|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Wed Aug 11, 2004 1:08 am
Name: Kelethorn Sírelusso
Age: 422 years old; he has the equivalent appearance of a 20-something human.
Race: Elf
Gender: Male
Height: 6’2”
Weight: 185 lbs.
Title: Water Mage
Alignment: Water Elemental Spirit
Weapon(s): When necessary, he carries a 7’ long staff crafted of oak stained a faint blue with runes carved up the length of it. A silver cup holds a golf ball-sized faceted crystal at the top of the staff, with delicate strips of silver spiraling down about six inches onto the staff. The crystal is a deep blue sapphire that sparkles majestically whenever light reflects off it. Strings of clear crystals and pearls attached to the silver cap wrap around the staff and dangle down several inches, tinkling merrily with any movement. The end of the staff is capped with silver as well.
Origins: Asia
Description: Tall and lithe, Kelethorn embodies all of the stereotypical views of elves. His hands are fine-boned and his fingers long; he wears a silver band around the ring finger of his left hand, and a large clear crystal set in silver on the index finger of his right. His face has a handsome, ageless quality about it, neither young nor old, with high cheekbones and a slight tilt to his eyes. The eyes themselves are azure blue and almond-shaped, and all of his accumulated knowledge shines brightly within them. He is pale-complected, bearing a very slight bluish tinge to his skin tone.
His hair is his greatest vanity, and he will readily admit it. Waist-long, it is a cascade of blue-black, straight and fine. He wears it down a great deal of the time, the occasional circlet or coronet worn to keep the hair from his face. Shorter sections often escape to frame his face, which he ceaselessly tries to tame by tucking them behind his pointed ears. On special occasions he will braid parts of his hair and secure said braids with tiny charms of crystal, silver or pearl.
His wardrobe is mainly robes, cut long and in elaborate styles reminiscent of how waterfalls and cascades would look. He favors various shades of blue, from the deepest indigo to the palest sky, but does also enjoy greens, white, purple and metallic shades. His attire could be called ostentatious – it often has been! – but it allows for him free range of motion for the ease of casting. It suits his graceful posture and stride, his clothing proving externally that he is as capable and confident as he seems. “No one unsure of their own powers would dare dress like a peacock,” is his theory. When the situation warrants it, though, he will don more drab, utilitarian attire better suited to the task.
Personality: Kelethorn has a very serene, calm presence. He thinks often before acting, and weighs the possibilities of every situation before making a decision. He has a very rational way of thinking, and could be best considered “neutral” in most matters. He is slow to anger, but he is not without a formidable temper. The punishments he exacts are tailored to the crime, although he attempts to make sure that the severity is just enough as to deter the perpetrator from ever wanting to commit the same sin again. He does not tolerate fools, although he is forgiving of honest mistakes.
He is a strict but fair teacher, always willing to assist those slower students who need other means of teaching. He understands that not every pupil learns the same way, and tries to tailor a lesson to suit as many students as possible.
He is capable of great compassion when it is needed, and is a lover of all kinds of art, from paintings to poetry to music. His greatest love however is learning, and his personal library is larger than that of most cities, and a great many scholars often come to him in the Aquia Temple to look through his library.
History: Kelethorn’s past is a very simple, uneventful span of time. His father was a Water mage as well, and tutored Kelethorn for the first century of his life, until his father’s untimely death. His mother was a woodland scout, who took to her occupation with an almost overzealous fanaticism after the death of her husband. Essentially left alone, Kelethorn took to reading as his only other hobby. Kelethorn’s devotion to his father made the young elf pledge to continue his studies, and to some day master the magical knowledge he had at his disposal. When he had little else to learn from the library of his father, Kelethorn left his village and began traveling Gaia, amassing many books of magical, and mundane, lore. He eventually came to the Aquia Temple in Asia, and petitioned to stay on as a teacher of new Water mages. His petition was accepted, and soon after that he began his residency at the Temple that continues to this day.
He is regarded as a leading scholar, named amongst the predominant researchers on the continent. He knows a number of languages, even long-dead ones and those considered “secret” by their cultures. His easy-going and polite personality has made him friends with many races around the continent, collecting their various tales into books and their cultures, for posterity’s sake. As well as having a rather impressive library, Kelethorn’s collection of artifacts – including several magical items – has established something of a museum in Aquia’s confines. Some are benign creations, but amongst those are three items of Dark origin, put under several layers of protection magic.
Previous RP's You've Participated In:
- GH
- GW (for a bit)
- WoG v. 1.0
- The Samurai Guild
Approved By: Sey
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Aug 12, 2004 4:07 pm
Name: Minako Shadow Deruksuki (Shadow or Mina for short) Age: 17 Race: half-breed of Kitsune and human Gender: Female Height: 5'5" Weight: 126 Title: War and Shadow Mage Alignment: none Weapon(s): Minako uses both sai and throwing daggers it simply depends on where she is or what she is wearing. Should she be wearing a kimono she will only be equipped with her said hidden in her sash. If Minako is wearing pants and a shirt she has both her daggers and sai equiped. Her sai in her boots, her daggers hidden under her shirt or strapped to her arms. Origins: Minako originated in Eastern Gaia Description: Mina has black hair, so black that it takes on a purple-ish appearance. Her hair reaches her shoulders and Mina rarely ever puts it up. While she is short and lithe she does not lack strenght or agility. Her skin is golden brown and her eyes a strange but beautiful shade of amethyst. Mina has a mysterious way about her, yet she has kind features. Being half kitusune she retained ears and a tail both matching her hair making her a rarity. Personality: Minako is a sweet, gentle person for the most part, but, she does have a firey temper. Once it unleashes itself very little can be done to stop it. Her moods change almost as often as the wind changes directions. She will be sad one moment and happy the next. Mina is loyal to a fault, never swaying from her friends or superiors even if she finds out something terrible about them. She looks for the good in everyone, no matter how much they have hurt her. History: Mina was born to a barren human woman and Kitsune in spirit form . She was a product of her mothers prayer for a child. The spirit heard her and as she lived,breathed and worked the earth the shadow spirit decided to answer her prayer.It seems the shadow spirit answered the prayer because the woman was sitting in the shade of a tree when she had made the prayer. Anyway, this prayer of her mothers cost her. It shortened her life to give birth to Mina who was in fact a half-breed.(A strange half-breed at that. She didn't have the normal Blackor white tail and ears, they were such a hue of black that they were purple in the right light, matching her hair and eyes.) The year of Mina's fifth birthday her mother took ill and passed. Her hermit sister paid her respects and buried the woman in the land she loved so much And so it came that MIna traveled with her Aunt. Learning this and that bit of magic. Finding she could willingly ask shadows to help her hide or other things. In time she found she needn't ask them and simply commanded them when the need arose. But she stayed away from that for most of her child hood. Prefering to play in them and ask them to do things for her. By the age of ten her aunt began to teach her in earnest how to weild war magic. Its a rare magic and few weild it. But for some reason Minako'sAunt believed she could and would weild it. So her training in dagger and sai began. Her aunt tried to teach her to weild swords but they did not sit well with poor little Mina. Thus she was trained in smaller but just as deadly weapons. Both being a channel for her magic. Soon after her 15th birthday Mina learned how to channel her raw magic through her body. A process that was painful for her and still is to a point. The year after her Aunt who had become so dear to her told her to go out in the world. Really explore and find things she could only dream of. And so Mina left her aunt in a small village. A place she felt her ageing aunt would call home for many years. Now equiped with her born magic and the war magic she set out in the world. She became friend with elemental mages and emotion spirits before she found a old abadoned castle to call home. She fixed it up over the year and now a variety of different mages "Faeries" if you will reside there with her. All of them her friends and a strange but joyful family. rps participated in: Of old and new Herebio approved by : V13 Virus
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Aug 12, 2004 7:03 pm
((Ah! I am approved!))
Name: Calso Monsen
Age: 15
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Height: 5 feet tall, exactly
Weight: 110
Title: Dreamer Initiate
The Dreamer tribe, their true name forgotten, was a group of people who studied the magical energies within dreams and subconsciousness. For the most part the Dreamers felt it their duty to stay out of the business of others, but some Dreamers were hired to interpret dreams or ward off nightmares. Presently, only their descendants remain, and history has failed to record their existence. One in every ten descendants of the Dreamer tribe inherits the mystic power of their ancestors and possesses heightened intelligence and eyes of an unnatural color. However, few of those gifted with the Dreamers’ legacy ever gain any real power above the ability to see into the dreams of other people. But a book of the ancient Dreamers was compiled by an elder of the tribe before it was scattered, something that contained great secrets of the subconscious human mind. It is that very tome that has fallen into the hands of Calso, a descendant of the Dreamer tribe.
Alignment: Noctosaan, a spirit of night, sleep, and dreams. Noctosaan is said to be a servant of the spirit of darkness. Noctosaan is also said to be more commonly referred to as “The Sandman.” As for appearance, Noctosaan is personified as a two headed man, one head awake and the other asleep, wearing a dark garment flecked with stars.
Weapon(s): Book of Chimera: A book compiled by Andier Sonssa, the last elder of the Dreamer tribe. In naming this compilation of the Dreamer’s works, he decided that the unconscious mind could become anything. With such a thought in mind, he named it the “Book of Chimera,” because dreams often took unexpected and horrible twists.
As far as the book itself being a weapon, it is not exactly the best sword on the shelf, so to speak. The hard leather backing provides some offence, but the fact that Calso himself is not very physically fit doesn’t really help. No, the true weapon within the book is the knowledge it contains, providing several techniques for Calso to learn, all of which deal with dreams and subliminal frames of mind.
…However. Calso is not a complete moron, and understanding the fact that the book cannot protect him in most dire situations he carries with him also a small hooked bamboo cane for protection. The cane used to belong to his older cousin, and spiraling up the length of the cane scrawled in red are the words, “If you can read this, I hope you’re getting hit with it.”
Origins: Asia
Description:
Clothing: Calso wears a sky blue robe with white patterns on the sides resembling wisps of smoke. Beneath the robe he wears simple gray pants.
Hair: Short and tan.
Eyes: A deep and vibrant color of purple that resembles amethyst. Calso isn’t bothered a bit by the fact that his eyes are purple, deciding that it is, after all, seen as a symbol of royalty. The fact that his eyes are an unnatural color for humans proves that he has inherited the power of the Dreamers.
Build: It’s hard to tell because of Calso’s robe, but he’s actually quite frail. Hard physical labor is completely out of the question.
Personality: Friendly, Mindful, Loyal, Caring, used to being alone. Calso is highly intelligent, but feels out of place when given a leader role. If a job is not provided for him, he will not go looking for one. Calso can be rather meek; if his personality were made into an animal, it would be a turtle, receding into his shell at the first sign of danger. However, his loyalty contradicts his general cowardice. If he sees someone he cares about in need of help, he will hesitate only for a moment, and then rush to his or her aid.
History:
Calso’s past was rather inconsequential. He grew up in an isolated mountain home in Asia, away from most other people but his grandparents, whom he was raised by. His parents had both been called to serve their country in battle only three years after Calso was born. Being of the shogunate, the two had accepted. However, neither would return home. Calso barely remembers his parents, but still feels some sadness about having never known them.
Calso’s grandparents taught him many things, hoping that one day Calso would grow up to be a wise person who could help those around him. From learning odd facts and simple ideas all his life, Calso is a very well rounded person in the mentality field (although his physical prowess is a bit lacking).
When Calso was seven, his grandfather left on a trip to search for something that he claimed was related to their ancestors. Calso, although young, attempted to convince his grandfather to stay, feeling as if they would never see each other again. However, the old man’s mind was set. Calso and his grandmother awaited his return. The old man would not return for another eight years.
Most of Calso’s time in the next few years was consumed by his studying. He tried to take his mind off the fact that his grandfather was not there, and thus delved deeply into any book he could get ahold of. Fortunately, his grandparents owned quite a collection. If he could not study, he would go into the woods near his grandparents’ house and sit for hours in a meditated state.
When Calso was ten he met his older cousin Hassa, a martial artist, for the first time. The two were quite a pair, one more physically powerful and the other more mentally skilled. Calso’s cousin visited several times over the next three years, but the visits suddenly stopped when Calso was thirteen. Calso’s grandmother seemed to know something about Hassa’s absence, but never disclosed to Calso what exactly had happened. One of Calso’s goals is to find his cousin again.
A few weeks after Calso’s fifteenth birthday, his grandfather returned carrying a strange book. Calso was amazed to find that the book was a compilation of the works of the Dreamer tribe, a tribe that he and his grandparents were descended from.
“And you, Calso, have the gift of our people, as inferred from your odd eye color. You are one of the few who can still use the things in this book! Just think of the possibilities!” Calso’s grandfather had exclaimed before coughing heavily and collapsing on the floor; even as his grandfather had returned, all was not well for Calso.
In his travels, Calso’s grandfather had caught a rare sickness that was often referred to as “Mourning Glory.” The sickness inflicted terrible fever and convulsions (and also a bad cough, but that would be the least of the victim’s worries), but sadly, the victims would almost never die until nearly two painful years after affliction. Calso leaned close to his grandfather on his sickbed as the old man attempted to speak. But it was his grandmother who spoke.
“Now Calso, your grandfather is sick. I’ll stay here and watch over him…but you must go find someone who has a cure for him. There’s an herb…called propagda grass. Find someone who can mix up a medicine with this herb and it should cure your grandfather. Take that book, use it, and meet people who can help you. Be friendly, pay attention to things, and don’t wander around at night.”
A glance passed between the old man and woman. Both of Calso’s grandparents knew something he did not.
Calso had never been to the city, only heard about it from his cousin. But he was determined to save his grandfather. Thus, Calso Monsen, the self-pupil of the Dreamer tribe’s knowledge, departed for his journey.
Previous RP's You've Participated In:
Phoenix Knights Roleplay
Konpaku Roleplay
Approved by: V13 Virus
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Aug 19, 2004 1:20 am
Mercedes Name: Mercedes Angelique St. Croix- d'Aubigny Age: 26 Race: Half-Elf Hair: Platinum white-blonde Eyes: Blue Blood: O+ Height: 5' 6 Weight: 130 lbs. Origin: Western Avalana Class: Sage of Darkness Personality: Mercedes is a quiet and cold woman. She thirsts for vengeance against anyone who might have possibly wronged her in any way. Murder comes easy to her and she will not hesitate to take a life. Greedy is another word that can be used to describe her. She is a master manipulator and has an aristocratic air about her. History: Mercedes is the result of an affair between Yves Jean d'Aubigny and Cecile Lucia St. Croix, an Elven noblewoman of questionable character. From her birth, Mercedes had been ridiculed and put down, considered less than nobility even though she was born with the blood of two very noble families running through her veins. Either way, she was still brought up by her mother and taught the ways and mannerisms of being a noblewoman. Mercedes had to fight tooth and nail to get every jewel, every silk gown, everything she ever owned was hard-earned and she is not known for her charity. This only intensified when d'Aubigny denied paternity and her grandfather St. Croix cut her out of his inheritance, instead sending her share to her mother's new husband, Francois de la Fir. De la Fir denied Mercedes damn near everything and in an effort to seperate the beautiful Cecile from Mercedes, bribed her. It worked and it didn't take long for Cecile to start to despise her b*****d daughter. When Cecile gave birth to de la Fir's son, Percival, she practically forgot all about Mercedes. Mercedes was only 7 years old when Percival was born but she was young enough to know how to hate. Her mother and step-father fawned over every little thing Percy did and Mercedes became wasted space to them. A party was thrown when he said his first words and another when he took his first steps. It made Mercedes sick with envy and her hate and anger grew. Finally, on Percy's 2nd birthday, Cecile put him down for an afternoon nap and went to rejoin the party guests. She was too busy to notice her daughter sneak into the nursery and too far away to hear the muffled cries of her son being smothered to death. All she knew was that when she returned to the nursery to wake him, he was dead in his crib. The de la Fir house fell into despair and sadness for many months until it was announced that Cecile was with child again. This time, Cecile bore a girl and named her Angelique because she reminded Cecile of a little angel. Mercedes was deeply hurt by this and told her mother that Angelique was her name and not her baby's sister's. Cecile merely told Mercedes that her baby sister was more deserving of the name. Needless to say, baby Angelique met the same fate as her elder brother at the hands of her vengeful elder sister. The cycle repeated itself twice more, further gauging the psyches of all involved. No one had ever caught Mercedes in the act but it was whispered among the servants that she was the reason behind the infant deaths that plagued the de la Fir household. When had started out as revenge on her siblings for taking her mother's affections from her became the ultimate punishment for forsaking her daughter. Francois finally had enough and deemed Cecile an unfit mother, divorcing her and casting her out of his house. At the age of 12, Mercedes went out with her mother and slew her at her first chance. As if it were a cruel twist of fate, a Dark mage just happened by as she took her mother's life. The man was impressed and extended his jewelled hand to her- offering her a chance at revenge against all who had wronged her. Mercedes considered it and within a short time became a faithful student of Darkness, coming to reside in the City of Darkness, known as Lumina. The power of the Dark came easy to her and she excelled quickly due to her hate, anger, and the blood already on her hands. The fateful day came 10 years later, when she turned up on de la Fir's doorstep and slaughtered him and every last de la Fir around. Mercedes even slew the servants of the houses. All of his sellable goods and valuables were either kept or sold by her. The de la Fir manor was razed to the ground. All the local townsfolk knew was that one day there was a large manor on a hill and the next morning it was gone. Mercedes wasn't through yet. The St. Croix family was next on her hit list. They too, didn't last very long and suffered the same agonizing fate as the de la Fir family. Now, all that is left to avenge is the family of her dear father, Lord Yves Jean d'Aubigny. Goals: To destroy the House of d'Aubigny utterly as vengeance for creating her and her wretched existence. Mercedes also strives to become the Avatar of Darkness as a way to achieve ultimate power and to subconsciously prove her own worth to herself. RPs participated in: ~ Mercedes is an incarnation of Alcyone's. Approved by: Alcyone Teshigahara Sibyll Aelethe Username: Mercedes St. Croix Character name: Sibyll Delphi Aelethe Race: Elven- High Elf Age: 270 (Looks about 27) Gender: Female Height: Appears to be 5'10 Weight: Unknown Alignment: None Title: Spirit Warden, Avatar of Mystics, Mistress of Heaven, and other assorted names that she has been called over the years. Weapons: None except perhaps her staff with which she bops her subordinates over the head with occasionally. Origins: Northern Avalana in the secluded land of Sevrinya, the land within the river. Description: Sibyll is tall, lightly peach-skinned, and looks like your typical High Elf except for one thing- her eyes. They are milky white with not so much as a pupil or iris. People whisper that this a sure sign of her wisdom and enlightenment. Her her is long, down to the floor, platinum white with light pink and purple hints, and soft as silk. Her face is gently curved and there is a perpetual smile on her face that is said to calm even the most rabid of beasts. Sibyll is quite thin as well and tends to wear simple robes of white. She enjoys dancing so her movements are usually very graceful. Personality: Sibyll is by nature, a very gentle person, very empathic and very loving. Her very aura resonates with purity and peace, and tends to calm those around her. She is very helpful and is usually willing to dispense advice to anyone who asks. While it is rumored that Sibyll knows the fate of Gaia and all it's inhabitants, she reveals very little and merely tells people that they are silly to think that. Only her inner circle of mages know the truth and even at that, it isn't very much. All in all, Sibyll is a very mysterious, yet likeable young woman. History: Sibyll Delphi Aelethe was born to a family of High Elves that always looked to the stars, the astral world, the world of death, and all mysteries of Gaia. Their family was a warden to the secrets of their world and Sibyll was privileged enough to learn these secrets. She'd spend hours in her family's vast library, studying the numerous tomes of ancient wisdom, philosophy, astrology, and subjects of the like. She excelled at her family's craft and by the time she was 10, she had started penning her own tome about her lessons to add to her family's library. She completed it at the age of 13 and started working on another, this time theorizing the potential for using music to heal the soul in combination with herbal medicine. This one would take 10 years to complete but 10 years is a blink of an eye to an elf. Whatever she studied, she excelled in it and pioneered its study, delving deeper into the mysteries within the mystery. Her family was very proud of her and the prowess of the young Sibyll was admired by most elves. Many sought her hand in marriage but she did not find any of them to be her type. It was about this time that Sibyll's aunt, a High Elf with milky white eyes devoid of pupils, became deathly ill. There was nothing to be done and no medicine would work. She wasted away for a month before she finally passed away and her body reduced to ash. It should be noted that Sibyll's eyes were a sparkling emerald green at this time. She was a truly beautiful Elven maiden of 200 years old when in the course of one week, she was visited by each of the Elementals, each one whispering secrets of the world to her. During this week, her eyes got paler and paler. Her family wondered if she were sick and checked her thoroughly. Sibyll merely brushed aside their attentions and told them that all would be revealed when it was necessary. And she did reveal it after the final Elemental, Darkness, spoke to her. Her eyes were now completely white and devoid of a pupil. She announced to her family what had been happening and her family recognized it as a blessing from the Elementals. Apparently, one family member every generation recieved the blessing of the Elementals and was endowed with the secrets of the world. Almost overnight, she gained the respect of all who heard her speak. She spoke in forums and houses of learning for many years, traveling around Avalana. After 10 years of this, she resigned herself to her family's tower, the Tower of Sevrinya on the island in the river. When she was about 260, she started gathering a group of mages together, each representing a different element with some special ones in the mix. It would take her ten years to complete her circle but 10 years was enough. During this time, she also met 3 young human women who quickly became her friends. The adventurous and estranged Countess Espa Monroe, the young Marquisa Joaquina de Almeida, and the insane mind sorceress Ranshin Kuruijini of the East. These young women were very influential on Sibyll and helped her understand how humans are. She even started to write a book "Three Souls" about them and the things she learned about them. Today, her name commands respect and many journey to the Tower of Sevrinya just to have her answer their questions and give them some small ray of hope. Sibyll's Circle:Light/Sun- Conrad Brightman Earth- Jake Mesa Air- Rhett Sorenson Water- Parker Sorenson Fire- Rymfire Crimsonstone Moon- Mick Brightman Star- Jack Brightman Darkness- Kasper Van Kroenen A note on Sibyll's magic: Sibyll is a Mystic, which means that she is favored by all 6 of the Elementals. Sometimes she has prophetic ability and sometimes she does not. Her power is in her wisdom which is sometimes painfully accurate. She is post-cognitive to an extent as well, able to recieve impressions from the past if she touches an object or person. She can hear and converse with the elemental spirits as well so she can get information from them about people, places, and goings-on in Gaia in general. When necessary, she can call upon the Elemental spirits to help her cast a spell or to help her defend herself but she only does this when her circle of mages fails her which is quite rare. A note on Sevrinya Tower- The Tower is located on an island (1 mile wide, 5 miles long) in the middle of the same river that runs through Laburnum. It is approximately 25 or so stories tall, 6 floors alone for the library and is home to the Great Library of Sevrinya, which contains almost every book ever penned or at least a copy of every book. It is here where the Aelethe family lives and collects wisdom. Approved by: Sey
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Aug 19, 2004 4:53 am
Name: Aasimar Ventrel Age: 29 Race: Human Gender: Male Height: 5'7" Weight: 142 Title: Scholar (Court Bard) Alignment: Air Origins: Europe (Western Gaia) Weapon(s): Aasimar is not a fighter and thus trys to avoid battle. When forced into it though, he will use anything available. He does not carry a weapon of any form or fashion most of the time, and will not use a book as a weapon. Description: Aasimar has somewhat of a 'cute nerd' look to him. His hair is short light brown hair and is often parted to the right and straight. Each strand seems to be placed almost perfectly, falling over his left eye but never goining near his right. His face is made up of smooth curves and has a few freckles adorning his left cheek. These form somewhat of a triangle shape, each almost symetrical with the next. Aasimar does not have good vision when it come's to seeing things close to him. While his vision from afar is decent, he will often be forced to wear reading glass's. These usually exist as a pair of small rimmed glass's, the rims black, that sit upon his nose. These do nothing more then magnify the words and took some time to get used to. Now though they do not bother him at all. His left ear lobe had a loop sticking through it, something his mother did when he was a child. This seems to go along with his fair skin tone, as do his light brown eyes. At times, mostly when traveling, there will be some subtle hair on his chin. This could be the beginning of a goatee. Yet when he is in a city Aasimar will keep this shaved. Thus, facial hair is rare. His facial features are somewhat plain, not really cute or ugly. Normally Aasimar will wear a blue long sleeved skirt, about a size too big for his form. With three button's goining down his neck so that it can be undone easier, this is mostly for comfort. It is far from uncommon for the scholar to wear a brown vest over this. With his favorite colors being blue and brown, his clothing choice's rarely change. More often then not his clothing will be as plain as he is. This is mostly due to his easily embarrased nature, which makes him subconsiously want to blend into the background. And this will normally work. For when one looks plain, peoples eye's tend to look over you. Very rarely, as in almost never, Aasimar will adorn fine clothing when preforming to a high ranking crowd. People tend to not pay attention if he wear's his normal attire, especially nobles, so he wears bright colored clothing in times like that. Of course, once he is done with his preformance, the bright clothing will come off and be replaced by his normal attire. His posture is very good for someone who is shy. Sometimes he must go as far as to force himself not to slouch. This is not to keep up an air of confidence like most, but instead just a self-consious thing. There is one thing that will never change about Aasimar, no matter where he is. There is always a bag slung over one shoulder to hold a few books. Being a scholar and bard Aasimar must keep up with the latest stories and legends. If he ran out of material then his source of income would vanish. Thus he will often be seen reading books of ancient heros and heroins. There have been a few people to say that they have seen him writing in a book of his own, a large tome like book with night blue binding and a brown cover. He usually does not comment on this. Personality: Aasimar is the easily embarrased type. With a very shy nature despite his profession, he normally trys to avoid being noticed. Often when someone tries to spark up conversation with him the scholar will all but run. Anything could come from his mouth to avoid a disaster, be it a random excuse or a flat out lie. He is not much for contact with other people. His mind is set in books and legends, and this alone chose his profession. If it were not for the need of a source of income Aasimar would probably never leave his home. Instead he would stay there and read his life away. Yet money is important, and he will travel to tell the legends of the past. He has somewhat trained his mind while he preforms. In this state of mind he will not get embarrased, and will not show his shy nature. Instead he will act like the most confident of bards. This is just an act though. As soon as the attention leaves his form the scholar will revert back to how he normally is. While attempts to be less self-consious have been made, almost all of them have ended in failure. There is a special group of people that the scholar can not help but talk to though. Heros of battle, legendary figures among the people. It is not at all uncommon for him to try and get their life story. Or at least a telling of the event that made them famous. Rarely is this for his own benefit in any way other then to provide him new material for his preformance. Often he will be extremely shy and reserved around such famous people. More often then not they will feel enough pity for this shy bard to tell him their story. Despite his often childish nature though, Aasimar is a very intelligent man. History: Aasimar does not have the greatest family lineage. While those on his mothers side held somewhat of a noble title, his father's appearance brought an end to some of their glory. Silvia Declove had been a young and upcoming noble lady. Her beauty and grace was far from legendary. In truth she was somewhat plain and very clumbsy. Few men wished to court her for this as her sister, Lenna, was much more beautiful. Men would fall about her sisters feet while dancing about her own. If this was not enough to cause resentment between the two then nothing could. They hated each other with a fiery passion, and this would be part of the reason for Silvia's disgrace. A man who could only be called a drifter would arrive upon their small amount of land. The local village, little more then a meager collection of house's, was among the first places he hit. A leacher by nature he passed from young women onward. Few excaped his cluths. For he was a handsome man, and women would fall unto his rougeish charms. Silvia's sister Lenna would be amongst these. Yet their father disapproved of this union and told the drifter, named Marcus Ventral, that is he laid a hand upon either daughter he would be beheaded. Yet this is where Silvia saw a chance to get at her sister. She was young and foolish, not recognizing the danger of the stunt she pulled. Under cover of night she would sneak off the family estate to meet with Marcus. Upon this meetings end she would return home, and Marcus would flee the land. His concerns were founded as well, and his trick a success, Silvia now bore a child. In tears she would confess to her sister, completely forgetting the trick had been meant to harm her. Thus it would be that a vindictive Lenna would tell their father. Though he loved both his daughters, such a disgrace could not be allowed. Silvia would be sent to live with her aunt in Laburnum city. She was given some money to tide her over, but it would not be enough. It would fall upon her aunt Marie to take care of the young girl through her pregnancy. Nine months would pass quickly. Marie's occupation as a white mage, studying at the light temple, would tide them over. The church seemed to understand what was goining on. Through the many freinds and ties that Marie held within the temple, Silvia's child received many blessings. Indeed, when he was born, it was a white mage of the temple who delivered him. Perfectly healthy through use of the blessings, Marcus's child had been born. Yet no matter how hard Silvia sought to find the drifter he could not be found. She felt no love for him, no, it had only been a horrible trick upon her older sister. Yet work would eventually reach her of the drifters fate. Slain by bandits shortly after leaving her village, he would not be there to care for his child. This left it upon Silvia and Marie to raise the boy to be a fine man, and indeed they made the best attempt possible. By the age of five Aasimar was a very accomplished student. While his mind had not developed into excessive intelligence, he responded well to Marie's lessons. Silvia would take up a job at a local seamstress, leaving Aasimar to tail his aunt around the light temple all day. While Marie, now an accomplished white mage, would teach the newer aclyotes she would teach Aasimar as well. He never responded well to the stories of Falis, nor to the art of white magic. Instead he took great intereast in the stories of the past and the library offered by the temple. Over the years his reading ability would grow profoundly. At the age of seven he was able to read entire book's in one short sitting. This filled his head with legends and stories of the past. Basically a walking store-house of knowledge, he was very well liked within the temple. Only a few really knew of him though, most did not notice Marie's young nephew. Yet this wonderful time would end only a few weeks after his tenth birthday. Marie had taken ill, her illness thought to be an off-spring of the plauge. She had no children, no husband, only her two family members. Yet it would be Aasimar who stood beside her bed crying like a son. He would be the one to hear her final compliments to him as she passed on into the next word. It would be an hour before Silvia would take off of work early to come tend to her aunt, only to find Aasimar sitting there looking at the body. It would be after this that his lesson's slowed down. For almost a year he fell into a slump that seemed impossible to come out of. Rarely, if ever, would he leave their home upon the main street of Laburnum. The few times he did leave would be to buy something in the market for his mother, or to borrow another book from the temple libary. They knew him there, and Marie had been a great preistess. Thus the youth was allowed to roam about as he will so long as he did not disrupt the temples daily activitys. Over time the wound's made by his great-aunts death would heal. Yet each year on the third of march he will remember her, and feel sorrow. Yet it will not bother him as much as it did when he was a child. Yet disaster would not stop there, instead it would wait till he was old enough to care for himself. At the age of 19 Aasimar had taken on a job as a local entertainer. His nature, developed through years of lonely reading and study, would be put to the test. To tell the stories of the past before an audience that found intereast in violence and glory. Yet he would not make edits to the stories. Instead he would emphasis diffrent parts that seemed to catch their attention more. At this point he only preformed in taverns and inns, thus the money was not that great. Most of his income came from the money enthusastic fans would throw into a bowl he left sitting before him. This was not as welcomed as the music and dancers, but some people found a soothing inclination within that soft voice that spoke of past legends. His career as a bar preformer would be ended for a time with his mothers death though. It came swift, only lasting one day. She had been injured by a horse gone wild. It had struck out wildly, catching her in the head with one of it's metal shoes. The handler was quick to take her into care and send word to Aasimar. But when he arrived it was too late, she had bled to death. Healers from the temple, freinds and students of Marie, had arrived too late. Silvia was now gone, thus leaving Aasimar alone within the world. He would take this well though. He was more mature then he had been when Marie died. While not too great in the lesson's of the world, he would learn self preservation skills as time went. With his mother's death he would rent out their home in Laburnum. All it took was finding a good person to take care of the home, and then forge a deal to let him stay whenever he wanted. The man who rented his home quickly accepted the low cost. With this task completed Aasimar would take it upon himself to travel. He would be seen in many place's across the continent. Everywhere from Laburnum to Cameliard have been involved in his travels. In each place he would continue to preform, mastering his craft of storyteller. In each place he would further learn ancient legends and lore. Being from the West, his time spent in the East would be a great learning experience. Before then he had known nothing of the legend's of powerful Shogan's and Warlords. Each new legend would be quickly assimilated into his knowledge and craft. Each would be something new to tell the mass's. In truth it would be within the west that he would begin preforming for higher courts. In that area of the world they reveled in the legend's of the ancestors. Thus it would be that he would preform for nobles as well as commoners. From the lowest court to the highest, his fame would spread across the east. Spoken of as an accomplished keeper of ancient lore, and as a wonderfully gifted bard, upon his return to the West he would be once more taken into the yolks of Royalty. His preformance was not only wanted, but in some places demanded. The noble's of the West were not as honorable as those of the East, and thus they would sometimes stoop to lows to get him to preform for them. Most would be unimpressed by his first hand apprearance. But then he would adorn his preformance clothing, and amaze the audience with tale's of legendary men and women. Many would be impressed, and his fame would spread. His fame is not that which make's people talk to him in the streets. No, most expect a man of handsome nature and fine clothing. They would not suspect such a plain figure to be the accomplished bard. Yet he is, and any who see him preform in his 'high-chant' would agree with this. Previous RP's You've Participated In:Grand Battle The Broken City Players and PeicesWorld of Gaia V.1 Approved by: Alcyone
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Aug 19, 2004 10:18 am
Name: Ookami Ogatai (( written japanese style- First name Ogatai ))
Age: 17
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Height: 5'12
Weight: 189
Title: Samurai
Alignment: Dark
Weapon(s): Akuma-This pearl white naginata seems to be made of bone. He found this weapon that at first sight may seem like an easily breakable ornamental weapon but if you would like to see why this weapon belongs to none other than to Ogatai then just challenge him. For it is said that this weapon was carved from the very bones of the devil dragon Oniryuu... Ryuuou-This katana is simple and strong, a bit oversized but only a little. The hilt is wrapped with leather instead of the traditional cloth for better gripping... Kunai- Regular ninja kunai to throw at his enemys from afar. Some times implemented with an edge made of a special rock that when rubbed with another kunai sparks out so that he may quickly have a means to start a fire in any kind of situation.
Origins: Eastern Gaia
Description: The way my ava looks- Dark black hair that sways to the front with firey eyes that at first look it would seem they might light the very darkness of night. He has a leathery black jump suit with ninja pants that tie in and tuck under his shoes with a headband that keeps his hair up.
Personality: Moody, kinda up tight but can loosen up sometimes. Dedicated to his cause, very respectfull. In a fight he will not give up till his opponents are dead or until he dies. Hes quiet, too shy to make friends but if someone looks to make a new friend with him he accepts.
History: As a young child at the age of 10, he was raised in a small town in eastern Gaia. Since he was small his father trained he and his brother in the arts of the samurai. He always trained vigorously for his brother, the same age as he, always sought appraisal for his skills from everyone he met. He later taught his brother the way of the warrior as they left their home town at the age of 15 when the war between the eastern and western lands broke out. They left heading to serve under some one and came upon two warring clans. They went their seperate ways split by their beliefs of what is best for the states these two Daimyos reigned over. His clan was defeated when his brother was given a small army. His brother flanked his unit along with his masters and Ogatai failed in not only protecting his master but in his cause. Thrusted into depression he wonders the lands feeling unworthy and untrustworthy of a new leader going by as an aimless ronin.
When he saw his people getting slaughtered in a small skirmish between the eastern and western armies he was changed... Now he has decided he will arise from the darkness to make a difference... he will prove himself in this war of darkness against these Idiotic westerners..
Previous RP's You've Participated In: Have fought for the Ishin Shishi against the Shinsengumi.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Aug 19, 2004 1:56 pm
Name: Suupi
Age: 17
Race: Poring
Gender: Asexual
Height: 1’3”
Weight: 23 lbs.
Title: Initiate of Light
Alignment: Light
Weapon(s): A really painful nag bite.
Origins: Eastern Gaia
Description: Suupi is a small, somewhat spherical ball of slime. It’s pink with faint white streaks running through its body, while two beady eyes sit above an angelically smiling little mouth. Despite the slimy nature of Suupi, it doesn’t leave much of a mess behind at all, and is quite safe to handle without becoming a mess, unless it so otherwise chooses. Due to its non-messiness, it could even be classified as cute.
Personality: Suupi is generally lazy. If it can avoid working for anything it needs, it does so. As an average practice, it pretends it’s a stupid animal and pretends to be a pet so others will feed it while it doesn’t have to lift a ‘finger’. In fact, Suupi is quite intelligent, and capable of speaking in English and Japanese- he just doesn’t let anyone know. If he did, it would ruin his entire gig. Despite this it does create lasting bonds through his acting, and cares for those around him. If its hand is forced, it will come to the aid of those around him to its best capability using light magic. For all of its laziness and freeloading, it does have a sense of duty and honor and morality- just not necessarily as humans perceive it.
History: Suupi, begotten of Piapi, begotten of Maopi, begotten of Xiapi, begotten of Norpi, begotten of Suupi (Sr.), begotten of Caopi, begotten of Chupi, begotten of Renpi, begotten of Luupi, begotten of Tir-Linpi (Subjugator of the vermin hordes), begotten of Mipi, begotten of Kajo (Mipi and Kajo had a falling out and the surname had been changed, creating a feud that lasted until the times of Norpi), begotten of Maojo, begotten of Lijo, begotten of Crajo, begotten of Tanjo, and so on, so forth, was born a normal Poring, bright eyed and ready for the world at large, armed with what knowledge he needed to survive and nothing else.
Suupi lived in a barrow along with his father, grandfather, great grandfather, and about thirteen brothers/uncles/cousins. This barrow happened to be located in a small Poring community, and the days there were peaceful. He lived a happy life, collecting and gathering vegetables for his family. They even trained him to be a hunter (As Porings are good at hiding but not sneaking, and have somewhat limited weapon using abilities, Poring hunting consists of dropping from trees and spitting stones. It’s hard work, but highly respected among them), and his skill was good enough that he would enter annual rock spitting contests. He won occasionally, too.
Not all good things last however. By the end of his third year, tragedy struck his home. A band of misinformed mages struck out at them, hoping to capture the Porings for use in their experiments, as Porings are rumored to be quite good for magic resonation. The community was ripped asunder by their unexpected attack, and few Porings escaped, including Suupi, who stunned the mage in his way by pelting him with a rock in the forehead. Lost and alone, he wandered through the wilderness sadly, resentment in his heart (Of course, little did he know that the mages, once they found out the Porings were sapient magic users, freed them and apologized for their actions).
It turns out that his skills were quite handy for living alone, as he had plenty to eat, and needed relatively little shelter. Years melted by in solitude, a simple life returning quickly, as he forged his own living. Things changed, one night, when he was overcome with an urge, and he split to beget his first child. He had reached five years of age, and the time for procreation had arrived. He named his new child Reipi, and the two of them began to build.
Working together, Suupi and his son began to create a small village out of their environment, attracting new Porings to the area from remnants of other villages, or those with wanderlust, those needing their space from family. Soon, they had created a respectable Poring community, and Suupi became the Elder, guiding what little the village needed guiding on. Suupi had come to the realization that he wanted to do something great while he ‘reigned’, and thought long and hard on how he could leave his mark. A plan began to form, and over the next few years, his project came into being.
A temple of light was created, but it was not a simple place. Poring buildings integrate from nature heavily, and so one could pass it without realizing it was there, but a combination of caves, carefully used jade in trees, and loving pruning of plants made an expansive and grand cathedral that if you stood just right would take your breath away, and in a step disappear from sight. As the place was built, Suupi trained under the priests, learning the ways of light. During this time, his second son was created, Ropi.
Not all things last. Suupi began to feel wanderlust, a common affliction among his people. He quietly left after bidding his sons farewell one night, not knowing if he’d ever return to his village or the chapel of light. The time spent wandering from then to the present day was certainly eventful, full of misadventure, and certainly quite interesting, but not much can be said aside from he picked up quite a bit of worldliness from the efforts.
Not long ago, however, he had been wandering along when he stumbled into the path of a young human girl. Like so many of his race, he had adopted the dumb animal routine, and stared at her with the innocent eyes. And she gave him candy! Ever since, he’s been following her, and she keeps feeding him. He rather enjoys the set up, and figures he’ll leave Alana whenever he feels like it- just not right now. Or tomorrow.
About Porings: The idea of Porings originates heavily from anime and games. They are referred to as different things in different series, and often have different attributes. In some, they are unintelligent, vicious creatures, while in others they are charming and fun loving; in some they are intelligent and wise. The following is a compilation of commonly listed traits to bring them into a usable race under one definition.
Physiology: Porings are typically about 8- 24 inches in diameter, and weigh from 6- 40 pounds. As they get older they keep growing, never truly stopping, and a heavy diet can create a Poring of truly epic proportions, rumors of Porings reaching five feet in diameter abounding. All Porings are asexual, and twice during their lifespan, once when they have reached about five years of age, and once about ten years of age, they split into two halves, the second one being a new Poring, fresh into the world. As the process shares heavily from its predecessor, Porings are often born much wiser than children of other species, though they still need to learn skills on their own. Porings also have diverse and subtle colorations and markings, and many of which signify special things, such as inherent abilities they possess, such as being able to separate their bodies, cast specific spells, etc. The received colors are a large mystery, even to Porings, as they are not necessarily those of the parent Poring (Suupi is a pink Poring, which is quite average. Pink Porings have no special skills. His white markings are merely decoration). Because of their physical makeup, Porings are somewhat fluid. While they cannot radically change their forms, they are somewhat malleable and capable of slipping into narrow cracks. They cannot create weapons from their forms, but they can deliver a nasty bite- they can apply plenty of pressure when the situation calls for it, leaving a bite mark much like a horse would. They also tend to surprise opponents by hurling themselves at them- they may be small but something that weighs twenty pounds being launched at your shin has a surprising tendency to hurt, especially when it decides it doesn’t want to be malleable. Porings do need to eat, and a lot. They simply absorb food, and secrete digestive acids onto it, which takes them around an hour to consume fully. It can be somewhat comical to watch them eat, as the food remains visible in their semi transparent bodies. Due to their form, physical attacks against them aren’t greatly effective unless they are complete- a sword stabbing one will make it just seal the wound, but a sword cutting it in half will hurt. A mace that hits it will leave a quickly disappearing mark unless it was hit hard enough to break it into bits. Even then, they are resilient, as they won’t be killed unless the largest piece is too small to be a proper Poring, or something burns it, or toasts it with magic. Porings have no natural lifespan known, but their curious nature tends to get them killed before they reach eighty.
Beliefs: Porings are heavily taught to be proper creatures, full of good and love. Very few are against these standards, and those that are tend to be hunted down by their brethren. As such, almost every single Poring encountered will be a Priest of Light, as the healing virtues are harmonic with their existence. Their physiology makes them very inept at being anything but a Priest or Mage, so warrior types are unheard of among them. Occasionally they follow a different Element, unless it is Dark, which is abhorred by the race as a whole. Those few twisted members who follow that path are seen as the scum of their society. Beyond their class preferences, Porings are extremely loyal creatures. While they tend to be lazy, they will do almost anything if it’s asked by someone they care about. Generosity and hosting are traits that are highly values in Poring society. For all of their good, though, they do have downfalls. Their concept of property is somewhat vague and nearly incomprehensible, even to themselves. Among their own kind, it’s generally not a problem- if someone takes something of yours and you want it, go take it back. Among humans, it creates problems. Porings understand the concept of thievery, and understand that it’s wrong, yet somehow they just can’t seem to find themselves caring when something shiny catches their eye. They want it, and they take. Luckily for them, most humans are ignorant of Porings and think they are stupid animals- they can often pretend to be just that and get away with many things. They have no problem exploiting this, as long as they don’t truly inconvenience someone. If they believe they are an unwelcome burden, they will often ‘run away’.
Society: Porings tend to congregate in small communities, where the oldest one presides as an elder. They are fiercely loyal to family (Generally because family is an extended part of themselves) and rarely argue among themselves. They speak their own language which comes out as a series of chirps and squeaks, accompanied by peculiar quivers and shakes. Among humans, it is perfect camouflage for their stupid animal routine. They often bother learning other languages, though, as they find it can come in handy to understand what is happening around them when not in their own company. When they do choose to speak to humans, they often confuse them with pronouns as they rarely refer to themselves as ‘its’, but freely flip back and forth between ‘he’ and ‘she’. Names are generally short and one word, with a suffix being denoted as a form of equivalent surname. Lineage is important to them, and when introducing themselves, they tend to list at least 15 predecessors, if they are in a hurry.
Approved By: Sey
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Sep 01, 2004 9:58 am
 Name: Kadoria Silvis Age: 19 Race: Human Gender: Female Height: 5' 1'' Weight: 115 lbs Title: Bard Alignment: Light Weapon(s): She doesn't carry much in the way of weaponary tho she always has on hand a few small daggers as well as a darkwood staff to dissuade overeager paramours and ruffians. One light tap with the staff is enough to knock some commons sense into all but the most dense of people. Tho she has been known to make a weapon if need be out of the oddest of items that were handy, not the least of which were a mirror, a gitar string, ground pepper (admittingly the guy had an allergy to pepper but it was amusing) Origins: West Description: Kadoria is one of those charming beautys you think are mere eye candy, all fluff and no substance until you look into her jade green eyes which shimmer with the clever witted intelligence of a mind that would normally have been stuffed into a mage academy. That was until they heard her sing and play. Her ebony black hair flying about her animated face as she danced, the music literally coming alive around her. Her slender frame and delicate pale beauty at odds with the passion of her song coming forth from her throat, wether a gentle ballad or a lusty cant. Her appearance would be as if someone from the east with a getnle slant of eye, small build and beyond were it not for the piercingly intellifent jade green eyes and overly pale skin. She can at times she can go into a trance like state where her song compostiitons are almost unearthly. Ruining one of these trances can bring an almost shocking discordance upon the disturber as if to shatter his will. Personality: She is a bit of a dual personality, she at first appearances appears rather meek and mild, remember window dressing. But get her in a subject she is passionate about such as music or history and watch her eyes and body come alive as she animatedly talks of them for hours on end. She is loyal to a fault if she finds someone worthy of her trust. She is a bit wary of warriors and the like, tho she will often be escorted by one who is taken with her and wants to sepnd time with her. She however isn't very free with her favors and treats each new friend cautiously until she is certain of them. Once she is a bit more comfortable her fun side comes out and she isn't above practical jokes on her friends. She loves riddles and puzzles as well as understanding people in general. She tends to fight for the underdog but she has to believe in the cause and is far from the decent fighter tho she will fight if something she cherishes is threatened such as friends or a cause she believes in. She will go out of her way to help if at all possible tho if a child is involved. She is extremely charasmatic when she chooses to be but the choice as it should remains with her and her judgement. History: Kadoria was the typical light of her family and village's life. Raised by her five older brothers after her mother died giving birth to her, her father died of a broken heart. She cared ie cooked and cleaned for her brothers while they kept the family going with their various skills. Kadoria was also found to have the blessing of music with her and she was taught the skills that did not come easily to her such as intrument creation etc. Hoping one day as most young girls of her village, who did not marry to go and learn to be a mage, putting music behind her as all childish things must be put away. For her village needed a mage as the one they had currently was dying slowly. Her bright and mischevious nature was the light in her brothers lives until her 12th birthday. She was embarrassed by her moonflow and went to see the village herbalist and healer to see what was wrong with her body. On the way there she was stopped by a traveling troupe of minstrals, one of whom saw her gitar on her back and her voice lifting over the meadow as she walked. Entranced with her voice and already blooming beauty he decided he must have her for himself as his apprentice and lover. She fought him but was overcome. He kept her captive for several years, refining her skill even as he used her body against her will. Finally she began to improve beyond even his teaching and he grew jealous, beating her within an inch of her life and dumping her by the side of the road. She was found by a traveler who brought her to the Temple of light,where she spent several months in a sorta almost fanatical trance,tho it was musical in origin, someone taking down the lyrics and music as she sung them, never fully aware of anything around her. When Kadoria finally awoke,she was tended as best as possible and stayed several more years at the temple, playing for the people there till finally she was strong enough to leave on her own to seek her home, tho she no longer remembered it's name only trying to find some purpose, perhaps some friends but even so a bit of peace within herself. Her past life like bit of a long forgotten song that only the basic tune is remembered. Previous RP's You've Participated In: Levkit (private Guild) I have also misc. RP'd with themightyjello (Josh), Heavensong (Nye) who have said they would vouch for me Approved by: Sey
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Sep 01, 2004 11:26 pm
((Used...because apparently, I do ownz you all xd ))
Username: Vahn The Devil
Hume Name: Vahn LeCroix
Elven Name:Maeglin Eledwhen
Age: 18
Race: Half Elf
Gender: Male
Height: 173 Centimeters
Weight: 169
Title: Shadow Lost
Alignment: Elemental Spirit of the Flames
Weapon(s): A curved, ebony handled dagger within a strap on his thigh. Upon its handle, it bears the crest of the Eledwhen household. He also wields a custom partisan pole-arm, as his mainstay weapon.
Origins: Western Plains of Gaia, the once reknowned Kingdom of Zelandria.
Description: A melancholy pretty boy, with a girlish face to boot. He had brown, shaggy like hair. A slender build, that underlined his strength, prowess and aptitude to succeed. He doesn’t sport the trademark ears or grace of an elf, but the blood runs through him. Upon his left arm, the tribal-like tattoo of the Eledwhen household. He tends to wear lightl leather reignments, giving him more freedom of movement as well as speed.
Personality: Sometimes described as having ice water in his veins, most people just confuse this with him just being extremely laid back. His mood actually changes from day to day. He’s a seemingly pretty liberal young Westerner, trying to make his way to Knighthood, with his best friends Victor and Dohwa. True to his name, this LeCroix has an explosive personality. He is tenacious and fierce in his training and fights, always on an emotional guard and ever alert. Despite his outer gruffness, he is highly loyal, ferociously defending those lucky enough to be befriended by him. He is a dangerous foe and a powerful ally. Never second guessing anything, he can often be reckless, plunging ahead, a sort of 'I know what I'm doing, so shut the hell up.' attitude. He also tends to have a large weakness in the form of any alcohol. He'll literally mellow out, and be the biggest dope and do things he normally would not do, or say, when sober.
History: He was born, it seems, with an enormous weight on his shoulders from the outset. He, he'd hear whispered in the great halls, would become the embodiment of his parent's union. From his first memories, only boredom haunted Vahn's dreams as he listlessly endured hours of tutors and lessons of histories that half his blood cared little for twice the time. His mannerisms were carefully monitored, admired and admonished by turn, sometimes in the same breath. He grew in the light of his mother, sometimes fearing the shadow of his father where his mirror image lurked with the same carefree and combat spirited eyes.
It had been a dull day, dragged on byt the listless heat, which two boys had saught refuge from, as they made their way through a small undergrowth of greenery. The two boys knew of each other quite well, having the summer of youth with which to indulge in play far from shadow and light where only the two existed. Victor had been adopted by the LeCroix family, being orphaned due to the old war.
"Learn anything worthwhile today?" Victor grinned darkly, amused and jealous that his friend's position might exceed his own despite being assured their status as Paiges was equal. The two spoke little of their days of training, one in mind, the other in strength as had been for as long as either could remember. Vahn demurred, ill content that he couldn't learn to wield a sword as well as his friend or learn how to create strength from mere emotion when it came to an exchange of lessons.
"Not in school," Vahn returned, poking at the ground with short stabs from a stick that had been in his path. He'd picked it up with little thought for it other than he could swing and stab with it, unconsciously displaying his desire to learn swordplay. He dared not ask Victor what he'd learned, especially from the first time he'd seen Victor’s prowess grow strong enough to fell a full grown man when Vahn could not dare to hope to learn such things yet.
"So what didjya learn?" Victor asked again, nudging his friend slightly as the two walked down the oft-trodden path toward the cliff's edge. The sun, it seemed, had waited for their nearly daily walk before it began to slowly sink toward the water's edge were it would magically extinguish itself only to rise like a phoenix the next morning from the land opposite.
Vahn bit his lip, unsure as to how to explain what had occurred in his schooling that day since he did not understand it himself. He stopped before they reached the clearing from which they could feel the salty spray lightly coat their skin as they merely stood looking out to sea.
"Lady Cita visited my Mother again today," he started. He glanced up at his friend to see the same look of consternation cross his friend's features as had crossed his own earlier that day.
The Lady in question had entered the boys' lives a scant two years previous, although her few visits rarely included more than a token introduction to whichever boy happened to be close by as was befitting societal standards. Each time she had visited, his mother would sink into a ... haze of her own, uncomforted by word from either son or her husband. The visits, they'd noted long ago, seemed to have a similar effect on Vahn’s father as well, although his disposition often favored barely contained rage and agitation. Neither parent had bothered to divulge why such visits were so upsetting, let alone why the Lady had never been permitted to speak to either boy without the strict observation of at least one parent.
That morning, Vahn had come across the Lady in the garden when she'd been on her way inside.
"Did she say anything to you?" Victor prodded, eager at news of the only discord in the steady pulse of their lives as a visit from Lady Cita. He turned his ‘brother’ toward him as if seeing the other's expression would enliven whatever tale Vahn would impart.
"She told me a story," Vahn started, suddenly feeling a chill in the air that hadn't come from the warm air by the sea. His eyes found his ‘brothers’ and the older couldn't help but see the imploration in them, as if asking for salvation from the tale. When seconds passed, Vahn glanced at the ground, but he began his tale, reciting to his brother what he would later recount alone while standing in the dark ruins of his father's castle where no mortal dwelled any longer. He told the tale as if he'd been there himself, and as his father's son, perhaps part of him had and the retained knowledge helped him visualize the horrors he'd never witnessed.
"The sky was red," Vahn started, his eyes softening until his mind's eye opened the door to the tale that had haunted him all day. "Lady Cita said it was red because it was full of the blood of devils..."
Dark warmth had permeated the earth, giving rise to the foulest of stenches that came from the rotted blood of demon and mortal alike. Along the horizon, sprawling hills and valleys had formed from the gored bodies of the deceased, tossed aside and piled so the living could fight upon their spilled blood. The sounds of swords had drowned out the sounds of nature that even the howling wind couldn’t be heard above the clash of metal against metal and the harsh cries sprung from the battle impassioned and the dying.
Like some hungered wolf, the Elven Knight, Elessar Eledwhen, who had betrayed his own King for the sake of a woman of men, directed those under his command to their deaths with the promise of freedom. He had stood that day, the chains that he had broken free of, swinging loosely about him like a trophy, remembering how many had been killed before and certain more would follow should he not achieve victory quickly. At the newest howls that rose in the night like a child's cry of life, Elessar’s own battle cry sounded and those closest to him responded in like, following their commander to victory or death. Perhaps in his service, they were the same.
In unison, his men drew free their weapons and their hearts pounded as wildly as the hooves of the terrified animals that carried them into war. It was toward the middle of the battleground that Elessar sought to achieve when he spotted his old master cutting a swath through his soldiers. Leaping high into the air, Elessar flew at the Elven King, knocking them both to the ground before either could skewer the other. Elessar had rolled over, gaining his feet quickly and fought Elanessë while their charges fought around them.
The sound of their battle wasn't particularly different than those around them, yet soon fights slowly tapered and the two sides faced each other, growls and taunts flung at each other while they watched their masters fight. Like opposing packs snapping at the other over a piece of carrion that probably wasn't fit for either, their cries grew loud as the battle raged on. Elanessë’s longer sword managed to catch Elessar every so often, though not enough to cause substantial damage while Elessar’s attacks seemed to slowly chip away at Elanessë 's patience, if not his defense.
The two slowly lost all semblance of any grace their race held, fighting like two demons. Mud splattered both elves until thick congealed clumps of mud and blood peppered them both. Had Elessar time to think, he might have thought of how similar they looked covered in the mingled blood of the deceased.
The sun had started to sink beneath the horizon, warning of impending dark when a cry of triumph sounded in the dismal air. Each side fell quiet as they regarded the winner, sword raised high in the air while the blood from his wounds coursed over his skin. The other hand rose and offered the brightly shining sword the very essence of his spirit, the elemental flames. The two mated in a blinding shock of red mingled with black and soon the blood-spattered sword came to ‘life’.
Thick liquid ropes of blood or some other essence rose to claim the sword's edge. It built and the energy compounded upon its surface was enough to force its owner to grasp it with both hands simply to keep balance. Part of the substance shifted and Elessar sliced downward with it, watching in fascination as the edge grew as long as a lance and sharp enough to cleave Elanessë 's crown from the shell of his body. He drew the weapon sideways, marveling at the way the blade manipulated its shape into an axe-like shape that cut the air before the men who stood almost too close. He finished the arc by raising it to the dark heavens again, where it stood as a testament to the blood that had been spilled by forcing that very blood into the weapon of victory.
Elessar’s voice rang long and loud into the red twilight, new owner to a fashioned sword that was known as Balmung. Thus, the war of men and elves had come to a close.
"The weapon was said to have been destroyed to prevent anyone from gaining its power," Vahn commented, his mind still fixed on the visions that Lady Cita's tale had invoked. "Yet she said the weapon is here and soon it will create peace when the skies turn red once more."
"That’s..."
That's...
That...
"That's so impossible, he said," Vahn whispered. Child himself, he could barely bring himself to believe the tale told by one he suspected as a witch and a seer. He closed his eyes at the memory, feeling another pang of loss strike him as forcefully as had occurred when he'd caught sight of his father's castle less than an hour previous. "There wasn't a lot of things Victor ever said were impossible, you know," he told the walls as his steps plunged him deeper into the past and closer to whatever it was that he had come for. The walls returned the words to him, mangled and unintelligible as walls have a tendency to do. A trait that made them the best and worst for lonely conversation, Vahn reflected.
He glanced at the many portraits that had once adorned the walls, some missing, some destroyed, some worn to the point that the sitter had become wizened and decrepit. Humans and Elves, side by side for all eternity, rotting away in the company of the other while wars raged beyond the walls that had barely kept them alive. Or company in death at the very least, he amended as he caught a whiff of the decayed air that had claimed the castle.
At the twin staircases that split the floors above, Vahn regarded both curiously, trying to sense which direction to take. He had started up the north staircase that led into the various parlors where his mother enjoyed entertaining when a laugh caught his attention from behind the south staircase toward his father's various chambers. He turned in that direction, his heart thudding dully in his chest as he sought the source and found yet another memory.
He remembered how Victor had looked that day, covered in sweat and perhaps an equal amount of cobwebs as he finally wriggled free of the cramped space they'd discovered the previous year. Vahn had laughed at his brother until he saw the haggard way Victor had looked and how his body trembled, though certainly not from the few spiders that crawled over him.
"What happened?" Vahn, had asked when he was a boy. He'd asked because his brother never feared anything before. "What happened?" the man asked himself instead and he watched the stairs, half-closing his eyes and inviting the memory to surface.
"Nothing? No, it wasn't nothing. It was..."
"Nothing happened. Nothing."
"Stop lying," Vahn had pouted, crossing his arms as only he could in the presence of his brother alone. "You look --" afraid, he thought but wouldn't say. He watched in utter astonishment as his only pillar of strength - besides his intimidating father that was - fell to his knees, shuddering and gasping. Vahn's child mind had been frightened at the open display of anguish that was his copiously sobbing brother. Afraid, truly afraid, for the first time, Vahn stepped away from Victor as if the sorrow were contagious. Within seconds, guilt stabbed at him and he fell to his knees next to his brother. He absently wiped the webs from his brother's shoulder and roughly pulled him closer, holding him steady with his arms and his own fledgling strength while Victor's sobs wracked both their bodies. For the first time in their lives, Vahn had become Victor's pillar and Victor gratefully let loose the cries that welled from the surface of his soul.
Minutes that seemed like hours had passed before he tried speaking of what he'd saw; no, of what he had felt.
"There's something back there," he'd stuttered at long last, wiping at his tears angrily. He fell away from his brother, allowing a brief smile to cross his lips in thanks, and sat on the cold stone floor.
Vahn had regarded the slim door that was made up of part of the staircase. "That door doesn't go anywhere," Vahn replied dubiously. From the thin crack, he could discern nothing in the darkness, except, perhaps, the fancies of a frightened boy who wouldn't voice fear.
"I didn't ask you to believe me," Victor replied dourly, gaining his feet. He ruined the momentary bravado with a loud sniffle and wiped at his nose. "There's something back there. Or down there. Or close to there. It's too much, though. It's..." his breath caught as fear or something worse threatened to claim him again and instead he shook his head and kicked the slim door. It shut with a protesting bang before appearing as an almost discernable portion of wall. "You aren't to open that door ever again, do you understand me?" Victor's voice hardened and despite being the same height, he seemed to suddenly tower over his brother.
"Victor, it's just--"
"If you ever open that door, I'll know and I'll find you. Do you understand?"
The command didn't frighten Vahn as much as the fear behind the forced words. He didn't trust himself to answer and merely bobbed his head in agreement, knowing his wide eyes had to convey his acquiescence as well. Nevertheless, he spared the door one last glance, promising himself that one day he'd venture into the door with the cramped space that they couldn't quite seem to fit anymore to know what his brother had seen - it was barely fit to be called a closet. Not then, he knew. Whatever it was had badly frightened his brother enough for anger to be his words of protection.
Nearly 8 years later and oh, wonder, nothing's changed.
"Almost," Vahn amended out loud. He knelt and gingerly touched the worn lock that had been surreptitiously placed near the edge of the door. It gave a little at his touch, a protection spell that warned him by pricking his finger when he didn't move it right away. Obviously done by his mother, she had always prided herself on having been trained at the Temple of Light. He scowled at the small p***k, flicking the blood away while he pulled out a small vial of water. Uncorking the top, he carefully splashed some of the contents on the lock and listened to its almost silent howl of pain before it expired, clicking open quietly.
Something was down there, Victor had said in a frightened tone that had frightened Vahn as a boy himself. Indeed, two decades had nearly passed and the recollection gave Vahn shivers. He gazed up at the remainder of the blank staircase, remembering his brother, remembering their days of abandon and mild jealousy.
He remembered when Victor started teaching him to fight when no one else would, showing him techniques as he mastered them. He remembered learning moves for a sword that didn't exist, yet logging away the information because it was Victor who had taught him to. Victor who had shown him how to expand and employ his boundless energy in battle and Victor who had once said how much he admired how quickly Vahn learned.
"Show me," Vahn commanded at the wood paneling, suddenly feeling the sweep of elusive energy close at hand. A slight ripple showed across the false wood and Vahn drew himself up, raising his voice as his father had rarely done. "Show me!"
A series of clicks sounded and the wood paneling suddenly vanished to an inky pool of swirling liquid that beckoned Vahn closer. Without trepidation, Vahn crossed the threshold of the dark room, shuddering at the clammy feel that enveloped his body as he passed through the protection spell’s membrane. The feeling was one he hadn't gotten used to and probably one of the reasons that Victor had been as frightened if he got stuck partway between protection spells.
Once through the membrane, Vahn blinked rapidly. His body stiffened at the sense of danger close by and he cast about for an enemy only to find himself alone. The small dim room held a single piece of furniture in the form of a sitting couch, similar in style as the pieces in the smallest parlor. The faded black and grey marbled surface hadn't been sat upon in quite some time, Vahn noted. He glanced at the walls, seeing a battered crest on the far wall above and to the right of the couch. Small streaks of blood lay across its surface and Vahn instinctively knew it must have belonged to Elanessë. A single candle holder sat near the short couch, endlessly burning as it waited for a visitor to sit next to it and see... something other than the trophy behind the couch, which would be out of view.
Vahn glanced around again, seeing nothing else besides these two things and the dark wall he'd passed through, yet a presence seemed to flood the room, filling his nostrils with a taunt of blood and battle. It perturbed him to have found nothing more than his father's old trophy in an otherwise empty room. Frowning, he made his way to the couch and turned to sit upon it when his eyes saw what he couldn't see from the door, though he'd stood right next to it. He sat heavily, briefly thankful that the couch had caught him. He blinked rapidly, yet his vision never wavered.
Upon the wall next to the door sat a sword affixed to the wall by simple iron hooks that held it upright and its blade downward. He stared at the sword and it stared back at him. Its power was suddenly overpowering and Vahn gasped as he felt it reach for him, beckon him to take it in his hands and wield its power as his father had done so long ago. He resisted the impulse to claim the plain sword that had been the killer of elves and mortals alike. The sword had stolen part of his father's life in its creation, he understood. He could feel how it tapped into his own strength every so often and he mentally worked on reigning in his strength lest the sword draw too much from him.
Yet this sword was not whole, nor was it made like the weapon that Lady Cita had mentioned. Oh, but it could become whole again, Vahn realized. Something had been struck hard against this sword at one point in time and he could see in the shattered and marred metal staring at him that it only waited for something to make it whole once more. In his hands, he would wield its power and become its master even if it cost him his life. He would find a way to make the sword whole again and it would kill his enemies, mortal and elven alike, until he achieved his vengeance.
"Balmung," Vahn whispered as he rose. The sword seemed to balk and Vahn paused as he waited for the name to reach his warrior's heart. He strode quickly across the room and grasped the sword tightly in his hand. Flames briefly sparked from its surface and quickly subsided. Vahn triumphantly raised it to the false heaven of the dark room and spoke once more.
"Balmung," he murmured as he brought it closer for inspection. "Show me what you frightened my brother with that day. Show your master what secrets a boy wasn't ready for."
Pain claimed his body and Vahn fell to his knees. Memories and emotions coursed through him so fast that he fancied he'd already lost his mind. He fell back and howled loudly as his father had howled when the sword had first been forged of blood and battle. His mind screamed in agony as memories forged their way into his mind as if they'd always been there. He heard his father's mind weep in pain when his eyes could never shed the tears. He remembered everything the sword had seen since it had been created and every move to maximize its true form once it was whole.
Vahn opened his eyes to find himself kneeling before the simple crest of the LeCroix line, hidden behind the sword and the sword's scabbard. His father's crest. His crest. "Father," he croaked, stopping at the broken sound of his voice. He reached up and his trembling hand found a trail of tears down his cheek. "Father," he continued without shame. "Your sword has a new master. Your son has a mission and they will both see the end and victory."
Soon, he knew, a day would dawn where blood would be shed in the name of vengeance, if not true justice and before that day ended, he intended the blood to shine in the heavens as brightly as the day the sword had been born. Vahn, killer of mortals and demons alike, strode from the room with his head held aloft. Not since the great Knight Elessar had such a killer been set loose to make right what could only be corrected in the blood of so many.
By the time Vahn strode from the decayed Castle, the sun had already set in fear.
Previous RP's You've Participated In: N/A Er...Well. Ask Josh, Nye, Kat, Er..Alcyone, Yourself...XD. -waves- I'm back.
Approved by: Teh one and only Sey. BOOYA!!
Mistress Sey [ Sey's Comments: eek WOAH. This was.. woah. Wow. I can't... ._.; Wow. Really. This was just awesome xd I love it when histories turn into little stories... eheheheh XD :: glomps :: I approve this bio with much flourish and fanfare - such as it deserves :3
Theme song:
"Silhouettes"
silhouettes above the cradle hold me down
they won't let me go the wrong way
my mother taught me all the fables, told me how
in the end all the sinners have to pay
but...
i don't wanna live like my mother
i don't wanna let fear rule my life
and i don't wanna live like my father
i don't wanna give up before i die
he worked so hard his bones are breaking
he wore them down but long ago he lost the feeling
his good intentions leave me shaking, show me how
i don't ever want to end up like he did
and...
[chorus]
when i have kids
i won't put any chains on their wrists, i won't
i'll tell them this
there's nothing in this world that you can't be if you want it enough
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Sep 02, 2004 4:35 pm
Mammon - Imp - Dark Mage Name: Mammon Age: 27 Race: Imp Gender: Androgynous (Neither Male nor Female) Height: 2'1" Weight: 18 Title: Dark Elemental Mage Alignment: Dark Elemental Spirit Weapon(s): Mammon's claws are the imp's natural defensive weapon. Due to it's small size, to weild a large weapon would be far beyond it's physical capabilitys. To carry a weapon of smaller nature would be heavy for it. Thus the Imp uses his natural weapons. These claws are somewhat razor sharp, extending three inchs from the tips of it's fingers. They end in sharp little points. While they are not very deadly, more of an annoyance really, they can be a bit deadly in the right spot. Also, Mammon's teeth can be used as a weapon. These are an inch long, razor sharp to the point. They can be used to rip skin, though the imp does not like to use them in that fashion. Imp Racial Description Imps have a very questionable past related to their kind. Some have speculation that they live in the northern areas of the East. Even more people will speculate that they are creatures born of powerful acts of dark magic. Not on purpose, but little more then a product of this. Also the fact that most of them are very good theives or dark magic users. It is known that many of them have an affinity for the dark magic feild, as their potential in it is great. This is questionable as well. There are even some scattered remarks that they are children of the shadow, as in the children of the dark elemental diety. Few imps have come in contact with man, and they are usually related to minor demons. This is definetly not a way of good communication with the rest of Gaia. Almost all Imps, with a few exceptions, have sleek black or dark red skin that looks like leather but feels like silk. Their bodies are very small in size and weight, made up of sharp angular features. Many have a small pair of wings upon their back. These usually have the look as if flesh is clinging to the bone. While they are too small to attain flight, they can be used for the purpose of gliding. Most Imps will look alike in many ways. Other then the wings, they have faces that end in a pointed snout like that of a dog. These are where their teeth are located, goining outward down the lenght of their jaw. Their feet have four toes which end in sharp claws which are normally short. Yet their hands have five fingers, much like that of a human. Each will end in a long pointed claw that is quite sharp, though not exceptionally deadly. Often Imps will possess a whip-like tail that extends out of their lower back. These usually end in a soft point. They have the ability to move this tail as they please, almost like a monkey of sorts. Imps do not possess the sex organs of either gender. The fact that they are androgynous is another support to the theory of their being a product of magic. Another detail is their vocal structure. This forces whatever words they speak to come out like an animalistic growl, something that is very hard to understand for some people. Among their own kind though an imp can function with mostly body language, forsaking the ability to speak. There have even been a few scattered cases where a mage will adopt an Imp as his or her familar. While this has been known to happen, it is most common amongst the dark mages. It is a common beleif amongst some of that occupation that an imp could be used to enhance their own power. As a familar, these creatures are beleived to have the ability to give some of their energy to the mage they connect with. This usually exists as a form of pyschic connection that allows the mage control over the flows of energy coming from the imp. An Imp must agree to this connection for it to happen. This is rare as the mage will then be able to control wether the imp can cast magic of not. Thus, there is not any way an Imp could betray its master through magic. Despite their secretive and slightly hostile nature, as well as a repuation as tricksters, they are forced to be faithful to a master. There is some minor speculation that an Imp familar and it's master could hold a form of telepath connection with each other. This has never really been proven either though. Another factor that makes this race a general mystery. Origins: Questionable -Check Imp Racial Description for Details-Description: Mammon has inherited most of the features unique to the imp's race. It's skin, which clings tightly to bone, is ebony black. Every inch of it has the look of hardened leather but upon touch is quite soft. This imp is tiny even for it's race, forced to battle for supremecy with creatures that are small to humanity. The Imp's face holds the unique bone structure to it that resembles that of a dog due to the snout like protusion. Yet inside of that mouth is a row of teeth sharp as daggers, each an off-color white. These are quite clean for an animal that survives by eating other animals. The imp will rarely open it's mouth to show these teeth though. Nor will it's pale pink tounge be shown, forked as it is. Usually body language will be used to voice whatever it is the imp wants to say. This will normally involve the use of it's hands. These are the basic features of Imp kind, five fingers with each adorning a lenghty claw. It's claws, unlike it's teeth, are white as a bone. Though underneath the claw there are red stains from feeding, though these can only be noticed upon direct sight of the underside. Due to how thin Mammon is bones poke out in several area's, the imp's entire spinal cord able to be seen beneath the skin of it's bare back. Mammon's spine travels down the entire lenght of it's back, jutting out at the end in a tail. This tail is whip-like, a foot in lenght. This will often be used to balance the imp with each step taken, off-setting the weight of Mammon's wings. This tail is covered by the same sleek black skin, though the entire thing looks like a singular bone that is far oversized. There is another detail about Mammon that people usually notice after the imps physical body. These would be it's eyes. Emerald green oculars that are embedded within the hallows of it's eye-sockets. They look as if they are sunken in and flat, though they can move about just like the eyes of any other creature. While the pupil itself is ebony black, surrounded by a green iris, the rest of the imp's eye is a brilliant yellow. Unsettling to look at would be one word to describe this mixture of colors. Yet before a person would even think of looking at Mammon's eyes, they would notice the imps wings. Each is about a foot long, jutting out of it's shoulder blades. These wings travel upward in a semi-circle shape, entering into it's back. At the very top tip of the wing a single talon-like protusion juts out, looking as it were a pale white bone that excaped the confines of flesh. The lenght of the imp's wings are covered with bone like protustion as if it were a cage, the bones showing through on both sides of the flesh. While these wings look as if they could allow flight, they can not do this. At the most they can give it an additional jumping ability, average with that of a tall human. Yet they also allow the ability to glide were it to fall off a great height. If there is wind though, the imp will be directed wherever it takes it. Mammon does not wear anything in the way of cloths, there is no reason to. The Imp does not possess any body part that requires being covered up. Lacking the sex organs of either gender, as well as all features that both should possess, it can wear his skin alone. This is how it will often choose to go about things. Yet the imp is not the type to despise jewelery, at least not what it can make by itself. Around this imps neck is a chain, linked with a red thread, of what looks like bones. These are rat skulls to be exact, stolen from the corpses of those rats it ate. These were then forged into the circular necklace that the imp is quite proud of. Braclets of similar make adorn it's wrists, though those bones are smaller. Not only are they smaller, but there are an assortment of them. Skulls, feet, spines, and various other peices of rats have been used to create this macabre form of jewelery. Each is picked clean of any form of skin, polished to look pale white. Still, the stench of blood will not leave them. Of course, when one survives off small animals, it is a smell that you will become accustomed too. Personality: Mammon's personality is, at best, that which most people hate. This Imp has a very big issue of violent tendencys. While it will not attack someone for absolutely no reason, it is not above moving on the smallest provacation. Despite this though, Mammon is quite intelligent. When it first 'came to be' the imp was like a child, lost within a world that it did not understand. An Impling, only three inchs in height and weighing barely four pounds. The mage who took the imp in, cared for it, and taught it as well. It is hard to be a fool in the precense of someone of immense intelligence. Even more so when that person has a good deal of control over what you do. While most of it's rare kind would have crumbled under such authority, but Mammon resisted. Despite many attempts by it's care-taker to tame the imp, it could not be done. The imp adopted it's master's sarcastic wit for it's own, developing a unique personality that suited it's form. When this creature takes it upon itself to speak, the response will usually be a blunt sarcastic comment. Mammon has never been one to care what it says, instead opting for the most direct approach to matters. There is one thing about this Imp that will not change, other then it's wit. That would be it's desire to learn, or obsession, of all things related to magic. Another imprint unknown to even Mannon that was left upon the imp by it's master. The easiest route to take would be for the imp to form a connection with another mage, but that would undermine Mammon's control over it's own actions. Thus the Imp resorts to the ancient way of learning which would be through study. More then one Mammon has been counted in attendance in Lumina, as well as the temple of darkness. One lucky feature for this creature is it's lack of intereast in the feild of white magic. For even if it has good intent, a creature such as an Imp would not be allowed within the light temple of it's own accord. Yet within the temple of dark, and sometimes within the temple of water, the Imp has found some form of acceptance. Though within the dark temple, those who know of the secondary feature of Imps, wish for Mammon to become their familar. This has not been allowed to happen though, as it must be an expression of free-will on the Imp's part. This would not happen no matter the benefits. Most of the time though the Imp will spend a small space of time within the water temple, arriving quickly only to read and then vanish just as quickly. A seeker of knowledge, but never openly. Rarely, if ever, will this creature be seen in the open. This is not so much an expression of anti-social feelings, but a desire to not be mistaken for a small demonic creature. History: There was not really a beginning, or birth from the womb, involved in this creature's life. The farthest back that Mammon can remember was having something shoved into it's mouth to release what the Imp now recognizes as fresh blood. At the time it was but an impling, unknowing of the world around it beyond that sweet nectar placed within it's mouth each day. The next memory that Mammon can recall is when it first opened it's eyes. Light, all around it, blinding in the intensity of it. It hurt Mammon's eyes if he remembered correct, thoughts of just shutting them once more having lingered in that moment. These had been forced down though ine exchange for the ability to see. Above it, standing there as if a god in the flesh, was the imp's master. This was the beginning of it all, how the Imp's life started, and how free-will was snatched away from the imp once more. The man who had taken care of Mammon was a mage of the dark order within the temple of darkness by the name of Jon Santana. An apprentice magi who had found the impling within the dark corners of the temple. It would have been quite a suprize to find a creature that barely clung to life hidden within shadows. Yet that was how Mammon came to survive those first few trying hours of it's life. Fond only to be raised through the first week of it's life blind, fed blood through a bottle that would commonly be used to feed the youngest of babys. The impling could not feel concern over this though. At that time it was much too young to understand what it had been cared for, or at least the exchange for whcih it had been kept alive. This would not be revealed until the Imp was a month old, able to walk and utter some of the most simple words within its foul gutteral language. Almost as soon as it was old enough to learn, Saltara began to teach what could be taught. The full extent of the common tounge of Gaia, a good deal of the language of magic, as well as a common understanding of the general use of tools. Mammon was able to grasp the language of magic and the use of tools, but the common tounge was a foreign term. Mammon was basically unable to grasp the full use of linquistics, thus it's common tounge is difficult to understand at best. While it did pick up a good deal of vocabulary from talks with Saltara, Mammon could never grasp the full use. This is due a good deal to the formation of the imp's throat which is unable to form the sounds needed to create some words. Thus there was an instant communication gap between the imp and it's master. Saltara had a full understanding of this though and worked harder to teach the imp what every it could learn. Mammon will often say that 'it was a full at it's younger age.' This might very well be true because the imp never recognized the cost of learning so much from the human. As soon as Mammon was a year old, an future adept in the feild of dark elemental magic, Saltara began the ritual to connect them as master and familar. This went off without a problem with Mammon's help, the young Impling not knowing what this meant for it. Thus what could have been called a father and child relationship between the two morphed into a 'master and slave' relationship. As soon as the ritual was complete Saltara stripped his servant of all magical abilities. Not permently, but for so long as they were connected. This leaves a question to be answered by those who would seek to know it. Why would Saltara teach Mammon the art of magic only to block the imp from collecting the energy of shadow? This question is one that can be answered with a simple response. To use Mammon as a familiar at full potential, the dark mage was forced to train Mammon. Once the Imp had developed a good grasp of understanding over the art it's power could be used to aid that of the imp's master. Due to Mammon needing to be a willing part of the ritual, Saltara worked to develop a bond of trust between them until it was time. This was indeed a success as was proven by Mammon giving it's freewill over to the dark mage Saltara. From this day onward, any form of trust between them vanished into the shadows that made up the temple of darkness. Saltara treated Mammon like his servant, forcing the imp to do the most demeaning tasks that could be thought up. All through this time, Mammon planned the mage's death only to be found out and punished. A one sided relationship that created nothing but an ego in Saltara and an urge to kill within the Imp. It would be of little suprize how this ended, a lesson the Imp taught it's master. Seven years of this horrible treatment finally forced Mammon to take action. Despite being known as the servant of Saltara, the imp had some sway over those around it. Rumors spread through the temple, letters making their way to the desk of Saltara's enemies. In the end it was of little suprize that the mage met vanished in the night, never to return. The next day his Imp familiar, now thought to be dead, vanished into the night. A long time of invesigation later would reveal Mammon to be the culprit, long gone. Also the mage who had struck the fatal blow to Saltara woudl be found, put to death for the crime of murder of a dark brother. This made the Imp a name amongst the dark temple, a name that would fade over the years to follow. A decade of travel would follow this act that had inspired a loathing of human ways. The Imp would travel across the land. Into the East where the grand citidals of Warlords and Shoguns were located. Various trips into the West where a grand civilazation had built up that was so much diffrent from the East. Even a trip that was fated to failure. This would be the one time that Mammon thought to learn of the White Temple. This trip amongst all others were doomed to failure. For when the Imp attempted to enter the temple it was discovered, the young apprentice who found Mammon thinking the imp a demon. Almost as soon as it had arrived the Imp was forced to flee, vowing to never return to the holy place so long as it existed. Various other trips would end in much the same fashion as this. The major one was when the Imp attempted to travel to the great capital of the West, only to be turned away by the guards. Yet another occurance where his appearance had made Mammon an outcast. It was not like the trouble an elf or angel goes through, no, not at all. When one is tiny compared to most dogs, adorning the scent of blood that hangs about it with a definete air, it will make people think that you are a creature. One without a consiousness, probably without a soul, and useless to all. This has not aided the imp's loathing of humanity in any way. Instead it has grown, blossuming into hatred. There has never really been a time when the Imp could act upon this dreadful notion. Avoiding those humans that it could, slipping from one elemental temple to the next in hopes to learn. The Imp met with much the same result at the temple of Earth, mostly for Mammon's wings. Yet the temple of fire accepted the imp readily, something that the imp could not understand. Thus it's trips to the temple of fire are few and far between, only compared to those trips taken to the dark temple. Yet the creature is a regular at the temple of water and air, even goining as far as to know people within the place. These are what many would refer to as shelters for the Imp, yet Mammon merely thinks of them as a place to be. It has no desire to settle down in one spot and live in solitude for the rest of it's life, however long that may be. Perhaps that could explain why the imp has delved so deep into the arts of magic, though that is generally unknown to all but Mammon. Approved By: Sey!
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Sep 02, 2004 7:26 pm
Played by: Rose Nocturia
Name: Rose (Rosemary) Acillia Lebreth Nocturia
Age: 24
Race: Human
Gender: Female
Height: 5'9"
Weight: 127
Title: Final Silver Arbiter
Alignment: Water (merely because of her mother)
Weapon(s): Rapier
Origins: Labrum
Description: Her clothes are those of a wealthy aristocrat, she wore a velvet over coat with a satin shirt with ruffles underneath. Her naturaully curly long raven hair drops down a little past her shoulders and is usually simply tied behind her head when dealing with official business. Any other time it hangs loosesly around her head which usually wander around her face. Her eyes are a peircing hazel that is often said to be a hypnotizing. Her figure is a very femine build witch gives hint to her beautiful elvish ancestory, a thin and busty women she is and does not care to hide it. Then velevet vest she usualy is found wearing does not hinder the curves of her figure but accentuate them, making her a beauty beyond compare.
Her crimson leggings match the color of her vevet over coat and fit a bit loosely over her legs and covering her black heeled shoes. A beautiful woman she is but she does not carry around her an air of innoence, she moves with a sense of duty and seems to have a fire burning within her.
Personality: A woman who trys to get what she thinks is important done and trys to do it well. Although she trys to keep her wits about her, she is no stranger to her own anger. Although she tries to hold it back it shows often. Always hating the arguing of others she feels compelled to stop bickering of others and all cost always try's get the task she assigns herself completed.
History: Born a child of Laburnum in a period of time when the city was just beggening and a time of peace. She grew up well in a wealthy household with her mother. Her father off on adventures would visit often and spend time with her. She grew up a happy child until war began. Her background was odd her mother a mage of water beleived to be elvish fell for a brute of a warrior wich held the same feelings for her. Though the mother was rich and the father poor they cared for each other dearly and tryed to wed. But her grandfather would not have it and told her mother to marry a rich man instead. Her father infuriated went out for treasure and somehow became wealthy quite quickly. Grandfather pleased with this allowed that marriage of her parents. So later on she was born and showed promise to turn out like her mother as a mage. But when the war began she refused to leaver her parents for schooling ans stayed with them. A bit angry with her decesion the parents began to fight not with her but with eachother. This caused a great deal of emotional scars for the yelling would get worse and worse each day making Rose cry her self to sleep often.
One night she could take the yelling no longer and spoke up to her parents talking to them about the yelling. She pleaded for them to stop and tryed to solve the many conflicts she had heard about. The parents both cried about what they had did but also cryed for joy for how there daughter had turned out. They gave there daughter there house and left all there belongings to her telling her that they had to leave to rediscover themselves for a while. She cryed but understood that it had to be done if they were to keep there relationship, there love. She lived alone for a while and began to study about politics in libaries the war was still ravenging on and she wanted it to end thinking it the beggening cause of her past problems. She somehow found her way to a peace orginization called the Silver Arbiters and joined almost immediately. She moved up the ranks quickly and eventually became the leader of the orginiztion the Final Silver Arbiter. From there she stayed and continues to stay trying to find a way to end the war.
Previous RP's You've Participated In: WoG
Approved By: Sey and SongJewel WOoo!
((please pm me if you want to be assoicated with the Silver Arbiters and i can work something out like a pamphlet or something silly like that >.>))
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Sep 03, 2004 3:34 pm
Adrin Mheron Name: Adrin Mheron Age: 78 Race: Human Gender: Male Height: 6'5" Weight: 206lbs Title: Paladin - High Warrior Alignment: Light Weapon(s): Vir Animus - Vir Animus is a wicked looking weapon. It's long, black blade is never straight, but instead seems to be full of edges and curves, ones which makes any attacks that much more deadly. Only the last 6 inches of the blade are straight, like a normal sword, allowing him to stab more easily than a curved end would. The blade also seems to be made of someunknown material, something that seems to be a ixture between steel and black crystal. The hilt is of a strange design, one side of it angling upwards to catch the opponents weapon and the other angling downward to protect the hand holding it from any strikes. A small red stone is set into the center of the hilt. It might be a ruby, but no one in the Mheron family has let anyone near enough to the sword to check. Origins: Western Gaia Description: Though old, Adrin is strongwilled and a warrior who is not to be trifled with. At 6'5", this broad-shouldered old Paladin towers over most of his subordinates, making him quite an imposing figure. His dark, grey eyes show no sign of weakness, and neither does any of his body, his muscles still as hard and strong as when he was half his age. In fact, the only real signs of his old age are the slight wrinkles around his eyes and his whitened hair, the hair in both his head and face trimmed closely in millitary style. His attire is always fine yet simple, as he sees no need to flaunt his wealth or power. Around his neck however is a black metal cross, hanging from a chain. Finely made, this is something that he protects with as much fervor as his sword. Personality: Though Adrin had a reputation as a hot-headed youth, his age has mellowed him quite a bit, making him more likely to think things through before acting. Strongwilled and steadfast, he is one of the pillars of western society. History: Not much is really known about Adrin before he began training to be a Paladin. Some say his father kept him locked away, some say he was just a spoiled rich kid, but whatever the answer is Adrin has never talked about it. Instead he says that his life began when he decided to become a Paladin, beginning his training at the age of 16. During his training he proved himself to be a skilled warrior, but he still moved slower than any of his classmates, simply because he refused to follow orders. When he finally reached the rank of Paladin he left to travel, and broden his horizens. Once again, there is a large blankspot in the knowledge of the people as to what exactly he did here. During that period there were rumors of a mysterious warrior defending towns from bandits and then leaving once the town was safe, but in none of those cases can Adrin be confirmed as the paladin who did such. It wasn't until he was the age of 29 that he returned, and with him came the blade Vir Animus. It was after that point, and with that blade, that he distinguished himself and rose to the highest rank of Paladin. At the age of 45, Adrin married. She was a peasant woman, one almost his own age, and they lived happily until their first child was born. Unfortunatly, as the child was born so late in her life, she did not survive the birthing and Adrin was left alone to raise his young son. As his son began to learn to walk, though, matters came up in the ranks of the Paladins that needed his attention and he was forced to leave his son in the care of his servants. They, sadly enough, did not do a good job. When Adrin finally had the time to raise his son himself again, the child was irreparably spoiled. Time passed again, many years that were mostly peaceful. Adrin's spoiled son never followed in his fathers footsteps to become a Paladin, instead leaching off of his fathers land to support himself. Then, 12 years ago, Adrins son finally married. Not for love, not even for money, but simply because he had screwed up and gotten some lords daughter pregnant. The new child was unwanted by both it's father and it's mothbers family, so once again Adrin was given a child to care for, and this time he did a proper job of it. Now, with his grandson Drache having begun his training to become a Paladin at the young age of 12, Adrin feels that he now has an heir that he can be proud of. Previous RP's You've Participated In: Grand Battle, Liars Lock, A Forgotten Past, too many others to count. Approved by:Sey Drache Mheron Name: Drache Mheron Age: 12 Race: Human Gender: Male Height: 5'0" Weight: 95lbs Title: Paladin - Convert Alignment: Light Weapon(s): Currently, he only has a basic longsword that he was given for training. His grandfather has told him that once he has reached the rank of Paladin he will be given a better weapon though. Probably the famous blade that his family has been the guardian of. Dented and kinda dull, the sword he has currently isn't exactly the best weapon out there, but considering his status as a kid and trainee you can't really expect more. Origins: Western Gaia Description: A well built and strong youth, Drache obviously shares many physical characteristics with his grandfather. It's obvious that he'll never be as tall, and his shoulders will never be as round, but he still has a solid build even at his young age. Unlike his grandfather, however, Drache doesn't keep his hair cut short. Instead he's trying to get his black hair to grow, though right now it's barely touching his shoulders. Like his grandfather his clothing is unornamented, though made of fine material. Personality: Drache, much like his grandfather was, is a hot-headed youth, though he has a certain curiousness that the older man never had. He frequently surprises his teachers by asking questions that even they cannot answer, leaving him with the answer that somethings man wasn;t meant to know. Not like that keeps Drache from trying to figure out the answers anyways. His largest weakness, however, is his inability to step away from a challenge. If someone challenges him he feels honor bound to accept, and his fellow students take advantage of this. In otherwords, they use it ot get him to do things that get him in trouble. History: Drache has never really known his parents, being raised instead by his grandfather. Sure he's seen them occasionally, but he doesn't really know who they are. Despite that, he has had a mostly normal lifestyle, and has been given plenty of freedom in his life. As he is young not much has really happened in his life yet, but the fact that he recently began training to be a Paladin shows that there will probably be some excitement in his future. Previous RP's You've Participated In: Same as above. Approved by:Sey
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Sep 03, 2004 9:01 pm
Username: Stryphe
Name: Rymfire Crimsonstone
Age: 24
Race: Human (half Fire Elemental)
Gender: Male
Height: 6'1
Weight: 185lbs.
Alignment: Fire
Title: Fire Adept of Sibyll's Circle; Blessed Ranger of Sibyll
Weapons: Magestaff, and various knives he keeps with himself.
Description: Rym is tall, strong for a mage because of his lifestyle and has one eye. His right eye is covered with a leather and metal eyepatch so as to disguise the gaping hole where a night of drinking and using his "firepower" had gone wrong. His left eye is black where it should be white and his pupil a fiery red. His hair is a brownish red with maroon and gold highlights, a few pieces to frame his face and the rest of it in a braid to his waist, giving him a feminine touch but that is about it. His skin is a light olive and he has a few scars across his chest and body from where his inner fire has gotten out of hand. His hands are completely burned from an accident he doesn't remember so he wears gloves to cover them.
On the palms of his hands, his shoulders, biceps, stomach, legs, feet, and neck, there are runes and symbols in ancient Gaian that have been tattooed into his skin and edged lightly with metal grafted into his skin. The tattooes help him keep his inner fire in check and prevent any flare-ups by heating the metal in his skin rather than the skin itself.
Origins: Fire Temple before that, South Avalana in the desert
Personality: Rym is a very kind guy and very helpful. He tends to hide his pain and his worries, focusing on his friends' problems rather than his own. His "inner fire" is a thing he has to be cautious of since it reacts to his emotions and it seems as though no amount of suppression or training can change that. Thusly, he has learned to control his emotions. The tattoos help him surpress flare-ups though. He can drink a little alcohol but afterwards, he has to drink a lot of water, since alcohol incenses his inner fire.
Rym cares a lot for Espa and is constantly looking out for her as she is for him. He looks at Saruo as a little brother and Mick as an annoying yet loveable brother. These three people matter the most to him since they are really the only friends he has ever had and he will gladly die for them if need be.
History:
"I have here a child from the desert whose mother died giving birth to him and whose father is one of the gods you worship."
"Indeed, we can sense the fire within him."
"You may have him... for 100 gold pieces that is."
"We shall not buy a Child of Fire for any price. That is wrong."
"Then I shall exploit him and use him to make money for me."
"... take this gold and leave, filth. You disgrace our temple with your presence."
The 6 year old Rymfire remembered the conversation between the man he called "Sir" ever since he could talk and the Fire priests who adopted him into the temple. From that day on, he was fated to learn to control his fire at night and by day, attend school in the local town. It was a lonely existence and in those days, he had a marked temper. The Fire Initiates would give him wide berth in the hallways and mock him behind his back. They whispered about his strange black and maroon eyes and some went as far as to call him a devil of the fire. More frequently, he was called a b*****d to his face. Some Initiates went as far as to trip him with their magestaffs as he passed by them in the hall or class.
School in town was no better since a lot of his classmates were Fire Initiates as well. They spread their rejection of Rymfire to the normal kids who perpetuated the cruel treatment. So there really was no escape except when he was alone. All in all, it was a wretched and lonely existence.
He spent his free time reading books and practicing his Fire magic. As he gazed at the flame crackling in his scarred hands, he wondered if there were other ways to use it other than how he was being taught. So he started to shape the flame or at least try to sculpt it. He started out simple and spent an entire night creating a perfect sphere of flame with no pointy flames licking out. He wore himself out in the process but kept practicing it until he could do it with little effort. It was mild entertaining and he welcomed the challenge. His experimentation with fire kept him on his toes and helped assure himself that he was better than these little Fire brats running around.
One day, he heard three children boasting of their adventures in a bookstore in town. He had gone in to return a book on a rare evening he had off and saw them talking excitedly at one of the store's tables and planning their next adventure. They were near the shelf he was headed towards so he lowered his head and hurried past them. One was a pretty girl of about 13 with an eyepatch over her left eye and the other two were boys around that age but the scarred one looked a bit younger. Perhaps about 10. He got to the shelf but had to look up to return the book.
"Hey! You're that Fire Acolyte aren't you?" asked one of the voices," Rymfire Crimsonstone?"
He paused for a moment, wondering if they were going to tease him.
"C'mon now, we asked you a question! It's a bit rude not to answer don't you think?" said the female's voice.
"Yes, I am Rymfire Crimsonstone, Fire Acolyte," he snapped," What of it?"
"Hey, no need for that kind of tone," said the platinum haired one," We were going to ask if you wanted to come with us on an adventure."
"Excuse me?" he asked puzzled and still wary of a trick.
"Yeah! We like to go on adventures and go camping," said the girl," It's a lot of fun and we thought that perhaps you could have fun with us."
"Why would you invite me, of all people, to hang out with you?" he asked.
"Because you're a reject like us," the girl replied with a smile," No one gives two shits towards a damn about us. But those brats at school don't have nearly as much as we do!"
As Rym looked at the girl's bright smile, the platinum haired boy's smirk, and the scarred boy's shy smile, he could sense no malice or ill intent in them. They were sincere. He pushed the book onto the shelf and gave them a hesitant smile.
"Sure," he said," Who are you all though?"
"I'm Espa Monroe, psychic adventurer," said the girl," At your service!"
"Saruo Tremain, weapons freak," replied the scarred one," Nice to meet you."
"Mick Brightman, a*****e extraordinaire," said the platinum-haired one," At your service whether you like it or not."
He chuckled, a rare sound from him. "Nice to meet you all."
From then on, they were inseperable. They called themselves the Losers quite proudly and went on many "adventures" in the forest and on the Monroe ranch. Espa had been quite right, he did have a lot of fun. In fact, he looked forward to being able to hang out with them and go camping. He learned a lot about them too.
One one such adventure when he was 16, they were huddled around the campfire cooking fish that the four of them had caught in a nearby stream. It was a full moon out and Mick had his grey eyes fixed on it. Espa was replacing one of Saruo's bandages and Rym was playing with the fire. He looked over at Saruo's naked chest and noted all the scars.
"What happened?" he asked outloud, though he didn't mean to.
Espa looked over at Rym as Saruo lowered his head and made a half-assed attempt at covering his chest with his shirt. Espa finished and hugged Saruo to her as he squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to cry.
"We all have our secrets," whispered Mick," And that is one of Saruo's."
"Well, we're all friends here, aren't we? I'd like to think we are," said Rym.
It was then that Saruo spoke up or at least he tried to. He uttered a few unintelligible syllables before quitting altogther and hugging Espa. Espa looked over at Rym with a sad expression on her face.
"Saruo's father is a very cruel and sadistic man. Since Saruo was little, he used to test how sharp the blades of his weapons were by cutting Saruo. It made him quiet and fearful of his father. In school, it was no better. Because he was quiet and couldn't explain his scars, the other kids teased him. Mick and I were his only friends. Now he has three," she said and then smiled a little," In a way, all of us are freaks you know."
"I am sorry I said anything Saruo," Rym apologized.
"It's okay," Saruo sniffled. I really need to get past it since he doesn't really do it as often anymore."
"He shouldn't do it at all," said Mick sitting up," I have been tempted to make him mistake his head for sword and stick it in his forge."
That elicited a laugh from Saruo. 'Mistake...?' Rym thought.
"Mick is an illusionist," explained Espa, reading Rym's mind," He can cause people to do and see all sorts of things. He's a master at slight of hand. Quite the trickster really."
"I see, and you?"
"Promise you won't laugh?" she asked cautiously. He nodded and she removed her eyepatch to reveal a beautiful, stormy grey eye that worked just fine. Her eyes were bicolored. He gave her an odd look.
"Why do you wear the eyepatch? You look just fine," he asked.
"Kids used to tease me and whisper about it, especially the grey one since it's shading seemed to change a lot so I covered it up with an eyepatch," she said," I decided to let the green-blue eye show through since it is proof of my Elven heirtage. And I have psychic abilities."
Rym was surprised at the fact that she was a quarter Elven, but then again, that explained many things about her. Then Rym revealed his secrets- the tattooes, the ridicule, his heritage, everything. They were all astonished that he was part Fire Elemental, even Espa.
"I thought you would have pulled that from my mind though," he asked.
"Nope. It's your head so it's your choice whether or not you want us to know what goes on in it," she replied.
Once they knew each other's secrets, their bonds grew deeper and they learned many things about each other as they got older.
When Rym was 18, he became a Fire Adept and was treated out to dinner at a local restaurant by Espa, Saruo, and Mick. All 4 of them got toasted beyond belief and Rym barely noticed the metal in his skin start to tingle. Suddenly, there was a smell of burning flesh and Rym let out a scream and threw his head back as his right eye exploded and a current of flame came bursting forth. Thinking quickly, Espa grabbed a pitcher of water off a table nearby and threw it on her friend's eye. The flame was subdued only for a few minutes but Espa felt the flame rise within him again and managed to drag him to the water trough for the horses out front and immerse him. He was screaming and the metal in his body was red hot to the touch. His neck was a mess, the metal seal had melted completely off and was burning Espa's hands as she kept him underwater. Mick and Saruo were on their feet at a fast mental command and helped her keep him submerged.
After a few minutes, they dragged their unconscious friend out of the water, and Espa administered mouth to mouth. Saruo ran off to go to the doctor and Mick ent to the Fire Temple. She waited with bated breath and a moment passed before Espa reached into his body with her chi and forcibly sent the water out of his lungs. His eyes snapped open and he screamed, clutching the scorched hole in his face with his hands. He could not even force tears out of his right eye and his left was throbbing. Espa could feel the amount of pain he was in and hugged him to her until the doctor and some Fire priests arrived.
Rym was in bed for weeks. The Fire priests had to redo all of the metal grafts in his skin and all the tattooes- which was as painful as when they first put them in. This time, they did the area around his scorched eye and put thin metal grafts with a carefully-laid spell around his left eye to prevent a flare-up from there. His friends were at his side the whole time and didn't go camping for a single week until he was better. Espa even made him an eyepatch like hers with an adjustable strap. For awhile, Saruo and Mick took to wearing eyepatches to make him feel better.
"You know, that eyepatch makes you look sexy Rym!," joked Mick," I think I want to ******** you."
Rym choked on his oatmeal and then tried to fend off Mick's joking advances. Espa pulled him off Rym and started scolding him. Saruo thumped Rym on the back and Rym smiled. He truly had great friends.
When Rym was 20, he decided to go with Espa on her wandering. She had decided to leave home and go on a big adventure and Rym wanted to be there. She had saved his life and was now totally dedicated to her. Of course, Saruo and Mick came too.
The three were successful in their venture and made money from the pelts of the animals they trapped. Rym had the dubious honor of smoking and cooking the meat so that they had food for the journey. They taught him how to defend himself and Espa taught him a little "push-hands" so in case they weren't near, he could defend himself non-magically.
When Espa visited her second cousin, Sibyll, he was surprised when she asked him to join her Circle and represent fire. Once he had Sibyll's assurance that his current way of life would not end, he agreed and was given a summoning ring so that Sibyll could summon him if she needed him.
Then it was back to wandering again. He and his crew made Laburnum City one of their main areas to trade their pelts since it was a meeting of the worlds and encouraged a high price for their wares. He finally started drinking again but was sure to chase every shot with a glass of water.
Approved by: He who is called "I am".
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Sep 04, 2004 1:37 pm
Username: Stryphe plays him, but Alcyone Teshigahara made him!
Name: Saruo Rivius Tremain
Age: 19
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Height: 5'7
Weight: 155 lbs.
Alignment: Earth
Title: Steel Mage of Sibyll's Circle; Blessed Ranger of Sibyll
Weapons: Steel claws, scimitar, spear, chains, dart chains, shurikens, throwing knives of all kinds, hunting knives, anything that can be considered a weapon.
Description: Saruo is lanky and muscular, his body covered from head to toe with scars of various sizes. He has black hair with silvery highlights due to a genetic family trait. His eyes are a strange green that has flecks of silver in them. His body is toned nicely and nowadays, he prefers to not hide his scars as much. When he is out with Espa and friends, he likes to be bare-chested. He has his ears pierced many times on each side, a lip spur, n****e-rings, and has grafted metal into his skin in various designs (ancient Gaian runes and spells) that allow him a strange control over metal, sometimes able to harbor a weapon in his body for a short amount of time or causing a chain or knife to change direction to hit his target. While not as fast as Espa, he is the strength that she lacks. Saruo's hair is kept choppy and short, usually spiked to an extent.
Being a freak over metal, he wears many rings, brass knuckles, a chain necklace, wrist bands, and just a lot of jewelry in general. He likes relaxing in a simple pair of pants with a loosely slung belt that is studded with steel. He favors clothing with steel in it in the form of clasps, buckles, studs, etc.
Origins: South Gaia, the Desert and moved to the village near the Fire Temple.
Personality: As a child, Saruo was quiet and reserved due to the cruel things his father used to do to him. He always admired metal though because of it's strength and has developed a metal fetish. He soon developed a blade fetish and a masochistic twist on his personality that he kept hidden from everyone except his friends who understood his reasons. As his circle of friends grew, he became more confident and knew that no matter what, they would always have his back. When the children started to push him around, he started to fight back rather than let the other kids push him around.
Saruo is a genius in his own right. He developed his own style of fighting that combines some of Espa's "push-hands" along with his own philosophy and style of opening a can of whoopass. He gave funny names to some of the signature techniques and appropriate ones to the truly terrifying ones. His style has very little defense and focuses a lot on taking hits and continuing to fight. He is constantly building on his style and allows his friends to stop him if he goes too far.
Saruo is also very self-destructive, which plays into his fighting style. He believes in his own ability as well as his and others mortality. He values the lives of his three friends above his own. Death does not disturb him in the least.
Perhaps it is a latent psychosis, brought on by his father's abuse in his early years but Saruo goes into a bit of a blind rage when his emotions take him. Usually Espa can pull him out of it by a swift mental shake. Besides that, he is normally cheerful and outgoing, fiercely loyal to his friends and always up for one of Mick's jokes.
History: Saruo Rivius Tremain was born in the desert like Rym but moved to the town shortly after he did. His parents were both weapon makers and his mother tended to be a bit more skilled than his father. His father was a lunatic as he found out, and in a fit of jealousy, slew his mother before his very eyes. Saruo's mother always had cuts and bruises on her from being knocked around by his father. She'd singing him lullabies and cry since it hurt so much to sing and tuck him into bed, kissing him gently. His mother was his world until his father took that away from him.
To escape punishment for his deed, Saruo's father took him north and out of the desert. They travelled around for a few monthes before settling down in a town near the fire temple. Since his father had killed his wife and first thing he'd test his weapons on, he started doing the same to his son. Saruo knew which weapons he liked and didn't like as well. He hated it when his father was asked to make a mace because he was usually bashed thrice with that in the arm or leg. Swords and bladed weapons he could cope with since they left scars he started to like but maces took awhile to recover from. Chain weapons were prolonged torture that usually involved lack of breath for minutes that seemed like hours.
In school, Saruo was quiet and reclusive. His classmates whispered about his injuries and liked to trip him up in class. The local bullies tore into him relentlessly. As a result, he was under attack in public and in private. There seemed to be no end to the pain.
Then he met Espa and Mick. They befriended him after defending him from the bullies when his arm was broken. He watched Espa move, totally in awe of the "push-hands" she used and the simple trickery that Mick employed. Afterwards, he expected them to kick him around but was quite surprised when just the opposite happened.
"Hey loser," the girl said," What's your name?"
"S-Saruo Tremain," he responded slowly.
"Saruo eh? Well, my name is Espa and that's Mick," the girl said brightly," and we're losers too you know!"
Her cheerfulness caught him offguard and a smile forced its way to the surface. He got to know them and soon found that he had valuable allies in the two older kids. The kids still picked on him and his father still beat him but they somehow made it bearable. Espa and Mick were the driving force that kept him sane and human.
One day at school, the kids started picking on Saruo again and he tried to run away, something he was accustomed to by now. Then something in his mind snapped. Why should he keep running? Espa and Mick never ran from them so why should he? They stood their ground even if they knew they were outnumbered! Saruo suddenly stopped in his tracks and faced his tormentors head on. He fought hard, blinded by a driving will to change, to stand up for himself, and to be like Mick and Espa. He was battered on all sides, knocked down, but still he kept getting up until one of the kids knocked him out cold with a rock.
When he re-awoke, he was on the Monroe ranch being tended to by Espa's beautiful half-Elven mother, Calliope. She had used some Elven salves on him that were healing his aching wounds, soothing his bruises and taking the pain away.
"Saruo, what happened?" she asked in a gentle voice.
"Bullies," he managed," I fought back."
"Why did you fight back?"
"I wanted to be like Espa and Mick."
"Why?"
"Because they are strong and I was tired of running!"
The Elven woman smiled and hugged him tightly.
"You are much stronger than you think, little Saruo."
It took a little bit of time for Saruo to open up to Espa and Mick but it was easy for him to tell all to Calliope. The Elven woman was furious at Saruo's father but knew that it was not her business. Instead, she kissed his forehead and inscribed a small rune on it with her thumb when he was asleep.
When he returned home the next day, his father was furious. He raised his fist to hit Saruo and to both their surprise, his fist stopped in midair, just an inch from Saruo's nose. He tried again and failed. Irate, he left the room and returned with a broadsword. He took a swing at his son's arm and was stunned to see that the sword broke against his son's skin. Saruo's father backed up, his eyes going from the sword that was now a dagger to his son. Saruo felt anger rise up within him and attacked his father, wrenching the sword stub from his hand and using it against him. He slashed repeatedly and his father's screams could be heard across the street.
In the morning, Saruo sat at the kitchen table, wearing nothing but a pair of pants and boxers, drinking coffee out of a chipped mug. His father came in, hesitating at the doorway before creeping his way across the kitchen. He made himself a cup of coffee and hurriedly left. His father never tried to hurt him again.
Saruo was 14 when that happened and only got stronger from there on out. Bullies started challenging him and were one by one blown away by his fighting style. He would redirect their punches and kicks if he could, take the hits when he couldn't, and keep on coming no matter what. It was frightening to see one so young with such skill and mentality. His friends understood his fighting philosophy and kept an eye out for him.
When he was 17, Saruo grafted metal into his skin in the runes that created a spell. It gave him an affinity with metal as well as a more significant aspect of his personality became more apparent. Saruo was masochistic- extremely. He had his nipples pierced, his ears and lip, and even a stud on his nostril. He were a lot of steel jewelry which provides a bit of a safety blanket.
Soon, he became Sibyll's Metal Mage and one of her Rangers like his friends. He keeps weapons on him at all times.
At 19, Saruo is the epitome of a survivor. His eyes are light and cheerful but can become as hard and as cold as the steel he wields. He still has a raging blade fetish and the runes on his body also intensified his already existing blind rage when in the heat of combat.
Saruo's Fighting style: Saruo's style uses any and all weapons to attack swiftly and fiercely.
Approved by: domokun
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Sep 04, 2004 2:14 pm
Name: Theodore Exian
Age: 23
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Height: 5'7”
Weight: 123
Title: Scientist and Archer
Alignment: Fire
Weapon(s): Crossbow, Dagger
Origins: Western Gaia
Description: Theodore is a short, yet lanky young man who has the soft features of a scientist. He has various, hardly visible scars on his hands, arms, and one on his face from various alchemical experiments that went awry. His bright blue eyes always glimmer with a searching gaze and his short blond hair is roughly cut due to the fact that he'd often singe parts of his hair off and then cut the rest to match.
Personality: Theodore tends to be somewhat flaky sometimes, but he's got a good heart underneath his absent-minded nature. His insatiable urge to find things out had led him into more trouble then he'd like, but that doesn't stop him from experimenting in both social and scientific circles. He also has a guardian complex, and chooses to exercise it at some of the most inopportune moments.
History: Theodore was born to an odd couple. His mother Sherin was an earthbound (and very pious) matron of a girl's school while his father Tymbal was a shiftless dreamer, a visionary, or – as his mother would have it – an idiot. Though their marriage was full with his dad being in the basement lab threatening to blow up the entire village and his mother subsequently leaving the house for days at a time, they still managed to be good parents to little Theodore. “Thank goodness,” his father had said. “That you didn't take after your mother. If you did, i think I'd go crazy.”
Theodore had his first taste of the science of alchemy at the young, tender age of 6. On his birthday, his father led him down into the lab (much to his mother's chagrin) and proceeded to show Theodore all of the neat little gadgets. He had a diving pool, a couple of distillers, and numerous test tubes. He was explaining to Theodore the process of turning metal into gold when one of the experimental fluids exploded spontaneously. His father shielded Theodore from the blast, but it cost him dearly.
Two days later, Theodore's father died from the injuries he had sustained on that day. His mother, seeing that Theodore needed some way to grieve, encouraged him to take up his father's experiments. Though she pointed him away from alchemy and towards medicine, Theodore kept wandering down into the basement to fiddle with the various substances that his father had created.
After finding a number of texts written by his father, Theodore became consumed with learning everything there was to know about alchemy. He spent the next 7 years going from teacher to teacher absorbing all of the information they had to offer. When he turned 14, he decided to undertake a project.
Using the money he had secured from an apprenticeship to a local carpenter (his mother always was more practical than Dad, it was her idea.), he bought himself a crossbow and a dagger and began using various formulas on them to improve the weapons. It took him a total of 19 experimental formulas and three years of work, but he eventually succeeded in improving the weapons. Though it had cost him some of his skin (explosions and spills are hell on the human body), he was quite pleased with the results.
The dagger he had managed to imbue with a hardness that wasn't found in weapons of that make. He learned that it could cut through stone (though he gave it to a local blacksmith to find this out, he wasn't nearly strong enough) and that it returned from such a task with little scratching.
The crossbow he was especially proud of. Using the same substance that had ended his father's life (and just a little blessed water from the villages Fire temple), Theodore was able to create a bowstring that was stronger than the line that it had come with, allowing for longer use and more distant shot.
He took the next 2 years to learn how to make bolts for his crossbow, and learning how to properly load and shoot it. At 19, his mother succumbed to a consumption, and died during a harsh winter. In her will, she left the house and her small but adequate savings to Theodore in hopes that he would continue his experimentations.
After his mother's death, he decided to put his experiments on hold and do what his mother always wanted him to do (and told him to do on several occasions), “Get out of the house!”
So, he left his home to journey to Laburnum, to see if he could find any fellow alchemists that he could ween some knowledge from.
Approved By: V13
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
