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New Santharian

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Posts: 488

« on: July 24, 2003, 02:08:22 AM »

Post your characters here when you are approved.

Name: Severine Halo

Gender: Male

Age: 20

Birthday: On the 18th day in the months of the passing clouds

Race: Human

Tribe: The Shendar Clay people

Title: Defender Of Roses

Severine is a brown skinned male at the height of 2 peds. His weight is 1 pygge, and 9 hebs. From his Kasumarii mother he inherited his dark brown, slightly slanted eyes. His shoulder length black braids are usually tied back in a ponytail. He has a lean, but muscular body, which came about because of having to deal with the desert like the rest of his people. He usually wears a white shirt with white trousers, with a blue tunic over the shirt. A brown belt, made from the skin of a rock snake, is tied around his waist. Only in battle or traveling through the desert hunting, or on cold nights does Severine wear boots made out of leather. He also has small sliver rings that go around the braids that his mother designed for him when he was younger. When in battle, Severine wears silver colored armor, based on the skin of the rock snake, and silver bracers that goes around his wrists. He also wears a silver pendant of a rose in a circle around his neck. That is another reason why people call him by that title. His mother took a liking to The Black Desert Rose and formed the pendant after it. Only sometimes does Severine wear a headscarf or turban. A brown cloak goes over his body.

Severine appears to be friendly and gregarious at first glance, but deep sorrow lies behind his cheerful façade. He’s curious and loves fanciful stories of long forgotten heroes and beautiful maidens in distress. This caused him to try to write stories of his own. He likes to listen to soothing music, which helps him calm down when stressed. Stoic and proud, he refuses to show his inner anguish to others, avoiding their gaze and lowering his head. Severine can wrap himself in deep thought, looking down at the ground with squinted eyes that makes him look more like a Kasumarri rather than a Shendar. He is often in a deep and reflective mood at which point he squints his eyes and seems to concentrate on something far away. At this time, he’s like in a sort of trance, which takes a few tries of calling his name to awaken him from. Severine also has a case of paranoia sometimes, especially around those who he think is talking behind his back. Despite this, Severine has an affinity for young children because of their innocence, and a deep love for his brother Nical, who is his remaining internal family member. He sometimes plays little games with Nical and the children as well. When it comes to romance, Severine pushes away those who he thinks developed affection for him, worried that his pain and anguish will only ruin the relationship for him. He feels that losing his mother, the only woman who loved him the most caused him to be afraid of losing another woman in his life. Until he avenges his mother’s death, then he could truly love again. He has a deep respect for his elders, for they are far wiser and more experienced than he. He’ll go to them for advice as often as he can.

Even with his somewhat harmless nature, there is a curse which he inherited from his mother that gives him very violent thoughts when he is angry or stressed. At nights he would have dark nightmares of mudering nameless faces. This "curse" also affects his feelings towards women as well in a way where intimate parts of his being would try to overcome the stable parts of his mind. Another reason why he stays away from females most of the time. He doesn't know about this "curse", but he could never explain how these thoughts and feelings came to be.

Before the history of Severine Halo is explained, you must go back 167 years. His ancestor, Zumari Halo, was a skilled blacksmith. His skills as a blacksmith were exceptional. One calm night, which was after a long sandstorm, he had a vision. It was a terrible vision, causing Zumari to wake up in cold sweat. His heart was filled with trepidation as he began pondering on what he must do. He believed that the goddess Baveras gave him this vision to warn him of this premonition. He could warn his family of all of this, but he decided to create something that will help whoever had to stop the omen succeed. Using his sword-making skills, Zumari created a bastard sword (he hated the name but was always fond of the sword craft itself) and named it the Sword of Halo, after the family. His dedication was so great, that he failed to realize that a piece of his own soul entered the sword. He then passed it down to his son, and told the family of the omen. Family members then passed it down to one another, but unfortunately the story changed a little with each generation and eventually became a family folklore.

Onto Severine’s parents Steelwind and Serenity Halo…

It was a dark and chilly night in the desert of Rahaz-Dath. A lone female figure walks slowly, wearing sandy brown, tight assassin-style clothing with a cloak that was taken off due to the intense heat of the weather from earlier. The white haired woman appeared to be half conscious as her steps became slower and fewer. As this was happening, images began to appear in her head. Images of her attacking her fellow Nightson companions resurfaced into her mind. She recalled herself taking her moonblade and starting to attack the others in a violent rage. Her skills were superior to theirs, so it wasn’t too tough of a fight. She didn’t know truly why she did it at first, but after thinking about it, she knew it was because of the curse. She couldn’t remember who it was that they were after…some kind of traitor who killed a Kasumarii official. She knew that her family curse was causing her not to remember too much of what happened after being in a berserker rage. It was also making her tired. They tracked the traitor all the way to Barvados. It took them over a year to get where they were going. She then remembered running from the traitor. She realized that one of her partners was the son of a Kasumarii official. That’s why she’s running away, along with running from the traitor, and ran into the desert. She killed all of her partners in cold blood except for one, because she wasn’t able to control the curse. That, and she failed the mission. She would be killed if they found her. Either the traitor would kill her, or those who would come after her, after the surviving partner would tell them of what she done. The woman started to have mirages as she was walking, seeing people that she knew. One of them resembled her lover, a man who she was with on the mission and killed. Another one was the son of the official. Didn’t she have an affair with him? The woman began pondering that question. She was too tired to think about what happened in her life…everything was so blurry to her.

The female assassin fell unconscious in the middle of the desert.

The woman awakened to find that she was lying in small bed. Looking at her surroundings, she found that she was in a tent. Getting up the bed, the woman fell, due to fatigue. Almost immediately, a man came into the room due to the noise that was made. When he helped her back to the bed, the woman asked where she was, and the name of the man. The man called himself Steelwind Halo, and told her that she was now in a Shendar dome. He explained that he and a few comrades of his found her lying unconscious in the desert and brought her back at the tent. When Steelwind asked for the woman’s name, she couldn’t answer. She didn’t even know where she was from. All the blurry memories that she had were now gone. After getting some rest and waking up the next day, she still didn’t remember anything. The Shendar Halo family, being the kind people they were just like their tribe, let the woman stay for awhile, waiting for her memory to come back. She went with them, moving from place to place every so often. Weeks passed, and turned into a month, and she still didn’t remember her name. The family knew they had to give her one. One night while Steelwind watched the woman sleep, he thought of one.

“Watching her sleep is like seeing the physical form of peace and serenity…” –Steelwind Halo

Thus, her name became Serenity.

As time passed by, Steelwind fell in love with the woman’s beauty, and was captivated by her gentle nature that she developed because of the hospitality the Shendar gave her. Serenity liked Steelwind’s sense of pride, and his sense of strength and power he seem to carry around as he went. She felt protected whenever she was around him. His long black braids gave him a handsome look for Serenity, and soon all of those ‘likes’ turned into love. The two ended up confessing their feelings for each other, and married. Out of sympathy for the woman who had no identity, Steelwind's mother gave Serenity the Halo name. Their marriage started out great, despite the nightmares Serenity kept having of death and destruction. Every time she had a nightmare, she would end up crying in Steelwind’s arms. Two years later, Severine was born.

Everyone said that Severine was a beautiful child; he obtained his mother’s eyes and beauty, while he had his father’s hair and skin tone. Some who were in the traveling camp or knew the family had a secret jealousy of the child, and the wife for their beauty. But since the Shendars weren’t known for their envy, they treated both people with as much respect as possible. The Halo family was a high-ranking family after all. This didn’t affect Severine at all during the early parts of his childhood. He was a carefree person, who liked to wander off every now and then to see what he would find. Around this time his mother, who learned from the Shendar women all the habits and skills needed when living in the desert, braided Severine’s hair. Even to this day, Severine doesn’t let anybody touch it. Most of the time, the hair was tied-back which made him look even more handsome. He was the first one to sit down when one of the elders would tell stories of great heroes from long ago, and the last to leave when it was over, asking the elder to tell more stories. He knew he would go out and see the world one day. He and the fellow children would pretend to be great heroes, with Severine bouncing around with the rose necklace his mother got for him on his eighth birthday. The people nicknamed him “The Defender of Roses”. It stuck with him ever since.

When Severine was thirteen, he bonded with his Aj’Nuvic. He named the Aj Rosebud because he liked the title people gave him, and claimed that Rosebud was going to be his partner when he would save the world from destruction. Around this time, Steelwind and Serenity had another child, Nical. Everything seemed so perfect for the Halo family. But the past would eventually catch up with poor Serenity Halo.

One day when the family stopped in Urderza, Serenity went to look for some berries in the woods that were in the direction of Varcopas. She saw a few bandits attacking a small group of people. Fearing that they might see her, Serenity hid behind a tree. She watched as the bandits attacked the travelers without mercy, cutting their body parts and ravaging the young women. One would puke at the site or run away, but Serenity’s Kasumarii heritage slowly made their way back into her, and watching the scene excited her. She smiled as she saw the blood spill into the sand. She started walking home with an evil grin on her face. Over the next few weeks, Serenity started changing. She became less and less gentle around others, and only was silent with a vicious look upon her face. Memories of training in the Kasumarri camps came into her mind, along with that of her Nightson father, her Echilanni mother, and her original husband (Kalin). Also, the memories of her affair with the council member’s son (Hizaki) resurfaced into her consciousness. But one of the things that would affect her the most is the resurfacing of an old family curse. One that she had the burden of carrying because of inheriting it from her mother, who inherited from her mother, who inherited it from her father, and so on. It seems to affect the firstborn child of each generation, coming from the cursed parent. The curse causes the victim to go berserk, releasing their dark side, and slaying any living thing in sight. It can also unleash other dark qualities like never ending lust, which has the person ravage a sexual victim to death. It’s activated when the person shows signs of rage, depression, or anything else that clouds a person’s mind with darkness.

One unfortunate night, Steelwind Halo received this fate
in their bedroom. As for whoever was in the tent, they were slain, and the tent was put on fire. During this time, Severine and Nical was coming from a nearby camp, carrying some needed supplies. When they saw the tent on fire, Severine ran into the tent without hesitation. Finding the dead body of family friends, an aunt, and a cousin, Severine tried going into his parent’s room, but the flames was too much and he ran back outside to Nical. He managed to get Rosebud to safety. In the distance he saw a wandering figure in what looked like a cloak. Members of the neighboring camp came, up nobody could kill the flames until it was too late…

“Staring at the flames was bad enough, but looking into that boy’s eyes…no fire could compare to the intensity of the hatred boiling from within…” –Armandas Farlik, member of the Farlik clan

The Halo family decided that it was best that Severine and Nical stay with his uncle Lelor in Uderza. At this time, Severine was going to be fourteen, and Nical turned one. The poor boy would never know his parents who both (or that’s at least what everyone thought), was killed in the fire. Severine would remember that scene for the rest of his life. It scarred him, making him more depressed each day. All he could think about was the figure in the distance. That person had to have something to do with what happened. What Severine didn’t know was that was his mother leaving. The assassin known as Kylva Shinara was once more. Lelor watched his nephew with sympathy in his eyes. He didn’t want the boy growing up hating the world, so besides taking him to tend the tocon trees and look after the valuable vhin plants, he decided to get Severine mind focused on swordplay. He taught the boy many sword techniques, and the style of fighting offensively in a defensive position, and fighting with defense in an offensive stance. Severine’s mind eased a little, but he still held inner anger and rage, which he didn’t show to anyone. He began to have nightmares every so often of killing random imaginary opponents such as demons, assassins, and the mysterious figure responsible for his parents’ death He became more protective of Nical, afraid of losing him as well. He hardly ever took off his rose pendant, nor did he let anyone touch is hair but himself. He had few friends, but one of his closest was a girl named Tierria, who he met during a festival in Uderza when he was fifteen. She could tell that there was an emptiness deep inside the young Halo, and was curious to find out what that was. She always was worried about him when she sensed sadness, and did her best to comfort him.

“By the gods…I look at that boy, and I see a friendliness, but go deeper and you see hurt and pain…” –Tierria Selig.

Severine still managed to be friendly to those around him, but would never get rid of the loneliness deep inside of him that came around during the death of his family. He used the rage that he had for the murder to make himself a formidable swordsman. He also became more agile, and was taught how to throw knives and daggers. Severine was sure to hunt down the killer when he would leave to travel the world, something that he kept to himself. Meanwhile, he and Tierria became closer, but not to close. Severine wouldn’t allow that. He believed that no woman was worthy of his love until the love for his mother was healed, even though he wasn’t sure of his feelings for Tierria. He also stayed away from the women who were captivated by his beauty, and approached him showing that they had an interest in him. He usually spent his time watching over the children of the town, meeting and talking with travelers about the world, and training. He also helped his uncle in his weapons and armor shop.

When Severine was at the age of eighteen, Lelor and Severine's grandmother, Mala, decided to tell Severine about the legend in his family, and about the Sword of Halo, which was found in the fire, undamaged. He told Severine that their ancestor, Zumari Halo created the sword in attempt to prevent a great disaster caused by a great evil among the family. Lelor said that the evil could’ve had something to do with the murder of his parents and the others. Nobody was sure how the sword was special, but it was said to have done great things in the past, and was a sign of power among the family. The head of the family usually had the sword. Since Steelwind had the sword, it would be Severine’s one day, when he was fit to become leader of the Halo clan. But Severine had other things in mind. After getting his rock snake armor at the age of twenty, Severine told his uncle that he was going to leave. He would travel the world to see its many wonders, and in the process discover what this evil was, and how it is to be stopped. Knowing that Severine sticks to his decision when its final, Mala and Lelor gave Severine their blessing. Mala gave him the Sword of Halo also, with Severine promising that he’ll come back to help the family when his mission was done. She gave him the sword, eventhough his mother was not of Halo descent, which was the only way the sword was given. When he told of Tierria what he was to do, she wanted to go with him. He told her it was too dangerous, but when he finally left with Rosebud, he discovered her wait for him in Dasai. Knowing that he couldn't send her back, Severine and Tierria went on a journey together that would determine their destiny.

“A bastard sword for a bastard child…Zumari Halo, just what did you see in that vision of yours?” –Lelor Halo, watching Severine walk off on his day of leave.

One of Severine’s battle weaknesses is losing focus when fighting multiple opponents. And since Severine carries the curse, something he doesn’t know about, he hesitates when his anger exceeds his focus and begins giving him a lust for blood and destruction. That leaves him for an opening. Also, Severine can lose focus when someone he cares about is in danger. One of the easiest ways to attack Severine is when he is daydreaming. Severine can’t defend against magic, nor use it either. Severine was only trained to fight humanoid opponents, so anything else would put him at a disadvantage. He is also not used to the cold weather, with living in the desert all his life and all. He is not too good with a bow after nearly hitting his uncle with an arrow. He gave up the weapon soon afterwards. Severine tends to run into battles when he thinks what side is good and what side is evil. When fighting against large weapons, Severine has a hard time with his opponent. Severine is also not too good at swimming.

Severine is very agile when great weight is not on him, and has a good amount of acrobatic skills. He is good swordsman, and can use the dagger with ease. Sometimes he uses two daggers at once. When not daydreaming, Severine has good reflexes, and sometimes block with his rock snake gauntlets. He can also handle himself pretty well without a weapon, with a good punch, kicking, and throwing moves. He is also a fast runner, and can move through the desert without a problem. Severine makes good leader material, being not afraid of making quick and logical decisions. He is also skilled at using a sling. Another advantage to Severine is that he can fight easily with his hair in front of his face, having the opponent think that he can’t see well.

Fighting Style
When using a sword, Severine sometimes fight offensively in a defensive position and vice versa to confuse the opponent. He’ll run at the enemy with his sword in front of him defensively, and will switch positions, moving around his opponent in either a clockwise or counter-clockwise motion and throws. When using enemy off guard at the last moment. When using throwing knives and daggers, he usually circles one or two daggers, he waits in front of his opponent until he sees an opening, and then goes for it and keeps attacking until the defense is completely up, and back-flips away, waiting for another strike. He’ll also use the daggers when running past enemies, attacking them as he move. In un-armed combat, Severine has his hand out in a grappling stance, confusing the opponent, and when the time is right, he attacks with punches and kicks. He’ll throw the enemy if needed.

Severine carries his mother’s pendant, a sling, two daggers, a dozen throwing knives, rope, a flask, and the Sword of Halo. The sword has a black and silver handle, with the blade being medium in size. There is a small inscription of a halo on the silver hilt. The true power of the sword is unknown to the family. Baveras blessed the blade without Zumari knowing because of the sympathy she felt. The sword acts as a link to the spirits of those who used the sword, letting the user combine their skills with the person of their choice. But the more spirits used, or the longer the power is used, the more tired the user gets. The Halo member is usually unaware of its abilities until in the heat of battle, when they feel the souls of past wielders calling out to them. Severine, like the rest of his family, is unaware of this ability. When put in water, the blade can give the bearer a slight vision, and acts as a link to speak with the past souls who used the sword.

His Aj, Rosebud. A male Aj at the height of 2.3 peds, with soft white fur and dark eyes.

"Once again, the lone soldier walks off into the sunset..." -Anonymous

Edited by: SeverineHalo at: 7/23/03 21:30
Phiona Whitefire
New Santharian

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Posts: 332

« Reply #1 on: July 24, 2003, 03:45:22 AM »

Name: Phiona Whitefire

Gender: Female
Age: 24
Race: Human
Tribe: Avennorian

Class/Title: Heroine of Santhala


Born in 1636, Phiona at age 24 stands 1 ped, 2 1/2 fores tall, weighing 1 pygge, 1 heb & 2 od. Her hair is a light brown with few, tawny highlights, and is thick, long and straight, falling directly back to reveal a small widow’s peak on her forehead. Her attractive face is oval, with hight cheekbones, pale, full lips and deep set, almond shaped eyes framed by thick, dark brown lashes. Her eyes are dark brown with subtle, golden flecks that make her quite the exotic beauty in the right lighting. Her skin is flawless and lightly tanned. The only markings on her body are a series of thick, ugly scarring over most of her back and upper, left arm: the lash-marks from a beating that nearly killed her once. Her body is fit and trim, with firm, modest-sized breasts, long, lean legs, slim hips and a narrow waist. She keeps herself clean, bathing as often as she can.


When traveling, Phiona usually wears her chain shirt armor and a long brown cloak. Her tall, hard-leather boots are adorned with practical metal shinguards. She owns an alternate suit of studded-leather armor that she will wear in hotter weather. While she still wears a cloak on hot days, it is then thrown back off her shoulders like a cape, with the hood down.

In a tavern, or while resting, Phiona wears the standard traveler's outfit of tunic and breeches, in the colors of gray or brown. Although she is pretty (in an exotic way), Phiona rarely dresses in silks and finery, considering such clothing frivolous and a waste of good coin. She wears her hair down, or pulled back in a single ponytail in warm weather. She does not wear jewelry.


Phiona doesn't speak much, but when she does it's worth listening to (a lot like Aragorn). She is serious in bearing, not gabby or gossipy, and appears trustworthy. She does not ask questions unless it is necessary or urgent. In battle, Phiona never uses a "war cry" or "battle cry". She also never shouts or screams even when enraged or in great pain.

She has an obvious inability to open up and communicate with people she doesn't know well. This makes it hard for her to earn friendship quickly. Even though she is well read, and can compose and write beautifully, words come out of her mouth blunt and awkward whenever she speaks. Because of this, she must lead through her actions until she is able to gain one's (or many people's) following.

Another social weakness is in her style of diplomacy: which is entirely handled via her honest and direct approach. She does not handle deceit well at all, but will go along with a lie if it is necessary- and she won't lie about anything "just because". Conversely, she is lousy at detecting lies. Although one can't call her gullible, a well-told lie could catch her totally off-guard, especially if it comes from someone she trusts.

Phiona gets along best with typical Dwarves, Gnomes, and Hobbits due to her upbringing. She has been around these races, along with humans, for most of her formative years. She finds the stoic nature of the Dwarves most comforting. In social situations, Phiona tends to gravitate toward Dwarves and Gnomes when talking to people. They just seem to respond to her better.

Phiona has the most problems with the darker races: Orcs (even half-breeds), Goblins, Ogres, and Trolls; She has fought with these races on numerous occasions while in the military, and has lost many a fellow soldier to these vile creatures. Considering them soulless beasts, she will not hesitate to attack and kill them on sight. Additionally she dislikes any obvious military type, no matter what race they are. She has her reasons for this.

Phiona is both fascinated and distrustful of magic. Being rather bookish for a warrior, she may one day devote herself to learning the basics of the arcane; She certainly has the intelligence for such an endeavor. In the meantime, when unexpected magics go off around her, she tends to freeze as she tries to contemplate her situation.

Because Phiona grew up rather poor in Marcogg, she wants to help her family out financially when she can. Her parents are both still alive, but her father is a retired soldier who was wounded in battle and the family business is not a big money-maker. So she sends part of her earnings to them whenever she gets enough to warrant it.

Phiona has been in the military for an extended amount of time. Although she liked it at first, she soon grew to hate it. Her experience there was so bad that she now intensely dislikes being a part of any large organization and will not willingly join one for any reason. She likens it to enslavement. Also, military type personalities will grate on her nerves and so she tend to avoid them (even if they are Dwarven...)

Phiona has a very good concept of large-scale geography and loves to read any kind of map. She has an old atlas that she carries with her everywhere. It was a gift from her maternal great-grandfather, Elwynnil Cypherill, an Elven ranger who is still alive and living with her family in Marcogg. When Phiona gets the chance, she likes to look at books, reading them if she has time to do so. Researching the darker races- Ogres and Orcs whenever she gets the chance, she obviously prefers to gain knowledge via books rather than asking people questions.

Phiona enjoys studying gemstones. She has an extensive knowledge of gem types and their quality. She knows how to appraise most common and uncommon stones, and often uses a manual of some sort, to help her out. She hasn't yet had the chance to study any of the high-quality gems, but hopes to do so eventually. She doesn't share this book with others willingly, though. A dwarven friend of hers from school hooked her on this hobby at a young age.

Another hobby of hers is rock-climbing. Phiona enjoys climbing, with or without climbing gear and is rather good at it.

Phiona swims whenever she gets a chance. She is not modest and will swim in the nude. She will wear clothing, nearly all the time, otherwise.

Phiona practices swordplay everyday to hone her skills. She will spar with anyone who is willing, preferring to practice against another person over swinging her sword at thin air. She is practiced enough to use the flat of her blade in sparring sessions and is careful not to hurt her opponent in these situations.

Phiona knows two additional languages: Dwarven and Orcish. She learned the latter most recently, within the last two years and mostly out of necessity. As for Dwarven, she speaks it fluently, with the correct accent and inflections.

The last adventuring group she'd been with (for a period of three years) was completely destroyed in an ambush by a band of marauding ogres. She alone survived the battle. (Phiona doesn't say it, but she is still grieving strongly for the loss of her good friends.) Because of this, she will hesitate to become close with new people too soon...


Family Background:

Whitefire, a family name held through seven generations, was passed from father to son. The first Whitefire, Zackari Kruz of Yorick was a human wizard of some small renown who’d earned the name via the spectacular effect of his elemental magics- bright, white flames. He eventually left the port city, located in eastern Santhala on the coast of the Adanian Sea, and wandered southward to settle in the city of Marcogg. It was there he married and raised his small family. Though none of his descendants ever took up magic, the name of Whitefire continued on through his family.

Bookbinding and scribing were the family’s main choice of business for the first few generations, and then one burly Whitefire son by the name of Yarl joined the army just to try something different. From that time on, the family always had at least one member with a current standing in the military. Even so, the family always held a high regard for book learning, and every Whitefire child was educated and taught the power of good writing. In the family home, there still is a modest library that holds more ancestral journals than all the other books and tomes combined.

Traditionally, the Whitefires were always supportive of the royal hierarchy, and their military involvement has continued unto this day. A soldier’s pay is not much, however, so the family has, over time, adjusted to a more modest lifestyle than that of their adventuring ancestor, Zackari. Little of the mage’s wealth has survived to this day. Although the family has had an infamous black sheep or two, and some heroes of note, none became more famous than Phiona’s paternal grandfather, Captain Lucius Whitefire, who led the king’s own guard. Lucius fell in a skirmish when enemies of the kingdom tried to capture the king’s eldest child for some nefarious end. The attempt was curtailed, but Captain Whitefire was fatally wounded. For his bravery, the high priests tried to heal Lucius, but they were unsuccessful and he succumbed to final death.

Phiona’s parents are both still alive. Her father, Xarl, is retired from the military due to age and the loss of his lower right leg. He recently opened a small bookbindery and has been happy enough doing that, having had his fill of fighting. Xarl currently employs two apprentices, a young, male dwarf called Stoneback (originally from the Mithral Mountains), and a middle-age woman named Alia Freefeather. They both are boarded within the family home in Marcogg.

Her mother, Samara, has taken a stronger lead in the family since Xarl’s disability and retirement, two years prior. She runs the household, manages the family’s money as well as that of her husband’s business, and she tends the gardens. Additionally, she composes poetry, lyrics, and music, selling these to the local bards. Samara also teaches music to any of the local children who ask, and currently as five young students- Kalissa, Vern, Bennet, Poe and Sashi. Samara sees each child two times a week and the instruments she uses are the flute and harp. This busy schedule is barely enough to keep Samara distracted from the constant thoughts of the death of her youngest daughter, Harriett, who had died years before at the age of six from a mysterious illness. Phiona was nine at the time. The two sisters were very close and Phiona still hasn’t recovered from the loss after all these years. There are no other siblings.

Phiona has ten living relatives. In addition to Xarl and Samara, she has one paternal aunt, Xashia, and two paternal uncles, Brent and Lavar, all Whitefires; an Elven maternal great-grandfather, Elwynnil Cypherill; two maternal aunts, Celena Gemeth and Fatimah Valle; and two second-cousins, Fatimah’s children, Immer and Elwia Valle.

Of these relatives, all live in Marcogg. Brent and Lavar are both still in the local military, and Elwynnil lives in the family home with Phiona’s parents.

Personal Background:

When she was very young, Phiona was quite talkative and outgoing. She was an energetic and rambunctious rascal who ran rampant throughout the household and surrounding yards, and she only settled down somewhat after her younger sister, Harriett was old enough to play with her. Samara had a terrible temper and would resort to beatings as a form of discipline for her daughters. Phiona got it in her head that she was the protector of her younger sibling, and she always stood up for the younger girl, even if it meant she got in trouble in Harriett’s stead.

Harriett was a charming little girl- extremely pretty with her soft flaxen hair, bright blue eyes and tinkling laughter- and as the younger daughter stepped into the spotlight, Phiona drew back and grew more reserved. Eventually Phiona became more like she is today- laconic and stoic in nature. Responsibility for another, even at so young an age, had changed Phiona into a serious, mature-minded child in just a few, short years.

At age six, Harriett grew ill, deathly ill, in less than two days time. Her sudden death was a shock that rocked the family to its core. Even fifteen years later, there are very few of Harriett’s relatives that don’t think about the child every day… Phiona and Samara still grieve to this day over the loss of Harriett. One of the reasons that Phiona is out adventuring now, rather than living at home, is so that she won’t be a constant reminder to Samara of how cruel fate could be to take a favored child instead of one more easily missed. Samara made no secret out of her beliefs that Phiona was responsible for Harriett's death, going as far as accusing her of poisoning her small sister.

Of the adults in her family, Phiona was closest to her great-grandfather, Elwynnil- or Grampa Elwynn as she likes to call him- an the Ahrhim Elf who spurred her interest in geography and other lands. He would fill the evening hours with long tales of travel throughout Santharia, from coast to coast, from mountain to swamp, and from forest to desert. Grandpa Elwynn hailed from the Almatrar Woods, on the northern border of Santhala where Zackari Whitefire was well known in local legends. It was in tracking down Whitefire’s descendants into Marcogg that Elwynnil met a lovely maiden called Kisha Marnayh. Yet, little did Elwynnil know, when he married Kisha, that his granddaughter would end up marrying one of Whitefire’s own offspring… It made for a great bedtime story, if nothing else.

When she was of an age (16 years old), Phiona joined the royal army and was the first female in the family to become a soldier. Although Xarl was very proud of Phiona, Samara was happy to have her out of the house. Lucky for Phiona, her Grampa Elwynn would come to visit a couple of times each week, so she only really needed to come home for the major holiday.

When she was seventeen, Phiona had her first real relationship with a soldier from another troop. His name was Marlus Blackwine and he was strong, clever and very handsome. Phiona often wondered what he saw in her, when Marlus obviously could have his pick of any woman. She liked him a lot, and might have eventually fallen in love with him, if he hadn’t grown so possessive of her and jealous of the other men in her own troop. Marlus Blackwine became so resentful and bitter that Phiona could not stand to be around him any longer and she abruptly broke off the relationship. He did not take it well. At first Blackwine merely stalked her, then, as his career in the military took off, he would use his power and authority over the next few years to make her life miserable unless she agreed to return to him. But after all this time, she was adamant about not wanting anything to do with him… and this led to a very unfortunate incident:

There was a time when her troop came under Blackwine’s command during a small civil uprising in one of the smaller towns, on the southern outskirts of Santhala, called Seraia, located just with a crook of the Sharadon Forests. Commander Blackwine wanted to make an example of the captured rebels, by forcing them to watch their families’ punishment before their own. The innocent women, children and elderly folk were to be cruelly whipped for crimes they didn’t commit and by Phiona’s own troop. Phiona, of course, refused to do this. Blackwine decided it was time for his revenge, and he ordered her to be lashed in addition to the rebels and their families. He claimed that the purpose was making an example for any soldier who might disobey a direct order under his command, but Phiona knew otherwise. Her own sergeant was forced to lash her, and Blackwine watched the entire time it was done. Though many in her troop were angered by the display, there was no one in the local army that would step up and tell Blackwine he was out of line. Phiona’s anger was only matched by her resolve to get away. As soon as she recovered and was able- over a week later- Phiona packed her gear and left in the cover of night. She has been avoiding any run-ins with the local military ever since. Phiona she still carries the angry scars across her back and upper left arm.

Adventuring Years:

When she set out on her personal odyssey, Phiona was twenty years old with four years of military training and experience under her warrior’s belt.

[To be expanded later… via gameplay]


Phiona Whitefire is a warrior and a wandering hero. She was once a soldier in a vast army, which is where her training began, but she is one no longer. She is a sword for hire, although she would be hard-pressed to join any large organization. Truthfully, she'd rather avoid such a committment. Although her skills in fighting are excellent, she is not the best swordsman in the realm, and she knows this well. She does, however, try her best to improve on a daily basis.

Fighting Style:

Phiona is neither impulsive nor indecisive. She will assess a situation with a strategicly keen eye and then go at it in the most tactically minded way. She is not prone to stupid gambits and prefers to plan ahead. If surprised or ambushed, she will do her best to protect a weaker companion, especially if she considers that person a friend or if that person is integral to accomplishing a goal.

She does know how to use a bow, but she fights best in hand-to-hand combat. Phiona's fighting style focuses on the hand and a half sword (commonly know as the bastard sword) and she owns a finely made blade. It is not magical in nature. She can use a shield, but prefers the flexability of fighting one or two handed with her favored sword. She carries other swords for different reasons: a short sword for close quarters combat (which she dislikes with a passion), a mace in case she needs a blunt weapon, and other blades as back-ups in case she loses the one she normally uses (has happened before, so she is always well-prepared now). Phiona can fight from horseback as well, being trained in the army's calvary.


She is both fascinated and distrustful of magic. When spells go off around her, she is usually caught off guard and will hesitate, trying to rethink her strategies before acting in a foolish manner. This is a good way to defeat her in battle.

Phiona is deathly afraid of close spaces. She can go underground if the area is vast or cavernous, however in tight tunnels (less than 2 ped) she will grow visibly anxious and nervous. The smaller the space, the more distraught she will get. She has a fear of being buried alive, being trapped, or being enslaved by others.

Although she is pretty, and some would even say beautiful, Phiona cannot sing, act, or dance. Graceful and dexterous as she is, rhythm is not a skill she possesses.

She is only fair with bow and crossbow, and then only as long as it’s not from a mount’s back or a moving wagon (i.e. with solid ground underfoot). She will use missile weapons as a last resort, they are not her weapon of choice.


Her strengths are her courage, her loyalty and her sense of tactics. In her mind, loyalty is earned, not given away freely. She knows how to follow her own heart as well as the advice of trusted friends. She will bend the rules when necessary, but will not do so without good cause. She is, at her very core, a hero, but she also knows the difference between bravery and foolishness and will not sacrifice herself for just any reason. She is an alert individual, always watching for the unexpected. This isn't paranoia, just a mature sense of the world's inherent dangers.

Phiona can fight from horseback almost as well as she can fight on the ground. Most opponents don’t expect this from a woman, and it gives her a fighting edge.

She has a strong sense of geography and is always, on some level, aware of the lay of the land around her. Her internal compass is uncanny, and while she can get lost, very rarely does this ever happen. She usually can tell which way is north. Her cartography skills are better than most. She can draft a map as easily as she can read one.

Although Phiona can wield almost any weapon made, she is best with the bastard sword (not meaning she is the best there is, far from it, but more that she fights better with this sword than her other weaponry). It is her weapon of choice, the first drawn in sudden danger.


Her gear is pretty standard, although some may have noticed that Phiona tends to carry duplicate items in her horse's saddlebags. She does stock a large amount of silk rope and other climbing gear, usually kept with the horse.

Her horse is a light war-horse, trained for battle but not wearing any barding as, in Phiona's opinion, it slows them down and is cruel to the animal, especially in warm weather.
The mare is gold in color with a white mane and tail. She never refers to her horse by name. In fact, Phiona does not talk to the mare at all, even when riding, only using knee signals and reins to control her mount.

Although quite capable with her own horse, Phiona doesn't seem to have any affinity for other types of animals.

Weapons owned are a fine, bastard sword, a longsword, a shortsword, a light mace, and a silver-edged dagger. She also has a longbow and carries one full quiver of arrows, both usually kept with her mount. She owns a shield that tends to stay attached to her horses saddle most of the time, too.

Items of note:

Byways and Footpaths- A Ranger’s Atlas of the Realms of Saranthia
Appearance: This old leather journal is beat-up and well used. It has over 200 hand-sketched and notated maps of various areas throughout Saranthia, some very detailed, others not so. This book is old, and wouldn’t include much information more recent than 300 years ago. This atlas was a gift from Phiona's great-grandfather, Elwynnil Cypherill aka Grampa Elwynn, so any recent scribblings in the book are his, or Phiona's own notes.

Moonstone and Other Precious Gems
Appearance: This is a thick, lavishly illustrated manual of gemstones listing hundreds of gem types, possible flaws and imperfections, and standard values. This manual was a gift from a long-time friend and school chum, Emeralda Boulderrun, a feisty Dwarven lass with fiery-red hair and bright green eyes. The two were nearly inseperable when Phiona was 16 years old and Emeralda was 25.

The Journal of Phiona Whitefire
Appearance: This ordinary, travel sized, leather-bound journal has various entries and sketches regarding Phiona’s adventures. It is relatively new and in good condition. She writes anything of significance here. Most of the parchment pages within are still blank. This journal was made by her father, Xarl, and given to Phiona just before she left the army.

Edited by: Phiona Whitefire at: 7/24/03 0:19
Tierria Selig
New Santharian

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Posts: 101

« Reply #2 on: July 24, 2003, 04:56:22 AM »

Tierria Selig

Gender: Female

Age: 19

Birthday: On the 12th day of the Awakening Earth

Race: Human

Tribe: Stratanian

Title: Healer

Tierria is brown skinned, standing at a height of 5.8 fores, and a weight of 1 pygge and 2.5 hebs. She inherited her mother’s gray green eyes, and long black hair. She likes to have it tied in a ponytail, which sways from side to side as she walks. There are bangs which hang just over her eyes. At night when the moon is out, the light gives her a sort of glow, which makes her beauty look enchanting. She wears a white cloth top that covers her chest, with a long white open robe. A white cloth that is usually used for a headband, acts as a wrap around her hair that makes a ponytail a high one. A long white skirt goes over her full-figure, with a slit showing her left leg. She wears a silver heart necklace surrounded by a circle. Her footwear consists of leather sandals. Tierria has nice and thin lips that give her a great smile.

Tierria is a gentle woman, who loves taking care of flowers. She is a hard worker at her parent’s potion and herb shop, and hardly ever takes a day off. One of her favorite hobbies is to sing, and when there is a festival, she is a favorite among the locals. Tierria is shy when a situation involves her, but can be forward when it comes to men. Her clothing shows that for her. Tierria is very sensitive and empathetic towards others, and always stop to help a person in need. Her telling stories to children led her becoming a baby-sitter for some of Uderza’s families. Tierria loves to dance also, which is how she met Severine. Tierria can be found mixing potions in her parent’s study, or reading about medicine in her family’s book of herbs and potions. She also likes to practice minor healing spells, but since her recent family members are not as good at magic as the ones who came before them, she doesn’t know any major ones. With her gentle nature though, don’t underestimate her. She’s not afraid to stand up for what she believes in. When that happens, she becomes very headstrong. Even with her good personality, like some people, Tierria falls victim to the wanting of material things. She is easily captivated by beauty and luxury, which is one of the easiest things to catch her off guard with.

This is the story of young Tierria Selig, born and raised in the town of Uderza. She comes from a family of healers, skilled in making potions, using herbs, and casting healing spells. Their skills are known through out the city, and travelers who know of their techniques sometimes stop by to buy healing supplies. Her father, Grant Selig, is not a warrior-type, but his smart business skills and knowledge of medicine makes up for those faults. He lived in Uderza for awhile, trading with the Shendar, who his ancestors originated from. Her mother, Merla, comes from a well to do family who sells jewelry. When Tierria was a little girl, she would go about the shop, watching her family work, and try to help with carrying items. Her father and mother watched with amusement, knowing that she’ll make a great heir to the store, and will carry on the Selig tradition with honor. As Tierria grew older, she started learning about various herbs and was better than most of her peers in terms of education, which was taught by her parents. Around the age of twelve, Tierria was developing faster than most girls, which led to those believing that she was older than she looked. Taking note of this, Grant Selig made sure Tierria didn’t hang around with the town boys that much, fearing that she would be corrupted by some of their actions. He had to be careful of this, especially around festival time. Tierria loved to dance, and would end up dancing with a boy or two. Only later in some cases did Tierria used her beautiful body to her advantage. That was usually when she wanted boys to do something for her, which wasn't hard to do.

       At the age of thirteen, Tierria had more responsibilities on her hand with the store, which led to her not interacting with too many of her peers. There was this one boy she was always intrigued by though. She would see him sit by himself somewhere, whenever he wasn’t with his uncle, who ran one of the best weapons shop in Uderza. She would watch him from time to time, seeing endless pain and hurt in his eyes. She was always curious to see what was going through the boy’s mind. She wondered what could make someone so young…so handsome so unhappy like that. But of course sadness in Caelereth wasn’t a rare thing. Tierria finally had the chance to speak to the boy a year later at a festival. She approached him kindly when she saw that the boy was sitting by himself. Choosing her words with caution, she introduced herself, and found out the boy’s name was Severine Halo. Thinking about what she have heard, Tierria remembered hearing about a dome belonging to the Halo Shendar family awhile back being on fire, causing the death of quite a few people. He must have been one of the survivors. Tierria befriended him, and they danced that night. Being with Severine then, she felt a certain warm feeling that she never felt when being around a male before. She blushed when her friends asked if she liked him or not after the festival, but refrained from saying anything. That didn’t stop her from thinking about him though.

       “When I look into his eyes…I feel like I’m looking into my future. When I first saw Severine, I knew how Frigord felt when he saw the Black Desert rose…” –Tierria Selig

       Tierria was finally learning how to mix various potions together, and also was starting to learn how to make healing potions and medicine. It took her awhile to get used to it, but when she learned the basics, it wasn’t so hard for her anymore. She was able to get to know Severine more, and the two became close friends. Severine opened up some of himself more, telling her about his personal pains. Tierria felt bad that Severine had to go through what he have, but she saw a friendlier side to him, a caring side that was starting to attract her to him. She knew that once he was over his depression, he would be much more of a better person. She was willing to put her all into helping her friend…someone that she was beginning to think of as more than a comrade. They would go everywhere with one another, and she felt warm and protected whenever he would hold her, or she would lean on him. She hoped that he felt the same way, but Severine never said a thing. He even taught her how to fight with a staff, and some lessons with the sword. When she was seventeen and he was eighteen, Tierria tried a few times to reveal her feelings to him. Her parents even realized how she felt and warned her about taking a risk by falling in love with him. They were scared that his angst and his past would bring her down. Tierria didn’t care though; she knew her feelings were all too true, and at times when Severine would fall asleep in her lap, she would sing to him. She would touch his brown face, and play with his hair. She was the only person that Severine would let do that. She even sneaked a kiss once before. Her father tried to introduce her to young well-off men, so she would forget her love for Severine, but it didn’t work. The girl had a feeling that she had to be the one to break the boy’s emotional walls. Severine knew that Tierria was trying to get closer, and each time she tried, he would push her away.

       “Tierria…I can’t give my heart to you. Nor to any other woman until I avenge the death of the first woman to ever love me…” –Severine Halo

       Tierria was avoidant towards her parents and her friends, thinking about how she could have Severine love her the way she loved him. But she knew she couldn’t make someone fall in love…they had to show it. So Tierria made a promise to herself that she’ll stick by Severine’s side, no matter what, in order to heal his heart. So when Severine told her that he was going to be leaving, Tierria knew that from the moment he said that she couldn’t go she was going to defy his orders. And when her father protested after telling him she was going to follow Severine, she knew she was going to defy his orders as well. Her mother was indifferent to the whole thing, cause she knew that there was no stopping her daughter. Severine's uncle also saw through Tierria, and asked her if she could handle Severine's depressed side. As for Severine's gradmother, she too believed that Tierria was the key to easing the boy's pain. When Grant Selig realized that there was no use protesting anymore, he gave her the Selig family journal of medicine, herbs, and potions. The journal was kept in her family for many years, and various healing herbs, potions, and medicine techniques were written down whenever a new one was discovered by the family. The book is nearly full. Tierria promised that she would take good care of the book and discover new things to write in it. She prepared her horse Alchemy, and decided to follow Severine when he left with Rosebud.

       “That boy is going to lead her in a downward spiral of emotions. Seyella, watch over that headstrong daughter of mine…” –Grant Selig

Knowing that she couldn't possibly follow an Aj, Tierria talked with Severine. Learning that the first place he was going to was to be Dasai, Tierria decided to leave before Severine to go there. When Severine discovered her there, the two got into an argument. Refusing to burst into tears, Tierria became stubborn about the whole situation. In the end, Severine had no choice but to take her along, for it was too late to send her back.

Tierria is not that physically strong. She is also not that good of a fighter, nor swim well. Tierria can be frightened easily at times, and is too trustworthy with people. Even though she was taught how to use the sword, she’s not that good at it. She also doesn't know how to do magic, nor defend against it.

Tierria is pretty good with the staff, which Severine taught her how to use. Tierria knows how to use a sling from her Shendar friends, and Tierria is pretty decent at using medicine and making healing potions. Tierria is also a fast runner, which surprises many people. Tierria learned how to be a good negotiator from her father, as well as how to be a good merchant. She sometimes uses her looks to get what she wants, if it is important. She is also decent at using the staff.

Fighting Style
There’s not much of a fighting style to Tierria, except for her horizontal and vertical swinging staff attacks, and her staff tripping techniques that Severine taught her.

Tierria carries the Selig family journal on medicine, herbs, and potions. She wields a long wooden staff made from a tocon tree, and carries a sling. She also carries 7 healing potions that are already made, and 10 medicinal herbs. Tierria has her heart necklace as well, a flask, a burlap sack, some money, and a journal she'll record during her adventures.

Her white horse, Alchemy.

"How do you heal a man's heart when you always end up wounding it?"

Elraralia Horfiwiel
New Santharian

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Posts: 276

« Reply #3 on: July 30, 2003, 10:25:22 AM »

Name: Elraralia Horfiwiel

Gender: Female

Age: 254 years



Title:Archer, Kaierian Warrior

Height: Just under 2 peds high. Around 1.7 Peds

Weight:I pygge, 5 hebbs

Appearance: Due to her race, she has the appearance of one that is rather easy to beat when in combat, which is a mistake as due to her training, she is very fit and agile. She is very slender, adding to her agility, as well as her appearance as one that is easy to beat. She has a rather white complexion when in her native home, of the Auturian Woods and often stays that way, even when out in the sun for hours. Her eyes are a deep green, often reflecting her moods; becoming brighter and more piercing when angered. Her face is a slender one, like the rest of her body, with high cheekbones. She has a thin, white scar running from right beneath her left eye, to the center of her cheek. She has normal sized lips, which are usually pursed, but are quick to go to a smile, when needed. Her hair is a dark red, and wavy, running down to right above the flat of her back. She normally wears it half up; the portion that is up is often in a braid. On her left arm is the tattoo given to all the children of her tribe, along with the band going around her arm, symbolizing her Kaierian Warrior status. In the center, where her symbol goes, is a bow entwining a leaf.
Her normal attire is a leather top, going around her chest, and tying behind her head. She has a leather skirt that goes to her knees, with a slit on the right side for easier for mobilization. Slung across her back is her quiver, with her scourge tucked into the straps holding the quiver in place. She often wears a pair of soft leather boots, with some obvious wear in them.

History: Born into the Tethinrhim tribe, Elraralia was thoroughly raised by the tribe, as was custom. In fact, her parents only raised her soly until she was around the age of five, when the tribal raising began. Due to this, she never really knew her parents more than any other adult in the tribe, as she was too young to remember any close ties to them. Due to this, when she was younger, she had a tendency to cling to the children her age when it came to support, but when she became older, she began to learn to soly depend on herself when it came to support.

Her mother was a healer, one of the few in the tribe who’s main job was to heal, and only heal, as most of the people specialized in multiple things. But due to her talent in the art of healing, she mainly specialized in that. Her father was a hunter, mainly an archer, explaining Elraralia's easy connection with the bow later on in life. He was also a partial warrior, when needed, as were most of the elves in the tribe. She had no siblings, or rather; blood siblings, as many of the children in the tribe felt like siblings, as they were all raised like a collective family.

When Elraralia was born, there was a slight controversy when it came to the tattoo that every child was given. This being, because she had two contradicting symbols: A Bow, and a Leaf. The bow symbolizing fighting, the leave symbolizing healing. It wasn't unusual for child to receive part of each of a parent, but it was unusual for a child to receive so much of both, when the two combined equals something very contradicting. Due to this, for the first thirty years of her life she was not only instructed in the normal warrior tactics that most children of the tribe were instructed in, but also some healing, in order to see which one stuck.

By the time she was twenty-five, it was obvious which one stuck the most: the warrior arts. It stuck so much in fact, it was decided that she would begin the training to become a Kaierian warrior. Being separated from the children that she had been raised with was hard for her at first, but slowly, over time, she began to get used to it, and in fact, over time she realized it to be less of a distraction. She quickly took to the disciplined life of the training. She had learned at an early age to follow the rules, and had always done so since. The beginning of the training was much like what she had already been doing: running to create more endurance, and lifting of heavy objects to gain muscle mass. She also participated in a yoga like class, in order to help the flexibility of the warriors. This was by far her favorite of all of them, but learned quickly the teachers were still watching, and that falling asleep in the middle of this could leave you out in the middle of the night serving a punishment a helping the watch. Although it was interesting to do so, sleep became much more important.

Quickly moving on from the basic movements, she began her Iteh training, when she was about 40. As this was something she had never done before, it took some getting used to. For although she may have been agile, it was one thing to be agile, and quite another thing to be able to do the leaping that was expected of her. One of the things she had never been able to do was jump far distances, and for the first time in her very short life, this weakness became a problem. She was stuck on this portion of the training for longer than most, as it took her longer to master this art. In the end it became evident that she would be unable to do the basics, let alone the other harder tasks later on, if she did not get help at that moment.

Never one to ask for help, she waited until it was absolutely necessary to do so. That time came up when she was doing one of the leaping exercises; jumping from one of the house platforms to another, when she didn’t leap far enough, and landed on some poor farmer, laying out the crops. At that point, her instructors insisted that she go find help, or give up the training, as leaping wasn’t the only thing she was having troubles with as well. Some of the gymnastic movements were giving her problems as well.

She went in search of a warrior who would help her, and found an old warrior, who although was quiet old, even for elves, was legendary for his teaching skills. His name had been forgotten over time, and was now just known as Keïurl, elfish for old warrior. He began by teaching her how to forget about the difficulty that it was for her, and instead, to think of it as something like a hunt, and the task is the game. Changing something that was so difficult for her into something that she knew and relate to. By listening to the man, she quickly surpassed the difficulty, and was no longer in need of his help, but over the time that he had taught her, he had become as a sort of figure for her, that she knew she could always return to.

After Keïurl’s training, she was able to complete the first round of Iteh training, which ended up taking her around 30 years, and move onto the next step, teachings on knowing the land, which she began when she was around 75 years old. Finally, here was something that she could easily do. Due to her early training as a healer, she already knew many of the plants, as well as where to find them. The elements were also easily learned, as she had to spend a year helping the poor farmer that she had landed on, as a punishment for not getting helping sooner with her difficulties. The lessons after these, soon became more interesting, as she began to be instructed in the ways of the forest; learning more about plants, as well as the animals in the area, which things to eat, and which to be wary of, plants and animals alike. Things that Elraralia found useful, as she always thought it best to be self-dependent.

When she finally completed this step, she had mastered the first basic trainings, around the age of 95; it was time to move onto the Tethin-króin, or "Youth Warrior" part of the training. Along with this, also came the new addition to Elraralia's tattoo: the band extending around the arm. Something that she was very proud of, as it finally symbolized her as something more. Although she was slightly discouraged to find out that the horrible Iteh training was back. This time though, she used the knowledge that Keïurl had taught her, along with some more help from him, she was able to finish it much quicker, only taking around a year to master. She probably would have died, if not for the hand-to-hand combat that she also began to learn. Starting out simple, they began with basics that looked much like human boxing, she quickly moved onto more difficult defenses, as well as offenses. Although it was finally evident where the Iteh training was needed; for things such as weaving in and out, as well as quickly disappearing, only to reappear on top of your opponent; it didn’t mean she liked it any more.

It was about this time, that Elraralia also fell in love, or at least her first crush, as she was still a bit young to know what love was. He was a young elf by the name of Henstur. He was passing through the forest on his way into some battle that had been raging in the west for some time. He was sentenced to guard duty on a night that Elraralia was sentenced to help with, after failing to complete one of the Iteh challenges that she so hated. They ended up talking about their pasts; she found out that he had been wandering for a while now, ever since they had heard about the war in his village, although which village that was, never really came up. The next morning, she woke to find him gone, but he frequently past through the village after that. At first, Elraralia had some what of a girlish crush on him, but after a while, that disappeared, as he seemed to do, and they became close friends.

After the “Youth Warrior” part of the training ended, lasting approximately 3 years, as was usual; Elraralia was 98, and ready to begin her training as an Asthár-króin, or a “Third Warrior.” Finally, the Iteh training was over, or at least the teachings of the acrobatic parts of it. But due to the obvious fact that it would follow her throughout the rest of the training, as it was the basis for many of the levels of training, she figured out that it would be best to continue practicing. And could be seen late at night, or during breaks, doing leaps, jumping high into trees, and more of the acrobatic moves. Soon, after many years, it no longer became a difficulty for her, and one day, it came in handy.

Out in the forest one fall day, she was supposed to be reviewing the herbs that she learned in her Ranger trainings, that seemed like forever ago, or at least that’s what she told the trainers. In truth, she was doing that, but her main reason was to get out, and just to absorb the nature, as she had loved to do when she was younger, and still figuring out whether to become a healer, or warrior. As she was walking, she ran into what appeared to be a very mad black bear. She later found out that he was rabid, and was in fact the beginning of an infection that spread throughout the forest. But at the time, all she knew was that he was mad, becoming more and more evident when he began to run towards her with a mad look in its eyes. Doing what came first to mind, she leaped into the branch of an overhead tree, more than ten feet up. When the bear wandered off in a sick, confused way, and the adrenaline had stopped running, she realized something: that had come naturally. She hadn’t had to think to do that. It just happened. So excited by this news, she ran as fast as she could to Keïurl’s hut, and in a rush of words, told him what happened. That night, she spent the night there, just talking, one of the few times in her life that she ever told any one anything that had to do with her feelings. It ended up costing her a day scouting in a hot bug filled field where nobody would ever in their right minds go, but for the first time, she didn’t care.

Beginning the “third warrior” training was what Elraralia had been waiting for. Although the discipline became much stricter, something that she had never had a problem with, it was time that they learned the basics of the use of weapons, and the Ranger Training was continued. When she began the weapon training, she quickly learned which one she was most suited for: the bow. Although that had been obvious from the tattoo given to her at birth, it was one thing to think that she would be good, and another to know it. Finally passing many of the others in her training group, she had finally found her element, and was restoring that feeling that this is what she was supposed to be doing. A feeling that had been gone ever since she had begun to have troubles with the Iteh training. She also took to the dagger, and cross bow, although not so much to the sword, but she was still able to wield it. Just not as well as the other weapons. Due to her gifts with the other three, she was able to continue on.

Along with the “Third Warrior” training, came more of the Ranger Training. She learned more about the other animals in their world, along with the plants. At this point, her healer skills were sharpened as she learned more about the herbal remedies, but not so much the physical remedies, such as broken arms and wounds where herbal remedies cannot help. Feeling that perhaps some of this knowledge could be useful, she went back to Keïurl, who taught her the basic art of healing. She also began to learn from both her trainers, and Keïurl about the world outside of the Auturian Woods. From the Gods of others, to wars that once raged, and still where raging the lands outside of her home forest. It was at this point, that Elraralia began going to the elder elves of the tribe, talking to them about what they had learned and seen, trying to get prepared for what was looming up ahead of her: the voyage of the Traveling Warrior.

Once she had completed the “Third Warrior” part of the training, she was 128, and ready; at least in the eyes of her trainers, to go onto the level of Pharanhé-króin, or the traveling warrior.

She set out, a cool morning, with a few of her fellow trainees that had also decided to leave that morning. They walked together in silence for some time, thinking about what was ahead, and what they had learned. Every so often, one would drift away, until finally, Elraralia was by herself. She had been wandering for some time, when she began to smell smoke. When she got closer to what seemed to be the source of the smell, she saw smoke rising into the air, and she eventually came upon a small human village that had been burned to the ground. Wandering closer, she saw a group of men, woman and children, all with a look of hopelessness upon there face. When she asked what had happened, they responded with a collection of replies, all at once. She finally figured out that a group of bandits had burned down their village; after they had caught them stealing from them in the middle of the night before, and this was all that was left of the town. Begging for her help, she decided that this would be a good place to use her training, and began to track the bandits into the forest. She hadn’t gone far, when she bent down to look at what appeared to be somebody’s footprint, when the false bottom of a trap fell through, and she found herself at the bottom of a very large pit. She stayed there overnight, when the same group of bandits that had attacked the village found her. It was in fact one of their traps that they had set, for just that purpose: to catch someone tracking them. Furious with herself for being caught, she allowed herself to be hauled out, and was about to attempt an escape, when they bound her hands and legs together, took the bow and dagger that she had been carrying with her, and tossed her onto the back of one of their horses.

Later that night, she tried once again to run away, when everyone was asleep. She got to the edge of the camp, and was trying to cut off her bindings, when they caught her. As a punishment, they smacked her cheek with the flat of one of the bandit’s swords, leaving a long gash down one side of her face. The next morning, they were traveling through the forest, when a group of rangers burst into the clearing they were passing through. They attacked the bandits, who had been caught unawares, and freed Elraralia. Elraralia at this point was at the point of fainting from dehydration, and from the gash on her cheek, which was slowly becoming infected. Once they untied her, she stood up, only to pass out onto the ground.

She awoke three days later in the hut of one of the rangers. They had tended to her wound, and had nursed her back to health, cleaned the gash on her cheek, which later resulted in the scar on her face.

Looking aound, she was amazed by the simplicity, and yet genuisness of the hut. Growing up away from all humans, she had always been taught that they were not nearly as smart as the elven race, and that there developments were small. This was due to the fact that they didn't live nearly long enough to learn anything, still baby like when they died. But these humans, they had to be different. The huts were simple, or at least to Elraralia's limited view of them from the cot on which she lay. But in the same sence, served so many purposes. There were eight strong beams supporting the roof, with a latched door on the top, to allow for an easy entrance if needed. There was only one window, but it was large enough to let in enough light to light the entire room. Hanginging down from the ceiling, were lamps, that could be lit, or, if they caugt enough, could house fireflies. One of the amazing things about these lamps was that they some how managed to keep the fireflies alive long enough to provide the light needed, and when they were no longer needed, they were set free. This small band of rangers, was completly dependant off the land, something that Elraralia had also learned most humans had troubles with.  When she became stronger, she ventured outside of the hut that she had been staying in, which she later learned to be the infirmary. Another one of the things these people seemed to specialize in, along with the building of structures, and their amazing Ranger skills, was healing. Amazingly enough, Elraralia felt as if they were her superiors, her elders, even though she was nearly twice the age of many of them.

She stayed with this band for the duration of her “Traveling Warrior” level. When she was with them, she learned even more about the art of healing, tracking, hunting, and the building of huts, as it seemed to be a group project when a new hut was needed. When she asked the name of this band, they said they had none, and that they were simply a group of rangers who had become lonesome of the solitary life, and had thus over time, created this group. Because they had no name, Elraralia began calling them “The nameless Rangers” or Enlamsahè.”

While she was with them, she became almost one of them, making it even more difficult when the time for her to return to Ria came about. She left them, promising to return some day, and made her way back home. When she returned, she found all to be the way that she had left it, with small changes, like the babies were no longer babies, as she had been gone for fifty years. Some of her fellow trainees also had yet to return.

When she returned, as was custom, she went to the Avár’Soórn, to tell her story. It took a night and half a day to tell, but when she was finished, she felt as if it was burned into her memory, the way to that village, like a map. It was also a relief, for it was the first time since she had that talk with Keïurl, nearly 100 years ago. Once she was done though, it began to feel strange having someone know as much about her, as she did, as she was used to bottling everything up inside. The image that they put up, representing her story, as is custom, was her tattoo symbol of a leaf entwining a bow, next to a picture of a hard face human, with a knife and a healers bag, showing the Rangers, and the things she learned and experienced with them.

Glad to be back, Elraralia once again re-entered the physical training she had been doing before she left. This time, entering the Krói-króin level, or the “War Warrior” level. In this level, she was to further her studies of weaponry, and to pick a weapon to work the most on. Due to her training with the Enlamsahè, she had already mastered the bow, along with the long bow, and thus decided to try the Scourge; a legendary weapon her people used.

Using the Scourge was like nothing she had ever done before. First, it was the first one that did not kill people, and aim and precision was key. She spent years perfecting her aim, until she was finally able to do it on a moments notice, hitting the attacker in such a way that she could reach for her bow, before they attacked her again. While she did this, she also continued her Iteh training, as she knew it would always be her weakness, for no matter how hard she practiced, once she stopped practicing she would go back to the way that she had Keïurl’s training.

After twenty years of “War Warrior” training, and she was 198, she was finally ready to go onto the final level: Sýs’pharanhé-króin, or “Second Traveling Warrior.” Setting off once again, she felt the same way she had felt leaving the first time, only this time she wasn’t nervous at all, as she had been here before, and had a feeling it would not take nearly as long. Sure enough, she traveled to a new forest, but instead of living with a group, she lived by herself. She wandered for eight years, seeing things she had never seen, experiencing things she had never felt. Along the way, she put her skills to work, helping when needed, but also she learned to lock her emotions inside of herself, as she was realizing that the few people wanted to know about her troubles. After eight years of finding herself, along with finding trouble, she knew that it was also time to go back, as she was getting that feeling that once again, it was time.

Returning home at the age of 206, she once again talked with the Avár’Soórn, where they decided that she had indeed completed the step of “Traveling Warrior.” Her tattoo was added to, so it now showed her to be a Kaiér-kroín, or a Kaierian Warrior. For some time she stayed with the tribe, going out to defend the tribe, but that was often not necessary as other beings and other elves seemed to avoid the Tethinrhim tribe, for their warrior skills were infamous. It also seemed to Elraralia that for the first time in forever there was a lull in the wars, just in time for her to be able to begin fighting. After putting up with this for 48 years, she packed her things, and after getting permission from the tribal Avár’Soórn and Ránn and Rónn of the tribe, set off to find adventure, and a use for the skills it took her 176 years to acquire.

Personality: Due to Elraralia’s early upbringing, and later events in life, she tends to bottle things up inside. Slow to anger, when she finally is angered, it is often like letting loose a storm, as this is when the bottled emotions are let loose. She also appears hard on the outside, but when gotten to known better, she is actually very kind. The only time that she is directly soft is when she finds someone that needs caring, or with animals; the only things she has found to trust immediately. She enjoys being alone, but being in a group does not kill her, and over time she appears to become less of the hard person people perceive her to be, as she learns that it is ok to open up. She is also very stubborn, and will often refuse help in projects, until it either becomes life threatening to herself, or someone else. She is a mix between pessimistic, and optimistic, tending to see things as they are, as she learned over time that that is always the better way to see things. She is never scared to share her opinions about things, especially when it comes to other people. Which can sometimes get her in trouble, but she has learned to also not do that as much, due to her training throughout her life. When angered is when she tends to do this the most. She has also learned how to read people, through her travels, being able to read if they are lying, good, or if they have not so good intentions.

Occupation: She is basically a wandering Kaierian Warrior, with limited healer knowledge. She also will track someone, often for a fee though.

Weakness: Her temper, and tendency to bottle things up inside tend to be her major weaknesses, personality wise. Another would be her stubbornness, and unwillingness to receive help. All of these getting into trouble. Others include her difficulties with acrobatic movements, things that always caused trouble for her, growing up. She also has no magical powers what so ever, leaving her rather vulnerable for attacks in that area, and although she has been lucky enough to evade them, the luck has to wear out at some point. Her horrible swordsmanship has also left her with the difficulty of man to man fighting, as the only way that she can fight man to man is with a Scourge, which will only hurt, not kill.

Strengths: The ability to be self dependant, is one of her main strengths, as she has the ability to live alone for long periods of time, without the help of others. Her tracking skills, and skills with the bow and scourge are also very helpful. Her ability to read people is very helpful, in finding friend or foe.

Possessions: She carries very little with her, but here is a list of what she does carry with her:
Her bow, and a full quiver. Inside the quiver is also her scourge, which she received after completing the Kaierian Training.
A change of clothes, identical to the ones that she is already wearing.
A green shift, and green pants, for colder weather, and also to be worn under her armor.
Her body armor, including: thicker leather covering her chest, shoulders, and upper legs.
A small bag, attached to a belt at her waist, filled with helpful herbs that she has found helpful; the extent of her healing powers.
Attached to the belt is also a dagger, used for quick use, but not nearly big enough to kill.

Luca the Thief
« Reply #4 on: September 09, 2003, 01:55:22 PM »

"By the gods! I don't want to fill this out, Pick!"

Oh stop whining. It's just a simple form!

"Simple form? I feel like I'm writing a bloody book!"

No need to snap! No need no need. Now...just fill it out and we be off

"Be off? Pick...we're sitting in the city dungeons"

Ahem...we'll be out of here once you're done with this little description of yourself.

"Little description my knee. This isn't little, you blasted bird! It's a template for an autobiography!"

If I could write, I'd be doing one too and with not nearly the amount of complaining as yourself!

"'If I could write'. Just shut up and hand me a pen and ink."

Name: Luca. Original given name (if one even exists) is unknown.
Gender:  Female
Race: Half-elf
Tribe:  Azhorhria/Aeolrhan
Age: 43 but appears only around 20.
Class/Title:  Outcast Thief

Mainly thief though she lived aboard a pirate ship for 7 years. When she was a young girl, Luca dreamed of becoming a ranger who traveled the world but because of her set past Luca feels she is unfit of a noble occupation.

Is skilled with a dagger, both basic knife-handling skills and throwing. Luca's nimble hands are used to handling objects with precision after a lifetime relying on slide of hand and twirling or juggling knives is one of her bizarre hobbies. She also carries and uses a long bow, though she rarely uses it combat due to a limited supply of arrows and bad nerves. But Luca tries to avoid fights even though when she does get into one, her big mouth is usually the cause of it. Because her actual strength is not very high, Luca tries to stun her enemy as soon as possible and then run.

Luca is very limited when it comes to magic though she does carry an enchanted amulet. She has the ability to summon a scarlet eagle that she has a bizarre relationship with using a magical amulet she wears around her neck. The two communicate telepathically via the magic of the amulet, but Luca sometimes forgets this and talks to the bird aloud, making for a both confusing and humorous spectacle for outside observers. The two friends fight regularly and the eagle, going by the name Pick, teases its master whenever she has the chance, but despite their differences, the lifelong partners have a strong respect and personal bond with each other. Pick is useful in scouting out land and being somewhat of a spy, but she acts mostly as a companion of Luca.

Since Luca wears little clunky armor and her clothes are all of a light material, Luca’s movements are near silent (unless she happens to fall/knock something over, a very common occurrence for the thief). Luca is agile and quick, allowing her dodge, or catch, almost anything her eyes can follow. In other words, Luca is a difficult target to hit. As a thief, and as a person on the run, Luca has trained her mind to scan an area, pick out exits and anything, or anyone, who could prove a danger or asset in any situation that may come along. Since during battle, Luca is more often than not on the defensive, she has learned from experience that some of the most unlikely of objects can prove useful in any way imaginable.

Luca is quite good at reading land and judging distances. Her wits are quick and she has a gift to be able to talk (or lie) herself out of messes. She is good at making plans but rarely follows them, preferring to improvise on the situation. Her knowledge of the streets has helped her throughout the years. Though her navigation skills on the open wilds are questionable, her ability to navigate through sewers and back alleys is uncanny.

Luca never received a proper education, either in basic knowledge or magic. She worships no god/goddess and actually is wary of wizards and other powerful magic users, especially clerics. Luca is not afraid to try to use a magical weapon or item but tries to stay away from them. Her knowledge of magic is very limited and if she steals or stumbles across a magical item, she usually sells or trades it off due to the fact she cannot and does not want to use it.

Luca is a rather petite woman and is not very strong. Her fighting sense is low on the scale and she has never been formally trained in any fighting art. Her movements are sometimes ‘spastic’ and have even been described as (by a certain feathered companion): like a wounded fly trying to get out of a jar. Luca has been known to back herself into corners or be left weaponless by her own fault. Luca hates pain and will try and avoid it at all costs. If she is hit, Luca tends become dramatic and goes through a series of emotions: shock, confusion, fear and sometimes a burst of anger.

To put it bluntly…Luca isn’t very smart. Her common sense is lacking and her knowledge of the world is limited. She is very close minded and is slow to trust but an alliance that aids her financially is always intriguing to the poor thief, often fogging her good judgement. She gets disoriented easily and often has to call upon Pick to give her the basic overlay of the surrounding area. Luca is easily sidetracked by an easy victim or interesting conversation. She has even been known to stop in mid sentence and let her mind wander off to who-knows-where. If Pick happens to be in her presence the bird usually tries hopelessly to snap the woman back to reality, but usually fails.

Luca has a wonderful sense of humor and loves a good joke or prank, even if it is played on her. She is very laid back and unless she is immediate danger, her cares are worlds away. Since her ‘occupation’ 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. Luca is quick to make friends though she rarely keeps them for more than a conversation. People all over the land owe her favors, or at least Luca has been able to make them think they do.

Luca’s carefree and laid back attitude is not shared by all. Few care to partner with her for it is obvious at a first meeting that if there was a plan, it would not be followed. Her pranks and teasing are sometimes crude, and many times 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 may be easily liked if you get to know her, but she can make enemies just as easily, if not more, than making friends. Luca is openly a thief, she does not hide her lifestyle choice and rarely hides her hands. Luca has gone into a tavern alone and solemn faced, only to run out moments later laughing with the entire (broke) crowd chasing after her angrily.

On the exterior, Luca is very rude and rather upfront about her opinions. She speaks her mind and rarely thinks before she speaks. But due to traumatic events in her past, Luca 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 a bad person. She tries to help from a distance and rarely takes credit for it. It has been rumored that a shadow lurks city dungeons, freeing the innocent, when Luca is in town.

Luca has a set of twin daggers, her usual weapon choice. She stole them from an elven ranger just a few years after fleeing her homeland and they have saved her life many times over. The two are quite small in comparison to most daggers, each just over a palmspan long and with a blade width of 3 nailsbreadth. The handles are of basic redwood that are smoothed and designed to fit easily into the hand of an elf, or in this case, half-elf. The base of the handles are capped with a piece of silver that is well dented after being used in knocking victims unconscious, one of Luca's signature moves. Finely engraved into the wood are intricate designs of lines, loops and spirals that all intertwine to make a fabulous display of elven art on the finely crafted weapons.

She carries with her a well worn basic wooden bow with a strong twine string. The arrows in her basic leather quiver are greatly varied, for most were stolen at different times or simply found on her travels. Some are of an amazing quality, made by the finest elven archers while other are poorly crafted orc arrows that are basically sharpened sticks. Luca was given the bow by Dargth, a very old former ranger she knew as a child. The bow holds extreme sentimental value to Luca since Dargth was like a grandfather to her and it was he who inspired her to become a ranger, a dream she still has.

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 long forgotten language. When Luca summons or dismisses the bird, the runes and carvings on the amulet glow a faint white light. Luca's birth mother, an Aeolrhan, came across the amulet on a stroll through the city's markets. Like any Aeolrhan, the unique design and pretty carvings drew her to it. Even though the Aeolrhan do not become especially attached to their children, Luca's mother still wanted her first daughter to have an idea of where she came from so the only possession Luca was given as a babe, was the magic necklace.

Luca does not believe in carrying around bulky packs with tons of supplies. She has a simple pack 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 regularily (steel and flint, small cooking knife, etc.) while the main compartment holds larger items like a small skillet about a palmspan in diameter and her cloak when she isn't wearing it.

When Luca travels, she carries little food with her. She usually has a small pouch of dried fruit or meat for emergencies, but usually hunts and scavenges when needed. As a child, Luca obviously didn't get three proper meals a day, so she is not a picky eater and is somewhat adjusted to having an empty stomach.

Luca is a rather pretty girl, her skin and face soft from her elven heritage and her bold brown eyes large and almond shaped. When her smile isn't twisted into a cocky grin, she can really display her emotions through facial expressions.

Luca's hair is a dark brown that looks black in dim light or when wet. Since she travels a lot, it's simply more conventional to have it cut short, so whenever it begins to grow too long, she takes her dagger and does her best to keep at about chin length. Because a dagger wasn't designed for cutting hair, it usually takes several tries, resulting in a layered and choppy cut.

Luca is not very tall for somebody of elven heritage, standing only 1.7 peds. She is slim and her arms and legs are quite long. Her ears appear the length common to a dog or cat but in the design of an elf or human. Most Aeolrhan have ears similar to that of a cow, but because of her human father, hers are shorter but still noticeably elf-like. She is slightly built, more for speed than strength, and her skin has been turned a light golden brown from many days under the sun. Even her nose and cheeks are lightly dotted with freckles, for when she travels the wilds alone, she removes her cloak altogether so she can soak up the sun. This may be a risk, but Luca loves to be in the sun and will never sacrifice that.

Luca's clothing is quite basic. She wears a forest green shirt with the sleeves ripped off and a pair of gloves that end halfway up her forearm. The fingers of her gloves are cut to allow her nimble fingers the maximum movement needed to be the skilled thief she is. She wears a short skirt with two large pockets on either side of the faded gray cloth that stops just above her knee with a frayed edge. Around her waist is a thick leather belt holding only her dagger and a small gold purse that she keeps on hand for everything from guard bribes to quickly settling tavern skirmishes. Her soft leather boots, that allow her to move with near silence, are well worn and rise to just under her knee. Around her neck is an old cloak made of a light material, so dark a violet that it appears black a good deal of the time. The cowl of the cloak is very deep which allows her to hide her face to keep from being recognized by enemies and former ‘partners’.

Luca was born to an upper class Aeolrhan elf maiden from Shan’Furionnis. Her father is believed to be a trading human from the Azhorhria tribe who was passing through the port city on a trading mission. He was in a particularily bad mood since his family had arranged his marrige to another he did not care for. If he had any true feelings for Luca's elven mother it is unknown but he did it to smite his family. 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 elven community and are watched carefully by other communities since the cross-race breeding usually points to a dishonorable family, but are usually kept despite social taboos.

Luca’s mother was still young when the young thief was born, barely 40, and was not ready to care for a child. The abandoning of a child was not an uncommon occurrence among the Aeolrhan tribe but Luca’s mother still 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, a basic eagle claw amulet.

But luckily, Luca’s tale did end there. The baby, wrapped tightly in black linen, was discovered by an orphan boy no older than 8. Ano took her in and taught his knew 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, 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 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, Dargth. Dargth had traveled almost all of the world and had many tales to tell the local children, street born or not. Dargth inspired Luca to become a ranger, for her love of adventure and a longing to cross the borders of her home city was shared with the old elf.

But one dream overpowered her want to explore, all Luca had ever wanted was a family. And one day, when Luca was about 9 years old, she thought she found that. Luca was approached by a middle aged man with a nasty scar running across his face. He managed to convince Luca that he was her father, and either the man was extremely persuasive or Luca’s good judgement was shattered by her need to have a family, most likely the latter, but Luca believed him.

She followed him back to the thieves guild, an organized underground community that stole from anybody worth stealing from or simply angered the guild and its members, rich or poor, and ‘disposed’ of anybody who got in their way. Luca lived miserably for the next year, going on missions to steal from friends and people who could barely survive on their own. Finally Luca was given a mission to rob a wealthy noble’s home and return with a few select items. Luca knew she couldn’t do this on her own so she went to the one person she knew she could trust. 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 daughter of the noble, no older than 6 years old. So Luca did what she was taught 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. He died almost instantly.

Luca was horrified beyond belief and tried to revive him. But the little girl had fled and retrieved her father and Luca was thrown into the dungeons. Nobody came to save her. The terrified 10 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. She would never kill again. She pledged this to herself and she planned to live up to it until she drew her last breath. Another question racked at the young girl. Where was her father? He must have known where she was. And he could surely pull strings to get her out unmarred. 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 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 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, nearly black in the dull light of the dungeon. Before Luca could react to the strange appearance of this amazing 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, it 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 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 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.

Luca was given a full day to get out of the city and to get as far away as possible. After those 25 hours, every guild member who wished would set and hunt the girl the rest of her life, until her hand was severed and returned to the guild master.

Luckily for her, a ship headed for Doranthakar was leaving the next morning. This gave Luca one last night to say goodbye to her friends and to recover from the brutal torture she had endured. Before the thief made it to see her best of friends she stopped and realized something: if she revealed to them how she had killed Ano, they would hate her and she couldn’t possibly explain her situation without explaining Ano’s death and she was too distraught to fabricate a story. But she knew one person would aid her.

Dargth was eerily quiet and reserved when Luca revealed to him her story but he simply nodded and handed her his old bow and quiver, with only 10 arrows in it at the time. He said nothing and turned from her and went into his house, shutting his door in her face. 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. Her first trip outside of the city was far from what Luca had imagined it; she didn’t even get to get a good view of the sea.

Luca’s stay on Doranthakar was short lived and not enjoyed. She was still but a child, only 10 years old, and she had no skills except for her thieving abilities, which advanced considerably when she was alone. She stole from houses and shops, still keeping to her valued principles. Luca practiced with the bow that Dargth had given her regularly, and luckily met no trouble. Luca’s life went along for 5 years, not once having to meet another living soul. It was a lonely life, living on the run. Luca was afraid to speak to anybody and she rarely got more than 4 hours of sleep at a time, if even that. The appearance of the strange eagle haunted her mind for years until it finally dawned on her. It was the amulet.

Luca called upon the red eagle as before and, as before, the bird was perched on a nearby branch within seconds. But this time was different. This time the bird communicated with its master. At first, Luca was horrified and thought that some wizard was using a mind flaying spell, but after a short time Luca trusted the bird and listened to what it had to say.

It explained to Luca that the amulet her mother had given her was a Guardian Key. A magical device, created by wizards or other magic users, to allow them to summon and communicate with a familiar of their choice. How the Guardian Key came to be in possession of a simple shop keeper, the bird could not guess. Though, speaking telepathically drained energy from the amulet, which in turn, drained energy from the magnificent eagle. Being free from Luca, the bird would regain its strength in due time and be able to be summoned again. Luca named it Pick, after it picked the lock and freed her from the city dungeon a few years back. The half-elf lived on her own for 10 years. 10 years with no interaction with another being other than Pick.

One day, when she was 20 years old, Luca met an elven ranger on her travels through a forest. She tried to make friends with the man, hoping that he would accept her. But her hopes were shot down as he backed away and muttered in elven tongue ‘little thief’. Luca could not speak elvish but she knew his meaning easily enough. Luca felt anger: she may have killed, she may steal to survive and she may be a social outcast, but she had done nothing to harm this man.  She stayed true to her pledge, but still in a fit of rage, managed to knock him out and steal his daggers, the twin blades she carries to this day. Luca knew at that moment that she would never fit into an organized society and she took to the only place she knew she would at least be tolerated: the sea.

It was when she joined a crew of pirates that Luca discovered her love, and natural ability, to live on the high seas. She isolated herself from the rest of the crew, appointed herself to be the exclusive watchman, living most of her days in the crows nest. When she slept or ate, Pick took over her duties, the eagles amazing eye-sight doing a better job than she ever could. Luca spent her days sleeping and eating, or watching the daily routines of the men. It had taken every shred of persuasive power that Luca could muster to allow the superstitious captain to let a woman on. But his ship was well known for it's crew of skilled rogues and outcasts. Luca would gain their respect soon enough.

All through her pirating days, Luca stayed true to her pledge, not killing a soul. She would distract the opposition with taunts or insults to allow another crew member to kill or capture them for the crew in return for ransom or information. The crew nicknamed her Sea Viper for her sharp reflexes and sharper tongue. But Luca grew tired of the limits of the sea and left the crew with fond farewells to live a life on the road.

To this day, Luca continues to wander aimlessly from location to location, spending long periods of time on her own in the wilds and spending a week at the most in large cities, where she can restock on supplies and catch the latest gossip. Luca has yet to be accepted but her expectations are not high and she suspects to live a life of isolation for the next few hundred years.

"Whew....finally, I'm done. Pick can we get-- Pick?"


"......you horrible little--" *sigh* "Be off Pick, no need to waste your energy with me"

Hmm? Oh...you're done! Well...now I'll get us out of this horrible dungeon--

"No. You go rest at your home, wherever that may be"

Don't you want to get out of this place?

"Of course...but you need to rest. You know how being here drains your energy"


"No buts. Come on, git"

You are too overprotective!

*blink blink* "What? Uh...well....uh...Quiet, your horrible beast! It's not like I care if you waste your energy or not! Be off!"

Hmph....You liiiike me!


*SQUAWK!* Hey now! No need for that!

"I'm going to make a lovely down pillow of you!"


"I would rather die on my feet than live on my knees"

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« Reply #5 on: October 23, 2003, 04:36:22 AM »

Here is my CD:

Name :Fflewdur

Gender :Male

Race : Dwarf

Age :72

Tribe :Thrumgolz

Occupation :None, yet may become soldier for his Thrumgolz tribe in distant future.

Title :Axeman

Appearance :Cadarn has standard hieght for a dwarf (1.25peds) and has amber eyes. He has shining gold beard and hair. His ears are slightly larger than usual and he has excellent hearing. He is thin but well muscled. He wieghs .97pygges.

Personality :He is happy and kind. He is very serious. He is good with creatures. When he is relaxed he is very unobservent and almost sleepy looking. When he is in danger his eyes turn as cold as stone and he becomes very alert. He likes heat.Unlike most dwarfs he dosent mind elves. He was born with these feelings and though he has thought long about it he is not sure why.

History :His parents were kindhearted but poor. Fflewdur was an only chlid. When he moved out he was 22. Then, 5 years later when his parents were killed in an earthquake he moved all over the territory of the Thrumgolz. For some reason no matter where he went he felt that he didnt belong. The homes he found were good but for some reason he always found something wrong whether it was the neighbors, or the tempature. Then when he was 65 he moved to a cavern beneath the Rahaz Dath Desert in an attempt to catch and tame a Desert Drake. He saw a picture of a desert drake once and he was in awe. He promised himself that one day he would make one his own. He lives there still, alone and seperate from his Thrumgolz bretherin. Once a week however he travels to the city and visits some of his friends at TheThirsty Herald. He hunts his own food with a bow and his axe.

Clothing :Standard Thrumgolz clothing except a silver hood he always wears. He wears thick brown pants and a heavy leather shirt when he is in a cold area(Which he seldom is)but his main outfits are a light colored light weighted shirt and a thin but strong piar of pants that are also brown.

Weapons :Always carries a miniture nail axe and sometimes carries a bow and quiver of arrows.

Familars :Has none yet but hopes to tame a desert drake not matter what the cost,effort,danger,or time.(though he will ,of course,abandon his work for short or long times for other matters)

Belongings :He has a vial of ancient magical sand which he wears around his neck. It is a family heirloom and increases its owners defensive battle skills a small amount.

Strengths: He can hear better then the average person, often picking up sounds some 10 peds away with ease. He feels a sense of ease around creatures and vice versa. He has good instincts on what to in the midst of battle.

Weaknesses: His eyesight is worse than the average person,and distant things are rather blurry. His endurance is low and traveling long distances is harder for him than it is for others. He has absolutely no knowledge of plants at all,not even being able to recognise the most common plants.  

Edited by: fflewdur at: 12/6/03 17:15
Dray Ducroix
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« Reply #6 on: October 24, 2003, 02:51:22 PM »

Name: Dray Ducroix
Age:23 years
Height: 2 peds
Weight: 225 lbs
Class:Mage Knight
Appearance: Dray wears a long night blue colored cloak around his chain main armor, which is colored green in order to help hide in the forest. His eyes are a steel blue color and his hair has streaks of white flowing through the black making some people think he is older than he actually is. He wears leather boots on his feet and shin guards cover his lower legs also colored a forest green. On his head is a headband with the head of a white dragon front and center, which can only be seen somtimes when he moves his head when his hair uncovers the symbol. One eye seems to have a scar or birthmark around it. It is white in contrast to his tan skin and is shaped like a 8 pointed star with the 4 points to the top, bottom and sides the longest and the in between lines being smaller. This makes him fairly easy to spot in a crowd when looking for his face, as long as his cloak hood is not covering his head. He has a long bow on his back along with a quiver of arrows. He has a long sword and a short sword attached to his belt that hang at his sides. He appears stand offish at first, but can be a very socialble person once you get to know him. He will never kill unless it is absolutly necessary, and will find other ways to deal with things such as trapping, or just knocking unconscious.

History:D ray was born on the coast of the Dark Sea in a remote village in Centorauria. He lived out most of his life there, and was a very smart boy. He was taught how to wrestle and use a sword by his father at a young age. Dray never saw a reason for it when he was only 8 years old, but one day a band of raiders rode through town and his father stood up to them and fought valiantly and with the help of the other townspeople forced the raiders to retreat, but the damage had been down, the raiders had delt Dray's father many wounds in the fray and even the local wizard's magic was not enough to save him. From then on Dray praticed his sword skills in order to be like his father and someday find the raiders and avenge his father. He know full well that those raiders may have died long ago, and now he fights for all those who cannot fight for themselves. After his father's death Dray also took an intrest in the works of magic. The mage who lived in the village was happy to teach Dray how to weild the mystical powers, but told him he could never fully master the mystical arts if he kept up with his sword play. Dray accepted this, but still kept training himself with a sword in order to be able to protect people like his father. Dray seemed to have an innate ability with magic, mostly air, and wood magics. He learned the basics of the others, but not as easily. When Dray reached the age of 20 the mage told him there was no more he could teach Dray. He told him the rest was up to him to find and discover on his own. When Dray was leaving the village on his 21st birthday the mage gave his a pouch as he left town. Dray's mother told Dray that this was meant to allow him to unlock a power held deep inside of himself. The mage warned him not to use the power in the sight of others at first and to unlock it somewhere in private where nothing else was around. Dray left town and traveled for a few days before he came upon a clearing. He sat on a huge rock in the middle of the clearing and rememberd the pouch inside was a note written in a language Dray had never seen yet somehow could read. Also in the pouch was a white gem, not a diamond, but just a white gem Dray read the note aloud and it seemed to be some incantation. When he finished Dray suddenly felt different. He realized that he was changing as well. He began to grow and he looked at himself and realized he had trasformed into a white dragon. He felt the surge of power rush through him, but realized soon that he was getting very weak. As quickly as it had happened, in a flash of white light that would blind anything looking at it for only a few seconds and Dray was laying in the grass next to the rock sleeping. Dray awoke the next morning and remembered what had happened. He thought to himself it must be a magic of the old mage, but as he looked in the pouch again, the note was still there, but there was another one he had missed in the bottom. He opened it and read about how he was special. They had moved to the remote village and lived there because of it. He had to ability to morph into a dragon for a short period of time. And as he realized it left him very weakened, also there were some conditions under which he could not morph at all, but there were unsure what those were. From there Dray gas been traveling across the Sarvonian continent.

Weaknesses: Afriad of failure, he fears that he may one day find the same end his father did, and while it would be a heroic death, he sees it as not being skilled enough to defend the weak. He tends to pace alot as well

Contact info
MSN nephlyte_ma@hotmail.com
e-mail bengaldude_01@yahoo.com or same as above

The difference between a brave man and a coward....is facing your fear instead of running away-Dray Ducroix

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« Reply #7 on: October 28, 2003, 05:04:22 PM »

Name: Marmalan Garisdrhim

Gender: Female

Age: 92

Race: Elven


Hound of Paelelon

   I found a really good picture that one of my close friends drew for me, check it out

         Marmalan stands at about 1.5 peds and she weighs in about 1 pygge and 2 hebs. She has rust brown long hair that is usually loose with few tight beaded braids every now and then. Her hair has small shaven lines in it that resemble a snake. It starts at her right temple and slithers all the way to the left side of her back neck. Her eyes are a dark moss green and give her a sharp look. Her face is boney and thin, but she has full lips. She has a long self-made tatto on her right arm that is a vine with an arrow stabbed through it, she also has a tatto on her chest, her left breast to be exact, it is of a hound. She has three piercings in each of her ears and also has a tatto on her inner thigh on her right leg, it a crystal spider.

 Her body is thin and has many bony edges, she would not be regarded as beautiful compared to other elven species. Although she is boney, her body is filled with stronge, small muscles especially in her arms and legs and in her back.
Marmalan prefers to wear dark thin cloths. Her favorite item of clothin is a tight pair of dark brown pants and hard high boots. She wears a long robe over her pants and a small blouse that is usually cut in intricate designs to show off her tattoos and muscles. When around her mother and father Marmalan wears a dark green robe with a thin silver line as a boarder along the edge. She also owns a necklace made of silver with a pendant of the face of Arvins, Lord of the Chase on it. When attending important meetings or social gathering Marmalan always wears gowns of obscene length, revealing cuts and unique design. They are often red or black.


    Marmalan loves anything where she can show off her talents. She is a skilled huntress and loves the challenge of a good hunt. The only thing she loves in this world more than her three hounds is her forest. She will viciously attack any that try to enter her forest with bad intentions. That is one of the few times when all in her tribe will come together. She is sharp witted and like her eyes tell any who see her she is very keen. She always keeps her mind open to her surroundings. It generally takes her a while to build a trusting relationship with a strange person. She has been hurt in the past and uses this past knowlegde to help her avoid these harmful situations.She loves the fact that her kind are so mysterious, she believes that it is best to instill fear in someone who knows nothing about you than to have them destroy you because they know too much.

She also is a devout worshipper of Arvins and before every hunt she prays that he will guide her feet and her bow.


  Marmalan was born in the Paelelon 92 years ago. From birth her mother had set Marmalan aside to become an elf that would be held in high renown by others. But as the years came by her mother's plans were spoiled. Marmalan always had an interest in the hunt, it was in her blood, despite the training given by her mother to keep Marmalan away from the darker side of the Eophyrhim.

  When Marmalan was 24 years old(this is young for an elf), she was sitting outside on a tree branch with her father. He was cutting urban tree branches for a fire. Marmalan wanted to cut a branch, at first her father refused, he knew it would be dangerous for a yound elf to try and use his axe, but he couldn't deny his only child's wishes. Marmalan cut into the tree and the bark rica shaded into her eyes. She stumbled and dropped the axe. She reached over to catch the axe but fell. Below the tree her father's best friend Taranlern, was making a fire. When Marmalan fell she fell directly over the fire. She was burned on her left leg and that is when she began to fear fire.

    When Marmalan was 34, she went on her first hunt with her father. He took her to chase after a deer, being a cleric he prayed to Arvins to grant him swiftness of foot. Marmalan could barely keep up with her father as he pushed aside the flora and located a deer quickly. The deer, like all deer in this dark forest, had keen hearing and the simplest twig snapping would send it running. Marmalan's father seemed to glide over the fallen plants and small flowers but she would snap every twig sending the deer running off into another direction. Finally they came to a huge builder, the deer stood underneath the builder and was eating the dead grass. Her father climbed on top of the builder and pulled Marmalan up with him. He pulled out his bow, pulled out an arrow and dipped it in the ground up petals of a crimson rose, that cost him a bundle, with water added in it. He then readied his bow and arrow, aimed at the deer, and let it fly. Marmalan was amazed at her father's accuracy in the darkness. The deer began to bleed and it took off. Marmalan followed close behind her father as the deer ran. It began to run slower and slower until it just stopped. It's legs gave in and it lowered it's head to the floor. Marmalan's father ran up to the deer and prayed to Coo'r as he cut out the deers throat, and then he prayed to Queprur as the deer's head fell heavy.

        After this Marmalan had been hooked to hunting. Over time she learned from her father and his friends and she especially took a liking to a female by the name of Silistar. She was a feared huntress that was the daughter of one of the magi. She would take Marmalan on her hunts and they developed a great friendship.

 Around this time, Marmalan was 73, she met a male by the name of Tirar. He was an up and coming hunter, but Marmalan's mother told her to stay away from him, but never told her why. It was the 25 year Arvin's Festival when the two crossed paths. Marmalan wanted to take part in the hunt but only one position was left and Tirar proved more worthy than Marmalan, at the time. This greatly angered her and she swore to kill Tirar while he was hunting. The Festival came around and the humans were released into the Paelelon. Marmalan robed herself in a black wool cloak and followed close behind Tirar. Tirar climbed up a tree and he had closed in on two humans, a male and a female. They were huddled together against a rock and the female was crying. Tirar readied his bow and arrow and just as he was about to let it fly Marmalan pounced on him from high in the tree. The force of her blow knocked him to the ground, which startled the humans. The humans stood and ran but the female was cut down by another elf that pounced on her and slit her throat.
 Marmalan and Tirar tumbled on the ground until Marmalan was on top. She put her dagger to Tirar's throat and moved the blunt side of the blade across his throat and looked deep in his yellow eyes.

"How does it feel to know that Queprur will be giving your soul to Jeyriall very soon!"she said in a hiss.

"You tell me," he said.
 Tirar forcefully as he pushed her off of him and climbed on top of her. He pulled out a wet cloth and held it over her nose and mouth for a few seconds.

"You and I both know that our kind do not easily secumb to poisons...it will...not work...my...body...." she said drifting off.

When she awoke she was laid against a wall covered with Tree-rot. She opened her eyes and Tirar was kneeling down over a pot.

"Where am I?"she asked sternly.

She raised her hand to shield her eyes against the sunlight.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Tirar questioned her.

"Isn't what beautiful?"

 Tirar pointed towards the oval cut window and out at the dim sunlight that breaching the forest.

"NO!" shouted Marmalan,"I should be resting at this time of day and so should you, I need to get home to my family, they will be worried."
 She looked around for her belongings and saw them on a low stool. She walked over to them and grabbed them and continued walking towards the door.

"Why such a hurry, hardly anyone will be up. I thought you would appreciate me showing you something that could match your beauty," he said slyly.

"Oh, please, don't even try to flatter me or I will rip your tongue from your mouth with my teeth!"

"Why are you so hostile?"

"I have every right to be."

"Would you like to know what happened last night?"

"I suppose."

     Marmalan went back to the wall and looked at Tirar. Something was different about him, something strange, first he didn't even look like a full blooded Eophyrhim and secondly why did he have all of those tattoos and scars.
Tirar then began to tell her all that happened. He told her how he placed 35 out of 100 when the hunt was over. He caught the man that was huddled with the woman and he gave Marmalan's father the man's skin.

     It was early in the morning so Marmalan decided to stay with Tirar for the rest of the day. Being nocturnal most of their time was spent resting. When night came a warm plate of rabbit stew and a glass of corspe-berry wine was sitting on the short table in front of her. Marmalan and Tirar slowly developed a friendship in that single day. Marmalan decided to stay with Tirar for longer because he showed her his hunting techniques and how to make tattoos. He gave her the ones on her breast and inner thigh. She was hesitant at first because of her mother, but Tirar made her feel secure. Three months later Marmalan's father had sent five hunters to track her down.

    It was a dark night, the Paelelon was full of hunters and prey, an everyday thing for the Eophyrhim. Marmalan was crouching at the entrance to Tirar's home when her ears picked up the sound of light-footed beings. She stood and ran to grab her blade which Tirar stole for her. On her way in the house someone grabbed her from behind and put a knife to her throat.

"Don't move," ordered the familiar voice of Tirar.

"What's going on?" Marmalan asked.

 Then the five hunters appeared. Silistar was one of them. She her her two hounds beside her and they were growling ravenously.

"Let her go, Tirar, and your punishment shall not be brutal," she commanded.

"No, she is mines until her father pays," he replied.

"I should have killed you when I had the chance, half-born," Silistar shouted.

Pays up?, thought Marmalan, what did he mean?

She blinked and in an instant Marmalan felt something drop on her and Tirar. She looked back and the same elf that killed the human female on the Arvin's Festival was pulling Tirar off of her and tied him to the table. She looked at Tirar and not a single sympathetic emotion came to her face. Why would it? She realized what was happening, Tirar had deceived her into loving him so she wouldn't return to her father, meanwhile he had been sending ransom's or threats to her father. Marmalan hated being crossed, how could she have been so ignorant.

 She walked over to Tirar and grabbed his knife from the floor under him. She kneeled down towards him and stabbed him in his stomach and felt as the knife sliced through layers of muscle and skin. She looked in his yellow eyes as they glazed over and blood spilled from his mouth. She kissed his lips and pushed the knife in deep at the same time.

"I loved you, but this is how you repay me?", she said as she spit his blood unto his face.

 He winced as the blood hit him, Marmalan pulled the knife out and Tirar moaned in pain.

 Weeks later she was back to a normal life, well normal for her kind. She barely slept and she wondered how could she not have known. Her mother scolded her daily about the tattos and the piercings, although her mother had two piercings herself. Then Silistar came to visit her with three puppies. They were pure-bred hunting hounds and Silistar trained them especially for Marmalan she wanted them to help her get over what just happened. Marmalan took the dogs and over the years as she became a skilled huntress their skills were also enhanced.

  When Marmalan turned 83 she went out of the forest for the first time. It was also during this time that she was offered a job as a bounty hunter. She travelled with her father to Elsreth, there they attacked passing caravans, killed the travellers and stole their textiles, jewelry, and money. They never entered the city, they didn't think they would be able to take the dirty stares and conversations about them without having to kill someone. Marmalan was offered a job by a mercenary that they traded with. He wanted an orc dead, the orc had been stealing from the mercenaries supply room for weeks and the mercenary wasn't strong enough to confront the orc.

 She took the job, but never got around to it because her hounds became ill and she had no choice but to tend to their needs.

 Now, at the age of 92, she is preparing to leave the forest again to travel with the Hounds of Paelelon. They have been watching her for decades and have chosen her to trabel with them because of her skills, accuracy, agility, and her lack of sympathy for her prey. She has travelled with them once before but that was only to watch and get a feel of what their journies were like. The reason they have decided to enlist another member is because one of the seven have died and they searched the forest for one whos skills could match their own. While Marmalan's skills do not match theirs, she is still very gifted with the hunt and tracking prey.


Marmalan is a very skilled huntress. She has been training with her dogs ever since she recieved them at the age of 83. She hunts not only for pay but also for support, she believes that it is a good way to understand nature and it is a good learning experience. She is especially skilled in tracking and is a crack shot with a crossbow and a dagger. She is about to become a Hound of Paelelon, the elite of Eophyrhim hunters.  She is being taught about the anatomy of several races to ensure a good kill by one of the Hound elder's, Tarsor. He believes that all of the Hounds should be educated about making the right choices when attacking a foe and knowing the weak places of your foe is a definite bonus.


Marmalan is not a people person, she generally distrust the general population. She has a temper that can make her loose her mind. She suffers from a mind illness where if she looses control of her mind she begins to act mad and has even killed another being only because of this illness. She is also very weak to magic especially fire magic and illusionary magic, she tends to avoid fire if at all possible. She fears the destruction that fire can bring. She is weak against swords and against foes that are also swift as she is. She has a problem with accuracy when shooting arrows or throwing daggers at moving targets. It may seem like a small weakness to you but when she is killing with the Hounds of Paelelon it could end her life. She could have to shoot at a moving target and missing could cause her and her group to become exposed.


When it comes to hunting Marmalan learns quickly, she once used her skills as a huntress to pursue a short lived job as a bounty hunter. She can track anything once she has caught the scent, her nose is specially adapted to sniff out people and game. She also has an ability to soothe wild animals that would usually be afraid and run. This can be used to her advantage, she calms the beast and then attacks it. The ability is from an ancient prayer to Arvins that she prays to the animal and the beast stops in its tracks. She is not a cleric of Arvins, but her father and mother were both hunter-clerics. Marmalan learned much about hunting from her father and he taught her a clerical spell that calms the wild beast. The spell is spoken and is directed towards Arvins while the cleric focuses on the beast it wishes to calm. If Arvins responds to the spell the beast will be calmed or loose fear of the hunter allowing for an easy kill. But being a hunter Marmalan would rather work for her kill than for it to just give up and she hardly uses this spell.

Her prefered weapons of choice are daggers, bows, and her teeth and claws. She can use the dagger both up close and from a distance (throwing). She is also skilled with a bow and arrow and her knowledge of the anatomy of humans, elves, and dwarves helps her in choosing where to strike a foe.


Marmalan has very few possessions. She doesn't feel the need to carry many items because the only times she leaves her home is when she goes hunting or when her curiosity perks up. She owns a crossbow, of course, daggers, both of which are painted black and her daggers are cut in a special design for better aerodynamics and they are lighter. She also owns three Eophyrhim Hunting Hounds, 2 males Darok, Beran, and a female Lelan. She also owns a blade that was given to her by Tirar, it was once black, but she cut an intricate design in the steel and painted the cracks of the line with his blood.


Her hounds as stated above, Darok, Beran, and Lelan. They have been with her for many years and they are very kind dogs, well to Marmalan they are. They enjoy her company and she in turn enjoys their's. They are very high strung and have a lot of energy and when not hunting they can make a lot of noise, which often upsets Marmalan's mother and father.


Marmalan is of high nobility. Her mother and father are nobles that reside in the lowest grounds of the forest just above the two magi homes. Marmalan's mother and father are both dark clerics that serve the Arvins. Her mother was very disappointed with Marmalan when she decided to follow Ragran and when she denounced her nobility. Her mother hates Marmalan's tattoos and all her piercings. She believes that nobility should look the part. Her father only dislikes the constant baying of the hounds, although it is something he grew up with. Her father is the one that taught Marmalan the basics of hunting and that is how she got hooked on it.  

Killing lesser things than yourself should be viewed as giving a gift, the lifeless corpse considered a gift unto you.

Death is the only way out of the Dream.

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« Reply #8 on: October 29, 2003, 08:06:22 AM »

Name: Sable
Sex: Male
Title: Wanderer
Race: Human
Age: 24
Height: 1.7 peds
Tribe: Helcrani

Sable looks slim but athletic and a bit short. Has dark hair long to the shoulders, green eyes and a thin scar in the left cheek, from lips to ear. Wears leather boots, gloves and trousers. under the shirt he hides a chain mail. in the belt carries a sable, a dagger and a purse with money. also has two small throwing knives in the boots. a bag contains all the necessary elements to travel and camp in the forest.

Sable had another name, long time ago, but a painful tragedy made him to resign from his past life. He was born twenty-five years ago, in the city of Sostra. His parents were both soldiers of the Helcrani, and fought in lots of battles versus orcs and bandits. When they finally decided to get married and have a son his mother Marila gave up the sword to take care of the new family. His father Hictor continued in service, becoming one of the greatest swordsmen of the city.

His childhood was like another helcrani child, where game and study alternated with the use of weapons. The teachings were diverse, as many are the arts of war they dominate: axe and sword, bow and spear, mace, whip and dagger. But he always preferred his father weapons: a long one-edged sword, named "sable" in helcarian language, and a dagger in the other hand. When he was ten he entered the academy were professional soldiers were trained, and soon revealed as the best swordsman in the class, as his father before him. Apart from fighting techniques he also received tactical lessons, how to command men and guide them towards the victory, but never liked it too much; not for lack of skill, instead he didn't like much the idea of having others life under his responsibility.

When he become 18 and entered service he had become a pretty handsome guy, with dark hair and green eyes that shone like stars when he smiled, that was often. Although short in height and of light complexion that only benefit his fighting style, more inclinated to speed and agility. His teachers were all good soldiers, but the best of them all was always his own father, who taught him all he had learned after years of wars through the kingdom. And no lesson was as precious as the one he gave him the day he went to the war for first time: "all live is sacred, my son. Fight if you have to, kill if it's necessary, but never allow hate and rage to guide your sword"

He obtained great recognition in multiple battles against the minions of Coor, acting like an excellent warrior and a man of honor; the only creatures he couldn't stand were the orcs, their treacherous way of life and their lack of honor bother him a lot, although he never killed one that had already surrendered. Several times offered him captain's graduation, but always refused it.

His destiny changed the day they had to fight some bandits that were terrifying some villages in Warnaka mountains. While the army was resting in one of the towns Sable had the most marvelous vision in his whole life: black curls in a perfect face of pale skin, with dark eyes that immediately stole soldier's heart. The name of the girl was Ilthala, and soon they were everywhere together, in the village, in the forest, sitting near the river... but the bandits were eliminated, and his regiment was called to another war in another place. He promised to return as sooner as possible, and she gave him a ring with a rose recorded, to remember her.

After leaving Sable realized something wasn't all right: he had lost all liking for the fight, it was like if the piece of his soul that enjoyed the risk and the competition had disappeared. He spent all the day sitting, looking at the sky, thinking about his loved one. So he had a decision... he spoke to the commander and resign from his job. It was the most difficult decision in his life, and his companions and friends didn't make it easier. You are a warrior, they said. You have to follow your father steps. Do you give up from all this for... for a woman? Marry her if you want, but don't leave the army!

But nothing could make him change his mind. With 22 years he returned with the woman he loved, they got married and started to work in a small farm her parents have give them. He kept his weapons and armor in a chest in the warehouse, and never touched them again.

They lived two marvelous years, the happiest in their lives. but then, one day, the shadow felt over them: a band of orcs attacked the village, during the night. The screams of the villagers and the smell of smoke woke up them, and when Sable realized what was happening went running to the warehouse, but he didn't reach it. five orcs surprised him near the door, and jumped over him.

The first one felt down when a kick impacted him in the jaw. Taking his weapon, the soldier trusted it in the chest of another and made move back the others. After a few blows another one was killed. Two were left, but in that moment a scream got out of the house, more orcs had entered using the window. He tried to come back, but his attackers pested him and he had to kill them. When finally reached his love, her life was running away from a dagger wound in her chest... Sable hold her in his arms, and then she raised a hand, touched his cheek and looking at his eyes she said "I love you". Then, she died.

Sable remained there, cradling her body, combing her hair, until more orcs arrived. Thinking the human was a easy victim they attacked him... they were wrong. It was like a warrior god had woke up, three orcs died before the first one realized he had been slaughtered. Full of fury and hate he searched the town, killing all the orcs he met. The surviving villagers reunited at mayor's house and defended at there, but not he. The minions feared him, and only the leader was brave enough to fight with him, a giant orc of more than two peds and a half. Under normal circumstances the human would have fight in a defensive way, looking for the best moment to attack, but not then. The soldier ran towards him, brandishing the orc sword with all his strength. His rage was about to cost his life when the orc counter attack nearly hit him in the head, but he could dodge it in the last second and it only made a cut in the left cheek. Ignoring the pain he thrust the sword into orc stomach, next took it away and behead him. Shouting all his rage and sorrow, he felt on his knees while the greenskins ran away.

The villagers found him that way, surrounded by dead orcs, dressed only with a pair of trousers and the body covered with blood, much of it from his own. He looked like a statue, didn't react for nothing, until the parents of Ilthala carried his daughter corpse and put it at his feet. Moving like a zombie, he raised the head, approached his wife and gave her the last kiss on the lips, then muttered "goodbye" and started walk towards his house. The people in there tried to stop him to heal his wounds, but he just ignored them. In the warehouse he took his weapons and dressed the chain mail, then rode a horse and pursued the orc that ran away. It took him two days to reach his camp and when finished only ashes remained there.

In that moment he collapsed. The strength that had pushed him for the last days had disappeared. Now he felt all the pain, the cuts and blows. The wound in the face provoked him dizziness, nearly making him fell down. No word could describe the sorrow he felt in that moment, his wife was dead, couldn't get back to the army and hadn't a place to go. The pain of the loss was so high he become insensitive to avoid more suffering. Without present nor future, he decided to renounce also to his past. He hadn't got nothing to live or die for, so he was going to dedicate his live to destroy the creatures of darkness who had steal his happiness. He would be always ready for battle, so he bow not to leave his weapon anymore. And as for now on he will exist only to swing the sword he renounced to his name and adopted Sable as own.

Because of his tragedy he doesn't reveal his sentiments. Speaks little, doesn't allow intimacy. In really he is a good person who helps people, but will not accept that. Also he is fearless, always risking his life with strong enemies, as doesn't have fear to die.

Very good swordsman
Average fighting skills with almost any weapon

Doesn't trust in anyone to avoid suffering.
Is self-destructive, doesn't mind to live or die
Has periods of sadness that make him get drunk  

Arion Raistlin
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« Reply #9 on: November 18, 2003, 10:05:22 AM »

Name: Arion Raistlin

Male, Dark Elf

Height: 2 peds

Place of Birth: He does not remember, nor does he wans to remember.

Tribe: Also unknown

Age: 245

      Tall and lithe, with very toned muscles.  His frame belies his strength, and is often underestimated.  He wears a jet black leather tunic, and jet black leather breeches.  His hair is also jet black and it all contrasts his very pale skin.  His hair is cut to just below his shoulder blades but he often wears it up in a ponytail.  And as strange as it may seem for any elf, he has a full beard and moustache.  No one knows how this came about and some speculate its not even his hair, but no one has been crazy enough to ask him to his face.  His eyes also exhibit odd characteristics, constantly changing, and it is unknown if he can control this odd ability, or if it is involuntary.

      When Arion was born, a demon with very strong telepathic abilities, wishing for a hold on the mortal realm, invaded Arion's mind, twisting his will until it was no longer his own. His actions were controlled by the demon, which at a very young age, imparted Arion with the knowledge of weilding a sword, though this knowledge was used to a gruesome end. When he reached the age of maturity, the demon in Arion's mind turned Arion into a murdering beast, slaughtering fellow members of his tribe. When he regained control over his body, and saw what destruction had been wraught at his own hand, Arion fled deeper into the forest, where even Dark Elves would not tread. He was constantly tormented by the Demon, who would not leave Arion's mind, no matter what he did. He continued his struggle with the Demon, everywhere he went.  Keeping to the wilderness, he was wary of ever befriending anyone, as they could very well end up his next victim. He traveled by himself mostly, hunting whatever food he needed. His condition had left him very eager to find a way to stop it. He therefore risked many a venture to nearby towns every now and then to see if anyone knew of a great wizard or cleric that could possibly neutralize the Demon, or get rid of him altogether.  As fate would have it, Arion met one such mage by the name of Silver Dew.  This meeting was totally accidental, and her charming personality and beautiful face drew Arion in closer than he had ever been to anyone in a very long time.  He fell in love for the first time in his life, and it scared him to death.  Every day spent with her frightened him to no end, for he constantly warred for control of his body.  In the end, it was Silver who saved him, who set him free, by releasing the demon, and capturing it within her mind.  They were seperated after that, and Arion hunts to find his love again.  And though his bond with the demon had been broken, his connection to their world had not.  He still retains his skill with his sword, and can still tap the powers of the demonic realm.  But all power has its price.

      Scarred forever by the demon's influence, Arion's morals and ethics are very rough around the edges.  He sees no problem with killing or stealing, or anything else he must do that is justified by his cause.  He is often considered to border on insanity by those who do not know him well.

Fighting Style:
      Arion's fighting style is unlike anything that can be taught by a mortal, and as such consists of a majority of his demonic powers.  He fights with a greatsword, but agile enough you might think he was weilding a rapier.  His cuts are graceful and agile, but when so desired, those graceful swings could cleave a man in twain.  He uses no shield, and no protective armor, relying completely on his skills with his sword.  He believes that a shield and armor will only slow him down, cause him to make mistakes.  His usual stance is with feet more than shoulder width apart, standing sideways, creating a small target, with his sword in both hands pointing behind him and towards the ground.  Arion has also studied recently into the martial arts and is learning the art form of unarmed combat.

-Unparalelled Swordsman
-Quick and Agile
-Wealth of knowledge of the wilderness
-No ties to anyone save for Silver, therefore nothing to backstab him with.

-Socially Inept
-Weak hand to hand combat
-Sometimes easily angered
-Lack of defined morals makes him somewhat difficult to get along with.

-A magic Sword that he made under the influence of the Demon. It glows a crimson red and burns anything it touches.
-Black Tunic made of Black Hart hide.
-Black breeches also made out of Black Hart hide.
-A small purse of gold.
-A hunting bow slung over his back.
-A small book of healing spells (he cannot use them) and medicinal herbs/brews.
-A silver flute.

"Death smiles at us all.... All a man can do, is smile back."

Kim Sandrage
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« Reply #10 on: December 09, 2003, 09:16:22 AM »

My Character

Name: Kim Sandrage
Gender: Female
Age: 25
Race: Human
Tribe: Kasumarii
Occupation: Training Dark Priest Assassin
Place of birth: Cyhalloi
Current Location: Santharia
Title: Dark Priestess

Physical Appearance: Kim Sandrage is about 1.75 peds. Her light blonde hair ends with a curl at her chin. Her hard sharp Light Blue eyes take in most detail that many would not see. Her Skin is very pale at times it looks white but she is fairly attractive not especially but at certain times when the sun hits har face her true femine features can be seen. She is a slim build about 1.4 Pygre in weight. She has a few scars over her from her various fights. And a fresh one down the side of her face from the last battle with her godfather.

Clothes: Almost always clothed in black robes. Very rarely seen in any thing else except when training when the clothes she wear are usually white and easier to move around in.And evem more rarely she will wear a long black dress, a good bye present from her godfather, that helps hide what she realy is if needed while she is away from home.

Personality: Kim Sandrage is a cold-hearted Dark Priestess. She shows few feelings to anyone after the way she has been treated in the past. She looks weak but it hides a powerful inside. She will fight anyone who crosses her and often she will use shadowmancy to trick them. She keeps all her feeling belt up inside her and over the years she was let these build up deeper and darker inside her. Also she is afraid to let anyone close to her in case they hurt of leave her like has happened in the past.

Strengths: Kim has the ability with both shaitarai and use with the armoured fan at a level twice her age. It could be because of her intent to better herself and to beat all her enemies or because of her wish to escape her Godfathers cruel ways, to bring herself to a level he would respect and let her free. She also has a natural talent in the art of Shadowmancy enabling her to hide her self away from people when she does not want to be found and to surprise people. However as she is still quite young she is better mixing the fighting skills and shadows together

Weaknesses: Kim Sandrage is quick to fight even if she does not know her opponent she will go in with no planning at all usually using the shadows but occasionally her concentration will falter and she will be seen. She has a weakened part of her thigh, which has haunted her since she was a child. However she has learnt to protect it but occasionally her concentration will fall and it will become a target. She is also weak against magic of light because of the darkness in her soul. Another weakness would be her distrust of people. This could cause her harm one day if some one tries to help but so far she has seen no need to trust anyone, as all they do is try and cause her pain.

Shadowmancy Abilities (Strengh and weaknesses): Kim can manuplate the shadows to enable her to make suprise attacks on people this has become usefull in the respect that if she was trying to hide, very few people would be able to find her.. However as of yet she hasn't the ability to suck the shadows out of someone and use it against them but as she trains more and more even though she isn't with her people she will learn stronger spells that cause more damage.

History: Kim Sandrage is well versed in the practises of shadow magic having been part of the dark priest order for twenty years she still in training but is to continue her training alone now.

Her Parents were all both Dark Priests, had been since they were born.

When Kim Sandrage was 5 her parents were lost when they were all out training at night. She was the only one found The last thing she remembered was her mother screaming and orcs appearing out of the darkness before she was pushed in to hiding by her father.

The only thing she has to remember them by was a necklace that her father had slammed in to her hand before she was pushed in to hiding. It had a miniture coat of arms of the Dark Priests on the pendent. There was something mysterious about this necklace but she didn’t know what. She had kept it hidden from everyone for many years..

Unbeknown to her the necklace is the cause of the darkness in her soul after it was covered in her blood which interacted with the magic inside the pendent. It was created many years ago by the Dark Priests and infused with very potent shadowmagic. It was meant to be used as a tool of control and that was the last that was heard of it. However now it is connected to Kim it can not be used again. It was only for one use, many were expected to be made but only one ever was. Kims mother was given it buy her grandmother who had found it with her grandfather while they were lost in a remote part of Cyhalloi. Knowing it was important they kept it hidden from the rest of the tribe as did Kims mother and as has Kim for the past 20 years.

Kim Sandrage’s Godfather, a Dark Priest, began her training as a Dark Priestess. She was almost always a loner most of the children feared her as she had an air of death about her. After her parents had gone missing this only got worse. Some of her own kind treated her as though she was the reason they went missing she never understood why though and still hasn't been told. Her Godfathers training was rough and brutal, she felt that he blamed her for her parents disappearance and this only lead her deeper in to a world of shadow and hate. She was not allowed to train with a weapon except when she was being taught how to kill someone. When she was trained this she was given an old armoured fan that could not of killed but it taught her how to use it. It was a difficult weapon to learn but with much effort she learnt to use in efficiently and deadly. What she did not know was this talent would come in to use years later. She was also taught the fighting discipline shaitarai which she is more talented in than the armoured fan. This was the hardest part of her training as it called for much skill and concentration on her part more so then using the armoured fan but less than Shadowmancy.

Before she left her godfather gave her an armoured fan which he had scribed her name in to it and it had the Black Priests Coat of Arms on her. He informed her that he had made it for her when she first began training but he only wanted to give it to her once he knew she was ready. The previous evening they had fought putting aside all family ties. The fight was ferocious but Kim just won gaining in the fight a deep cut down her face.

Unbeknown to Kim the reason why her godfather fought her was to see that she was ready to face the out side. Even though the way he treated her made her believe that he despised her he loved her like a daughter but could never let her know this in case it made her weak and susceptible to emotions.

As well as the weapon he gave her a long black dress that was her mothers. It had been kept in prestine condition. It looked as though it had never been worn. Kim felt a sene of sadness in her heart she also felt a hint of somethin for her godfather.... was it love? But as quickly as it appeared it disapeared only to be left with that same feeling of hurt, anger and emptiness.

After she left her godfathers she decided to go away from Cyhalloi and start afresh else where, where no one knew her. That would give her an advantage and ability to learn other peoples ways. Her godfather had suggested Santharia as a place to start.

At the harbour she found a ship that was heading to Carbrand in Northern Sarvonia. There she would be able to make her way to Santharia. Her god father had given her enough Santharia money that he had to enable her to get to Santharia. She made her way across the seas to Carbrand where she changed ships which took her to Santharia.

Never having left her home for her 25 years she was amazed by the country. She found herself a small inn in which she spent a few nights before realising she was running low on money.

Weapon: The Armoured Fan her god father gave her. (see history)

Belongings: Her mothers necklace and a small bag which keeps her spare clothes usually the white training suit and her mothers long black dress that could help hide her true identity if needed and what food and drink she keeps on her person.

where the legend hides the truth at the clash of sun and moon and moved by magnetic fields comes the mystic last eclipse it will ride the zephya plains in the evil cosmic name all the nightmares will soon rise in the age of mystic ice...

Kyros the Ghost
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« Reply #11 on: June 18, 2005, 03:56:22 PM »

Name: Born as Kyros Arthansi, but hasn’t gone by the name Arthansi since the age of 14.  Instead he refers to himself as “Kyros the Ghost” or just “Kyros”

Age: 32

Sex: male

Tribe: Centoraurian (human)

Occupation: Wandering healer, Nehtorian Cleric

Title:  Wounded Healer

Appearance:  Kyros is a bit short, though not unusually so for a Centoraurian.  He keeps in good physical condition due to his active lifestyle.  Many days and nights spent under the open sky have left their mark on him, leaving his skin weathered, sunburned, and scarred.  He usually keeps his hair and beard long and not at all well-groomed.  As a result of his appearance, he is often thought to be older than he really is.  He typically wears the blue robe of a Nehtorian cleric, with short pants and a light shirt underneath, although in warm climates he goes without the robe.

Height: 1.7 peds
Weight: 1.5 Pygge
Eyes: Blue
Hair: Light brown


Kyros’s outlook on life is cynical and pessimistic.  He has learned that death usually triumphs over life and that people (himself included) will usually fail to live up to their promises.  As a result he easily rubs people the wrong way, though he is only vaguely aware of this fact, as his own skin is quite thick and he assumes other people to be similarly indifferent.  He is seldom seen giving a compliment of any kind and is slightly suspicious of any he receives.

This is not to say that Kyros is spiteful or unhappy.  On the contrary, he feels a natural sympathy for anyone who is suffering and became a healer in order to alleviate this suffering, and his own pessimism comes from his profound disappointment with the way the world refuses to conform to his ideals.  Faced with the contradiction between how things are and how they should be, he refuses to give in to either naive optimism or apathy, preferring to be caught between an irresistible force and an immovable object.  Though he suffers as a result, he believes that this state of affairs brings him closer to his god.  He has learned to step outside of himself and is seldom caught up by his emotions.  Knowing both aspects of his personality, he tries to keep both sides in balance and has little patience for anyone who suggests that he needs to lighten up.

        He is deeply, sometimes obsessively, interested in religious and theological questions, and can spend hours discussing religious subjects or reading ancient sacred texts.  He will listen eagerly to others’ beliefs in the hope of increasing his own knowledge of the divine.  He eagerly speculates on theological questions and forms an opinion about almost everything.  Although this often brings him near the bounds of orthodoxy he always defers to his ecclesiastical superiors when corrected, and then goes right on speculating until corrected again.  His skepticism and ironic distance from all other things in life do not apply to his faith.  If anything, his lack of faith in man leads him to believe all the more fervently in the necessity of faith in something greater than man.


Short Version for people who don’t like reading long CDs:

        Kyros’s mother died during childbirth.  His father was a cruel, ambitious, unforgiving man.  As a result he developed serious parental issues and grew to hate his father.  He embraced the worship of Nehtor as a reaction against his father’s violent ways as well as adopting Nehtor as an idealized father figure.  His mentor and spiritual guide, Father Martin, is the only person he has ever had a close personal relationship with.  After completing his training as a cleric, he set up a medical practice but lost his faith after being unwittingly involved in the assassination of his father.  This caused him to go insane and live as a hermit for several years before wandering into the forest and waiting for death.  After being miraculously rescued and brought to safety, he gradually regained his sanity and his faith.  Since then he has served as a wandering healer, finding this lifestyle to suit him better than his earlier medical practice.  I really, really suggest that you read the long version when you have time, since the short one was written hastily just before posting and isn’t all that good.

Long Version for people who do like reading long CDs:

The Arthansi clan are a nomadic Centoraurian clan who live on the Aurora plains.  They make their living mainly as hunters and shepherds.  Kyros’s father, Myrnis Arthansi, was a skilled hunter and warrior who earned the respect of his clan through his bravery and loyalty to the ideals of his forefathers.  Throughout his life, he was determined to preserve his independence and that of his people by whatever means necessary.  Realizing that his freedom was contingent upon the favor of those above him, Myrnis sought influence not only among his own people but also among the nobility of Vardynn, seeking to gain the power and respect necessary to safeguard his clan’s freedom.  Of course, this required that he be feared and respected, even cruel, but it was for the greater good of the Arthansi, even if not all of them recognized this.  It also didn’t hurt that Myrnis was a genuinely ambitious man who loved getting the better of anyone he perceived as a threat.

Myrnis’s first wife died in childbirth, leaving him with a son who he named Kyros.  Kyros was raised by a succession of nurses, servants, and teachers, none of whom lasted long given his father’s unforgiving attitude towards his inferiors.  For his part, Myrnis maintained emotional distance from his son, all the better to direct his growth and development so as to make him a son he could be proud of.  As a result, Kyros grew up without any real parental influence.  Myrnis’ desire was for his son to follow his example and become a great lord and warrior who would bring even greater honor to the family name.  He was stern and demanding, setting high expectations for his son and making his dissatisfaction known with every failure.  Sensing his father’s disappointment, Kyros grew very insecure and eager to please, exactly the opposite of the proud, independent warrior that Myrnis envisioned.  Because of his family situation, he was often consumed by loneliness and filled with a desire to mean something to someone else and to make a difference in their life.  From a young age he had a tremendous sympathy for anyone who was in pain and a desire to help.  Whenever another child would suffer a scrape or bruise, Kyros would run over to them and try to comfort them.  Often he found that his touch would cause the pain to go away, which gave him great satisfaction.  However, his behavior also earned him the ridicule of his peers, particularly when the object of his sympathy was a girl.

As a child, Kyros spent countless hours being trained in combat and hearing stories of his ancestors’ victories in battle.  Living in a time of peace, in which there were no great wars in which to carry on the family tradition, Myrnis instead sought to instill the rugged spirit of the Arthansi in Kyros by training him to live as their ancestors had.  He would take his son into the wilderness where they would spend weeks at a time hunting their food and living under the open sky.  “The greatest good in life is to be free,” his father would tell him as they rode across the countryside, “And to be free you must be strong.  As long as there is anyone stronger than you, you are that man’s slave.  Always remember that one day this will be your land, and your family, and your burden.  It will be up to you to preserve you freedom and that of your children.  Remember that when you choose what kind of person to be.”  Kyros enjoyed these excursions as they gave him a chance to get away from the noise and busyness of life back home.  When he was old enough, he would take long rides by himself, often spending the entire night in solitude with only his horse for company.

Myrnis got the chance to distinguish himself when one of his cousins became an outlaw.  After numerous disputes with neighboring farmers over territory and livestock, Tylos Arthansi and several of his close relatives raided one of the farms and burned it to the ground, claiming that the farmer had been poaching sheep from their flock.  The outlaws then fled onto the wide open spaces of the plains and made their living as bandits, claiming to represent the true Centoraurian way of life, free form the rule of outsiders.  Over time, their numbers grew as they attracted many disaffected young warriors to their cause.  Attempts by the authorities to root out the bandits failed, mainly because the nomadic Centoraurians, while not actually approving of banditry, had little love for the government of Vardynn, and were not eager to rat out their own countrymen.  The situation was resolved when Myrnis decided to take the initiative and put an end to this business.  While he certainly understood the sentiments that motivated it, he saw that the best way to secure his people’s liberty was to work with the authorities rather than against them, to prove that the nomads could manage their own affairs.  Rallying his brothers and most trusted companions, he set out in pursuit of the bandits.  Kyros, who was eight years old at the time, was taken along as a squire, in the hope that this experience would awaken the heroic spirit that his father still hoped to nurture.  After weeks spent chasing the bandits, the militia finally caught up with them and put them to rout.  Myrnis distinguished himself greatly, fighting valiantly and killing his traitorous cousin in single combat.  Kyros, on the other hand, spent the entire time in a state of shock, overwhelmed by the violence around him.  After the battle, his father found him kneeling next to the corpse of one of his childhood friends, weeping and crying out in vain for the Gods to spare his friend’s life, until his father dragged him off the battlefield, scolding him for making a fool of himself.

With this defeat and the loss of their leader, the bandits fled back to their homes and ceased their raids.  Out of gratitude for his decisive action and heroism, Myrnis was made a captain in the army.  The campaign ended, Myrnis set about mending relations with those he had fought against.  Once the outlaws were defeated, sympathy for them disappeared overnight.  Those few who dared bring up the fact that Myrnis had killed his own cousin to advance his career were either bought off or defeated in a duel.  However, the one enemy Myrnis could not placate was his own son.  The experience of warfare horrified Kyros thoroughly.  He saw none of the glory that so moved his father.  Instead, he was aware only of the suffering and destruction.  The whole experience made him sick with grief and disgust.  Even more than the killing, he was revolted by the pleasure that it brought his father, who he concluded was a heartless monster who lived to destroy others.  To see him killing his own kin in the morning and celebrating heartily in the evening was too much to bear.  If this was what valor meant, Kyros knew that it was a fate he would have to avoid at all cost.  From this point on he dreamed of running away from home, but was too timid to act on these inclinations.

        When Kyros was 12, he traveled to Voldar with his father to attend the wedding of one of his father’s fellow officers.  Seeing such a large and important city firsthand gave shape to his dreams of the outside world and of a life much different than that he had grown up with.   He spent the whole time imagining himself living here, far away from the responsibilities of home.  The defining moment was when they paid a visit to the temple of Nehtor.  Myrnis was not at all devout, and Kyros had grown up with little knowledge of the Twelve.  “The peasants pray to Jeryiall in the hope that she will fill their stomachs this year,” Myrnis would say when asked about religion.  “We, however, fill our stomachs every year, Jeryiall or no Jeryiall.”  Seeing the icon of Nehtor in the temple, however, Kyros was struck by the strength and benevolence associated with the god of healing, so different from the example his father had set for him.  Without being able to explain why, he felt as if he were returning home, and all of his life so far had been spent in exile.  A priest named Father Martin noticed his interest and gladly explained to him the teachings and work of the Nehtorians.  Realizing that this child was destined to serve Nehtor, he approached Myrnis to ask his permission to take him on as an apprentice.  Myrnis, or course, refused to even consider the idea.  Throughout the rest of their stay at Voldar, Kyros took every opportunity to slip away and meet with Father Martin.  When it came time to return home, he promised himself that he would somehow find a way to leave his family and enter the service of Nehtor.

        At first he did not act on his promise, fearing even to mention the subject, knowing the inevitable response.  While Myrnis could grudgingly respect and even worship some of the gods, such as Armeros or Etherus, he had nothing but contempt for Nehtor and his followers.  On their way back from Voldar, he advised his son, “Go ahead and ask your Nehtor for favors, but when it comes time to bet, bet on Queprur.  She always wins in the end.”  He knew with every atom of his being that this was wrong, that life would triumph over death, but he was unable to put it into words and instead shut up and pretended to agree.  When Kyros was 14, his father remarried and soon afterward had another son.  A great weight lifted from his shoulders as he knew that there would be another heir for the family name, and that the future of his house no longer depended solely on him.  Finally he got the courage to act on his plan.  In the middle of the night, he snuck away from home and made his way to Voldar, living off the land as his father had taught him.  He was terrified by what he had done, but more terrified of returning home and having to explain his actions.  All his life he had pretended to be a loyal and dutiful son, and now that he had proven otherwise he felt he had no choice but to continue on the path he had chosen.  Through luck and determination he indeed reached his destination and made his way to the temple of Nehtor where he asked to be taken in and trained in the service of their god.  Recognizing the enthusiastic, devoted child who had visited him several before, Father Martin took him in and agreed to keep him hidden from his family.

        Kyros spent the next part of his life serving at the temple in Voldar and training in religion and medicine, preparing for his vocation as a healer.  With the zeal of a new convert, he devoted himself completely to his new calling, spending long hours as an apprentice in the hospital in Voldar, restoring the health and well-being of those who came to him.  His long-frustrated sympathy and compassion had finally found an outlet.  Whenever the strain of tending to the sick and dying became too much for him, he looked back at the life he had run from and reminded himself how fortunate he was to be here rather than at home with his father.  The passed quickly through the three stages of his apprenticeship and was ordained as a priest.  At this point, he decided set up a medical practice in a nearby town and devoted himself happily to serving the medical and spiritual needs of his flock.  His congregation grew to trust and respect him, and he in turn acted not only as a healer and priest but as a respected leader in the community.  His distant manner and ability to rise above the passions of the moment caused people to trust him instinctively despite his fairly young age.  He quickly became well-known in the surrounding area, and people would travel great distances to seek his help or advice.  In all the years to come, he looks back to this time as the happiest of his life.

Several years passed before he began to feel uneasy.  Though his ministry was more successful than ever, he found himself worrying, seemingly for no reason, that he was not following his calling properly.  He was certainly doing good, no doubt about that, but he was constantly dogged by a sense of unease.  He began to doubt his abilities, and his prayers would go unanswered.  Every night he prayed that Nehtor would show him what more was required of him, and yet his prayers seemed empty and devoid of feeling.  Finally, Father Martin instructed him that it was time to return home and make peace with his family.  “To close your heart to any person, even those who have wronged you, is an act of violence,” his mentor said.  “You wounded those who loved you, and it is time that you made them whole again.”  Heeding this advice, Kyros took a leave of absence form his medical practice and set out for home, confident that his troubles would be resolved.

        As he walked across the Aurora plains toward home, he came across a man lying on the ground, his chest pierced through with several arrows.  Approaching closer, he saw that the man was wearing leather armor under his black cloak and his face was concealed by a mask.  He was badly wounded, but still alive, so Kyros tended to his wounds, remembering his oath to always help those in need.  He prayed fervently that Nehtor would restore his faith and allow him to save this man.  The next morning he awoke to find his patient gone, having left only a note.  “I thank you greatly for rescuing me form death.  You have done a great deed for the kingdom of Santharia.  Much suffering and chaos has been prevented by your actions.”  Kyros continued on his journey, taking this episode as a sign that his troubles were soon to be over.

        Upon reaching his father’s estate, he greeted the guard at the door, who after a few minutes recognized him and informed him hat his father had just returned from a hunting trip and was in the stables.  As Kyros entered the stable, calling his father’s name, he suddenly heard a muffled shout, as if someone were in pain.  He arrived just in time to see his father lying on the ground clutching at his heart and a dark, cloaked figure standing over him with a bloody dagger.  Forgetting his vows, Kyros grabbed a hunting knife and ran at the assassin, only to be disarmed by a single blow.  As the assassin prepared to finish him off, Kyros recognized the same man whose life he had saved the night before.  Recognizing Kyros as well, the assassin stayed his hand.  Glancing at his victim and at this new interloper, he noticed the resemblance.  “You must be the missing son.  How strange that after all those years you chose this night to return.  I owe you my life, so I’ll forget that I saw you.  Just remember, you’re the heir.  If you stay here the next assassin won’t owe you anything.”  Then he ran away, leaving Kyros too shocked and frightened to pursue.  Kyros ran to his father, trying his best to save him, but he was already dead.  Then he remembered the assassin’s words.  If he stayed, he would face either swift death at the hands of another killer or slow death as he would be forced to become as ruthless and domineering as his father.  In a panic he slipped away without being seen.  This course of events led to the belief among many in the area that Kyros himself had been the one to perform the murder and that his identity as a priest was merely a disguise to hide his true profession as an assassin.

        Leaving town and returning to his practice, Kyros tried to put everything behind him, but his faith was shattered, both in himself or in Nehtor.  He held himself personally responsible for the death of the father he had hated for so many years.  His powers of healing had become an instrument of murder, his prayers had been answered in the most cruel, senseless way possible.  He looked around him at the people who he had served.  They all had faith in him, unaware of his inner turmoil and the blood on his hands.  Many of them owed their lives or their health to him.  Their simple, trusting faith pierced through his heart.  What would they think if they saw him for who he really was?  How could he go on like this when he knew that everything he had trusted had let him down?  He began to have nightmares in which his medical instruments became daggers and vials of poison and his prayers brought death instead of life.  Again and again, he would find himself dreaming of a battlefield covered with the dead and dying.  Around him he would see the landscape consumed by fire and the sun blotted out from the sky.  In these nightmares, he saw Nehtor singing and dancing over the carnage, restoring life wherever he passed.  And yet whatever he restored would fall back into death, leaving no trace of his passing.  And he would hear his father’s taunt echoing in his ears, “bet on Queprur.  She always wins in the end.”

Though he had lost his faith, he continued to keep up appearances, avoiding contact with others in the priesthood lest they see him for what he was.  Finally, Father Martin came to visit him, worried that he had not seen his spiritual child for so long.  Kyros was evasive and defensive, insisting that everything was fine and that he was doing well.  Seeing that the truth was not forthcoming, Father Martin recommended that Kyros take time off until he could resolve whatever was troubling him.  “I wish I could bear your burden.  But I know that this is all meant to deepen your faith.  Tears, after all, are our most sacred duty.  They do not fall in vain.”

        Once again, Kyros found himself with no direction and no future.  Though he was almost 30, he felt as if he were still the young child who had spent so many nights looking toward the horizon, longing to run from a future he knew he could not avoid.  Using his knowledge of survival and herbalism, he made a living collecting herbs to sell to healers.  This work allowed him to spend most of his time alone, so that no one would learn his story.  It was at this time that people began to refer to him as “the ghost” because he was seen so seldom.  Even when bringing back herbs to sell, we wore a long hood that concealed his face and avoided speaking at all, simply taking payment for his herbs and leaving.  He often journeyed into the Thaelon forest, as herbs gathered there were more sought after by healers because of the belief that they were particularly potent.  He grew to love the peaceful, melancholy atmosphere of this forest and preferred to spend much of his time wandering in the shadows of its thick forest canopy.  In this atmosphere he could for a time forget the cause of his despair and find a temporary peace.

        Left alone with himself, he continued to ponder what had happened to him and try to make sense of it.  The only time he would open up was when he met other clerics, with whom he would speak or argue endlessly, trying to find answers.  Try as he might, he was always left with no answers other than his anger and bitterness.  Convinced that no answers were to be found in this world, he sought after esoteric and mystical knowledge.  He spent what little money he earned on whatever religious or quasi-religious texts he could find, searching for the “thought of Ava”, his term for the basic fact of existence or the fundamental building block of the universe (he had learned small fragments of Elven mythology from his reading.)  He spent hours meditating, trying in vain to clear all other thoughts from his mind so as to comprehend the ultimate truth.  Other times he scoured the library of (mostly worthless) texts he had acquired, searching for hidden codes or secret meanings.  He would stare at the sky, reading imaginary writing in the clouds, or listen for cryptic message hidden in the songs of birds.

        Over time, due to the mystery surround him, he became locally famous as a hermit and holy man.  Once again, people sought him out for help.  His cryptic, nonsensical, and often mean-spirited utterances were interpreted as wisdom.  Horrified that he was once more the object of blind faith, he retreated entirely from civilization, living almost entirely now in the Thaelon forest, meeting nobody, speaking to nobody.  His obsession began to take the form of a search for the tree of life, leading him deeper into the forest until he became completely lost.  He grew weak, too obsessed and distraught to find food or care properly for himself.  Finally, he lost the strength even to move and collapsed on the ground, waiting for death to take him.

        As he lost consciousness, he once again dreamed of fire and death.  Knowing that his life was about to end, he watched without emotion as Nehtor passed by time after time, constantly restoring that which fell back into darkness.  Yet as he watched, he was suddenly overcome by anger, that everything would end now and that death would have the final say.  He struggled to his feet, forcing his weak voice to sing, desperately trying to lend strength to the song of his god.  Each time the Dancer passed him, he sang with all his might, hoping to prevent death from overtaking life.  As he sang, he became oblivious to the world around him, and then even to himself, forgetting everything but his song and his determination that he would not surrender to death.  He slipped into and out of consciousness, vaguely aware of someone holding his hand and leading him but unable to open his eyes to see who it was.

        Kyros awoke lying in front of the door of a house in a nearby village, feverish and emaciated, but still alive.  Somehow by the grace of Nehtor, he had made his way back to civilization.  Recognizing him as the “ghost” who lived in the wood, the family that lived in the house took him in, fed him, and nursed him through his illness.  While he was confined to bed regaining his strength, he began to rethink his outlook on life.  It terrified him to think that he had almost given himself up to death.  He resolved that, once he was able to stand on his own feet again, he would put all this madness behind him.  It had been years since his father’s death and, truth be told, he had gone through much since then and the raw emotions of the experience had faded from his mind, leaving him unsure of why he had acted so strangely and embarrassed to think of his past behavior.

After regaining his health, he decided to return to his calling as a healer and cleric.  Still uneasy about being an object of faith and veneration, he decided against returning to his old medical practice, choosing instead to serve as a wandering healer, thus avoiding a long-term relationship with any of his patients.  Since then he has been traveling around Northern Santharia, seeking out the pain in the world and doing what little he can to make things right. He has avoided any contact with his past, for fear of opening old wounds, preferring to concentrate on the future.

Later Biographical details:
-        Spent some time among the Shendar as a missionary, learning about their ways and acting as an emissary from the Nehtorian Elders to ensure that the Shendar clerics remain at least tenuously connected to the Erphronian Nehtorian denomination.  His original reason for taking this task was that it took him as far from home as he could reasonably expect to go.  However, once there he actually enjoyed living with the Shendar, as they reminded him of the Centaurarian nomads he grew up among, only without the warlike spirit and bitter family rivalries.

-        He is well educated and especially accomplished in the arts of medicine and herbalism.
-        As a Nehtorian cleric, his prayers can further increase the effectiveness of his healing skills, if the circumstances warrant divine intervention.
-        He is able to survive in the wilderness, due to his training as a child and his later experiences as a solitary wanderer.  In addition to finding food and shelter, he has rudimentary knowledge of tracking, concealment, setting snares (for animals), and predicting the weather.
-        He was also trained rigorously in horsemanship.  Although he has not ridden a horse since his childhood, he probably still could if he had to.
-        He is good at appearing inoffensive and non-threatening, and seldom inspires a strong negative reaction in those he meets.

-        He is completely lacking in tact or social skills, and is only capable of distant politeness or brutal honesty, making him not very good company unless you are as thick-skinned as he is.
-        His self-doubts and tendency to see both sides of every issue make him easy to manipulate if you are sufficiently charming, confident, and shameless.  Of course he will hate you for it, though he will not show this outwardly.
-        He is made extremely uneasy when others put too much confidence in his abilities.  Often his prayers will fail in such a situation as a result of self-sabotage.
-        During his period of insanity, he twisted his ankle and did not treat it properly, and has walked with a limp ever since.
-        His relations with the official Nehtorian cult are somewhat irregular.  His personality, theological creativity, and itinerant lifestyle  (not to mention a gap of several years in which he was a raving madman) have all conspired to keep him form ever actually being accepted back by the religious hierarchy.  It’s something he always wants to make right but never actually gets around to.  For now he is not officially recognized as a cleric.

He carries no weapons other than a walking stick which he uses mainly to defend against wild animals.  As a cleric of Nehtor he would never get into a fight if he can help it and even then would go to any length to avoid killing.  He can usually avoid violence simply by the fact that most violent people realize that attacking healers is counterproductive.  After all, you never know when you might end up on the wrong side of violence.  When he must fight, he prefers to fight bare-handed, or better yet to run away.  He is in good physical condition and could more or less hold his own against someone with no training or experience, but would be beaten senseless by anyone who had actually trained in unarmed combat.  He was trained in swordsmanship when he was young, but of course he would never so much as touch a sword now, since it’s good for nothing but killing.

Healing Skills:  Kyros has been trained in the considerable healing arts known to the Nehtorians, and is a skilled physician.  His prayers and his faith in Nehtor allow his healing to be more effective than it would otherwise be, due to Nehtor’s favor, though this depends very strongly on the circumstances of the healing, Kyros’s state of mind at the time, and the faith of the patient.  Things that Kyros could accomplish include:
-Destroying infectious agents or poisons in a patient’s system, as well as removing infections from wounds.
-Heal wounds, sprains, broken bones, or other acute injuries.  Healing of serious cases is a gradual process and full effectiveness requires that the patient have a strong faith in Nehtor as well.  “Miraculous” healings happen only in special cases where there is a good reason for blatant divine intervention.
-Remove pain or other symptoms of illness.
-Accelerate the body’s natural healing to help with cases too severe for the aforementioned abilities.

He cannot:
-Regrow severed limbs (though they could be reattached in extreme cases if this was done within minutes of being severed)
-Cure genetic diseases, deformities, physical inadequacies, or mental illness.
-Enhance a patient’s natural abilities (e.g. making a warrior stronger or immune to pain).
-Raise the dead or reverse aging (of course)

-Clothes (described above)
-Religious texts, mostly Nehtorian
-Several pens, ink, and a blank book in which he writes his own religious insights.
-Various herbs, bandages, medicines, and medical instruments.
-A knife for preparing food
-A blanket for sleeping outdoors in cold weather
-A backpack in which he keeps his belongings.

"The wind blows where it wills, and you hear the sound of it, but you know not whence it comes and where it goes."
      -John 3:8

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« Reply #12 on: July 25, 2005, 09:55:22 AM »

Name: Rheine

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.

"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

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