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Author Topic: Character Descriptions  (Read 7255 times)
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Ta'lia of the Seven Jewels
Lady of the South
Story Mod
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Gender: Female
Posts: 3892

Human, Shendar, Shen-D'auras

« on: November 24, 2001, 07:07:22 AM »

Please all who are part of the Thalambath's Heart please post your character description here again.

I'm sorry, but I can't link to the older CDs, they are so full of ezcode and if I save anew, it will all be a mess :(
And it doesn't link to the next page

« Last Edit: March 20, 2009, 07:57:59 AM by Talia Sturmwind » Logged
Ta'lia of the Seven Jewels
Lady of the South
Story Mod
Offline Offline

Gender: Female
Posts: 3892

Human, Shendar, Shen-D'auras

« Reply #1 on: November 24, 2001, 07:13:22 AM »

  ICQ 81647500
IRC #santharia about 23:00 CET

        Talia Sturmwind, Shendar

Name: Talia Sturmwind
Race:   Human
Tribe:   Shendar (adopted)
Gender: Female
Occupation: Fighter/Adventurer
Age: Unknown, assumed  mid thirty (33 to 37  years)
Dark long hair, one braid
Grey eyes with a sparkle of green
Height: 5 fores and 2 spans
Weapons: a special sword with magical properties, daggers, a sling
Armour: Shendar
Clothing: Shendar
Animals: Aj'Nuvic , Dune Mouse
Magic: Not remarkable

    Want to know something about one of the most peculiar female sword fighter that is around? Then read on!

About five Santharian fores and two spans tall, Talia has just the right size for a fighter, not to big for her smaller enemies and not to  small for taller foes. She is slender, but not thin, some may even find that she is too well built for a sword fighter, but so far her sword convinced all that this is not true for her. Her dark, shiny, though not black hair is tied together to a  tight plait  falling down her back. A small braided leather ribbon around her head holds back the meddlesome wisps which are escaping the plait. And there are the first white, well, lets call it silvery streaks in her hair. But they don't tell you how old she is, nor does her   face, not old , not  young, reveal her age. Bright  grey eyes with some greenish spots in them dominate her face, but only till she smiles. Then her friends begin to love her even more as they do anyway, but her adversaries get cold feet and ask themselves why  and how they came to be her enemies.

Travelling the Rahaz Dath one will find her dressed like a Shendar warrior, with  a blue leather  tunic, underneath with a thin, toccon ,  raw white shirt with long sleeves with small braces at the end, white toccon  trousers,silvery looking long  boots of an unknown material and in her luggage is a thick white woollen blanket with a slid in the middle. Her armour, her weapons? Well, her armour is somewhat unusual. It is very light, with a silvery shimmer, covers her body, her neck,part of her legs and arms and if there is time to fix it in time she even wears a kind of helmet. And this armour is partly very hard, impenetrable., made out of the skin of the Rahaz-Estar and prepared with unknown means to be flexible and impenetrable at the same time, a true Shendar work. Part of her equipment is a cape out of a similar material, very light, very thin, but reflecting the sun and keeping the desert heat away, impenetrable for water and warming in cold nights at the same time.
Travelling the north she prefers however a dark woollen cape with a hood and black leather trousers.

Her  main weapon is a fine sword who's origin might lie outside Sarvonia. Normally she carries it on her back, ready to draw it.

  The workmanship is exquisite, the pommel wrought in a silvery metal is of a winged creature, it's strange feet form the handle standing on a sphere made of a single  Seastone the lands of  foreign realms etched in silver around the setting in which it sits. The winged creatures‘ head sits in the middle of the blade and it's wings form the pommel guard. Diamants encrust it's wings making them glow by what seems to be of their own accord. The Blade itself is a double edged broad sword made of the finest steel alloy to be forged in these days, it's length a full three fores. A flowing magic script runs the length of the blade, an inner glow from the writing marks it as a powerful magic item. And written just above the pommel the ancient  runic script states <D'kaar Thruum.>

And her other weapons? She has surely several knives or daggers  somewhere and she knows to fight without weapons as well, but who knows before it is too late? A sling completes her equipment and though she doesn't carry a spear with her she isn't bad in throwing it either.

She knows some magic, but she prefers not to use it, not sure if it would work if needed. She knows some healing spells, but it is more her presence which seems to quicken the healing process, she finds more often water out of intuition than with an spell for finding water.
It is different with her sword. Talia herself has only few limited magical abilities, but the sword given to her is a strong magic item, though she doesn't know it. This sword, held in her hands and pointed forward will disable or at least weaken any spell spoken against her and protect as well all persons standing behind her or being in touch with her. In special cases it will even reflect the spell upon the caster. It senses magic and if strong, mainly threatening magic is around it will emit a  humming sound.

One of her other special possessions is a magical flute which she acquired during her stay in Strata accompanying Capher and others on their quest to find Thalambath‘s Heart. It plays a weird tune when a friend is in danger, held with bare hands it influences the mind of the person holding it, showing partly who is in danger and where, but using it too long  drives the holder into insanity.

Now I have drawn the image of a fine warrior, but would you believe me if I tell you that she hates killing? Yes, she does. And that is one of her biggest weakness. She is hesitating when she should go on and kill her enemies. But be aware! If she is convinced that death is inevitable nothing can stop her. That is why she got her name, Sturmwind. Those who survived her said only that they experienced a fierce storm wind.

And that is not the only contradictory side on her. Most times she seems to be a very happy and merry person and that is her real nature, but there are times she is so sad and no attempt to help her is successful.

That sadness surely has its origin in her history.
Nobody knows from where she came. Rumours say that she was found by the Shendar in the middle of the Rahaz Dath...dressed with strange clothes, her sword in a tight grip but otherwise more dead than alive. It is unbelievable, I know, but I heard that there was an outburst of magic near the place where she was found, but who has ever heard of a major magic place  or events in the Rahaz Dath? Ridiculous. Well, she doesn't want to speak over these times , nor how she became friend of the Shendar  and especially one of their leaders, the hrul Zhaeón,  and what she did to get this magnificent armour from them.
Her riding animal is Shendar as well, a true bonded Aj'Nuvic called Swing.

And now you know why she is travelling around and earning her living by lending her sword to anybody who can pay her (if she is convinced that this person deserves her protection), she hopes to  get her memory back with the time and find her roots. And she is convinced that they lie somewhere in Caelereth!

Ah, there is one thing I forgot to tell you, no two in fact!
Talia loves to fight for other women, especially if she thinks that they are treated unfair . So if you want her to protect you just make up a story with a woman in need and she will do what you want...that is another weakness she has ..but make sure she never finds out what you did....
And on the other hand she is a bit impatient, especially when it concerns men who don't act as quick as she would like them to be.

And the other? I shouldn't mention it,  unworthy for a fighter as it is - she carries a dune mouse in one of her pockets which she loves dearly. I admit these mice have more intelligence than a mouse should have, but carrying this mouse near the body while a fight may occur suddenly, just ridiculous!!

You want to know even more about her? Well, just hire her and you will find out.....

"Imagination is more important than knowledge; for knowledge is limited whileimagination embraces the entire world." - Albert Einstein

Edited by: Talia Sturmwind  at: 2/19/06 17:38
Koldar Mondrakken
New Santharian

Offline Offline

Posts: 843

« Reply #2 on: November 24, 2001, 08:30:22 AM »

 Contact: holger.goebber@gmx.de
ICQ: 87137127

[Somewhere on the Northern traderoad near the city of Strata on a hilltop. The night is dark beside the sparkling stars that seem even brighter here in the South of Santharia. I wonder what an elven bard might sing about them... Small lights are sparkling below indicating the begin of civilized lands, the dark walls of the City of Strata is cutting through the landscape and behind it and a bunch of houses the sparkling ocean.]

Koldar Mondrakken:

...Knight of unknown origin and not so unknown vagabound, gatherer of rare items and restless wanderer... so or somehow similar you can read in the chronicles of New-Santhala by our great sage Artimidor Federkiel.

Now, in fact that's nonsense! First of all, I know where I come from but I don't see the need to tell anybody! Gatherer of rare items? Ha! Read thief and you know what I'm doing but it's none of your business, too!! Restless wanderer? Yes, for sure. How can you rest when you run across an orcish warband at every corner?! It is not that I'm interested in adventures and somesuch but sometimes you have to do certain things and sadly I'm the right one for everything where a whole army would be inefficient or a massive overkill.
See me as 'problem-solver' and in this world there are enough of them to solve.

I think I'm slender, relative tall and damn attractive! Well, okay, the last one was an exagerrated assumption by me but you have to think positive in some way when you think the world is right behind you!
I'm usually dressed in brown leather and green cloth to be better hidden in the woods. My weapons of choice is a 1.75 -True-Oakwood-staff and my good old longsword but to be honest: You don't need them against most enemies. Running is always better than fighting against any opposing warbands. These adventurers telling stories about killing hundreds of Orcs in an hour are stupid morons not knowing reality! One Orc is tough enough, two a real pain in the a.., well, enough of that.
I've travelled far in the last years, farther than most people, I guess, and I have seen things beyond imagination, but I survived most of the time unharmed because I evaded the trouble I could and fought the one that chased me and that was already enough of both kinds for a whole lifetime to suffer alot. Perhaps because of that some friends are telling me I always have a shadow on my face but dreaming eyes... I'm drifting away again.
I came here two years ago. Nice, peaceful continent, I guess. When you don't scratch on the surface! At least, not many hostile greenskins around, well here in the South anyway. But enough bandits pestering the countryside. Perhaps they should start shipping them for continents that have too few or not any at all. Still, under the protection of this caravan which I'm part of as mercenary and so close to the city there should be no problems anymore.
Well, I think I go visiting the 'thirsty Herald'. Even Artimidor and the thousands of missions he gave me should not stand in the way for a small rest here in the far south.

Fare Well, People! Perhaps we'll see us for a glass of wine or ale later!

[Leaving the caravan strolling down the hill towards the lights of a considerable larger house nearby with a huge sign at the door. Noise and singing can be heard through the door....]

Koldar Mondrakken, Knight of the Moonlight

Edited by: Koldar Mondrakken at: 11/24/01 7:19:18 pm
New Santharian

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Posts: 273

« Reply #3 on: November 24, 2001, 09:31:22 AM »

Name: Avour
Title: Ranger (Elf/Human female)
Gender: Female
Age: 26 Human years
Race: Elf/Human
Class: Ranger
Alignment: Neutral
Eyes: Black - Dark Grey
Hair: Black

Education: Slim to none, basic english speaking skills.


Being born to an out cast elven mother and a dottering human father, Avour is the result of a huge breeding mix match. She's known since she can remember that she was an accident. The result of an egar human and a stupid elf.

Although she was raised by loving parents, at the age of 5, Avour left them both and ran away to live with her animal friends in the forest who ended up raising her. Naming her Daughter of Our Forest, Avour Air Lover so named by her parents favourite animals and skill is to fly. Although she doesn't usually go any higher than a few leaves off the ground, she generally floats, rather than walks. "You never know who you might step on".

Having spent most of her life in the forest with the animals there, Avour now wants to explore her human and elven sides. So has emerged from the forests of Santharia!


Avour is a skilled hunter and an amasing tracker. Spending all her life living in the forest, she is at home there. Knows what to hunt, where to hunt and how to hunt it. Deadly Silent!

Having inherited her mothers magical elven powers for the earth, and her fathers strength and physical abilities, Avour is rather a formidable opponent. With a special healing quality in her blood.

Like her other elven relatives, she can use her mind to talk. This is her main form of communication not only with the two legged creatures, but with the four legged creatures also.

Fit, agile, a little animalistic charm about her. She's a natural protector and preditor.

Although Avour is 26 human years old, she like her elven mother, looks a lot younger, than she is. Skilled in the art of hunting and self presivation, her word is her bond.

She's a little on the wild side. Although not disrespectiful about the laws of nature and that death will also come to her one day.

Not really a person for crouds, as she's been with animals most of her life. Her manners are not quite up to scratch. She has some animal like characteristics like the way she scratches her ears and acts in general.

It takes a lot to get her angry, however once she's there she goes into a rage. Normally a fairly calm person who would likes to take a chance.

Generally, normal in the human emotion aspect - emotional at times, restricted when she has to be. Has some of the wild charm that elves have.

Has a slight green tinge to her skin. Reasons currently unknown.


Almost like a child... Just tall.... Wants to learn everything that she can

“You’d be lost if I wasn’t here to annoy you”               – Little Sister speaking to Big Sister.......

Edited by: Talia Sturmwind  at: 9/13/03 22:44
Silfer Darkflare
Approved Character
Offline Offline

Gender: Male
Posts: 92

« Reply #4 on: November 24, 2001, 06:38:22 PM »

Silfer Darkflare (update)
Name: Silfer Darkflare
Class: Elemental mage
Kit: Lightning specialist
Age: 90
Race: Elf
Hair: Black
Eyes: Cold blue

Description:Silfer is a young mage, who knows something and always loooks how to learn more.He leads the life of a wanderer, living nowhere, searching,searching for the ancient temple of the Horadrim, a very powerful mage clan gone long ago.
He is always willing to take a good adventure, taking sides after what gains him.He is for the good so long it gains him,but can go to evil if it is better for him. Laws and orders have no value.
From the age of 40, he has studied magic, espesially intrested in lightning, the strongest, but also the most dangerous element. After 2 years of studying in his homeplace, he left it and started to look for what he could learn on his own.
Silfer prefers magic in combat, and knows the art of dual-casting, which means casting two spells at the same time,one from each hand. Because of this, he bears no weapons, but knows the basics of using a scimitar.Because the lightning element is offensive, Silfer knows few protection spells, relying on destroying the opponent before getting hurt.The specialization makes it very hard to learn earth-related spells, such as turning to stone. Of the other elements Silfer knows very little, maybe a basic spell or two.
He travels alone, but joins if there are money and especially artifacts to gain.His ultimate goal is to find the Horadric temple,which after the legend contains ancient knowledge about magic, but no one exactly knows what it can be.

My ICQ:111941953

Edited by: Silfer Darkflare at: 12/3/01 10:04:36 pm

Terra Artemos
Moonblade Warrior
Story Mod
Offline Offline

Gender: Female
Posts: 1540

Human, Sophronian

« Reply #5 on: November 25, 2001, 12:16:22 AM »


Short Bio

Name: Terra Artemos

Race: Human

Tribe: Sophronian

Title: Wandering Warrior

Sex: Female

Age: 27

Hair: Long, Deep, almost blood Red.

Eyes: Brown

Height: One ped, eight palmspans, and three nailsbreadths.

Weight: One pygge and two hebs

Build: Athletic.

Home Land: The Town of Syhron


Terra is intelligent and mentally disciplined which of allow her to focus on a problem and find a solution despite most distractions. She also has good instincts which she has learned to trust and has learned to be more observant with her keen senses, using all of them more effectively than many people. Her intelligence, discipline, instincts and well developed senses combine to give her a unique and often fuller perception, both in combat and in her travels, and allow her to react very quickly. Her focus and discipline also make her less susceptible to spells targeting the mind and to drugs meant to affect the mind.

Terra is quick and agile, and uses it to her greatest advantage in combat, dodging or blocking then striking almost as if in a single movement. Her stamina and tolerance of pain keep her from wearing as quickly as others in the heat of battle, and combined with her focused mind can also serve to stay the affects of injuries, such that they do not appear to affect her till they become serious, or over exerted.

Terra is exceptionally good with her Moon Blade, for one not born to the Kasumarii, adapting her Kar'ii training into a unique fighting style better suited to her warrior's spirit. She is quite good with a dagger, applying some of the same principals to using it as she does with her Moon Blade.


Despite Terra's focused and disciplined mind Terra is sometimes overcomes by memories of a forgotten terror at unexpected times, though almost never in combat, it is more likely that she will be overcome when questions are asked of her past that may cause her mind to stray into these memories. While Terra is overcome by these memories she is unaware of anything around her in a brooding state that she can not be brought out of by any outside force leaving her vulnerable till she can come out of it herself, sometimes in a weakened state.

Terra is not particularly strong, and must wait for an opening to use her quickness and agility, this makes her ill suited to fights it tight spaces, where her movement is limited, but can still be a significant threat. She has just enough ability with her "Twins" throwing knives to use then, but is not very accurate, and her lack of accuracy makes her dangerous to anyone in the general direction of her target. Despite her stamina, tolerance of pain, she can not sustain any more injuries in number or severity than most other warriors, if a limb becomes seriously injured or over exerted it will go lame, and not support her efforts despite having no apparent effects of her injuries up to this point.

Terra does not have much resistance to magic attacking her physically. Her innate magical ability takes almost all her energy leaving her extremely drained, and unable to ward off additional attacks till she has rested.


Terra is a warrior, her services range from being a bodyguard to a fighter, and she may even work to retrieve items if the cause is honorable. Terra does not care for gaining riches or grand glory for her services, she would be happy just to have her basic needs covered, such as shelter, food, maintenance of her armor and weapons when needed, and a fare amount of currency for her to live on once her services are no longer required.

Long Bio


Terra looks her age of 27 years old. Her cool, attractive face, unscarred despite her battles, is framed by straight, deep red hair that falls past her shoulders. The color is near enough to that of blood that it does not show easily. Her hair naturally stays out of her face most of the time, except in the heat of battle where it may sometimes be tied back, but not often as it does not bother her. Her brown eyes can always be seen coolly and vigilantly sweeping her environment and drinking in the details others may miss.

She is tall, standing a few nailsbreadths taller than one ped and eight palmspans. Her body is well proportioned and athletic, with nothing out of place, which leads to a rather attractive appearance. She has only a few scars on her body; most are usually not seen as they reside under her clothing. The only scar she has exposed to sight is a fine scar on the back of her left hand, which is barely visible and almost healed, left by a wound from a sparing session in the early stages of her training with the Kar'ii. Terra has a few other scars like this on her arms, also caused by shallow cuts inflicted during the course of her training. Though the speed at which she picked up the skills of using a Moon Blade means that there are not many.

To most observers Terra appears cool, even stoic, but she carries herself with grace and pride, that only accentuates her height. It is not unusual for Terra to wear a pear of metal armlets that extend from her wrists and curve gently to a dull point protecting the elbow. She always wears her greatly cherished Moon Blade at her hip; the scabbard taking its place behind a plain brown belt, if not it is very rarely farther than arms reach. Terra mainly has two modes of dress. She will often wear her armor, despite being heavier that other outfits she may have. It is made in a way that makes it comfortable enough to wear it regularly, as its weight is distributed evenly across her whole body, and she can move easily and freely in it without discomfort. On occasion when the situation demands she will where a simple yet elegant white dress.


Strangers and those who simply employ her and take no time to get to know her, usually see Terra as cool, serious, disciplined, focused and professional, perhaps some more observant than others will pick up an air of torment from her. Though those that take the time to actually talk to her can start to see that there is more to this unusual young woman than was first apparent, she has a strong will that feeds her discipline, a spiritual side despite not following any of the gods, and a stubborn streak, especially when denying her spiritual side.

Her spiritual side is most notably apparent when she speaks about things that are not tangible, usually reciting or paraphrasing old or unusual sayings, or giving her own unique perspective on stories that fits the topic at hand. When topics turn to evil it becomes quite clear, especially when stated outright, that Terra does not believe that evil can ever be destroyed, only kept in control. As for stories about demons it becomes clear that Terra does not believe most of them at face value, but in stead as a way to blame a foreign evil rather than face the evil that exists inside everyone, and thus the reason why evil can never truly be destroyed.

It also becomes more apparent to those that take time to get to know her, that something horrible had happened to her, though she will not talk about it, and none can be certain if she can't or simply won't. As it turns out Terra did witness something that was beyond her ability to cope with shortly after arriving on Guldor, the home of the Kasumarii people. This event inflicted her with a unique form of amnesia, where all memories prior to and including this event were repressed, and her mind as it had been was so traumatized that it was merely swept aside for a new one to take root, though fragments of the old remain imbedded within the new one. Terra can sometimes be impacted by eruptions of the memories of the event on Guldor, but these grow rarer as she slowly faces her internal trauma, and becomes more disciplined of the mind. Though not impacted by the full magnitude of the event, the eruptions bring back great pain, sorrow, and fear. Her reaction can vary depending on the severity of the eruptions from simply looking distant, or entering a catatonic state, with tears running freely and silently down her face, to curling into a fettle position and wailing her pain and sorrow uncontrollably till the eruption ceases, or her voice gives out, and merely convulses for the remainder of the eruption. Other than her reactions to the eruptions of memory, she only expresses severe anger, frustration and irritation in a clear outwardly way, usually as short venomous outbursts, but these are rare as things usually do not get to her to this extent. Otherwise she expresses her emotions in a very subtle manner all but those more observant of human behavior would usually miss, usually just the slightest change in her facial expression and tone are the only indications of how she feels.

Despite her amnesiac state, Terra is still very self-aware, and it is this inner sight that drives her internal quest. She is aware of the amnesia, and the eruptions bring awareness of the traumatic event that must be the cause, but she is also aware that she is not strong enough to face it all at once. It is this lacking of the memory of her earlier life, and where she truly came from that denies her the inner peace she so desperately wants, thus she tries to face the frightening memories in little pieces at a time, though none of the memory she has regained fit together yet. Since what little memory she has of the event, and things prior are so incoherent and fragmented she often denies that she remembers it at all, mostly because each do not yet occupy a whole thought, and are virtually impossible to communicate.

Terra also governs herself strongly by a code of honor and morals, which lend themselves to her views. She has clearly defined four groups in her mind, Warriors, Soldiers, Combatants, and Civilians. To her warriors are not different from herself, they follow a code of honor and morals, and fight for what they believe is true and just, even refusing to follow orders if they violate the beliefs they fight for. Soldiers are mindless beings only doing what they are ordered to, and will slay innocents despite morals or justice. Terra has a strong distaste towards soldiers, and it is clear in her tone. Combatants are civilians that take up arms against, or otherwise attack her, or those she fights with. She will do everything possible, short of allowing herself or her fellow fighters to be harmed, to defeat combatants without killing them or causing them serious injury. Civilians in her mind are innocents, and will not knowingly harm them in a battle, and will when possible protect them from it.

Magic/Special Skill:

Terra is what would be described in the magical community as a Gifted Macanti, with very weak minor ability in wind magic (For all practical reasons consider her ability as level 0). Only those skilled in sensing Oh'mód'hál are aware that she has any magical ability at all, even Terra herself is not aware of her own ability. Her ability manifests its self as a telekinesis spell, using her own wind cár'áll to draw a weapon or object just out of reach to her hand. Normally Terra can only bring something to her hand the weight of a standard short sword, however given her familiarity and affinity toward her Moon Blade she can also managed to draw it to hand.

This ability is only triggered as a last resort of desperation in the face of apparent certain death. This being true its trigger is through extreme need and her concentration on a target object. Once triggered the ability takes a lot our of Terra, usually leaving her only enough energy to make a final short desperate attempt at defending herself before leaving her totally physically and mentally exhausted, and unable to defend herself against any further attacks.

Fighting Style:

Terra is a strong offensive fighter, with good instincts, more suited to large battles on the open field of battle. Despite this she takes a more reactive posture, allowing her opponent to make the first move. She will focus, and closely observe her opponent(s), looking for any sign of her opponent's next act, such as a change of footing, a slight twitch, or an adjustment of ones grip on a weapon. Her observations and quick reflexes allow her to react very quickly in most situations, and also easily spot her opponents weakness.

Her fighting style greatly draws from an understanding of forces in movement, using her speed, agility, and the momentum of her body, together with the strength and momentum of her opponent(s) to compensate for not being particularly strong. Terra uses her energy as efficiently as possible, allowing her attack, blocks and movements to follow a smooth, graceful, steady, natural flow, with each action often having no observable beginning or ending. Her attacks with her Moon Blade are primarily cuts and slashes, where as she favors stabbing and thrusting attacks with smaller knives such as her Twins, and a combination of the two with her long dagger. Her block are not so much meant to stop an attackers weapon, as to deflect them away from her in a manor that requires little energy, and at times can seem effortless though this is rarely true. Her actions appear to combine into a single unbroken movement whenever she dominates a battle, as once she begins gaining momentum it gets harder to throw her of balance. When on foot, Terra usually moves through the battlefield in natural circular, elliptical or arc patterns, having a smooth, graceful appearance.

She will some times use her body in brute force techniques, but only on a limited basis. These attacks can vary widely depending on the situation at hand, but are mostly aimed at knocking an opponent from his or her feet. They are untrained though largely effective when used, although such hits would be inexorable by all but her strongest opponents, she risks injury, and most of the time becomes incapacitated herself for a short time, though rarely longer than her opponents.

She is precise and vary efficient in they way she conducts herself in combat, making her a dangerous opponent to any who would come to oppose her. Though she will never admit it, Terra has raised her fighting style to a spiritual art form that requires her to maintain a strong inner sense of her self, as it is through knowing herself and her limits that she is able to perform so proficiently in the field of combat.


Horse ("Coore") with Tackle, Saddle, and Saddle Bags.

Traveling Pack

Attractive White Gown

Hooded Cloak -Lost in Strata

2 Tailored two piece layered leather/chain mail Armor Suits.
{Terra's armor is unique in the way it is made. It consists of an inner layer of soft leather, a light chain mail layer, and a light but flexible outer layer of protective leather. These three layers are attached together into a single piece that fits tight to her body and moves easily with her, unlike other layered armors where each layer is worn individually.

The inner most layer of leather covers her whole body, and serves to separate the chain mail from her skin, and providing comfort but almost no protection. The chain mail layer also covers her whole body, and provides the bulk of the protection, while still being very flexible, but is made to be light, so it damages easier than normal chain mail. The outer most leather layer rounds out her protection. It covers most of her body, except for around her joints where she favors the flexibility of the mail over the protection of the leather, and protects the unexposed mail from lighter hits, allowing the mail to more effectively stop stronger hits over time.

She has two suits of this armor, one of brown leather, the other of leather dyed red as fresh blood.}

2 Pairs of Thin Metal Armlets.

2 Pairs Leather Boots.
{I think the pattern should have dawned on you by now.
But in case it did not, one pair is brown leather, the other is dyed the color of blood.}

Sword ('Moon Blade').
{Sword made with the finest craftsmanship. Light, strong, and vary deadly in the hands of a disciplined and skilled swords person, and Terra's most cherished possession.}

{One weapon she carries concealed in rough areas to fall back on should she be disarmed or in a situation where her Moon Blade is ineffective (EX. Close quarters combat.).}

2 Boot Knives ('Twins'). -One lost in Strata
{The only item from her home she carries, are the two boot knives the Sophronians call "Twins". These she always carries, she will fall back on these in situations where access to these are easier than her dagger, or sword.}

A simple coin purse.
{Her coin purse contains three pebble sized sapphires, two Silverbard, and seventy five San.}


Terra was born in the town of Syhron, much loved by her parents. Her father Morris, was a knight, who rose up from a mere town guard (Little more than a beat cop.), to become Lieutenant of the town guards, through his deeds of justice, honor, and bravery beyond the call of his duty. Terra's mother, Miranda also lent to warrior influences, as she was an honorable mercenary, whose men (Of all major races.), often work quietly with the town guards. Both parents were born and raised by Sophronian traditions, though the traditions of old had become only loosely follow in the times since the kingdoms of old had united into the United Kingdom of Santharia, allowing different peoples to move freely to other places if they wished.

When Terra was born, her mother stayed home to care of her child, having left her mercenary band safely in the hands of one of her most trusted men in her absence. Miranda and Morris had managed to buy a small house in the city, where Terra started her life. It was not much, but it was a cozy little place to live and raise a child. It only had a few rooms, and was small enough that the fireplace in the common room, also used for cooking, could keep it warm with a low fire when nights got cold. Off the common room there were two other rooms, one shared by Terra's parents the other would become her room when she had grown, if only for a short time.

Terra was quiet and respectful, even as a new born, before such ideas could be instilled in her. Rarely did she make a fuss without good reason, or waking her parents in the middle of the night. As her personality developed, it was quickly noticeable that she was feisty and spirited like her mother. From both parents she learned right from wrong very quickly for a young child, and with far less effort from her parent than other children needed from theirs. This sense of right and wrong together with her feisty and spirited nature, she would often protect other children around her age from others that would do wrong against them, though she really had no interest in fighting. Terra grew to be her own person very quickly indeed.

Terra was still young when her mother died in a battle, and her father focused on his duties to cope with the pain of his loss. He left Terra in the care of her god parents, Aldas and Anture, but he was always there for her when she needed him. Aldas and Anture, were town guards as well, and had a daughter of their own, Aeshey, who was some years older than Terra. Aeshey aspired to become a town guard like her parents. Despite the difference in years, view point, and not being related by blood, Terra and Aeshley bonded vary closely with each other, considering each to other to be real sisters.

Morris also spent some of his free time teaching Terra to read and write, as his father had taught him. It was their special time together and neither reacted well when they were interrupted. They cherished ever moment together no matter how frustrated Morris got when Terra just could not seem to get something right. Their time always ended in good cheer, with them laughing, and the frustrations of the lessons and their life being cast into the void. That is not to say these lessons always started with the same cheer, and love of life, it was these times, when Terra and her father were together when she would talk about her worst troubles, things that she could not even talk to her sister about, no matter how close they were, or how open. There were some things only an elder could be trusted with, and as much as she cared for her god parents, the only elder Terra felt she could truly trust to understand was her father, after all she was of his blood.

When Aeshey was training with the town guards, Terra was always a moral grounding for her, and was always there to lend her ear when Aeshey just needed someone to talk to. Terra often expressed her view that fighting should never be about blood, or death, but should be about defending what is believed to be moral and right, and to protect life from those that would seek its end. They did have their arguments about their views, and despite how heated these became, that always felt the better for having the argument, and more understanding than the few times they let things between them fester.

Despite being bombarded with warrior influences Terra didn't have any interest in being a warrior of any kind, or even taking up a weapon. Instead had a profound interest in nature, and a love for all life. When she was old enough to go out on her own, she would tag along with the guides from the city, learning how best to travel, how to spot danger in the woods on the few occasions when they ventured that far, what plants would heal or kill, and the only blade she would take up is a small knife for harvesting what was needed from such plants. She was always in awe at the beauty, and balance of nature. No creature taking more than it needs from any other.

When she was eighteen she was given a beautiful Moon Blade that had been given to her mother, and had never been used. Her mother though it too beautiful a weapon to bloody. This was the first time when she was willing to take up a weapon, out of curiosity she asked her god parents to teach her, but flatly refused formal training, and so they taught her reluctantly. Aeshey, being well into her training by this time, objected quite vocally to her parents teaching Terra, and often exclaimed that if Terra wished to learn the blade, she should be formally trained, but Anture took her daughter aside and explained her reasons for allowing this. Though Aeshey seemed to understand her parent's decision, the subject remained strained.

Early in her lessons Terra found that the traditional methods, thrusts, slashes, cuts, seemed clumsy to the blade, and the strength she would put into such moves was wasted fighting against the smooth steady motion of the blade. Terra knew that the blade was not of the land she knew, and that the secrets of the blade were to be discovered in another land. These secrets gave her a purpose to which she dedicated herself too, and the focus of her curiosity shifted toward preparing for the quest to find the answers to her questions. She spent the next few years learning swordsmanship from her god parents, and some from her father with renewed purpose. She even approached her excursions into the woods differently; there purpose was no longer curiosity, but to learn to travel swiftly, efficiently, and safely. Between the two she also found time to visit weapons-smiths in the city, they often knew of the weapons of different and distant lands. Most had only heard of such a blade as a vague rumor, and had no useful information on its origin. One however knew of the Kar'ii and a man in a city to the north that could tell her more, and offered what he knew freely never believing the young woman would go in search of them.

On Terra's twentieth birthday she said her goodbyes to her god parents and sister, it was then her god mother gave her a pair of boot knives known as "Twins". Terra then went to her father before she left, for what was to be a long time and maybe even the last time. They sat to talk for a long time as they some times would when something troubled her. She told him that she must leave to find her own way, but that he should not worry about her as she had learned how to identify danger, and how to defend herself if she needed to. She said to him that she had mysteries she must solve, things she wished to know and learn, and that one day she may return with knowledge and wisdom that would make her a better person. She left that night with her fathers blessing, and a modestly rich purse her mother had saved up for just such an occasion, should Terra be like her, or for when Terra married, heading north to the city of New Santhala, to seek the man that could tell her more.

Terra made her way New Santhala, and spent the remainder it the day looking for that man the weapons smith in Syhron had told her about, but at failing light decided to get a room at a local in and continue her search in the morning. It was not till nearly a month after Terra had left her home that she found the man she had been looking for. He was old, lived alone, and glad that a young lady like Terra would bother to visit him. He talked eagerly, even about such things as the Kar'ii, as he rarely had anyone to talk to anymore, and told her all she needed to know to find her way to the people she set out to find. In the end Terra stayed with the old man, and kept him company till he passed away silently in the night. It came as a bit of a shock to Terra as it seemed as old as the man was that he had a few years left in him, he still seemed quite able to care for himself, and cooked the most wonderful stews. Terra had enjoyed scribing letters for the old man to family in other towns, listening to his stories about adventures that may or may not have been true, and laughing at his jokes not unlike the ones her father would have told in there special time, so it was with a vary heavy heart that she wrote one last letter to his family telling them of his passing. When members of his family arrived to settle his affairs Terra left for Carmalad, and from there her journey would continue by sea to the frozen island of Guldor.

Terra, after a long voyage across the vast expanse of water between Carbrand and the shores of Guldor, on a smugglers ship that reeked of rot and hardly sea worthy for such a trip, finally arrived at the island of Guldor. Terra handed the man the final purse she had promised them for passage, and departed the ship, with a heavy cloak wrapped tight around her making the cold just barely tolerable. It was obvious the men that brought her here did not care if she lived or died, only that they received the small fortune she had promised them for passage. It was not more than a few moments after Terra stepped off the ship, if it could even be called such, a group of men appeared out of the icy waste, she spotted a single wagon with six barely discernible forms in it, then as if out of no where two more forms appeared.

As they approached, Terra could make out more detail, the edge of their white garb becoming clearer as she squinted out at them. The two figures on foot seemed to be watching the land around them, but their attention at each pass caught on her for a moment, then continued their scan of the land. One quickened his past, making his way out ahead of the wagon to confront the strange woman in their land. As he drew near, she could see that the figure was wearing tight clothing that was pure white, and some type of a tight mask over his face, it was not till the figure came to a distant speaking distance that she could tell it was a man.

The man spoke clearly through his mask, though he kept his distance. The disdain at the stranger in his land was clear on his voice as he asked what she was doing in his peoples land. Terra let her cloak open just enough so that she could draw her sword just enough so he could see, then replied that she was looking for the people that forge such a blade, that she was told that they were called the Kasumarii, and were said to live on this island. By the time Terra had replied the other figure had come up beside the first, they looked to each other questioningly for a moment then seemed to have made a decision silently between them, any further questions were best left for the village leaders to ask. The first figure beckoned her to follow him and told her gruffly to stay close. As he passed the wagon, now loaded with goods the smugglers had brought, he grabbed a heavy white hooded cloak and through it roughly across her shoulders, Terra said "Thank You" but doubted it would change his mood, as it seemed quite clear that he was not happy she was there.

They had traveled for some time over the frozen rolling hills. Terra was beginning to feel numb from the cold, and walked with her head down to protect her face from the icy breeze. The cloak she was given helped a bit, but her boots seemed to draw the cold up from the ice and snow. She watched as wisps of snow swirled around the edges of the tracks she followed left by the man in front of her, the woman followed after her. Terra could almost feel the woman's gaze on her back, it had been obvious neither trusted her, Terra figured they had little reason to.

When Terra looked up briefly enough to see if the man was still there, as she had done many times during the journey, she could tell something was not right. The man had two long daggers in his hands, though he did not seem to slow, it seemed obvious that danger was about. Terra directed her limited view from the deep hood up further, one hand on her swords hilt, the other holding the cloak closed. It was then that she first saw why he had taken such action, there were bodies, at first a few, then as her gaze swept up to see many more, human, and what she could only imagine from stories she was told as a child were orcs. For a brief moment she considered the thought of orcs and that she had thought them only things of stories, but that moment quickly passed and the realization of what she was seeing hit her.

Terra had never truly seen death other than the old man who had told her about this place, but that was different, he was old, it was his time to die, and it was nature that took him. Terra was fully aware that people sometimes killed other people, she had never faced it first hand, but she knew of it. Knowing of it and seeing the result of it first hand were two totally different things however and Terra's mind was in no way prepared for the brutal truth she was seeing. Thoughts began to flood into her head; she had never seen death at the hand of a weapon, and had been fortunate to not have to use hers against another. She could not conceive of how such butchery was possible, or what could have caused it. So many were dead of hideous wounds, Terra could not conceive that they would do such things to each other. Terra simply followed in shock, the wave of horrible thoughts in her head beginning to cause cracks in her mind, thoughts stopped making any sense and blurred together.  Then they came to a patch of land where to bulk of the bodies' lay, with a lone figure kneeling in the middle, an arm across its abdomen. The man Terra had been following approached the figure, and the figure, a woman looked up at him, as a fellow Echiilianni, and told him with pride in her weak voice that she had killed the last orc. It was then that she finally succumbed to her wound and died, falling on her side in a limp heap, the contents of her abdomen spilling across the snow joining the blood.

It was the dead woman's chilling words that add the last bit of pressure to Terra's already fragile mind causing the numerous cracks to give way, shattering her mind with the weight of that she did not want to know, that she did not wish to see, that which she wish she never heard. At that moment, the moment her mind shattered, she ceased to be sentient, there was nothing. She was but an empty shell, with only a few rudimentary fragments of her mind, her spirit still unbroken but shaken, and the singular goal of leaning about the sword at her hip were all that remained. Terra fell to her knees, only still conscious of the world in the most rudimentary way, it existed, but without a mind to perceive it the world was shapeless and intangible.

The two Kasumarii had to drag her along until she became aware of her form in existence and the action called walking, but at first they had to guide her rather bodily till she followed them on her own. With more time her awareness grew slowly as a new mind grew from the remaining fragment of her shattered one. By the time they had reached the village, Terra was generally aware of her surroundings though her minds perception of them was still child like, and lacking comprehension. Terra was brought to a single tent larger than the others around it, where the village council waited to see this woman that thought so much of her self to come all this way of her own accord with one of their blades at her hip. Most looked at the shattered Terra with distain though one, and elder man looked at her as if trying to remember who she reminded him of.

After a time he remembers a brave warrior woman who had once saved his life of all things a little less than twenty five years back that was a striking resemblance to Terra, now before the village council. In the time that had passed he reasoned than she could have had a daughter of Terra's age, and the coincidence of this her carrying a Moon Blade only seemed a confirmation, as for saving he life the only thing he could think of to give to repay his dept of gratitude was his Moon Blade. Certain of the facts of her identity the elder took responsibility for Terra after convincing them not to simply do away with her. They were certainly impressed of the fact the Terra had made it so far by her own means, that she was broken though would remain a point of tension between the elder Kar'ii Nightson and the village council who respected him for his great wisdom.

He took her in, and watched over her as she recovered for her torment and answered her questions. He even convinced the village council to give her the training she sought in the correct use of the sword. The elder Kar'ii Nightson became a friend and mentor to Terra, often watching her as she trained and using his wisdom to help sure up her mind that even though seemed to be out of the worst of its torment was still fragile. Those who trained her were reluctant at first, and even offered short lived protest to training the tormented young woman, but relented to there respect for the elder. Some became less reluctant when they saw how quickly she learned the Moon Blade with natural ease. Her training was not easy however; her trainers and peers pushed her hard, and she sometimes succumbed to the torment that inflicted her mind. Some wanting to see her fail and prove to the elder that this outsider was not up to the task, others thought they could bend her to their vision, but both soon found their wants would not be fulfilled through her.

Her Kar'ii peers grew jealous of how quickly she learned the Moon Blade and the liberties her teachers allowed her to take with her technique, and wanted to do something about her. Once they had worked up the courage they set a cunning plan into motion kidnapping her from her mentors carry home as she slept, taking her out into the snow storm and leaving her for dead claiming her Moon Blade as there prize. Little did they know the connection Terra's mind held with the Moon Blade, and that her mind would not allow her to die without having it back in her possession. Those that had abducted Terra though they were clear when her mentor accepted their story of how they found her Moon Blade, and that she must have run away. No sooner than they had come to be confident that Terra would never return and likely be found dead of exposure or orc, she returned approaching the ring leader that was appraising their new prize, her skin was pale from the cold and her appearance a ghostly visage of vengeance. Her pale hand thrust toward her Moon Blade as a gust of wind caught it wrenching it from the Kassumarii's hand, and seemed to carry it into her pale grasp. Within a single smooth movement she grasped the hilt in her other pale hand pulled the Moon Blade free of it's scabbard and dispatch the Kar'ii that had once held it. The others scattered but Terra simply collapsed, her Moon Blade back in her possession, the others no longer mattered. Terra spent several weeks recovering from her exposure to such intense cold seemingly by shear force of will alone, her display of not only skill under distress, but of magical ability left much for the village council to consider as she recovered.

With Terra recovered from her ordeal at the hands of her pears it was even clearer that she could not be bent to their will, though they now longer bore her any resentment. Given an apparent magical aptitude they decided to expand her training to the tutelage of the Darkpriests where she showed little interest in there gods or lore, and showed no aptitude for Shadowmancy. She did however take to the forms of Shaitarai, predominantly learning simple body throws and the basic concepts, and adapting them with the hand to hand she had learned from other sects she had trained with, making her movements both in hand to hand, and with her Moon Blade swifter and more powerful. As she continued her training she eventually earned herself the nickname of Blood Dragon, for her tendency to draw only a trace amount of blood during training, and for the furious way she would spar and yet be in complete control of her movements.

In all she stayed with the Kar'ii for three years training, but her spirit pulled her away to find answers that could not be found upon the frozen tundra of Guldor. Amongst her goodbyes she received a long curved dagger, and even some Santharian currency to help her on her way. Terra boarded a ship bound for Strara, a city she was told that lay far to the south across the great ocean.

Arriving in the desert city Terra went about establishing herself in what was in her perspective a new land, finding a pack and some supply were easy, finding armor that suited her was the real challenge, most armor is seemed was either too heavy and restricted her movement, or was to flimsy and offered little protection. It took several days to find an armorer that had some ideas for some armor that would suit Terra, it was not cheap but he set about constructing the armor using leather and lighter chain mail than usually warn. When this armor was done and Terra tried it on for the first time is suited her needs perfectly, it did not weigh her down, nor was it stiff where she required flexibility, and yet it offered the protection she wanted, being so pleased she requested another set constructed in red leather as well, both taking the bulk of her sizable purse. While she waited for the armorer to finish his work Terra took the time to see more of the city and the shops, as she did she came upon a dress makers shop where she found a beautiful white dress, it fit her perfectly despite her height, Terra could not resist the indulgence of owning such a beautiful dress. Finally she went in search of a horse, finding an exceptional companion in a large sturdy animal the stable master had come to call Coore for its apparent wild nature around people which it had not shown toward Terra. The transaction made, and some brief instruction on riding, Terra secured accommodations for the night to resume journeys in the morning, journeys that eventually lead her to the present, to discover more mysteries, and horrors.

Updated Pre-IC Timeline for Terra:
1 month searching for Kar'ii, 20 months traveling to Guldor, 3 years training with Kar'ii, 25 Months traveling back with a final Pre-IC destination of Strata.
« Last Edit: September 13, 2011, 02:21:23 AM by Terra Artemos » Logged
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« Reply #6 on: November 25, 2001, 02:08:22 AM »

Capher-pronounced (saw-faire)
Race-Rarest of all dragons, A shapeshifter. Mostly goes in the shape of a human cleric.
A. Height 1.7 peds tall.
B. Weight 160 pounds-as human.
c. Body shape- average.
D. Hair- Silver surounding bald crown.
E. Eyes-right one azure blue, left one emerald green set in deep eye sockets so color is not readily noticable.
F. Clothes- usually wears a grey cloak.
G. No Weapons, looks harmless.
H. Seemingly can pull any type of jewel you can imagine out of nowhere.

History Capher was named by the original Wizard of the White Tower. He is the wizards helper and friend. Given to the wizard by Seyella, the goddess of fate, to defend the kingdoms, their people and Ava's dream from Coor or anyone else who follows evil. Known througout all the lands by different apperances and names. Some names, are Capher, The Traveller, Storyteller and The White Wolf depending upon what land or people know him as.

Magic is as natural to him as breathing. Only one type of dragon is as powerful as he, those are the Adamant Dragons, and only one is yet alive. There were three. Though he knows he could wipe out a town with just one thought, His normal reaction is to not to use any of his skills or powers unless forced to and then usually only in self defense or escape. He would rather help those around him and his Master than kill or destroy them. He uses his shapeshifting abilities more than any other magic.

He has two pieces of jewelry he wears which was given to him by the Wizard. A ring worn on his right ring finger- Silver, with an embossed coat of arms on a black jade background. the coat of arms is a silver quill pen crossed over a broken sword.  He also wears a medallion, same coat of arms on medallion with one exception, only in moonlight on a full moon and only at a certain angle can you see a irridascent dragon changing shape into a man in the back ground.

 <p>With deepest regards,Capher</p>

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« Last Edit: March 20, 2009, 07:50:40 AM by Talia Sturmwind » Logged
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« Reply #7 on: November 28, 2001, 06:45:22 AM »

If I may join, Here it is. If not, well,here it is anyway. :)

Almenda is a weird little thing. He looks a lot like a halfling, but about 3/4 the size of most humans. He has the feet of a halfling, so he needs no shoes, and wears a beard, like a man. He eats like a halfling, up to 8 good meals a day if he can afford it. He's a bard by choice, and comes from a land far north of the lands of sorren. He plays the mandolin, and often sings along. He has most thievery skills, especially those that require good finger agility, like picking locks and pick pocketing. He only steals when he needs to, and this is often how he gets his money to eat. He is able to make repairs on his mandolin, like making strings. One of his major weaknesses is that he is not very skilled with any weapon besides the bow, and only carries a short sword to make people think that he is. His most distinguishing factor is his hair, which is jet black on the top of his head and on his feet, but his beard is stark white. He has only one spell at his disposal, which is how to make a fire without wood or heat, so he can go anywhere without worrying about warmth. He often wears a big yellow hat with a blue tunic, and some green pants.

Hight: 4'9"
Wight: 150 pounds.
Eyes: Bluish-Green.
Hair: Black, with a white beard.

Always there with a smile, he is often considered go-lucky, but really is only like that on the outside. He can sense when things are about to go sour and starts to get ready for it, without changing face. He has a certain charisma about him, and often gets less price on may foodstuff. He often tries to go along with large parties of adventurers, and in doing so, get into many crazy adventures.

He comes from the lands of Arloton, Far north of the lands of Sorren. In those lands, Halflings have meshed with the humans and some have even bred with them, Leading to miniture humens, or large halflings, depending on which side you where on. These half-halfings where considered montrositys by the humans and halflings alike. And so where made to leave the lands of Arloton in search of new lands. Most became bards or thieves and went is search of taverns and citys out of Arloton to use their trade. Almenda was one such person, His father a halfling and his mother a human. They tought him how to make, play, and take care of a mandolin. His father also tought him a few things with thievery, and how to use a bow. When the age of leaving came upon him, he said some tearful and thankful goodbyes, and headed south, where he heard he could find some good taverns. He travled far and wide. And even found a brownie school of fire magic, where they tought him how to make fire without wood or heat. He still wonders around the lands, and is often with a nice party of adventures, so he may let his music fill thier spirits.

Bard. (Male Half-halfling)

Almenda, bard of Arloton, north of the lands of Sorren.

Gean Firefeet
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« Reply #8 on: December 01, 2001, 11:05:22 PM »

Should I join in soon: here's the cd

Gean Varcistin Firefeet
Age: 42
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Height: 1.82m Weight: 75kg
Hair: dark blond
Eyes: Brown

Though of profession a historian, the look of Gean is still a little wizard like, a remnant of his Ximaxian time. He wears a large cloak usually coloured green or brownish, with a red edge near the ground. From under the cloak heavy leather boots appear, which are marked by numerous travels, a few fights and countless sand-grains. Around his waist a common belt holds the cloak close to his body, a sword hangs on his left side sheathed, the sheathe is adorned by a few stones and runes. Around his neck hangs a silver necklace, most of the time located under his clothes. His head is covered by a sturdy ironplated cap.
His height is a little above average but not impressive, his hair a little longer than usual but not striking. His eyes are common brown but sometimes ot light up or darken depending on his mood or emotional state. He's usually a friendly guy but sometimes a little overinterested in history instead of a good conversation. A good fighter with the sword and a practicer of magic too, but not too well.

Gean Varcistin Firefeet (1608a.S. -present)
Historian and hobbyist mage. Stratanian patriot, suspected leader of some rebellion activities to make Strata again capital of the Truban province. Seeks out all cities and libraries contained in the southern province in search of true facts about Stratanian history, as well checking elders of the Shendar and Stratanians for unwritten history. Hopes one day to compile the complete history of Strata and its empire.

Gean Varcistin was born in the borderstreet of the East Dunes and the Sand Garden in Strata. In this street the rivalry between the two quarters of the town was clearly visible. Rich merchants and common workers lived next door, which sometimes resulted in small incidents in the neighbourhood. He was from a mediocre wealthy house, a family of immigrants from Marcogg. His father Elrin was a good magistrate and worked at the Trading House, but was more important to Gean, he was fond of history, especially Strata's. Elrin Varcistin was as well a natural born storyteller, and Gean was from young age taught in Strata's history through hero stories and unbelievable legends. Nevertheless Elrin was responsible for his son's interest in history, but Gean always saw it more like a hobby.

At school he appeared to be a quite intellectual pupil, who easily earned, with an interest in history and mathematics. But his dream was to study at one of the academies of Ximax, a dream he wanted to realise. So it happened that when his local education was finished he said his mother and father goodbye and left for Ximax. He stayed there for two years, becoming specialized in fire magic, but he didn't have enough talent to become a true magician and left after two years of study disappointed. There was one thing he gained though: a new name. He was called Firefeet by his friends, because of an (in)famous spell he had invented creating a field of flames around the caster to let the enemy walk over fire to reach him.

He went back to Strata and decided to switch two things: Magic became more like a hobby, and history would be his job. Thus he left for New-Santhala, to study history there. This is where he came in contact with Artimidor Federkiel, Royal Archivist at the court. Though Gean went back to Strata when he finished his study in New-Santhala to conduct research on Stratanian history, he remained in contact with Artimidor and regulary sends him essays and stories on the Stratanian history, which are gratefully accepted to be integrated in Artimidor's masterpiece the Santharian Compendium.

He usually spends his days travelling through the country in search of history's remainings and will sometimes stop by taverns to have a nice time tasting the different wines the province is rich. Will sometimes accept small quests for the Stratanian government as private researcher and sometimes even a sort of detective. Frequently promotes the new status of Strata at the court in New-Santhala but hasn't found a hearing ear there yet.

Awyon Blackblade
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« Reply #9 on: December 17, 2001, 02:53:22 AM »

 Name: Awyon Blackblade
Gender: Male
Age: 26
Race: Human
Class: Swashbuckler
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Eyes: Blue
Hair: Black

 Swashbuckler: This Rogue is part Acrobat, part swordman and part wit: the epitome of Charm and Grace


Awyon is a rather neutral person. He useally keep himself away from partyes and dislike to bind himself to someone. He has never told anybody why, but it surely has to do with his past.

He is a very good thief. He is specialized in to hide in shadows, open locks, move silently and too find traps, but he lack strength. On the other hand again he is extremely quick, the enemy may be dead before they self now it. He only steal if he has to since he doesn`t like to steal other peoples life supply. Some times he may work as a mercenary, but it`s seldom.

He is wearing a black studded leather that cover his chest. Under it he has a grey jersey with a grey hood that cover his head. He wears grey trousers and black leather boots. At night he nearly gets invincible for those who not have infravision.

He is most proficient in long swords and short bows. He keep two swords with him all the time. He useally fight with both of them, but if the situation is wrong, he doesn`t dual.. His favorite sword, “Nightblade”, hangs in the sheath to his right. The sword has a black hilt with a yellow  topaz in the middle of the hilt. For some reason the blade is also black. The sword is enchanted, once per day it can turn him invincible if needed. He only use the ability if he has to, since it takes much power from him. The sword also have advantages againts evil monsters or species, and it have a disadvantage. If he use this sword againts good forces he will be blown back with a enormous speed, (it do really hurt) and lose his invisibility.

The other sword, “Skyblade”, is the opposite. The sword has a blue hilt with a red rubin in it. It hangs in his left sheath. Also this has a strange color on the blade, it is blue. It has a little adventage againts good species, and also this has a disadvantage. If he use this sword on evil forces he will lose strength and be so weak that he suddenly don`t manage to even hold his swords, making him a easy target.

He is very weak againts big groups, but againts small partyes he has a bigger chanse.

Awyon don`t know it, but his sword Skyblade shelters his thoughts, making them a grey mist for them who try to read them.

One of his major weaknesses is his courage, or if it becomes to much, it`s stupidity. In his case it`s the last one. Many times he just leap into a party of enemies without thinking. Lucky for him, he has managed to escape every time, but it`s not so sure he will next time. The scar on his forehead is a result of his stupidity.

After reading through his story it may seem that he is alone, but he isn`t. For some years ago, Awyon saved a little Pseudo Dragon from bandits that were after it`s skin. The little dragon has followed him on his journyes from that day. For some reason, Awyon has called the Pseudo Dragon , Pooky. The Pseudo Dragon has grey skin and yellow eyes. He can talk and can easely make conservation, but he always refer himself in 3. person. As all other dragons, Pooky flies. Useally he flies by Awyon, but he has a favorite spot in Awyon`s backpack and spends much time there. Pooky know some simple spells, but they are few and don`t do that much harm.


As you ask Awyon about his past he turns away. His earlyer thoughts fade away and sorrow flows through his mind. He slowly take a nip of his beer and replyes with a peewish tone, “it`s none of your business”. At last he decides to tell a little sample from his childhood.
Awyon was born in the little town Gwerolyn on Denilou. He lived in a average family that managed to make enough lifesupply for themself. They also sold alot since the father was a baker. Awyon disliked very much doing “womanwork” as he called it, and would rather spend the day playing in the mountains. He was more like a Warrior, he thought. Some years later buyed Awyon his first dagger with money he had saved for years. He took it out of his sheath every day and polished it gently, the dagger was everthing he owe becides a roll his father gave him on his 10. birthday. One day he woke up freezing. Someone had opened the window. He stood up, rubbed his eyes and closed the window. Suddenly a thought struck him, his dagger?
He searched for many hours, but the dagger was gone. He could had contiuned until next day if not his father had comed in and given him a lesson for coming 9 hours to late for work. His stumach rumbled to so he went out in the kitchen. Just as he sat down on a chair he started to think. “What a fool he had been, saving money for decades just to lose it all after a week. What was the point being a proud warrior if you didn`t have the money for both armor and weapons?” He felt on his arms, “and the muscles?” From that day he decided to be a thief.

He rise from his chair and say to Pooky, “let`s go”. The little dragon who was drinking from his bowl of water were currently surprised for the hastly leave. He flyes in Awyon`s backpack as Awyon throws some coppercoins to the bartender. “This should cover the stay”. He turns and walks out of the inn, into the black night. A neigh from a horse is heard, then the horse galops away. Suddenly they are gone in the fog that hangs over the ground as the nights guardian.

  ICQ: 138531064

Edited by: Awyon Blackblade at: 12/20/01 3:15:13 pm
Hajarian Ryelliin
New Santharian

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« Reply #10 on: May 13, 2002, 01:14:22 AM »

- Old CD currently invalid to the extreme and is in the process of major revision. Stay tuned.

- - - - -
Hajarian Ryelliin
"This should prove to be interesting."

Edited by: Hajarian Ryelliin at: 1/13/04 8:13
Eden Blunter
Clerical Cook
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« Reply #11 on: June 15, 2005, 11:12:22 AM »

E-mail faye_004@yahoo.ca
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AIM faye4070
Also frequent the IRC as Luca_

Eden Blunter





Cleric of Urtengor

Clerical Cook

        Eden is short, even by dwarven standards. She stands barely over one and a half peds, though weighing in at just under two pygges. She is stocky in build, but is quick to pummel anybody who would even dare hint that she may be overweight, and for good reason considering that she is in good shape. Regardless, Eden is a very busty woman with proportionally-agreeable, but still large hips.

By some standards Eden closely resembles a man. Even some dwarves have difficulty deciding whether or not her great beard is fitting of a woman. Though on closer inspection, Eden is a very feminine looking dwarf. In fact, by some past suitors, has been called the fairest women to have been made from the cold hard stone (these suitors, for certain subtle reasons, were rejected).

        Her hair is a bright red with natural dark blonde highlights. She wears her hair long and twisted into one long braid. Eden’s beard, rivaling her hair in length, is similarly braided and falls near her knees. Often times, such as when Eden is running or cooking, she is forced to wrap her beard about an arm as to keep it out of the way or tripping over it.

        The cleric’s eyes are dark and, though appearing somewhat small, are rimmed with long lashes. Eden’s nose is large and button shaped, poking out from above her beard and snuffing down pestering hairs which occasionally disrupt her breathing.

        Now travelling on her own, far from her underground home, Eden always likes to keep a little of her close dwarven heritage with her. For such reasons, the cleric sometimes tucks attractive stones or the occasional gem into her braids.

        Eden dresses in a black dress with simple red and orange patterns among the hem. On her feet she wears short, heavy boots and equally tough gloves when necessary. When on the road, the cleric bears a tattered black cloak with a large symbol of Urtengor on the back in orange.

        Many dwarves are stubborn, tough and slow to be faltered. And this cleric of Urtengor stands above them all. She is tough to persuade and has a narrow line of thought; only few great negotiators have managed to convince Eden into something she was less than enthusiastic about. Easily insulted, she is also quick to temper and tantrums are not unusual. She has little or no respect for those who have yet to earn it in her presence.

        At first meeting, Eden is not the most welcoming of souls. She tends to block out others simply because she feels that the quality of her words are more important than how long it takes to drag it out. This being said, Eden’s conversations tend to become one-sided as her conversation partner may feel awkward as the cleric’s words are short and to the point.

        On her softer side (meaning the side not in front of her fists, feets or other dwarf wielded, blunt objects), Eden is very gentle. Eden enjoys calm and peace, but is easy to resort to the opposite to get it like that. She has an almost maternal instinct for all children, considering them all innocent and the slightest sign of neglect can, in turn, put one on her not-so-soft side.

        A proud cleric of Urtengor, Eden’s love deeply lies with the stove. She enjoys cooking and baking alike, and is exceptionally good at both. At times when luck (and cash) is found short on Eden, the dwarf will simply amble into the tavern kitchen and whip up a few meals to meet her quota. Close friends and family were surely sad to see her, and her wonderful and unique dishes, leave the day Eden set out for the world.

        As a child, Eden was seen as a calm and collected youth (at least by dwarven standards) and was not shone on as a fighter.

        The cleric carries a stout, heavy staff made of petrified wood with a oblong knot at the top and a somewhat tapered tip. Carried mostly as a walking stick and engraved busily with runes of magic and prayer, many underestimate the staff’s prowess as a weapon. When in the hands of any, say, stout, strong and steady being, it can be crippling and sometimes deadly. The staff would be awkwardly used by an elf or human, since it is heavy and in proportion for your typical dwarf.

        In addition to her staff, Eden is readily equipped with pots, skillets, forks, knives and heavy spoons to be used if need be…and her precision with a spatula is somewhat disconcerting.

        Eden is natural strong and traveling on foot with a heavy burdens has given her the strong and decisive build of her kin. She is very sturdy and can carry large loads; she is also quite capable of pushing or pulling heavy things, the strength coming from helping her father in the mines growing up.

        Eden is not stupid and is relatively good when it comes to strategy and decisions. Though never having made any extremely tough decisions, Eden is level-headed and down to earth, a good person to look to for advice or instruction.

        As a cleric of Urtengor, her magical ability is greatly dependent on her faith. A faith far from lacking. Eden is a highly devout worshipper of her god, praying whenever possible and dawning his symbols and runes wherever needle or chisel would allow.

        Eden is an exceptional cook, her ability with stove or open fire was well respected back at home. She is very proud of this skill and is one of her greatest passions. The cleric specializes in various meat recipes and other heavy foods common among the dwarves.

                Eden is terrible at running. Her short legs have difficulty pumping fast enough to keep up a good sprint (her dangling braids not helping much either) and the heavy load of her stout build makes it difficult to run long distances.

She is seriously afraid of water, heights and slimy bugs (spiders and flies are no trouble, but a worm will send her running). Eden is very is stubborn and slow to persuade…even for the better. She hates admitting being wrong and can sometimes let her pride get in the way of good judgement.

Even though her faith is a huge bonus when it comes to clerical spell casting, Eden’s strong beliefs can also cause some problems. The cleric is close-minded about other gods and religions. She will openly put down another belief when confronted on the issue, and can be seriously insulted when the tables are turned.

Eden is a very emotional woman and a hard headed dwarf to boot. The slightest things can set her off, in either direction. Insults can send Eden in a mad tantrum, cause her to mope and pout for hours (away from the eyes of others, of course) or sometimes both at the same time.

- Pack
- Extra change of clothes, though owns only one cloak
- Wide assortment of cooking utensils, supplies and ingredients
- Staff
- Prayer book to Urtengor
- Basic necessities (steel and flint, light blanket, some money, etc.)

        Eden is a devout cleric to the Urtengor, god of the forge. She carries with her at all times a large book of prayers, bound in red leather and riddled with symbols of her god and people. Also among her person, Eden carries with her amulets and brooches of her faith, her clothing adorned heavily (yet tastefully) with her god’s symbols. From peds away, onlookers can see that this dwarf is a devoted follower of Urtengor.

And so, with so much faith about her, Eden’s magic as a cleric is impressive for one of her age. She is a level 4 mage, boasting the ability to be in Urtengor’s favor at most times. The dwarf is capable of casting the simplest of Urtengor’s spells with relative ease, and can usually perform the more difficult ones if time and concentration are in her favor.

Eden was trained by the priests and priestess’ of her clan’s temple, spending most of her time researching, in prayer or hovering about the clergy. Though Eden is gifted with the great faith in Urtengor and capable of casting useful spells, the dwarf prefers to spend her time preaching as a missionary rather than the actual magical element of her occupation.


Eden was born on a bright, sunny day (not that anybody cared of course, since the place where she was born was beneath several hundred ods of rock) and so happened to be on a religious day of the god Urtengor. Eden was named from the dwarven words, Een (small) and Den (holy), but Eenden evolved into Eden once she set off on her own and into the realm of lazy and unmotivated humans.

The dwarf was born to her mother, a sweet woman (by dwarven standards) and wonderful brewmistress (which made her all the more “sweet”). And a father, who, though would rather be out ripping people’s heads off, thoroughly enjoyed his job of smithing and more importantly, the selling of the final product.

She lived a basic childhood, getting along well (once again, by dwarven standards) with relatives and friends. Eden was a healthy, spunky and well built young girl. But as she grew older, the dwarf began to see that working in mines and laboring in various caverns was not what she wanted. At a young age, the dwarf unleashed her intense interest and fascination of her dwarven god, Urtengor.

She constantly hovered around the clan Denirim, and if he was preoccupied, the nearest clergy member she could find. When unable to constantly breath down the necks of priests, priestess’ and the temple janitor, Eden went to studying her religion and her other love…the culinary arts.

A natural in the kitchen, Eden’s family, close friends and the annoying guy down the hall, all loved her wonderful traditional dishes and original creations alike. Eden was a star, her parents boasting that it was because of their excellent parenting (which was never doubted on account of her parents had the combined passiveness of a large tree) and Eden was often asked to cook for parties and work in the kitchens for celebrations.

To add to her popularity, Eden was considered one of the most attractive dwarven women around. Male dwarves had a tendency to stare (before as well as after discovering that Eden was, in fact, female) as she passed on her way to and from the temple. But Eden’s mind was not set on marriage as of yet. The dwarf was studious in her clerical readings and would spend her spare time cooking.

On the other hand, when Eden tried her hand at the mines, the other workers were somewhat disgruntled by her presence. The dwarf had the strength needed, for there was no mistake there, but for some impulsive reason, Eden had a tendency stop working and explain to a fellow worker how it would be better to hold the hammer further down the shaft. It was not long until the dwarf was officially banned from the mining shafts on account of it being “a waste of pure and natural talents which should all take place far far away from everybody else”.

And so, with few alternate options, Eden took to the clerical profession. She learned quickly under the instruction of the Denirim, excelling well beyond her fellow apprentices and impressing her superiors.

One day, when the dwarf was 76 years old, she went to visit her father while he sold some goods to a trading band of humans. Eden was shocked by the blatant disregard humans had for religion (at least the “real” one) and good craftsmanship. Nearly finished with her apprenticing, Eden began spending more time near the human (and occasional brownie, gnome or even elf) merchants. It was on her 80th birthday that the cleric made a decision. She would pack up her cooking supplies, and head out on the road for a life of missionary work to spread the good word of Urtengor.

The day before she left, an old suitor of hers approached her. In his hands he held a short, heavy staff. It had once been a large branch of a petrified tree, but the excellent craftsman had carved it into a staff which somewhat resembled a short and stocky peg. Upon the staff, he had carved runes and symbols of both Urtengor and Eden’s treasured clan and family.

With muffled sobs and more than one “something in my eye” of friends and family, Eden marched out into the distance with fond farewells and one last dinner.

Her quest of spreading Urtengor’s word had a bumpy start. Eden was not used to directly interacted with other races, and found the experience frustrating and in the end generally useless. The cleric became introverted, keeping to herself until provoked, and travelling alone from town to town; always trying to make one short, stocky difference in such a big big world (and if that required her to scream and yell, by Urtengor, she would do that too).

Edited by: Eden Blunter at: 6/15/05 3:24

Talas Anthavin
Uderzan Wanderer
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Human, Shendar, Shen-Kha'si

« Reply #12 on: August 14, 2005, 09:35:22 AM »

Name: Ta’las An’thavin
Gender: Male
Age: 36
Race: Shendar
Tribe: The Shen-Kha'si (Clay-People)
Occupation: Caravan guide
Title: Uderzan wanderer

Detailed Description

Ta’las is used to dealing with strangers as a part of his job leading caravans, and will be open to conversation and is generally friendly. Ta’las has a lean, rangy figure from years of physical labor as a caravan guide. He keeps his light brown hair cut short and is clean-shaven. Ta’las has light brown skin and grey eyes, typical of most members of his tribe, the Shen-Kha’si.

Physical Appearance
Ta’las has a lean, rangy figure from years of physical labor as a caravan guide. He keeps his light brown hair cut short and is clean-shaven. Ta’las has light brown skin and grey eyes, typical of most members of his tribe, the Shen-Kha’si. His complexion is rugged, as he spends most of his time beneath the hammering rays of the sun in the Ráhaz-Dáth. He stands approximately 1.8 peds in height and weighs about 1.7 pygges. A lurid scar the length of a handspan runs down his right forearm.

Ta’las wears a white shirt with long sleeves, closed at the wrists and the neck are accompanied by wide trousers of the same material, a cloth made out of the fluffy cover of the toccon tree seeds. The trousers are laced up at the ankles to prevent heat and sand from getting in.

On top of the shirt and trousers, he wears a mid-leg length tunica like those favored by the southern Shen-Siuu tribe, much to the chagrin of the women of his dome, particularly his mother-sister. The tunica is fashioned from the skin of the ráhaz'estár he slew to ascend into adulthood.  The main piece of the armour covers his chest, torso and the upper part of his legs to his knees, and is held together by a broad belt also made from the silvery skin of the ráhaz'estár.  The belt also holds four small bags filled with personal effects and money in place. Attached to the tunica are sleeves enforced with several layers of ráhaz'estár skin to function as bracers and greaves up his arms, and reach up to his shoulders.  His hands are protected by ráhaz'estár skin gauntlets. Ta’las wraps a piece of the skin into a white headscarf to cover his neck and head, which leaves only a slit for the eyes.  A light cape and boots have also been fashioned from the skin of the ráhaz'estár he defeated to become an adult warrior of his tribe.

In a small pack he carries a light brown blanket woven from the wool of an aka'pis.

Ta’las is used to dealing with strangers as a part of his job leading caravans, and will be open to conversation and is generally friendly. He uses light conversation as a distraction to assess strangers’ intentions, and to avoid inciting confrontations whenever possible. He is a dedicated, hard-working man, who is always careful to watch people when he is learning something new. Ta’las is stalwart and thinks quickly, which saved him during his encounter with the ráhaz'estár.

When he is not working, Ta’las enjoys games of chance, and has a habit of losing his earnings. Ta’las finds it difficult to pull himself out of a game once he is started. He is aware of his addiction, and must keep himself busy to avoid getting drawn in.

Strengths and Weaknesses

a) Strengths
Very good agility and balance – he is able to wield a Dou'kili while on foot, though he prefers to use the Single Kili sword while riding his Aj'nuvic. He is a master with the liacuy sling.

Good sense of direction – he has travelled enough through the Ráhaz-Dáth that he can pick up cues using wind currents or stars to navigate in darkness or on cloudy days.

b) Weaknesses
Wanderlust – becomes easily bored with remaining in one place for any amount of time unless there are different things to occupy his time.

Gambling – if he does have nothing to do, Ta’las will seek to satisfy his hunger for excitement with games of chance. He has lost his money many times over because of this weakness.

His mother was a priestess of Foiros in the city of Uderza, an unusual livelihood for a woman to be called by the fire-loving deity. To help her son become of use to his dome, Ta’las was sent to his mother-sister’s dome at the age of 5 to train as a caravan leader with his uncle. He learned the ways of the Ráhaz-Dáth and life in the hammering heat of the unforgiving desert.

By the time he was 13, his family members helped him gain the friendship of a young Aj’nuvic, whom he fondly called Desert Rose. (A play on words to describe the creature’s fiesty behaviour). As time passed and Ta’las became more proficient as finding his way through the desert, his mother-sister ensured the boy became trained in the use of weapons, including the sword, dagger and sling of his tribe. At the age of 19, he sought out and slew a ráhaz'estár, to ascend into adulthood.

His occupation as a caravan leader gave him a chance to visit cities, especially Bardavos, where he typically made first contact with caravan masters seeking a guide through the desert. It was during his teenage years that Ta’las discovered the thrill of games of chance while visiting taverns in Bardavos, and often lost most of the money he had earned.

When his mother passed away, at the age of 30, Ta’las received the gold medallion of Foiros that she wore as a priestess. Her hopes were that the medallion would bring him some protection during his travels in the desert. His uncle passed away a few years after this, leaving Ta’las on his own to lead caravans. By this time, his reputation for knowing the desert passages, his friendly demeanor, and his skill with the sword (if it were needed) had secured his livelihood as a caravan leader.

Dou'kili, dagger and liacuy sling. These are all of high quality and are well-maintained.

Gold medallion of Foiros (gift from his mother)
Deck of playing cards (Great House)
Hand mirror and razor
Weapons – Dou'kili, dagger, liacuy sling

Desert Rose – the Aj’nuvic he befriended as a young teenager. His mount has soft, light brown fur but a prickly temperament.


Edited by: Talas Anthavin at: 10/24/06 2:05

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Half-elf, Quaelhoirhim / Eyelian

« Reply #13 on: November 06, 2005, 05:59:22 PM »



¾ elven

29 yrs(actual age)

After her father's murder, Aueniteri adpoted the title Crusader, due to her vow to eliminate all thieves and assassins from Caelereth.

A bard by profession, Aueniteri, when not hiding or defending herself, entertains to small audiences for what few coins she does possess.

Haunted by her brother's crimes, Aueniteri, or 'Teri as she generally refers to herself, spends her time fleeing or defending herself from the various low-lifes that inhabit Southern Sarvonia. A gentle girl, plagued by frequent bouts of nervousness due to the battles she is forced to fight.

Aueniteri stands at  1 Ped, 2 Fores, her youthful countenance sporting thin, slightly elongated face, high, somewhat flat-ish cheeks.

Her figure is not highly pronounced, the bust a definite yet light ripple from her otherwise nearly blade-straight form. This appearance, however, may be intentional, as it seems to change drastically, and at her will, as she dances. A choice accentuation either way is her knee-length forest-brown hair.
Her attire is drastically different pending two kinds of activity. When traveling, or expecting to travel, she dons a loose-fitting leather vest over spun pants and blouse. Over that, she usually, although not always wears a steel breastplate. Boots reaching nearly up to her knees and her hair braided tightly and tucked beneath her vest finish the look.

When not expecting to travel, she wears a long dress, a collar covering just the bottom of her neck, the sleeves coming to just shy of her wrists, and a skirt falling roughly mid-way down her ankles. The dress tightens in front with a pair of laces through carefully sewn couplets, actually a jacket attached as part of her dress, from a palmspan above her navel clear up to just below her collar. Either barefoot or in open, silent sandals and her hair brushed, clean and free, and she is ready to become again what Garrek has tried to take from her.

Pyschological :
Shy, although not reclusive; frightens easily, tends to trust those she considers friends without reservation, cyinical, especially when with an unfamiliar group, almost instantly suspecting every shady-looking person of being an assassin sent by her brother to kill her. Prone to nervous spells, particularly after battles, but also triggered at times by the attention of large crowds. Tender, polite, and well-mannered. Although trained in martial-style fencing, prefers to take any and all possible approaches to avoid a confrontation, except possibly where a friend's well-being is concerned. Has a deep hatred against thieves and assassins, even to the point of prejudice.

Aueniteri's three most notable strengths are firstly, her prowess with song and dance. At times, she will fully entrance an audience of the unaware, inebriated and/or simple-minded.

She is extremely agile and dexterous, allowing her to react to nearly anything she is aware of, even to, at her best, possibly dodging an arrow after it is fired.

Her martial style with her longsword is not to be underestimated, either. Best one-on-one, she twice defeated her former trainer, when he in all earnestness informed her she would not be.

Aueniteri possesses little physical strength, particularly for an elf.

Her gentle nature shows through easily, and with stress, she tends to undergo a nervous break-down, some times remianing unconsoled for days.

Among her greatest weakness is her psychological necessity for a protector, and at times when one seems to appear, she will attach herself easily to them. The same is with allies of any kind, whom she quickly misconstrues as friends.

Aside from this, though, she sees most any person of a darker nature that she may happen to cross as a hunter, whose sole purpose is her own destruction. This paranoia is definitely one of her greatest weaknesses.

In a fight, she has a problem trying to focus on more than one enemy at a time. This problem is compounded to its fullest whether there are two opponents against her or some unspecified mass of enemies. Combating any number of opponents greater than one at a time is severely problematic for her.

Aueniteri's history begins with her ancestry, particularly her grandfather, one Dinik Driel. Dinik was a son of a poor farmer from a long line of poor farmers; his mother, however, was the daughter of a not-so-poor Eyelian merchant. His mother took special interest in her youngest son, Dinik, and taught him much about financial maintenance, so that by the time he was twenty, he possessed what, in his neighborhood, could be considered a small fortune. Dinik was a hard worker, and any leisure time he might have had was spent focused on how to make more money. Then presented itself to him the idea of a lumber farm.

Wood was not truly scarce, but Dinik knew that to make it even more accessible, and with finer types of wood, would make him a fortune beyond his wildest dreams. Time and again, he petitioned the Yllferhim elves for a tiny plot on the borders of their beloved Quallian to begin his dream of a lumber farm, and time and again he was coldly refused. Then he tried the Zeiphyr, testing the Quaelhoirhim for several years, with roughly the same success. Many a time he tried even underhanded methods to achieve his dreams, but each time they failed.

Finally, at the age of forty, he succeded and under a heavy supervision of the elves, took his first lumber farm, and plotted it out in a section where he knew the trees would grow well. The first harvest was ready, and nearly again he lost his business when the harvest was made, but true to his promise, he replanted everything that was cut down. His plots, eventually, broke down into a set of three plots, each in a different season of growth.

His first and second sales were a success, but he would see no more. His adventures in the Quallian had worn hard on his small, fragile body, and at sixty, he failed, and died. His only son, through the daughter of one of his elven partners, named Sean, took control of the business, but his taste in it waned.

Not having his father's passion in favor of the lumber farm, Sean Driel passed on the farm to sub-contractors, keeping a large portion of the proceeds for himself, and took to the sale of elven arts. These brought the frugal Sean even more income, and soon his resources were nearly inexhaustible.

He bore two children, a son, named his heir, and a daughter. Garrek, in honor of the human bloodline, and Aueniteri, the name given by her mother's father. Garrek, although the chosen heir, seemed to have other things in mind.

Aueniteri was a charming, intelligent and innocent child. Wanting her to have and be the best, Sean filled her days with learning of all kinds, and she could soon fluently speak several languages from across Santharia, dance like the flowers in a summer breeze, sing, both by voice and with her violin, to melt a heart of stone, sketch a scene as though it were straight from reality, and fence adequately with even the guards of Dinik's mansion.

A dark scheming seemed to overtake Sean's heir, and several times he was imprisoned for involvement in some crime. Then, the indictments ceased, but Garrek grew ever darker. Sean said nothing of it to anyone, except Garrek himself, that he had renamed the heir, and it was to be Aueniteri. Knowing this, Garrek struck into action.

Aueniteri turned 23, and a large celebration was had at the mansion Dinik had created. This celebration was to last three days, the first with the extended family, the second with the closer family, and finally, the last day would be to Sean, his wife, Garrek, and Aueniteri alone. Great feasts and festivities were had, and most, if not all, of the relatives and business partners left the first day feeling pleased to know Sean. The second day was a little les gleeful, and a bit more intimate. The third night, although planned, never took place.

Garrek had ill planned for them, and his blackened heart carried it into effect without the least cringe of remorse. At roughly midnight, during a change of guards, a horde of assassins overtook the place, plundering and vandalizing everything they touched. Aueniteri, who had been unable to sleep and was caught wandering the mansion, was dragged up to her room, and thrown in front of a trunk at the foot of her once-lovely and well-kept bed, which had been torn to pieces in their rabid search for any kind of treasure. On her way, she witnessed a good portion of the death of her father, who had been outnumbered and bludgeoned to death. She could hear her mother's screams and wails as with a trembling hand, she opened the trunk. In it, two things of marked value lay. One, a necklace given her by her grandmother, who was still in elven terms a blossoming woman. The other, her longsword. She tossed the nearest thief her necklace, and as he reached out to catch it, she brought the pommel of her sword deftly into his groin. He buckled, laying on the floor before her, and in an instant she was on her feet.

With a quick step, she stood on the groveling man, and from there leaped onto the back of another, forcing him down as she did so. Her next move was to make her way to her father. Reaching his corpse, she slashed at one of his murderers, tearing a huge gash from his left shoulder almost down to his right hip, deep enough to reveal the spine. Oozing and spewing blood, the man fell. Without hesitation, she shoved the murderer's corpse away, and for a second shed tears over her father's mutilated figure. Then, knowing they would not be stunned forever, she took from him a pendant, and his longsword.

Then, as she stood, the mob came from their shock and sprung into action. Three of them grabbed her from behind, and several closed in on her. Struggling was futile, and she was certain she, too, would die. However, fate would not have her that day, and she, through some strange providence, was knocked unconscious and hidden under some shrubbery in the mansion's garden. When she awoke, human soldiers from the same Eyelian outpost as the mansion's guards and their familiars were scouring the place, and among them her brother Garrek, looking genuinely worried. She could have swore a dark quizzical look stole across his face when he first spotted her, but it was gone in an instant, and he was poring over his "poor, yet fortunate sister."

The story was one of all too great conveniences. The soldiers arrived just in time to frighten away or kill all the assassins, though none were captured alive. Frequently Garrek told relatives the tale, and as frequently Aueniteri watched in horror and surprise as each of them offered their condolences and support to the supposedly grieving Garrek.

Things grew continuously worse, as together the two of them alone occupied the mansion. The tension rose to such extremes that often Aueniteri would break into tears, but Garrek kept a face of stone. Never would he say a word of the death of their parents directly to her; never did she dare breathe a mention of it in his presence. The tension was to culminate in her breaking eventually, but providence again asserted its hand in her behalf, and her grandmother sent for her. Willing to go, she took everything she could find that was still of use, and petitioned her grandmother for replacement of those things that were ruined.

The party that came for her were not well armed, as they expected no danger. Offering as presents the items she had requested, gladly she moved with them. It was late on the third night of travel that suddenly a realization of Garrek's plan struck her. He had allowed some of the assassins to survive, and now they were sent to finish everything they had started. Her eyes clouded with tears, she quickly gathered her things that night, as everyone slept, or at least as she supposed, and feld.

Everyone had not slept, though. The leader of the camp had called for a guard, and the guard called for her as she ran. This awoke others, but the next thing she heard of them was the one set to guard screaming in pain. The tale was told in the next elven village she passed, how everyone in the camp had been killed, maimed beyond recognition, and had been spotted by a patrol only a few hours after the massacre.

She left the elven forest, it was hard for her to feel secure there. Soon, however, she learned that even as she traveled eastward, nowhere was safe for her. Garrek knew she had survived, and since has never ceased plaguing her with assassins and mercenaries of all kinds. Somehow, providence has intervened at every path, and cautiously she walks the fine line between being the trusting, gentle girl in her heart, and the deadly, defensive woman fate has chosen for her.

Aside from her clothing and armor, Aueniteri carries with her a pack, capable of containing
A bedroll,
Her violin,
Sketching equipment,
All of the clothing/armour she is not currently wearing.

Around her neck at all times is the pendant from her father's corpse, a circle containing a perfectly symmetrical cross, a bright green gemstone set in the center.

Her father's longsword. Although lighter than most, and constructed more for parade than combat, it is a deadly weapon regardless.

Silence! You could give your excuses until Injèrá hides her head from all Santharia, but it will never preserve your life.
I have so sworn...

Listen to the songbird, don't ignore it...
Legacy of the Songbird


Who Am I?/Legacy of The Songbird|
Ta'lia of the Seven Jewels
Lady of the South
Story Mod
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Gender: Female
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Human, Shendar, Shen-D'auras

« Reply #14 on: November 30, 2005, 07:26:22 PM »

Name: Jeharaid Morcaanan

Occupation: Mercenary

Species: Human

Gender: Male

Age: 29

Title: Outcast Avenger


Morcaanan is a former noble and now an outcast of the Korweynite Empire, that powerful civilization on the western continent of Nyblemar. He has been on the road these eight long years, seeking to fulfill a purpose in life – the pursuit of true Justice.


Morcaanan is a reserved man when you first meet him. He is capable of socializing when needed but tends to avoid it for the most part except for where his job requires it of him. However, when he gets to know someone well enough and starts to trust them, he can be quite friendly, and to those whom he considers friends he is fiercely and unerringly loyal. If they break his trust however, he is not above killing them to prevent their doing it again to others, since such people should never be allowed to roam loose (and yes, even for his own sense of honor and vengeance). He has a peculiar love of music, one that he rarely gets to indulge but does whenever he can, for to his mind music is like a strong wine, but he has no talent of his own in this area – a personal regret. Most importantly, he believes he is a specially chosen soldier of Justice, and has dedicated his life to that end, seeking to restore balance and order. He will often hire himself out as a mercenary, but never to a cause he does not think furthers Justice – and often, he will take up a cause for no money at all, if he thinks it is worthy enough.
He is not one to acknowledge his deeper emotions easily. He has a temper and sense of humor that are readily apparent, but the core of his being takes time to reveal or draw to the surface. Most of his thoughts are not spoken aloud; indeed he does not always acknowledge them to himself, often dismissing certain ideas and feelings as random, unneeded interference. Truthfully, he is soft and pliable beneath his outer shell and knows this, but fears it; to allow these emotions and inner self to rise to the surface would mean the risk of being hurt or manipulated. This is why making friends takes time, and falling in love is difficult for him to do. Still, for those with the patience and willingness, he can be made into a lifelong ally and compatriot.

Religious Beliefs:

He is dedicated to his religion, the worship of the sky god Inthadin. He respects the beliefs of other cultures and religions and never pretends superiority in this area, but does seek explanations to the supernatural that fit his own beliefs. Things such as apparitions and demons are to him, servants of ---. He respects those who follow their spiritual and religious beliefs, even if and when he disagrees with them.

Physical Appearance:

Morcaanan is about half-a-fore short of two peds. Fair skinned (rare but not unheard of amongst the Korweynites); brown hair that reaches almost to his shoulders, sometimes pulled back in a ponytail; round brown eyes rest between deep brows and high cheekbones; a medium sized crooked nose; there is a thick white scar over his left eyebrow; his mouth is a little large, just above a significantly dimpled chin; he usually has a full but thin beard. He is in good physical shape, not exceptionally strong or enduring, but well suited to an active, on-the-go sort of life and the occasional battle – in short, athletic looking and oriented. His hands are just a little large, but this is not very noticeable, unless he is trying to manipulate something very small or delicate: then his hands become something of a curse.


Jeharaid wears a traveling Eben of a Korweynite, which is mostly brown with blue trim and highlights. Knee-high brown leather boots on his feet, a pair of leather vambraces usually adorn his lower arms. Beneath his Eben he sometimes wears a chain mail shirt (see Belongings). He also has a plain tunic and pair of trousers he wears when he is relaxing or in an environment that he is safe or comfortable in.


Morcaanan’s most noteworthy possession is his sword, a gift from his father. It is a hand-and-a-half sword, suitable for the most rigorous of combat; the hilt is overlaid in gold, and the pommel is an image of the sun in reference to the Korweynite religion and worship of Inthadin. It is a full tang sword with three narrow fullers running up the middle of the blade.
He has a pair of Mithralin vambraces he picked up in his travels. They are engraved with three symbols: a sun, for Inthadin; a balance, for Justice; and an owl, to represent his family. Normally he will wear a pair of leather vambraces, putting on the metal ones only when he knows they will definitely be needed.
He has a chain mail shirt, which he sometimes wears between his Eben and an undershirt, but as with the Mithralin vambraces, he uses this only when he knows he is going into a situation where greater protection is definitely required.
He most unusual belonging is a silver, five point gem encrusted star. A gift from his late wife, it has some very slight magical qualities, as it can “bind” two people together – when given to another person, it inspires loyalty between the giver and the receiver, making them in spirit, inseparable.

a) He has had intensive training under a sword master and has used his sword on a regular basis for years (a combined 16 years), and is quite proficient with his weapon.
b) Loyal, almost blindingly so to those whom he thinks deserve it.
c) Has a way with animals, mostly horses or other beasts of burden.
d) Is cautious and not hasty, which helps him avoid trouble rather than getting into it.
e) He readily defends others and will go very far to see a task through that he believes needs to be done – in short, he is tenacious.

a) He has an unshakeable fear of heights.
b) He has a mild dislike for dogs and wolves, and even a mild fear of larger ones - and is terrified by them when in numbers.
c) He hates orcs, and distrusts them.
d) His blind loyalty can get him into trouble, if he fails to see duplicity before committing himself to someone or something.
e) His pursuit of Justice has caused him to bend or work his way around rules – he is not above justifying some actions if he thinks the end result is right (though this is rare).


Jeharaid Morcaanan was born to a high ranking noble in the Korweynite Empire. Nothing was too fine for this last born child (he had three older brothers); he had the best in everything: clothes, food, social life…he was spoiled rotten, and he knew it. Despite this, he was always fair-minded in the fact that he always repaid what was done to him, good or bad – though often it was bad, for several reasons. Jeharaid was competitive as a lad, something that every child his age that he socialized with knew. He was often taken advantage in this way, since he would not turn down a dare or challenge at anytime; this was perhaps in retaliation for his often superior and haughty attitude with others.
It one day came back and hit him pretty hard. When he was nine years old, he was with the son of another noble, sitting on the fence above the open pit-like pen of a very large dog, which had gone wild and had been recently retaken – his qualities as a breeding dog made Jeharaid’s father hesitant to kill the animal (Morcaanan’s family had many animals for breeding, it was an odd practice which had eventually turned into a trade business. They often provided beasts to the many farms scattered through the neighboring area).
The two boys had begun to discuss animals in general watching the big dog beneath them. Tierna (the other boy) claimed he had seen a Lingradau. Jeharaid, always being superior, shot back and called him a liar. This naturally started an argument, and soon they came to blows. Jeharaid was knocked off the fence into the pen, landing on the huge mongrel caged within. The dog turned on him and attacked him, mauling the poor boy. Thankfully a man with a bow had not been far off and shot the dog before Morcaanan was badly hurt, but he bore (and still does) a crooked nose and scars from that day, and a seething hatred for his rival.

At the age of 13, a sword master from Santharia was brought under the roof of Morcaanan’s household. Jeharaids father insisted that the lad take lessons from this newcomer, and Morcaanan reluctantly agreed. His lessons were intense, but he began to shed some of the childhood chubbiness he had developed from his often lazy habits, and began to become the fit and trim warrior he is today. The sword master, a human male of Sephorian origin, became something of a mentor for the young man. It was he who first taught Jeharaid the difference between Justice and Vengeance, something that Jeharaid was inclined to muddle rather easily.
“Justice is about helping others; Vengeance is about helping yourself” he told Jeharaid. “When your only purpose is to further your own gains at the cost of another, then you are no longer following the path of morality.” It is a lesson that Jeharaid has struggled to apply throughout his life.

When he was 15 he met Abigail, also a child of noble birth (her family had very distant blood relations to the Imperial family, in fact, but nothing of any great notice). She was two years his senior, and already her family was looking to give her into an arranged marriage in the coming years to Tierna – Morcaanan’s rival.
She had come to Morcaanan’s estate to see a horse broken in, which her father had bought from Morcaanan’s father and brothers as a gift for her. Jeharaid had little to do with such beasts, and so he soon found himself talking to this young lady.
“Too afraid to deal with animals?” she asked snidely.
He shot her an annoyed look and shrugged. “No; just nothing in it for me.” He returned his attention to his family’s attempts to tame the creature, which was proving to be wild and spirited – hardly suitable for a young lady.
“Hmm. I wonder” she replied, tossing her head, causing the dark curls of her hair to wave in the light breeze.
Morcaanan sensed a challenge. “Oh? And what would you give me to risk my neck on that monster?” As he said ‘monster’ he gestured at the horse.
She cocked her head and smiled at him. Then, as if suddenly struck by a thought, she undid a clasp behind her neck and held up a beautiful, five point star, each point adorned with a gem, and a large emerald in the exact middle.
“I don’t have an escort for the upcoming next week” she said with a coy smile. “I understand my father wants me to go with Tierna…but he did say I could make up my own mind.”
He was up and over to his brothers side in a splintered second. She was definitely an attractive girl, and the name “Tierna” provided more incentive than he needed.
Within an hour, the horse was tame and ready to ride. Abigail kept her promise, and she allowed him to be her escort.

A year later, two of Morcaanan’s brothers had gone with their mother and a group of servants beyond the borders of the Empire, to “get away for awhile”. One day, a band of Orcrist orcs ran across the human travelers. It just so happened that the orcs were that far from home because a Sunset Dragon was pursuing them; they had been running for days in panic, and when they encountered the humans they began to cut them down in their flight.
Naturally, the Korweynites fought back, and a short skirmish ensued.
Only two of the servants survived the ordeal, and they returned to their master and informed him of the death of his wife and sons.
Morcaanan, when he heard the news of his mother and brothers death, seemed to close in on himself so that he became quiet and reserved amongst other people. He threw his heart and soul into his sword training, attacking it with an almost unbridled ferocity. He had come to hate orcs, and wanted to be ready to fight and kill them whenever the opportunity arose.
The affects on his father, however, were even worse. The older man began to waste away, spending his days at home to himself. He saw no one, and went nowhere. The result was that the burden of the family affairs fell on his two sons.
Jeharaid had always believed in a sense of balance and justice: one good (or evil) turn deserved another. Since his last brother had a family of his own, Jeharaid took over in his father’s home, growing up very quickly. He studied and diverted much of the family fortune into business matters, drawing on the family traditions of livestock training and raising and turning this into a flourishing source of trade. He also threw his heart and soul into his sword training, attacking it with an almost unbridled ferocity. He had come to hate orcs, and wanted to be ready to fight and kill them whenever the opportunity arose. So, at a very young age Jeharaid had taken on the full responsibilities and tasks of a man, something that would continue to shape his life for years to come.

An interesting event occurred during this time as well. He discovered a wood owl with a broken wing in one of the barns of the estate. Taking pity on the creature, he nursed the little owl back to health, and it eventually came to be at home with Jeharaid. It had become incapable of flying, so often it could be seen riding around on the young man’s shoulder or arm. Perhaps he saw in this wounded little animal a reflection of his own recent wounds; after all, the little owl had no family or mate of its own, and would never again soar through the trees like it should. Whatever the cause, so attached to the wood owl he became, that Morcaanan made the little bird into the family symbol, and the decorations and clothing in the estate often reflected this new found identity.

He started spending time amongst the soldiers in the Empire, increasing his abilities with the sword and learning about arms and armor. This, combined with lessons from his tutor, lent him the aid of being able to size up enemies by looking at how they dressed, how they walked and talked. He spent many hours with the soldiers learning and practicing drills when they would take the time to teach him; large army battle tactics, throwing weapons like small axes and spears, learning to keep his seat on a horse in combat, all were added to his knowledge and improved his ability to fight in the best and worst of circumstances. He preferred and excelled with the sword, but his training overall was well rounded and balanced.

His expansion of the family fortune grew and prospered; he proved a shrewd and fair businessman, a wise owner and leader, and was a counselor and friend to men twice his age throughout the nobility of the Empire. He had many friends and associates amongst all the Imperial classes and few enemies, garnering favor amongst almost all of those whom he spent time with.

At the age of twenty, he married Abigail. The following year was the high point of the young mans life, and before the end of it his bride was carrying their first child. They spent weeks thinking about what to call their baby and how he would be raised. Jeharaid spent a small fortune and added new rooms to their house just for the child, “so I may spoil him rotten, just like I was” he laughingly told Abigail. She wanted the baby to be a scholar, he wanted him to be a soldier, and they often would lightly and teasingly argue about how they would accomplish their own personal goals for their child’s future.
But their happiness was not to last.
Jeharaid went on a hunting trip with some of his companions, and his childhood rival, Tierna, was invited along. Relations between them had always been strained, and Jeharaid marrying Abigail had not exactly helped any love to be lost between the two young men.
Morcaanan remembered the argument that had caused his accident. His sense of vengeance returned when he discovered the lair of a Sunset Lingradau. He spoke briefly with the others and convinced them to investigate the lair.
What he did not tell them was that the great cat was at that very moment sleeping within.
Tierna, ever rash, volunteered to investigate the place firsthand, and discovered too late his danger. He was killed before the cat was subdued, and Morcaanan’s companions truthfully accused him of leading Tierna into this, remembering the old rivalry between the two, which had not been any real secret. Though he had never intended for his rival to be killed, he could not deny the validity of his accuser’s statements. He was taken home and placed under arrest for suspected murder, pending a trial.
Tierna’s father, however, was enraged. He hired a few petty thugs to kill Morcaanan’s family: his father, surviving brother…and his wife and unborn child.
When Morcaanan was given the news, he strangled his jailer and broke out of prison. He went after his families killers…and when he found them, he slaughtered them mercilessly, but he did discover who had hired them and why, for the rogues had been paid with some rather expensive and distinct pieces of jewelry – unmistakable that it had come from Tierna’s family – amongst the other gold that they had been given.
He went back and did unto them as they had done unto him. He killed all save one in the house, and then burned it to the ground.
All but one: a little girl infant, in the cradle, the youngest of their family, just as he was the youngest of his family. He took the child to his sword master that night, and spoke with him for the last time.
“Was it necessary to go that far? To kill them all?” asked the older man.
Jeharaid rocked the child in his arms, watching the little babies face instead of looking up at his tutor’s. “It was balanced; they destroyed my family, I destroyed theirs.”
“It would never have happened if you hadn’t killed Tierna on that hunting trip” replied the sword master.
Morcaanan grew defensive. “I didn’t kill him! It was a Lingradau! It wasn’t my fault, I didn’t mean for him to die! And even if I did, that gave them no right to-to…” His eyes filled with tears and he began to sob. Abigail…his sweet, beautiful Abigail, gone forever…
The older man shook his head. “It all happened because you wanted revenge Jeharaid; and it cost you. You can’t ever pretend the revenge you want is the justice someone else deserves.”
The baby began to cry softly and Morcaanan stood and paced with the child in his arms, speaking to her quietly to put her at peace. When she was calm again Jeharaid took a deep breath and turned to his teacher.
“It was about righting a wrong, and protecting others; people who stoop to that level can’t be allowed to live, lest they do it again.”
“People like that” murmured the older man, fixing Jeharaid with a stern look. “People like…you.”
The words were like a slap to the face for him; for he suddenly realized that he had become his enemy, after a fashion. It was a lesson hard to learn, but the last his teacher ever taught him. He left the baby with his sword master; wanted for murder, he took flight of the Empire and made his way east to Santharia by ship from the Aca-Santerra coast.

On the route to Santharia, he wondered what he was to do, where he should go, how he should live. As he pondered these things he fell into an uneasy dream…and had a strange vision.
It was though a small star came down and alighted on his face. It looked just like the flaming sun at noon time. A voice spoke to him and told him that he must commit all to Justice…that he must fight for it whatever the cost, and if necessary, die for it.
And so he has fought and pursued the cause of Justice these past eight years, and has not ceased to do so since…

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

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