimes she would travel with whatever group would take her, other times alone. But through it all the half-elf always had herself and her eagle, and that was all she really wanted. To this day, the half-elf travels Santharia and can be found anywhere she pleases. It is the life she has chosen and one that she has grown to accept.

Edited by: Tasuli Rose at: 12/24/05 9:05

Title: Re: Character Descriptions
Post by: Tasuli Rose on December 15, 2005, 02:33:22 PM
AIM: Vesk Lyricahl
ICQ: 340356648 (Vesk)

Tasul'i Rose
Gender: Male
Age: 21 (appears 16)
Race: Half-elf
Tribes: Erpheronian/Ylfferhim
Height: 1.9 peds
Weight: 1.5 pygges
Title: Duke of Chylikis

Appearance: Fiery locks descend to the shoulders of the young Duke, and his karikrimson hair seems to glow in the sunlight. His thin lips often curl in a cruel smile as he preys on the misfortune of others. A faint aroma of roses emanates from his skin as he has a servant bathe him with oils everyday. His emerald eyes rarely betray the emotions that churn within his disturbed mind, appearing cold and aloof to any that meet him. Only his rage penetrates his icy demeanor, and one could wonder as to why a youth would have such anger within him. His ears are slightly pointed, and they reveal his elven heritage at only a glance.

Lean muscles coil around each limb as the Duke is more than a pampered youth. It seems as though the light of the sun has not touched his fair skin for years, and he is as pale as his elven father. Hardly a mut of fat exists upon his toned body, and it is evident that gluttony is not among his sins.

Clothing: As a noble, his manner of dress tends to imitate that of other cultures, though he would never admit that the design of his clothes was not original. An uderzan blue tunic descends to his knees and is gathered at the waist with a wide leather belt. Silver dragons are stitched into the sleeves of his tunic with their heads at the end of each sleeve and their tails intertwining along the back of his shoulders. A white silk shirt is worn beneath the tunic, and its sleeves are tucked into his black gloves. His slender legs are covered by black leather pants, though only the legs of the pants are visible since his tunic conceals his waist. The pants tuck into black leather boots that descend slightly beyond his ankles, and the boots shine as they are polished each night by a servant. Both the edges of the boots and gloves are folded down to make them appear more fashionable.

Personality: Tasul'i has a personality that often makes his behavior difficult to predict. He may behave exactly as you would expect a pampered noble to act, then again he could surprise his companions by a display of compassion toward his fellow man. His rapid mood swings cause a torrent of emotions within him, and any given emotion may be expressed at any given moment without there being any apparent reason for him to feel as he does. His rage may consume every fiber of his being, yet in the next moment he could be laughing as though anger were an emotion that was foreign to his mind.

A certain amount of guilt lurks in the dark recesses of his mind as he believes that he killed his father. The death occurred as a result of a hunting accident, yet the youth blamed himself for the stray arrow that ended the life of the man he knew as his father. His true father is an elf that his mother loves dearly though she would never reveal their secret romance for fear of upsetting her son.

Weapon: His only weapon is a long sword that he wears at his side as it is sheathed in an uderzan blue scabbard whenever he is not fighting. Its hilt is made of pure silver and is topped with a large sapphire, making the Duke tempting bait for bandits whenever he is not surrounded by guards. The sword may appear to be mere decoration, but Tasul'i trained for years in its use. He maintains its edge in case he should ever need to defend himself in armed combat.

History: Tasul'i stood with a sneer upon his face as he gazed into the crowd. His disdain of such peasants was evident in his voice as he spoke. "So, you wish to know more about my royal person? Your ears are not worthy of such a tale, yet I will indulge my curiosity by revealing my innermost secrets to those that matter not."

I was born in Chylikis to the Duke and Duchess of that fair city. My mother was ecstatic to have a son, and most of our subjects assumed that my father would be glad to have an heir to carry on the family name. Yet he always viewed me with the same cold expression as if I were a stranger in my own home. I knew not what could cause such cold hatred, and the early years of my youth was spent attempting to win his love. I trained with a sword master so that I would be skilled with a blade and grow up to be a great warrior, knowing that this should please my father. However, my success with a sword only seemed to anger him, yet I persisted. I was determined to become an excellent swordsman that every man within the duchy would respect though it was only the esteem of my father that truly mattered. The love of my mother had been earned at my very birth, and it was she that I turned to whenever one of my father's cold remarks cut to the essence of whom I was. She was a delicate flower that seemed to wither in the presence of my father, as if his aura was one of winter. At the age of twelve, I began to suspect that the distance between my father and I was the true cause of the lack of love in my parents' relationship, and this revelation caused me to double my efforts in my attempts to earn his respect. It wasn't easy, but I soon convinced him to allow me to accompany him on his hunts as I knew that hunting was his true passion.

It was during my sixteenth year of life that he finally allowed me to wield a bow. He refused to have a bow crafted for me, saying that I would only shoot myself if I wielded it without his supervision. Even so, I was delighted with the bow that he allowed me to borrow during our hunts, though I never had any skill with its use. Our hunts were successful and for once I believed that my father truly cared for me, yet such joy was destined to end. On one such hunt, we separated as we sometimes did, and it was not long before I heard a rustling in some nearby bushes. I knew that my father and I were the only people in the woods and that he was at least a dash from where I stood, so I did not hesitate when I fired at the bush. It was only a moment before I heard the dying scream of my target, and I eagerly rushed forward. The sight of my father bleeding to death with an arrow through his throat haunts me to this very day, and I bent down to attempt to help him yet his spirit had already fled his body. My tears mingled with his blood as I mourned his death, and I lifted his corpse onto my shoulders as I began the long trek home. The servants stared at my burden as I entered the castle, but their opinions did not concern me. Only the words of my mother mattered, and it was her counsel that I sought. She gasped as I laid my father's corpse at her feet and explained the circumstances of his death, yet she seemed to be more concerned with my well being than she was the death of my father. It was with her grace that she attempted to convince me of my innocence, yet her words were not enough to banish the guilt that consumed my soul. I begged her to punish me for the murder of my father, for surely I did not deserve to live after committing such a sin.

Her concern for me was greater than my desire to die, and I soon returned to the normal rigors of everday life with her watching over me. I refused to attend the funeral as I knew that I did not deserve to look upon the man that had died by my hand. It was not long that the servants and subjects began to call me Duke, and I became accustomed to the role. My moods would constantly shift as it seemed that life could not truly interest me, and I had to amuse myself by being cruel to those below me. Yet, despite the rage that sometimes burned within me, I found that I could be equally kind to my subjects. My decisions were always based upon which mood I was in and had nothing to do with logic or sense. I have ruled the duchy of Chylikis for the past five years, though I suspect that I will be forgotten once I pass from this world.

- He is skilled with his long sword, having trained in its use for years.
- He is swift and agile, able to avoid all but the swiftest of foes.
- His wealth ensures that he is rarely without comfortable lodging, and he knows that tongues are often loosened with a few sans.

- His constant mood swings ensure that he can never be close to anyone, and he often offends those that are willing to aid him.
- He has absolutely no experience in an actual fight and fears the day that he will be forced to confront someone intent upon killing him. It is not rare for him to avoid physical confrontations, and he is known as a coward by those unfortunate enough to have met him.

- a silver comb
- several vials of bath oils
- ink and parchment
- a whetstone
- flint and tinder  

Edited by: Tasuli Rose at: 1/31/06 0:05

Title: Re: Character Descriptions
Post by: Vince Dark on December 20, 2005, 07:13:22 AM
AIM = discipleothunder
E-mail =

Vincent Dark
Race: Elf
Tribe: Mélad'rhím
Height: A little under 2 peds
Weight: 1 Pygge 7 Hebs and 1 Hafeb (or about 175 lbs)
Occupation: Guide through Northern/Upper Middle Sarvonia/Story Teller
Title: Traveling Storyteller

Name: His real name is Vashén Daér, deriving from the Styrásh words Graceful Fear. But he normally goes by Vincent Dark in Tharian, or shortly: Vince.

Appearance: Vince looks like most Grey elves, he is tall, very muscular, but fairly lean and very agile. Also, he is very handsome. His hair is blonde, usually unkempt, but straight for the most part, with some streaks of a more strawberry blonde in the front. He has eyes that are steely grey, which goes well with his pale skin. There is a tattoo of interlocking lines with no end (called “weaving work”) that goes up both his arms connected on his upper back (across his shoulders, shoulder blades, over the gap between then, and up the back of his neck a little). Many scars cover his body, from blades, horns, teeth, hooves, branches, and more.

Clothing: He wears mostly leather clothes, but he has boots and bracers made out of nul'tum fur (which he traded for). The rest of his clothes are tanned animal skin (elk from his old herd). He also carried with him several protectors for his major joints (Knees, elbows, wrist, ankle, ect), for when he goes scouting, hunting, gathering, and fighting. These he had made for him during his travels, and are made of metal, as well as his belt. He wears one bracelet, made of silver, which looks like vines woven together around his wrist, this and his tattoo provide his only jewelry. Among all of this he has a woolen cloak, that he wears to keep warm, but he never wears it when doing any sort of physical activity, for it is far too cumbersome.

Personality: Vince is a very warm, happy elf. He loves hearing other people’s stories, and storied of where they live, and of their people, lore, religion, ect. This is why he left his herd and his people, only he vowed to return when he had heard enough stories to satisfy him. Like most Grey elves, he is in essence, a philosopher, believing that death is necessary for new life, but this doesn’t make him a follower of Coór. He is always eager to share his stories, and tends to find ways to link them to something deep and meaningful, for instance, if he is leading a group of people through a blinding blizzard, he will tell a story of a time that he was lost in a storm like this, and wandered for hours, nearly dieing, only, when the storm let up, he found himself cowering under a giant tree, and on the other side of the tree, was a beautiful frozen flower that he would never had seen, if it weren’t for the storm. But just because he is a happy person, doesn’t mean he hasn’t seen pain and suffering, he loathes all orcs, and if he doesn’t kill them outright, he refuses to be in the same room as them, due to a horrible childhood experience. His love for animal’s means he will not kill, unless by necessity, and when he is forced to, he will only kill old or sick animals. He loves his two pets Vah and Shén, the only bit of his herd he took with him, Vah is a male Sawis sheep, and Shén is an elk, who allows Vince to ride him.

Strengths: -Vince is very strong, for an elf, this is due to living in very harsh climates for most of his life.
-Vince is very agile, and can move silently through the forest if he needs to.
-He is fairly independent, he can hunt, skin, tan, cook, and look after children/animals fairly well. (This is from living with his tribe for most of his life)
-He is adept in fighting with spears, which he learned from hunting, and he learned how to sword fight, he is good, but not remarkable.
-He is easy to get along with, and has a way of being the eternal optimist.
-He is a crack shot with a slingshot.

Weaknesses: -When Vince was a little kid, he watched his parents get slaughtered by orcs, ever since he is infuriated with them, so he will never deal with them, he refuses to work for anyone with an orc in their company, he wont be in the same room, he even goes out of his way to kill orcs.
-He has a love of stories, he tends to get sidetracked and has, on more than one occasion, left an employer to fend for him/herself in a brawl because he was hearing the most intriguing story.
-His optimism, where welcomed by most, had a tendency to rub some the wrong way.
-His left arm was slices open by an orc, and though it healed, he gets sudden bursts of pain from it, and when it’s cold out, or there’s a sudden change in temperature, his wrist becomes really sore and stiff. This is has terrifying results when he is shooting his slingshot, and a sudden stab of pain makes him shoot a friend in the back of the head.
-He will lay his life on the line for his two pets, and his bracelet, because they are the only connection he has to home.
-Since he has a love for animals, and never likes to kill, more often than not he will go hungry and try to forage for food rather than kill an animal.
-He also doesn’t get along with Injerín, due to them not liking his philosophy.
-Where as he will never get lost in the woods, he will become hopelessly lost in any city, normally he will stay outside and have someone else buy supplies he may need.

History: Vince was born in the middle of the worst snowstorm his tribe had ever seen. They named him “Graceful Fear” because of the storm. After the storm, all of his family’s livestock had died, except for a few sheep and an elk. His family still made due, and a few years later, they were fine, doing better than ever. As he grew up, he was obsessed by stories of the southern lands, and dreamt of the day he could leave to go explore and adventure, see things no one in his tribe have seen. Then, he went out with his mother to learn more about foraging, a group of Losh-Oc raided his home, and when they were returning, he watched as his father fought them. His mother told him to hide, and she ran down to help. He watched as both his mother and father died at the hands of the orc. He hid was still in shock when another elf picked him up and carried him off to safety, for it was already too late to save them. The next day, Vince went back, along with several others, and found his mother and father together butchered. The one thing the orcs hadn’t pillaged was a bracelet on his mother’s wrist. Vince took it and he and the other elves buried the dead before leaving that place. Vince would never return again. Vince was about 10 at that time. He wasn’t quite old enough to be on his own, and he had nothing, so he simply tagged along with the group of elves that saved his life, trading things for livestock, and livestock for things over the years. He made his own spear out of a spearhead he was traded, he was doing fine, but he was always a loner, always practicing with his spear and knives, hoping that one day he could exact revenge. He only stayed with the others when they were telling stories, because he loved hearing stories.

Then, when he was about 100 years old, he left the tribe, leaving most of his livestock with them, but taking a small flock of sheep, about 8 Sawis sheep, with him, just enough to survive. He promised that he would come back. He would never tell anyone why he left, except that he wanted to explore. In all reality, he wanted to leave to hear new stories, and he felt more and more alone the more he stayed with his tribe. He couldn’t take it any more and traveled south.

The journey was perilous. He spent a year dodging Losh-Oc orcs and the Diorye'oleal elves. He met a few elves that he traded with, and he met more than a few who he had to fight. One close encounter was with a small group young of Losh-Oc who had gotten lost. By this time, Vince had either lost or traded all of his sheep; he was walking around a fairly large party of Losh-Oc, when he almost walked into three orcs who had gotten lost. He had just enough time to thrust his spear into the first, before they knew what had happened. He reached into his belt and pulled out his knife. Ducking under one blow from the second orc, he stabbed his knife into its arm, severing tendon and muscle, before twisting around and slashing his throat. The last one landed a deep cut into his left arm, but only to get the knife to the face. He wrapped his arm, picked up anything of value from the three orcs, and hurried on. Or this is what the story has turned into. In all reality, he surprised the first, and got in a really lucky spear thrust. The second couldn’t swing his giant battle-axe because of the dense cluster of trees they were in. And the third would have severed Vince’s head from his shoulders if he hadn’t slipped in Vince’s and the other orcs blood. After this, it was about a month that that he found the city of Astran and started his career as a guide.

He knew no Tharian, and got completely lost inside the city. He finally found a tavern and started to ask around about work. Unfortunately when he would tell men his name, they never knew what he was talking about, unless they knew Styrásh. Finally, after days of looking, he found one man who knew enough Styrásh to hire him to guide and scout for a convoy. While in the company of him, he learned more and more Tharian to get by. He grew fond of the stories the convoy would tell around the fire, but he had to have them translated. This is the main way he learned Tharian fluently, by story. Eventually, Vince could tell storied of his own, in which he would enthrall everyone.

After he left the convoy, he named him self Vincent Dark, because he felt that he would be working more with humans than elves. It was around this time that he started to practice with swords, he had seen the humans with swords and heard amazing tales involving the sword, so he was intrigued. He started practicing with a stick he found on the ground, working on not hitting himself with the stick before he even bought a sword. He did this even while he was guiding several different employers. With his quickness and strength, he was a natural, but once he finally got a sword (he traded quite a lot for it) he found it rather awkward to fight with, and chose to stick to the spear and slingshot, but he kept the sword, just incase. He practiced with these two things every chance he got, becoming very good with the slingshot and spear.

Over the years, he traveled, both working and exploring. He started to buy a sheep or two, so he could remind himself of home. He would buy them when they were nothing but a new born, just old enough to go out on it’s own. Vince cared for the sheep he would come by about as carefully as mothers would care for children. Unfortunately, due to his varied income and his desire to travel and adventure, Vince could only take care of a few sheep at a time. The sheep would come and go, and he would replace them with goats and even an elk or two. People generally didn’t contest that he had these animals as pets. The only time it was ever bothersome was when he had to go scout ahead, then he had to either leave the animals with someone in the caravan, or, if it was just a few, he would tie them to a wagon.

Now, he still travels, telling tales and working, but he knows he will have to go home before he dies, he wants to share his tales with his people. But that day isn’t any time soon.

Weapons: He carries a spear with him always, along with a sword strapped to his back. Also has two knives, one in his boot, and a bigger one he uses for skinning on his belt. He carries a slingshot and two bags of ‘bullets’ for the slingshot.

Belongings: All his clothes, and weapons, and his protectors. He also has a few packs he carries around full of furs and blankets, tools for cutting the wool off Vah, and several empty ones just incase he finds something he likes along the road. Along with this, he has basic cooking supplies, some herbs for cooking, and reins for Shén.

Familiars: He has two, Vah and Shén.

Vah is a male Sawis sheep with a black head and white wool. Vince has had Vah for a little over three years now, and Vah, still reasonably young, seems to enjoy traveling with Vince. Vince sheers Vah every summer when it gets too hot, and sells the wool for a little bit of money. At 1 ped, Vah is almost at his full height, and he is 1 ped long, his horns are growing, but are still fairly small. Vah usually just walks along side Shén, since most caravans don’t move all that fast, but when Vah starts to struggle, Shén can carry him and Vince.

Shén is a male elk, which allows Vince to ride him. Vince has had Shén for about 6 years, and Shén is about 8 years old. His rack is very impressive, which makes it supprising that he allows Vince to ride him. Shén is 2 Peds tall, and about 1and a half peds from chest to tail. His fur is white on his chest, and a grayish white all over the rest of him.  

"How do you dream? I mean, what can you dream of; if from under your forest ceiling you have never seen the stars?"

Title: Re: Character Descriptions
Post by: Yarg Anklebiter on February 07, 2006, 09:08:23 AM

Yarg Anklebiter

Name - Yarg Anklebiter

Race - Hobbit

Gender - Male

Age - 47

Tribe - Dogodan Shire

Occupation - Healer and demolitionist.

Title - The Happy Little Pyro

Overview - Orphaned at a very young age, Yarg was taken in by the Ximaxian orcs, and trained in Fire magic. He uses this to feed his obsession with fire. He is a good person, if a bit....eccentric.

Hey, I think they're talking about me.

Physical Appearance - Yarg is about .87 Peds tall and weighs a mere 4.7 hebs. He is rather thin for a halfling, this being attributed to his constant amount of energy. He is always running around when he isn't studying, and since he has left Ximax, his studying is kept to a bare minimum. His hair is a slightly more Teki Red shade of Cinnabrown (strawberry blond) and his eyes are a light Viperine Sand (hazel). His hair is fairly long and unusally straight, given that he is a halfling. His skin, pale from his long hours studying, has now somewhat tanned due to his extensive traveling.

Yeah, I know. I am dead sexy.

Clothing - Yarg wears a form-fitting, long sleeved Nor'sidian (Black) shirt, covered by a relatively loose Karikrimson (Blood Red) vest, which contains hidden pockets. His loose charcoal (very dark grey) pants are held up by a Sor'inyt orange sash, the loose part of which is quite long, hanging to Yarg's knee. On top of all of this, Yarg wears a cape that is Nor'sidian (black) on top, but has shades of Sor'inyt orange, Karikrimson (Blood red) and Injohue (yellow) creeping from the bottom like flames. Yarg's Nor'sidian (Black) boots rise to about mid-calf.

I will repeat the sexiness comment.

Personality - Yarg is perpetually happy, sometimes frustratingly so. Very little dampens his spirit. Many is the time when he has seen nearly certain death, and never has he lost his smile or become resigned. Some people get angry when things seem dark, and Yarg is still smiling and being cheerful, but he heeds their dark looks not at all. One thing that makes Yarg unhappy is violence. Should Yarg witness violence, his happy demeanor immediately leaves, and he will do anything he can to stop the violence, including the use of his potent magic skills.

Yarg, true to his element of choice, is fairly...chaotic. He does things randomly, he will abitrarily change his mind. The only REAL constant is his happiness. Everything else changes seemingly randomly. This often puts those who know him off their guard whenever they deal with him, because they never know how he will react.

While he is chaotic, and represents the element of chaos and destruction, Yarg is quite friendly and even compassionate. He cares for others, heals wounds when he can. He is often seen in taverns, mingling with everyone, and having a grand time of it. One reason Yarg seems so happy probably has something to do with the fact that he is often completely irrational, doing things that make very little sense. This has caused more than it's share of problems, for irrationality leads to recklessness, and we all know where recklessness can lead us.

Spending a fast majority of his life (34 years) at the Academy in Ximax studying, Yarg is quite educated. He has studied books from the Ximaxian Library with a vast amount of the spare time he had during school. He thinks it amazingly funny that most people assume he IS NOT educated at all once they hear his name.

For no thoroughly explained reason, Yarg lies. About anything really. He can tell the most fantastic stories (he has this greaat one about a wooly mammoth), and none of them are true, yet he passes them off as truth. This is often the cause of many a a barroom laugh, but it is also insanely frustrating to try and get information out of the little guy, for he will sometimes just make up new information as he goes along.

Yarg is horrible with names. even if they were just introduced, he will mispronounce, or mess up the name of the person that just told him their name. While this is found as humorous by people who know him, strangers, and people he has just met, often find it annoying. It sometimes takes him days, or even weeks, of constant contact for yarg to finally remember the name correctly. Although if he never sees someone very often, then he may mispronounce and forget their name for years.

Yarg has no conception of the idea of 'Modesty'. He does not understand it himself, or understand that other people have it. He will oftentimes bathe naked in a river, regardless if there are females present. Sometimes he will even stumble upon a female (or male) bathing herself, and quickly join her in her bath, glad for the company, although completely uncognizant of the fact that they are both lacking in clothing, or that they are in a less than appropriate situation. Of course, Any females (or males), in the vicinity notice quite distinctly the innappriateness, and dislike it immensely.

Yarg enjoys his pranks. He pulls them often. Oftentimes, these pranks involve fire and spellcasting. For instance, while in a tavern, Yarg may cast Injèrán Touch on someone's mug, causing the ale inside to heat, and as we all know, hot ale is quite unenjoyable. However, sometimes these pranks that involve shall I put this....involve too much fire. This can obviously cause problems.

I remember this one time with a Baron....

Strengths -
Fire Magic - Due to years of study and a natural talent and love for fire, Yarg is quite skilled at fire magic. He spent 10 years after his graduation at Ximax studying further with The Ximaxian mages and Volkek-Oshra. He has reached level 6, and has even learned to cast a 7th level spell, albeit he had to study for ten years to do so.

Ingenuity - Yarg is creative, and thus, can find his way around most problems. Granted, most of his ideas revolve around fire, but that is only to be expected.

Intelligence - Spending many years at study in the library at Ximax, is quite educated. Proof of his intelligence lies in the fact that he got as far as he did in his studies. This education is useful if education or learning is needed.

Aaawww, your making me blush.

Weaknesses -
Pyromania - Yarg loves fire. He is fascinated with it and has been since before he can remember. This has often causes problems. Before he was a mage, he often caused fires accidently, and now, with fire magic at his finger tips, it happens frequently also. He will use Fire magic for any little reason, and often get sso caught up with the fire, that it gets to big, and it causes damage before he can get rid of it with Control Flame. Accidental fires are a serious hindrance to anyone, expecially fire mages who are supposed to be in control of fire.

Argumentative - Yarg is loud and vehement with his opinions. This often causes people to disagree with him, often loudly and vehemently. This often causes Yarg to protest the protester.....and so on and so on. He could spend hours arguing with someone merely for disagreeing with him on some arbitrary little matter.

Recklessness - Yarg often sees things a little differently than most people. He will often do things that may be extremely dangerous and incredibly risky. For example, to defeat an enemy, Yarg may cast a fire spell in the middle of a barn full of hay and HOPE it doesn't hit the hay. More than once that has caused serious problems.

Pranks - Yarg loves to pull pranks. This could be bad in to distinct ways. 1: He could pull a gag on the wrong person, thus causing all sorts of problems if said person is violent or powerful in some way. 2: Oftentimes, Yarg uses his magic for his pranks. Sometimes he OVERuses his magic for pranks. For Instance, someone might be smoking a pipe, and Yarg would find it very entertaining to make the pipe catch fire. This kind of behavior of course, is quite dangerous.

Compulsory Liar - Sometimes Yarg just finds the need for lies, even making up fantastic stories that nobody with any common sense believes, but he tells as truths. This makes people think he is untrustworthy, weird, or just plain crazy.

Names - Yarg is absolutely horrible with names. I mean, HORRENDOUS with names. He will mispronounce and mix around names he was told less than a minute ago. If he really gets to know someone, he remembers their name, but that often takes a few weeks at least.

Yeah, I have my faults. Who doesn't?

Belongings - Other than clothes, what money he has, and the sulphur he needs for a few spells, Yarg also has his staff. It is about a ped tall. It is made of red birch wood, and is adorned with intricate carvings up and down it's length.

Don't have much cuz I don't need much.

Weapons - Other than his potent magic and his not so potent staff, Yarg carries no weapons.

Why carry weapons when you can set things on fire?

Magic - Yarg has trained in Ximax for 34 years, and recieved special tutoring from the Volkek-Oshra, and has achieved the 6th level of power. After ten extra years of extra study, he can cast one 7th level spell. With the exception of Rays of Heat, he can cast all his spells at 6th power. Due to his study of the spells he knows and Rays of Heat, Yarg cannot cast any spells not on his list. His spell list goes as follows.

Flame Control - Level 1
Rise Flame - Level 1
Searing - Level 1
Injeran Touch - Level 2
Burning Regeneration - Level 4
Blazing Shield - Level 6
Rays of Heat - Level 7

I find it funny that I possess no means to get RID of the fire...

History - Yarg's parents were both mages living in the city of Ximax. His father was a fire mage and his mother, oddly enough, was a wind mage. His father was a very close friend of a Volkek-Oshra named Gromph. They both were going through the academy together and thus formed an unlikely, but nevertheless strong, friendship.

After Yarg's parents were married, they soon became pregnant (with Yarg). Both parents were ecstatic at this new development. Unfortunately, during the pregnancy, Yarg's father was trying to learn how to cast a spell of sphere 3. His father was at the 6th level of power and graduated from Ximax, and he attempted to cast "Rays of Heat", a 7th level spell. The spell fizzled, and caused the air around the mage to combust. The pain was too great for Yarg's father to concentrate on putting the fire out, and it consumed him.

This put Yarg's mother in a severe depression. She didn't eat, she couldn't sleep. Gromph, loyal to his deceased friend, feared she would lose the baby, so he took it upon himself to take care of her. he convinced her to eat again and would talk her into sleep. It worked to a certain extent. She was still unhealthy, but there was no longer a worry for the child. Gromph figured that the baby would help bring her out of her depression.

The time finally came, and Yarg was born. Unfortunately, the strain of childbirth was too strong for Yarg's mother, who was weak to begin with. She died in the delivery. Gromph, not wanting the son of hist best friend to end up in an orphanage or the streets, took the child and raised it himslef. He gave the child an orcish name, with a surname that befit someone of Yarg's "stature".

Yarg grew, nurtured by Gromph and various other members of the clan, for many people took a liking to the happy little hobbit. Yarg, at a very early age, showed signs of high intelligence, and of an affinity for fire. Soon after it was decided that he would study fire magic and the Academy, Yarg overheard Gromph telling someone about how Yarg's father perished. Since then. Yarg has shown a deep fascination with fire and fire magic, which later turned into a love (although the love has nothing to do with his father's death).

Yarg spent all the time he had, once enrolled in Ximax, studying, practicing his spells, and causing trouble with his reckless behavior. The only reason Yarg was able to advance in instruction at the rate he did with his reckless behavior was through the intervention of Gromph. Gromph loved his adopted son, and didn't want him to be limited in magic because of his derilect habits. Gromph would pull strings whenever Yarg was in trouble and Yarg was always forgiven.

One spell Yarg studied in particular, much to his instructors (who remember his father's fate) and Gromph's dismay, was "Rays of Heat". Yarg was determined to master the spell his father could not. Yarg graduated the Academy At the 6th power level at age 36, but stayed to study with the fire mages for an extra decade to learn the spell. After countless hours of study and practicing (with helpers, should the magic go to far), Yarg finally mastered the spell that killed his father.

Since then he has been wandering Southern Sarvonia, looking for anything of interest or exciting. He is an excitable and eccentric little hobbit, but fun to be with nevertheless.  

Edited by: Tasuli Rose at: 2/7/06 9:31 am

Title: Bahran Bahran
Post by: Bahran the big on February 07, 2006, 01:45:23 PM
AIM: Bahranthebig

Bahran Bahran

Sex: Male
Occupation: Mercenary
Race: Human
Age: 44
Tribe: ½ Helvet’ine Kuglimz and ½ Sophronian

Bahran has a darker complexion then most of the Kuglimz, with dark green eyes and a large, flat nose. Standing at 2 ¼ peds tall, and well over 2 pygges, his body is big and he has a bit of an ale-gut. For his age, Bahran looks terribly old and weathered. He has a short beard that only goes about nailsbreadth under his chin. Bah’s face is covered with numerous scars from his days of battle.

Bah wears a large plate of leather armor on his upper half, which extends down his arms. He also wears a strong leather kilt, displaying his well-toned and rather large calves. On his feet, Bah wears large brown boots that match the rest of his clothes and almost reach his knees.

Bahran has a somewhat stern personality. He would almost never be caught doing something unchivalrous… when he’s not drinking. But he is far more uninhibited when he isn’t sober, which is pretty much all of the time. He’s outgoing and likes to urinate on street corners. He’s a bit of a free spirit when he’s drunk, doing whatever feels good at the time. He’ll kick over a chair and jump on a table and start singing if he feels like it. Bah likes to look out for number one, himself. He hates it when people he considers inferior to himself tell him what to do, but he’ll usually do it if in reason – and the pay is right. Bahran can control himself when he needs to, however.

Bahran’s mother was a Sophronian woman. She was outside of the town one day, when a Kuglimz man appeared out of nowhere and trapped her against a tree. Nine months later a little Bahran came into being. A few months after Bahran’s birth, his father was found by the some women in the Sophronian tribe. He was executed in a few hours. The child’s mother continued to raise him by herself, with only a little help from other women of the tribe. Bahty, for that was his mother’s name, was marked, and couldn’t find a man willing to marry her. Without a father figure Bahran became wild, often getting into violent altercations with other children. The young man was becoming a nuisance for his mother, and it was becoming harder and harder for her to keep up with him.

One of the elder women that lived near Bahran and his mother suggested to Bahty that she should put Bahran into the military service as support personnel to the dominant women soldiers. The young man, of about 15 at the time, had a perfect will to be a soldier, but in the society he grew up in, men were not allowed to join the army, except as “support personnel.” When he signed-up, if you could call it that when it was involuntary, he was tested to see what he could best be utilized as in the military. He excelled at both the sword fighting and horseback riding aspects of the various tests. Because of his areas of strength, the army decided to make him a messenger. The boy was rather large for his age, rather large for any age in fact, and therefore didn’t want to be a messenger. He wanted to be on the front lines fighting. Bahran thought of horseback riding as a woman’s job, which was not a good attitude for a member of the Sophronian tribe.

The young man proved quite adept at being a messenger. He rode messages back and forth from the main Sophronian towns to their military outposts for five years before he got tired of it. He was 20, and had begun to develop more of a mind of his own, he was growing out of the very feministic beliefs set upon him by his mother and the rest of the tribe. The moment he picked, however, to leave the service couldn’t have been worse.

Bahran was carrying a letter that was relatively light, so he thought that is must not be all that important, it was always the heavy ones that held the most importance. He had been provided with a few days clothes, a nice long sword, and a good sturdy horse by the military and he figured that was all he needed to escape the military undetected. He didn’t know why he didn’t just tell them he wanted out, but he just figured he shouldn’t do it. Once he got about halfway between his pick up point and his drop off point, he decided to just go a completely different way, and just ride for as long as Bahbiscuit, his horse, would take him. Once he got to that point, he stopped.

Bahran ended up in Marcogg after about five days of hard riding. He, of course, didn’t know where he was, so once he reached there, he just wandered about the town. Eventually, Bahran settled down in a nice little cottage in Marcogg. He stayed there, living a perfectly normal life. Bahran worked as a bartender while living in Marcogg, and developed a drinking problem in doing this. He wasn’t a constant drunk at this time, but he was on his way to it. The large man was still training in his weapons every chance he got, with people much more skilled then he.

After about 23 years of living there, Bah was now 43, he heard news that the Sophronian army was in Marcogg, and they were looking for him. He had no idea what this was about, but knew it wasn’t good. Over 20 years after he’d left and they were looking for him, he wondered. Bahran knew what they did to deserters, so he hopped on his horse and ran, carrying only what he had come to the city with some 20 years earlier. He knew where to head to, across the Mithral Mountains, into Nepris.

Once in Nepris, Bahran figured that he could no longer be a bartender. He still had to make living, however. Bahran had only devoted his life to two things: fighting and bartending. Since bartending was out, Bahran knew he had to make a living as a fighter, and that meant, as a mercenary.

Bahran has considerable physical power and is quite strong.
His swordsmanship is rather notable.
Bahran can hold his own in any drinking game.

Bahran is a bit slow in the head, which the booze hasn't helped.
He has a very bad short term memory, also made even worse by the drinking.
Bahran has a terribly short attention span, again, the alcohol.
What Bahran has in strength and experience, he lacks in agility.

Two-handed longsword
Recurve bow with considerable pull
The clothes on his back
A couple bottles at least of strong ale (at all times)

Edited by: Tasuli Rose at: 2/7/06 9:35 am

Title: Re: Character Descriptions
Post by: Kareesh Valendar on May 14, 2006, 01:18:23 AM

Name: Kareesh Valendar

Age: 25

Race: Elf

Tribe: Quaelhoirhim

Title: Kareesh the Outcast

Eyes: Deep Green

Hair: Jet Black

Place of birth: Elvenground

Appearance: Karesh is around 2 peds tall and weighs 1 pygge and 2 hebs. Her dark black hair is, if not unusual for her tribe, pulled back out of her face by many braids in a beautiful way. Her green eyes usually show a glint of mischief and slyness. As an unwritten rule in her tribe, her cheek bones are very high and her ears extremely pointed. There was a fierce beauty in her features, as fierce as he anger if you happed to get on the wrong side of her.

She has four major scars on her body, three resulting from fights and tavern brawls she’s been in. The first two are on or near her face. The first one she received in one of her first fights, a little token to remember her opponent by. It runs from her left ear, down along her jawline, stopping about halfway to her chin. The second one she received because she didn’t hold her dagger in the correct defense position when her opponent struck at her. For this, she paid with much pain and blood. This one runs from the base of her neck on the right side down to her left arm. Her third scar resulted in a side attack she wasn’t expecting while she was drinking at a bar. It runs from her left elbow o her wrist on the same arm. The last scar is from her banishment from the City of Salóh. As you will read later in her history, her banishment comes from accounts of thievery (explain later in history), numerous fights, and just from the overwhealming shame that one of their won kindred could commit such crimes. The ‘banishment scar’ is located on her lower stomach area. Before they banished her, they tied her to a table and began to carve a’B’ into her skin. Then, she was banished.

Usually Kareesh wears dark colours (ex. Dark green, dark brown, and black). She owns two cloaks, a black one and a dark green one, both with hoods. She use to own a brown belt, but that was stolen from he a while ago. On her side she carries a small bag that carries her extra clothes and, when she has it, food. She keeps a lock-pick kit at her side as well and her dagger.

Strengths: Kareesh is extremely quick and agile. She uses both of these attributes when in fights. Exceptionally good in hand-to-hand combat, she is only partly good at the short bow for the reason of her keen Elf-sight. Her strongest strength is her wide knowledge of the small weapons. Another strength is the ability to pick-pocket and pick-locks quite easily.

Weaknesses: Kareesh is very weak against magic. She knows no spells or incantations thus leaving her wide open for magic attacks without any defense. Her strength is not one to be awed about so when fighting large, strong people, she must rely on other skills rather then strength to keep her alive. Also, Kareesh is not too good at large weapons such as the long bow and the long sword.

History: Kareesh’s parents, Árien and Kanaro, were both born and raised in the City of Elving. When they met, they fell immediately in love, mostly about the fact that they both were peace loving people. After a long courtship, they were married. After a few years, Árien became pregnant. Árien strongly thought that the city was no place to raise a child. Kanaro agreed with his wife and almost immediately they moved to the plains called Elven ground. After the time had come for Árien to give birth, she did to a girl. They named her Kareesh Valendar. When she was still a baby, Árien and Kanaro gave a vow of peace to each other that Kareesh would never be introduced to violence.

The years passed and Kareesh turned eight years old. On this birthday, her mother gave her a brooch. The brooch was made of a strange silver-white metal with strange symbols and writings. Placed in the middle was a small emerald coloured gem. When Árien gave it to Kareesh, she said that it had been in their family for many years. When questioned by Kareesh on how it came into the family, Árien refused to speak of it. Kareesh wore the brooch on her cloak and only took it off when she took her cloak off. About the only time that happened was at night when she went to bed.

Again years passed and Kareesh turned 13 years old. During this year of her life, she found something that would change the course of her future quite drastically. One day, Kareesh was out in some brush looking for some berries to eat for supper. Suddenly, something pricked her foot. Kareesh gave a short cry of pain but mostly if was of surprise. Being careful not to place her feet where she had hurt it, she bent down and started to maove weeds and blades of grass. She was careful for she thought that she had been bit by a snake or some other small animal. Quite suddenly, she saw something flash a yellow-white colour. When she had moved a large clump of weeds, she saw what had caused it. There, lying in the brush with the afternoon sun reflecting off its blade, was a dagger. Curious, Kareesh carefully lifted it up out of the grass. She looked up and around to see if there was anyone around who might have dropped the dagger. She saw no one. Looking back down she thought that not many people came through Elvenground and they certainly wouldn’t drop a dagger and leave it.

“It might have been here for a long time,” she thought. “But yet…the blade isn’t rusted.”

The only time she had ever seen a dagger was the one that her parents used to skin animals for food. Inspecting it closer, she noted that the hilt was made of a bronze-coloured metal. On the handle were two dragons fighting. For their eyes, one had rubies and the other had sapphires. Kareesh ran her fingers of the handle admiring it. Her ears pricked as she heard someone approaching. Quickly, she hid the dagger in her cloak and stood up.

“Kareesh!” she heard her mother calling to her.
“Yes, mother?” Kareesh called back.
“Have you gathered enough berries for supper?” her mother asked, standing some distance away.

Kareesh looked down at her basket at her feet. “I think so, mother.”

“Then come back home and we’ll have some lunch,” Árien called.

Kareesh bent over, grabbed her basket and headed towards the small hut that was her home.

From that day, Kareesh practiced using the dagger in secret, for she knew that her parents would disapprove of such things. Her skill at wielding the dagger was very good. So good, that she could hit almost anything if she put her mind to it. Until her family found out when she was 20 years old. She had been practicing throwing the dagger at trees on the outskirts of the Zeiphyrian Forest and had just thrown the dagger and stuck it into a tree when she heard a noise behind her. Turning around quickly, she saw her mother and father standing behind her.

“M…m…mother….f…f…father…” she stuttered as she realized that they had seen enough to know what she had been doing. “W…what are you two doing here?”

“We saw what you did,” her mother said accusingly.
“Eh…what did I do?” she asked wondering if they actually knew what she had been doing.
“You’ve been practicing with that dagger of yours,” her father said in a stern tone of voice.
“You know that we don’t approve of violence,” Árien added.
“I was only practicing it so I could use it to defend myself if ever the need calls for it,” Kareesh said trying to defend herself and her actions.
“Out here you won’t need. It. In all our years out here, we have never had the need to use self defense and I highly doubt that you’ll ever need to use,” Kanaro said.
“Why can’t I just train with this small dagger!?” Kareesh said in a sudden outburst.
“We told you that we don’t approve of any weapons except when in hunting,” Árien said with a disapproving face.
“I believe that you’re wrong!” Kareesh said a lot nastier then she meant to. Both of her parents gasped in surprise. “I think that every person should be able to know something about fighting!”
“We won’t allow you to train how to fight,” Kanaro said gently in a low voice.
“Then I guess I’ll just have to leave,” Kareesh said in a matter-of-fact way.
“We won’t stop you,” Árien said. “If you want to leave and fight, then you must leave us and never come back unless you learn that fighting is not the way.”

Kareesh walked towards the forest, pulled her dagger out of the tree, and walked off, not looking back.
She went to the City of Salóh and tried to find a place to stay. Unfortunately, she had no money for out in the Elvenground, money was not needed. For the first couple of weeks, she had to live in the alley ways. While there, she found humans who were willing to take her in but only if she would learn to steal things that could be sold for money or money itself. She quickly agreed. After a few hurried lessons, she was soon sent out on the streets and started to steal. When she had received enough money, she first repaid the money she owed to the people who took her in and taught her then rented a room in the local inn. Here is where she received her first scar. After that first fight she felt humiliated and angered. Everything that she had trained for had just gone down the drain. This made her angry and from that time on she spent most of her time training and stealing (so she could have money to stay at the inn). Soon she became one of the most feared fighter in the city.

After a while, she was found out by some city officials and they decided to do something about her. They held a meeting and took a vote on what to do. After a while, they decided that she should be banished from their city. Before sending her away, they gave her her last scar as described in her Appearance section. From then on, she’s been roaming, getting into fights, and stealing. Every Elf that she meets, once they find out that she’s a thief, then they turn their nose up and despise her. This makes her blood boil but she knows that she shouldn’t act upon it.

Possesions: Her special dagger, 3 set of clothes (brown, black and green), 2 cloaks (brown, green), a pouch for money, a pouch for her pick-locking kit, and a pouch for her extra clothes.

Shall I end this haunting nightmare for you?

Visit the world of Ardua

Title: Re: Character Descriptions
Post by: Drasil Razorfang on May 14, 2006, 02:31:23 AM
Name: Drasil Razorfang

Gender: Male

Age: 307

Race: Elf

Tribe: Meladrhim/ Injerin

Occupation: Former tribal warrior for the Meladrhim. After leaving he became wanderer. He acts as a mercenary. Drasil also makes jewelry out of stones, animal teeth, and other attractive objects to sell for money.

Title: Wanderer

Weight: 3 Pygges

Height:2 peds

Physical Appearance: Drasil is 2 peds tall with sharp angular features. He has pallid complexion that blends in with his long white unkempt hair that hangs loosely around his shoulders. His face is scarred with battle wounds; the most notable is the one that cuts across his eye. His eyes are oval shaped and a golden color that is commonly found among the Injerin tribe. Compared to other elves, Drasil is extremely broad, and weighs half a pygge more. By all standards, he is extremely muscular due to the effects of his malevolent lifestyle. His arms are tattooed with a grey ink, identifying his former tribe.

Clothes: Despite his time away from the Meladrhim, he still wears their traditional clothing. Usually he wears a hooded woolen cape, a leather vest, leather trousers, and protectors and bindings on his knees ankles and wrists. His vest, originally tan, is worn from travel and constant washing. His trousers and cape have an assortment of patches. The leather bindings though quite old, are kept in good condition. His ankle high boots are made of leather with wooden soles. Adorning his right arm is a bracelet made of animal teeth and attractive stones. Over his cloak are two short spears, strapped to form an X, its center meeting in the middle of his back. Across his chest and attached to his trousers are an assortment of leather straps holding his daggers. In his hand he carries a spear that is about his height, using it as a walking staff, but giving him a slightly intimidating appearance.

Personality: Drasil Razorfang has become an extremely reserved person since leaving the Meladrhim and the death of his family. He often sits in shadowed corners talking to no one. When Drasil does talk to someone, he is an extremely good listener. He can sit quietly listening to others problems. He also has an uncanny ability to say exactly what people want to hear. Since his adopted mother hated alchohol so much, he was never exposed to it in his childhood. His first time at a tavern, he tasted alcohol for the first time and instantly fell in love with it. Since then he has squandered all his money on it.


-He is extremely skilled with spears and daggers. During his time with the Meladrhim he practiced with each of these weapons daily. Now he has the ability to use them with such skill that he could easily be considered a blademaster(except he doesn't use swords)

-Agility- Utilized in his fighting technique of darting in and out of combat. Like most Elves, Drasil is considered extremely agile and he knows it. While with the Meladrhim, he discovered that he could use this to his advantage in battle. This lead to the creation of his own style of fighting which earned him his nickname.

-Loyal- is a good friend to the few he has. He is always looking out for his friends, protecting them and consoling them. He is often identified as the shadowy presence behind so-and-so's shoulder.

-Good listener- Because of his lack of ability to express himself, he has become an amazing listener. He sits quietly, offering condolences when a person needs it.

-Kari- Kari is Drasil's Ash falcon companion. Though she is independent, she is a good friend to Drasil, often helping him out of jams both in and out of combat.


-Poor- squandering all his money on alcohol and weapons even though he desperately needs new clothing.

-lack of ability to express himself- Since he spent most of his childhood in such an isolated environment, he was never around many people, providing him with no social skills. While with the Meladrhim, he managed to make a few friends because it was not a large tribe. Even though he is a good freind amoung small groups of people, large numbers of people overwhelm him, leaving him unsure of what to do and say. Because of his lack of contact with people, he can accidentally say things he does not mean. He will mean for something to be a joke, but instead the person will take it offensively, terminating one of the few friendships that he can't afford to lose.

-Low endurance- While, Drasil does have to walk long distances during his travels, he has relatively low endurance. This prevents him from running for long distances, and keeps him from exerting himself in long fights.

-Alcoholic- Drasil drowns himself in alcohol and often can be found sprawled on the floor passed out, or in a vicious bar fight. Many of the scars on his body have been received from picking fights when he was to drunk to defend himself. Drasil has lost many a dagger to a theif who has preyed on him while he was drunk.

-Wry Sense of Humor- Drasil humor is different that of many others. He often laughs at things others find morbid, making him seem like a madman. This makes even more people repulsed by him an he often has to watch his actions.

Weaknesses In Combat:

-fighting style- His fighting style also acts as a weakness because it drains his energy so quickly. While on the offensive, he appears unstoppable, moving in a flurry of blades or spears, but his battle tactics require huge amounts of energy and he can not sustain such rapid movement for extended periods of time. Though he has the ability to fight in long battles, he does not fight as effectively as in short ones because of the energy he expends on his attacks.

History: Drasil Razorfang was born with the name Drasil Paél-Weivóc, son of Móh Weivóc and his wife Silarná Paél of the Injerin tribe of Elves. His mother, born a Meladrhim, left the tribe to join the Injerin, like many of her kin, because of differences in be with the rest of her tribe. His parents left the Injerin tribe and sailed south together, eventually coming into the lands of the Erpherorian tribe of humans. It was during one of these wandering that Silarná became pregnant. One night, they stopped at a small run-down farm owned by a young couple. They bargained with the couple, exchanging a day's work for food and shelter. The Elven couple would not have done this, except Silarná was heavy with a child and Móh, wanting his wife to be comforable decided this would be the best way. The young couple agreed and the next day Móh went into the field with the young man, who he discovered was named Caen while Silarná preformed chores inside the house with Caen's wife Elaine. The Elves, preferring the quiet farming life to their constant traveling, asked to stay for another night, and then the next and the next continuing this pattern for another 5 months before Caen and Elaine asked the Elves to permanently stay with them. The Elves hastily agreed, and set about improving the beat up farm.

A month later Móh and Silarná had their first child, a boy whom they named Drasil, and soon after Caen and Elaine had a daughter, whom they named Moraine. It was soon after the birth of these two children that a terrible tragedy befell the people living on the small farm. A group of bandits, attracted to the now elegant looking farm, attacked the two families in the middle of the night. Móh and Silarná, in a desperate attempt to try to defend their homestead, fought the bandits, providing time for Caen and Elaine to flee with the children into the night.

Caen and Elaine did not return to the farm for a week, unsure of whether of not the bandits had left. They scavenged for roots and berries to feed to the two young children. A week later, they decided to return to the farm. Back at the farm, the bandits had torched their fields, destroying their harvest. Inside the house were the corpses of the two Elves, surrounded by four dead bandits. The bandits had looted the house, taking with them anything that was not too heavy to move. After burying their friends, Caen and Elaine tried to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives, replanting the fields and repairing the house. As soon as possible, Caen journeyed to a nearby village to buy a weapon to defend his farm in case of a future attack. The young couple also adopted Drasil, treating him as a son.

Drasil grew up ignorant of his Elven heritage, even though he noticed and questioned his parents about his different features because his parents always avoided his questions. Not knowing how to react to the difference in aging between their two children, Caen and Elaine raised Drasil by human standards, sending him out into the fields to work at the age of ten, the human equivalent to the age of six. Soon realizing their mistake, the couple decided to raise the Elf based on what age he appeared. It was not until he reached the age of 20, the human equivalent of being 12, Drasil realized the difference in aging between he and his sister. When questioned, his parents nervously pushed aside the question, not knowing how to explain his heritage.

By the time that Caen and Elaine brought up the subject of his parents, Drasil was 34, appearing 20 by human standards. He was extremely muscular from the years of working in his father's fields. He was much broader than an elf, but was still much slender than a human. His pointed ears were visible through his long blonde hair, a constant reminder that he was somehow different than the rest of his family. He also noticed that his eyes were a golden color not found among humans. Even though he had recognized the difference between the appearance of his family and his own appearance, he had not suscpected himself to be Elven, because not many Elves would have stayed among humans.

A few days later, Drasil announced that he was going to travel north to visit his people. His family, though sad to see him go, supported his resolution and made preparations for him to depart. His father presented him with the sword he had bought after the death of Móh and Silarná, passing on his self taught knowledge of its use to Drasil, giving him an extremely incomplete knowledge of its use in battle.

After leaving his family, he sailed north into the Elven lands. He then traveled on land looking for the Injerin or the Meladrhim. During his travels, he started collecting small objects he found attractive and strung them together to create jewelry. Upon entering the first Elven villiage he encountered, he was struck by the beauty of the elegantly shaped trees in which the Elves resided. He stumbled through the villiage, looking for a guide to bring him to the Meladrhim, his mother's tribe. While looking for a guide, Drasil entered the shop of an Elven weaponsmith. The shopkeeper was not in the front room, so Drasil decided to browse his inventory while he waited to ask about the guide. The shop had an extensive inventory that contained weapons from pikes to swords, but Drasil's eyes were drawn to one weapon. They were a pair of daggers, with clasps that could be fastened around the wielder's arms. Connecting the daggers and the clasps were what appeared to be a a loaded spring. Drasil was so absorbed in the daggers, that he did not hear the shopkeeper return and come up behind him.

"You like the daggers?" he asked. "They are well crafted. They fasten onto the wielders arm like this," he said, putting the daggers on Drasil. "Would you like them?'

"Yes, but I could never afford them," Drasil replied putting them back onto the shelf. He headed for the door when the shopkeeper shouted after him, "I noticed that you have an assortment of jewlery. How about I trade you the daggers for some of the jewlery you have made as well as a few years of doing small jobs for me. I am getting to old to be delivering my products to my customers. Drasil hastily agreed, handing over all of the jewlery he had made on his journey for the daggers. For the next 5 years he worked for the shopkeeper, before the shopkeeper finally decided that the expense of the daggers had been paid off. He walked out the store, fastening them on the way the shopkeeper had shown him, pulling he sleeves over the clasps to hide the daggers, and continued his search for a guide. Soon he found one, a young man with long blonde hair and emerald eyes who appeared to be about the age of Drasil's sister. The next day, he set out with his guide, finally reaching the Meladrhim camp on the third day. Bidding farewell to his guide, he strode into the camp.

A bold warrior, who he later found out was named Már Raín, stepped forward asking his reason for coming to the Meladrhim. Drasil hastily told the story of his parents to the elves and explained that he wanted to live with his mother's tribe. The tribe, except for Már agreed to let him join, seeing him as already a member of the tribe. He was forced to give up his sword, because such a large quantity of metal was extremely valuable. In an effort to preserve one of his favorite weapons, he never mentioned his two daggers that had bought from the shopkeeper for fear that they would be commandeer well. As a replacement to his sword, he was issued two short spears and one long spear.

For 271 years, he was trained in the use of these weapons, showing extreme skill, rivaling even the skills of Már, who was the tribe's most skilled warrior. It was here that Drasil received the name Razorfang. The nickname was given to him because of his fighting style in which he bound daggers to his wrists and held two in his hand, striking repeatedly and symmetrically, almost as if was biting his opponent, earning him the nickname Razorfang.

Towards the end of his stay with the Meladrhim, Drasil became accustomed to taking long walks alone. It was on one of these walks that he met a young falcon in the Stone Fields of Peat.

It was early in the morning and the sun was just begining to peak its head out over the horizon. Atop a small ridge, sat Drasil, gazing up at the tapestry of pinks, reds, and blues that made up the morning sky. Drasil sat, gazing at the heavens and soaking in the silence of the quiet fields. Suddenly, a high pitched screech shattered teh silence. Startled, Drasil spun, raising one of his spears to identify the origin of the noise. In the sky, a long falcon plummeted earthward, aiming at a small furred animal. In desperation, the little animal dashed into a nearby bush where it was met by the diving falcon. Approaching the bush catiously, Drasil arrived to se the small animal dead, its limp form hanging in teh falcon's beak. The falcon tossed back its head, swallowing the small animal whole. Upon seeing the approaching elf, the falcon attempted to fly, however despite its effort, it could not seem to move its right wing and was reduced to running akwardly across the ground at a very slow pace. Moved to pity by the injured falcon, Drasil cast aside his spear and easily caught up to the struggling bird. Grabbing her, he held an arms length away from his body to aviod her sharp beack and talons. The soft white feathers of her breast felt good upon his hand though her beady black eyes appeared to bore through him. Examining the wing more carefully, Drasil realized that the bone was broken and was beyond his skill to fix. Picking up his spear, he made his way back to the meladrhim with the young bird.

Upon arriving at the camp, Drasil brought the young bird to a healer who reset the bone of the struggling bird and put a splint on its wing. To prevent it from flying, the healer removed some of the bird's flight feathers. Handing teh bird back over to Drasil, he charged him with the responsibilty of providing for the bird while it healed. Through the many months they spent together, the falcon, who he named Karidon or "arrow" in Tharian, stopped strugling to resist him and soon they became close. When the young bird's wing was finally healed, the splint was removed and the taks of releasing the bird was left to Drasil. After a heartfelt goodbye, he set the bird on the bird on the ground before making for camp.

It took many hours for Drasil to make it home and when he did, he spent his whole day in combat training to try to remove the sorrow of loosing the bird. it was not until that nihg that he returned to his tent. Brushing back the tent flap, he entered to find most of his food scattered all over the ground half eaten. Sighing, he began to pick up all the food and return it to its place, but as he bent down, he noticed a small grey lump resting on his bed roll. Striding over he saw the Kari lying on his pillow fast asleep. Smiling to himself, he proceeded in cleaning up after his young friend.

It was in this year that Drasil decided to return home to his familty to tell them about his success. Drasil was still ignorant of the aging differences between humans and elves. When he returned to the house with Kari, he saw a large assorment of tombstones in the back yard of the house. he walked to the door and knocked. A tiny voice responded to the knock saying, "One second." Kari, pecking Drasil lightly upon the hand, winged off in the direction of the fields, dissapearing amoung the plants.

The door to the house was opened by a tiny girl holding a beaten up stuffed animal that Drasil did not recognize. Drasil looked over the head of the little girl into the house. Its layout was basically the same as the way he had left it. In the back corner of the house was a rocking chair, turned to face a window on the back wall. Rocking in the chair was an old woman, sunggled beneath a huge pile of blankets.

"I'm sorry," Drasil said "Do you know where Caen, Elaine and Moraine would be. They used to live here." The old woman sitting in the chair stood and turned to face him. Picking up a cane, she hobbled over to Drasil.

"Moraine was my grandmother," she responded, "She is dead now, but the bodies of our family are all in the graveyard behind the house." She turned to face the little girl. "Silla, will you take this man to the graveyard."

The little girl nodded, and took Drasil by the hand, pulling him along. She took Drasil behind the house and led him to the first row of tombstones. On the first two were the names of his parents, followed by caen, Elaine and Moraine. He knelt infront of them and started to cry.

Drasil stayed with Caen and Elaine's decendants for a few months before departing. Once more he found himself wandering, selling his jewlery and acting as a mercenary to make money. Thus brings us to present day, he continues his wanderings with Kari trying to piece together his past.


Daggers: Drasil keeps two spring loaded daggers up his sleeves, one for each arm, that are emitted when the spring is put under pressure, releasing the dagger at high speeds and then stopping it to form a claw-like weapon. Other daggers are strapped on each of his legs and across his chest. He usually is fighting with four daggers at once, holding two, and two on his hands, creating a unique fighting style. He developed this fighting style while with the Meladrhim. The daggers are 3 palm spans each and are kept extremely sharp and polished.

Short Spears: Drasil keeps two short spears, over his back forming an X. He wields each of these spears with one hand. He spears are made of an extremely hard wood, and are typically found amongst the Grey Elves. Each spear has a small sharp blade that is about a palmspan long. The whole weapon is about one ped. The spear tip is firmly fastened, allowing him to either stab with the tip, or hit with the wooden shaft if he does not wish to kill. These two spears can be fastened together by adding a smaller piece that he keeps in his pack, to the small fore long hollowed bottom of the spear. This makes an interesting double tipped long spear about two peds in length.

Long Spear: Drasil also has keeps one long spear that is two peds long making a total to two long spears, or three short spears and a small quarterstaff. The spear is made of the same wood as the short spears. This spear, unlike his other, he usually keeps assembled, but can be disassembled to form a small quarterstaff or a short spear. He uses this weapon to either stab or if he does not want to kill, hit with the other end. This spear is kept in his hand at all times. He has fashioned the handle to fit his grip, and has the same separation system as his short spears.

Belongings: Drasil has a medium sized backpack with rations and spear parts as well as a series of small pouches in which he keeps animal teeth, pretty stones, seashells, and any thing else he can fashion into jewelry. Drasil first started making jewlery while traveling from his childhood house to the Meladrhim. He sold the jewlery to buy food and other supplies he needed along his journey. Drasil still makes jewlery to sell during his travels.


Kardión(Female Ash Falcon):Named "arrow" in Tharian because of her hunting style, Kardión is a young female Ash Falcon. Relativly coarse, long, feathers flecked with multiple shades of grey cover the falcon's head back and wings, providing a startling contrast to the soft, tiny white feathers found on upon her breast. Her large beady eyes are as black as night, except for a rare twinkle, illuminating them like a star in the heavans. Her wickedly curved beak and razor sharp talons are evidence to her malevolent life style. A small scar, seated at the joint of her right wing, is all the evidence that remains of the accident that brought her to Drasil. Affectionatly called Kari, the small falcon's wings move it forward at amazing speeds, sending it streaking through the air.

The falcon's personality is even stranger than that of her master. Despite her cute appearance, Kari is vicious and refuses to let anyone close to her, other than her master. While she is a loving trustworthy friend, she often gets Drasil into trouble by attacking others or scaring off his friends. The falcon is also selfish and self absorbed. About 90% of her day is spent preening her feathers and the other 10% is spent obsessing over Drasil, as she considers him her property. Also, the falcon is very independent. She loves to make it know that she is a willing companion of Drasil, and not his slave. Often, to show off she will blantently disregard his requests, however when the matter is serious, he can always count on her. Because of her independence it is very rare for her to accept food from Drasil in public or to rest upon his shoulder.

Kari's fighting style is a manifestation of fighting tooth and claw, except in her case it is beak and talon. Though she is often told to stay out of combat with humanoids, her fighting spirit rarely allows her to do this. Using her small wings, which are about the size of the rest of her body, she streaks through the air and amazingly fast speeds. When fighting, she prefers open spaces as they allow her to circle above her target, waiting for an opportune moment, before plummeting earthward, before pulling up suddenly as she makes contact with her target. While, if executed correctly, this manuever causes her no damage, it has the ability to kill small animals, and stun larger ones. While in cramped areas, or in melee range, Kari rakes soft spots on her opponents body, while attacking thier head with her sharp beak, creating a distraction in order for Drasil to finish off the opponent with a spear or dagger.

One problem in thier relationship that Kari and Drasil have managed to overcome is communicating with each other. While Kari understands some Tharian and Styrash, Drasil does not understand the series of noises made by the bird. While some of the noises Kari makes are easy to decipher, others are not. After a few months together, the two companions developed a system of soft pecks that could be used by Kari to convey a message to Drasil, if he does not understand her "birdspeak."

While she is now able to fly as she was before her injury, the wound on her right wing has never fully healed. This is a huge hinderance to her while in combat as the skin is soft, allowing for it to ripped open easily, immoblizing her right wing, and prevents her from reaching her highest potential as it causes the wound to burst open. Seeing as she is bird, she does not walk quickly upon the ground. Without the ability to fly, Kari is an easy target, forcing for her to depend on Drasil more than she wishes to admit if she is injured.

Drasil Razorfang CD

Title: Character Descriptions & Contact Info
Post by: Ta'lia of the Seven Jewels on June 13, 2006, 08:22:23 PM
Please post here your char-info again:

1. ONLY the link to your CD
2. A short overview
3. Your contact-info

Hopefully  this thread will be a bit more manageable now . Thank you :)  

***Astropic of the day***
"For me there is only the traveling on paths that have heart, on any path   that may have heart. There I travel, and the only worthwhile challenge is to traverse its full length. And there I travel looking, looking, breathlessly. ~Don Juan"

Title: Re: Mimi Dorgren
Post by: Ta'lia of the Seven Jewels on June 13, 2006, 08:25:23 PM
List of players - those of whom I have a yes as an answer  or who have posted their CD again as requested.

Party A

The Ghost

Party B

Tasul'i Rose
Elendilwyn Gwaihir
Luca the Thief
Yarg Anklebitter
(Val Incendarious )

Party C

Tythle Fi Thea
(Vince Dark)

Mimi Dorgren

***Astropic of the day***
"For me there is only the traveling on paths that have heart, on any path   that may have heart. There I travel, and the only worthwhile challenge is to traverse its full length. And there I travel looking, looking, breathlessly. ~Don Juan"

Edited by: Talia Sturmwind  at: 6/27/06 16:11

Title: Re: Mimi Dorgren
Post by: Mimi Dorgren on June 13, 2006, 08:28:23 PM
Mimi Dorgren

Raised by her friendly grandmother, she has had quite a good life till today, though she might have enjoyed more freedom in roaming the surrounding than was good for her, at least many villager in Nepris think so. She has a friendly character, but loves to tease those she considers to be friends.
The death of her parents, especially that of her father have left some scars in the young soul, but Mimi tries to hide this and is even more frolicsome. Sometimes however, when she is very sad, she hides, preferable in high trees.

Edited by: Talia Sturmwind  at: 6/20/06 12:42

Title: Tasul'i Rose
Post by: Tasuli Rose on June 14, 2006, 01:34:23 AM
Tasul'i Rose

Young and impetuous, Tasul’i often abuses his status as Duke of Chylikis and rarely feels any compassion for the common man. Since the tragic death of the man he believed to be his father, rapid mood swings have afflicted his mind, causing him to express any emotion at any given time without any apparent reason.


Title: Re: Character Descriptions & Contact Info
Post by: Luca the Thief on June 14, 2006, 11:20:23 AM
Luca the Thief

A young half-elf, Luca is an energetic sprite of a woman with a mild tendency towards deeds of a less righteous nature. While she's fun loving and generally laid back, Luca also manages to get herself, and those around her, into trouble with quick use of a sharp tongue. The thief is also accompanied on occasion by a crimson colored eagle whom she shares a strange and magical bond with.

AIM: faye4070
Often in the IRC as Luca_

Edited by: Luca the Thief at: 6/14/06 3:22

Title: Re: Character Descriptions & Contact Info
Post by: Drasil Razorfang on June 15, 2006, 10:23:23 AM
Drasil Razorfang

Overview:  A shy, repulsive elf, beneath his filthy appearance and personality he is a compassionate person and a good friend.  The elf is most commonly known for his silent attitude, etheral appearance and love for battle.

AIM: liljames72191
I am also frequently in IRC and have trillian so can easily make a Yahoo, IQC, or MSN

Drasil Razorfang CD

Edited by: Drasil Razorfang at: 6/18/06 18:58

Title: Re: Character Descriptions & Contact Info
Post by: Elendilwyn on June 15, 2006, 06:20:23 PM
Elendilwyn Gwaihir

Elendilwyn is docile and can be considered to have an inconsequential pressence in the midst of a fiery and reactive group. However, beneath her stable exterior is a world of imagination and pride and should she be pushed beyond her tolerance, she could react in unpredictable ways. That though has yet to be experienced.

MSN: (do not use this to email)
Skype: wildswans (I'm not always online so inform me before hand)

The artist usually sets out — or used to — to point a moral and adorn a tale. The tale, however, points the other way, as a rule. Two blankly opposing morals, the artist’s and the tale’s. Never trust the artist. Trust the tale.
- DH Lawrence

Title: Re: Character Descriptions & Contact Info
Post by: Tythle Fi thea on June 17, 2006, 04:36:23 AM
Tythle Fi thea

Tythle is a seemingly quiet and calm elf, with a regular love for nature. Though when getting to know him many find a person who has come though great sorrows and yet still has retained his joy and reason for living. His is one who easily puts his trust in people and helps those that he can with his own honest concern for others. But as always there is a darker and unknown side to Tythle which speaks of the unhealed wounds of his past. A side of anger and revenge that is buried beneath a seemingly innocent personality.

Contact info:

Title: Re: Character Descriptions & Contact Info
Post by: Yarg Anklebiter on June 24, 2006, 01:13:23 AM
Yarg Anklebiter

Orphaned at a very young age, Yarg was taken in by the Ximaxian orcs, and trained in Fire magic. He uses this to feed his obsession with fire. He is a good person, if a bit....eccentric. He enjoys his pranks, as well as occasionally helping people. One should watch out around this one, for life is always interesting.


Whenever I see a Fire, I try to put it out. 'Cept unlike the usual methods, I use OIL!!

- Yarg

Edited by: Yarg Anklebiter at: 6/23/06 17:14

Title: Re: Character Descriptions & Contact Info
Post by: The Ghost on June 24, 2006, 02:18:23 AM
The Ghost

Blinded by the hatred caused by the demon inside him, as well as the deaths of all those whom he has loved, The Ghost i unquestionably evil. He has claimed a vendetta against all sentience, deciding to cause as much pain as possible before his inevitable death.


I am the Darkness between the stars.
I am the Silence between whispers.
I am there in your darkest of dreams.
I am The Ghost, and you cannot escape.

- The Ghost

Title: Re: Character Descriptions & Contact Info
Post by: Ishmaelion on June 25, 2006, 07:08:23 PM

Well, you could say that Ishmaelion has an interesting personality. After proclaiming himself philosopher after having lived in the local library for two years (literally) he has taken upon him the task of showing the other people in Santharia that he IS an true philosopher and will miss no opportunity to break into a lecture about the elements or other truly worthless subjects. He never speaks in normal sentences but weaves a web of words and proclamations in which he eventually says what he wanted to say (if you’re lucky). Some call him arrogant, some call him mad, some even call him Pete, but that are all superficial taunts directed at this great and brilliant man in envy! He has a disdain for orcs, gnomes, goblins, trolls, brownies, elves and humans. Oh, I forgot the dwarfs, he doesn’t like them either. But he believes that everyone/thing can be saved if he\she\it embraces the truth of Ishmaelions words. He believes it is his sacred duty to bring those creatures to the truth.