Welcome to Gaia! ::

The Profile Submittions and any OOC chat for plot line, if there is any will be put here in case the title didn't give the hint of it. whee If the Mods and such don't mind of course sweatdrop
Newest member: Shazzer

Yay our first member ^_^ Thanks for joining LightOfTheDark =D

Gaia Name: LightOfTheDark
Character Name: Zaniah Virgo (or Zani for short)
Age: 89
Race: Drow
Alignment:Chaotic Neutral
Class: Shadow Hunter
Second Class: Archaic Weaponsmaster

Weapons: Keeping to her more primative weapons, Zaniah's blade, which she has named Shan'naal, is a large, two handed blade that looks like a three foot cutlass with a notch near the tip. The hilt is wrapped with ordinary boar hide and the pommel is nothing but a polished stone. The blade however, is tinted red, and symbols are enscribed upon it, glowing a fierce crimson whenever she uses it. An ordinary leather sheath has the same symbols on the outside of it, though the sheath looks like it should belong to a broadsword. It's actually a pocket dimension of sorts, able to hold Lashantha's sword easily. The dagger she carries has a serpantine blade, also tinted to a blood red. The hilt on this is a little more ornate, being a pair of golden vipers winding up it and the heads sticking out to either side of the blade to form the cross-piece.

Appearance: Standing at about 5'8", weighing a normal 150lb, Zani has almost black skin, a strong contrast to her snowy white hair. Her hair is cut short with her bangs a bit longer than the rest. The most exquisite part of her would have to be her eyes, which were the black of a starless night, sky blue specks flecking it as she had no pupils. Deep red tattoos are made on her tanned face, marking her clan as well as her position in that clan. Her pleasant form is most alluring, though she does not seem to realise it herself. A knowledge in her eyes shines through the blackness, giving her the giving her the face of a young woman, but her eyes looking older than their years. Her face is somewhat stoney, but those full lips can curve at the corners in a grin or a smirk whenever something amuses her. The drow has taken to wearing more modern clothing so as to fit in better, but she still wears her sword sheath on a modern leather strap, holding her sword on her back so the hilt pokes out over her right shoulder.

Her dagger also hangs at a very modern studded belt, it's sheath of ordinary leather with a snake design inked into it. Her preference of modern clothing is to that of the gothic and punk nation, though their chains and baggy pants don't seem to hinder her at all.

Personality: Fairly cold and disspassionate, she can sometimes find mirth in another's pain, and her sarcasim is known well by those who know her a bit better than others. Being somewhat of a Sadist some people tend to avoid her unless her skills are needed. She does tend to have a bit of a good side though, helping orphans by giving them money or employing them for whatever job she needs done that she can't do undetected, which she also pays well for..

History: Not being a very dedicated follower of Lolth, Zaniah had been somewhat of a shut in from her people, though she was one of the few body-guards to the Matron and Patron of the her clan (Val'Saghress), servitude was not expected from the young woman (by drow standards) to the evil Goddess of the Underdark.

The girl had dyed the tips of her hair blue then, signifying her clan as well as the tattoos upon her face. Zaniah had only been sleeping when she awoke in some man's apartmen. Shocked, terrified and confused at the odd equipment about her, she wondered what had happened and how she had gotten to this odd dimension.

It was when Zani realised that she couldn't recall her homeworld's name that she began to panic. She was still there when the man had gotten home, and attempted to kill him.

But as he pulled out an odd metal device shaped like an "L", she stopped stark still just because it must be a weapon though the drow didn't know what it was capable of. The man began to talk, he spoke an odd language ..

"What the F**k are you doing here?" He spoke with a calm fury. And it took a few moments for the dark skinned female to realised that she could understand him. Pulling all her serenity and icy faquade to herself, she wondered if she could answer him, but the words she was about to say... 'Nindel zhah natha bwael erg'les' faded from her mind as she spoke plain and common english, her voice heavily accented as she stumbled over these new words.

"Dat is a very gud qweustion." She answered, still looking at that shining instrument in his hand pointed directly at her face. Though her terror and fear shone in her eyes, the man took pity on her to find out where she was from.

Bemused and surprised at the thought of another world out there full of mythical creatures, he let her stay with him, teaching the drow the ways of the urban world. It turned out he was a thief lord of some kind, and since it was night outside Zaniah didn't have any problems staying.

Untill she woke up the next morning to have the sun streaming in through the windows at her face. The intensity of it hurt her eyes so badly that she screamed and had to wear a cover over her eyes for almost a week. The man taught her all he knew, and that included the ways of the more unlawful people in the city.

She still lives with him, it has been almost a year now. Though she lives her life at night, sometimes she wanders the day with heavy sunglasses. Her abilities as a stealthy hunter and fighter have earned the drow her way in money, and she lives very comfortably in what she came to learn was a large and expensive apartment.

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Second member ValenarrDeMirro joins Jan. 14

Gaia Name: ValenarrDeMirro
Character Name: Arkus
Age: 15 (Thought that's fully mature for a minotaur)
Race: Minotaur
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Class: Street Warrior
Second Class: Thrasher

Weapons: A set of spiked knuckles, his wrestling and boxing skills, and of course, his ability to draw out his maximum physical potential.

Appearance: Brown-skinned, eight feet and six inches tall at the top of the head (not including the horns), this bull-man could wrench a man's head from his shoulders if inticed. He wears, normally, a custom-tailored pair of pants and shirt for himself. The pants are quite simple, regular, black pants, as the color matches his horns. They are somewhat loose but not baggy, and they don't get in the way of his hooves. The shirt is of the same color, though it can hardly be considered a 'shirt', as it is a tank top, which seems stretched and plastered to his chest, outlining every muscle that his chest has. His eyes are a dark brown, and his face is that of a bull's, including the horns. His legs are powerful and strong as well, and are also hooved instead of footed. He is not exactly speedy but could charge someone in such a manner that it would rip them in two.

Personality: Honor is everything and more to Arkus. Insulting Arkus' honor would most likely cause you to wind up either severly pummeled or perhaps dead. Arkus, however, is normally gentle but somewhat clumsy, but not in a sense that he trips everywhere. Arkus is quite firm in his belief that while good must be upheld, zeal leads to corruption and tactics like those of evil alignment use. He is an excellent sailor, as his people almost always are, though he does not often get a chance to do any sailing.

History: Arkus was hurled from Shadow upon a voyage on the sea. Falling unconcious and waking up in a rather strange place, Arkus began to look around, wary. The place was small, cramped for him, and it seemed to be rather dumpy and trashy. He would later know it to be called an abandoned apartment... only, that it wasn't so abandoned... Arkus tried to move but ended up knocking a table over, as it was dark and he could not see very well, though his eyes were adjusting. He heard footsteps, and as his vision became better, two pale-skinned men walked into the room, both of them holding out rather small, in comparison to what Arkus had seen, knives. "Heeeeey!" One of them exclaimed, surprised. "What the hell is this? Some ... black dude wearing a bull head?!" The man shouted. "Whoa! The guy's huuuge!" The other said, backing off a bit as Arkus turned, snorting. "Man, what do we do?!" The first one said. "I got an idea. Hey, you. Yeah, you." The other said to Arkus. "You wanna join a gang? We could bust people up real nice, and take all the loot this city has to offer with you on our side!" Arkus' eyes narrowed. He didn't really understand, but the man's voice did not sound very ... pleasant. "Do you mean.... steal?" Arkus asked, his deep baritone causing the first man to flinch. "Yeah, loot, steal, pilfer, all the same, dude." The other man said. Arkus put his fist in his other hand, cracking his knuckles. "Stealing.... is not honorable..." He said, the knuckles cracking causing the men to shiver slightly. "You think I would become a theif? I think not..." Arkus took this as a formal challenge.

"If you're not with us, you're against us, bud!" The first, in a fit of courage, ran up with the knife and tried to bury it in Arkus' side, though his suit of chainmail, which was custom-tailored back in his times in Shadow, blocked the blade. At the sound, the man recoiled. "What the? Chains?" The man said, though his expression changed from surprise to shock as Arkus' hand wrapped around the man's throat, lifting him from the ground. The other, spurred on by a bit of fear but care for his companion, rushed up and cut Arkus' other arm, though it was shallow and a mere flesh wound to the minotaur, who snorted. Using the second man as a club, he slammed the offender, sending him into a wall with the sickening sound of crushed bone. The other's neck was wrung, and Arkus began to walk out of the abandoned apartment.

From there, he began his career as a boxer and wrestler, participating in 'come one, come all' tournaments held in both underground and prestigious settings. A street fighter, mainly, and one that has a record of being undefeated. Eventually, with enough money, he bought an outfit that allowed him to blend in a bit more, and his pair of silver spiked knuckles, allowing him to fight better. He learned all about the world from the slums and those who lived there, and lives in a home away from most others, not wishing to attract attention.

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Third member w00t!

Gaia Name: Blueshadow
Character Name: Z'kort ((Kort))
Age: 127 ((Adolescent Elf))
Race: Elf
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Class: Glamourist
Second Class: Speed Demon

Weapons: Sharp and slender knives hidden all over various parts of his clothes and person. He also holds the ability to rip a branch off and beat people with it. And beat them well with his skills.

Appearance: Pale skin contrasted well with his raven black hair, which fell around his head in feathery layers. The longest part falling a couple inches past his shoulder blades and the shortest falling just over deep green eyes. Almond shaped and tilted slightly up gave him an exotic look, coupled with a strong chin, square jaw, and roman nose to give an aristocratic face an imperious aire. A pouty bottom lip hinted at a spoiled child or a man to be spoiled, the latter which was more used. Long and slender, Kort seems like a tall person but it only about 5'7".

Personality: Z'kort has a volatile personality. He's quick to change his mood and often those that are unsure can be forced into closed corners and to walk on eggs. His temper is easily set off, but then quick to ebb when off. Easily offended, Kort takes what people say to him to heart. Something attributed to his speed demon talents. But on the other side he is also a very charming man. It is said he could make rocks blush and mountains bend willingly, a gift from his 'glamour.' Many cannot resist his sweet words and alluring smiles, but he can resist them with ease. The only thing he can't resist, though, are cars. They fascinate him and awe him to no end.

History: Speeding along through the forest, he jumped over a low hanging branch. Behind him chased half a dozen guards to protect their princess's maidenhood. He sighed, glancing behind him with a raised eyebrow. They were easily 100 yards behind, clambering awkwardly through the uneven brush. But he continued to run, keeping them at an even distance away.

Thinking back, though, Kort thought it was ironic how they were trying to protect the virginity of their princess. She's no maiden, he thought with a snort. So what if they had caught the two in an awkward moment? He wasn't actually encroaching on her supposed maidenhood. She was safe from him. The elf had just managed to charm her into a sweet state and wanted to take advantage of the moment, none the wiser. It was a shame those maids had come upon him and their mistress.

Z'kort shrugged, and checked to see the guards' progress. The branch had seemed unscalable to them so they had hacked it down, only to capture a comrade under it. Alas, they would be stuck there awhile, what a shame. He slowed to a trot, going backwards and watching them with interest. Was there no one in this world faster than he? This wasn't fun sport at all!

"Idiots, they ar-" A sucking feeling came at his back and moved over him, pulling him in. With dismay, Kort felt himself thrown backward, blind to what was coming.

Opening angry green eyes, the elf flipped to his feet and looked around. A girl stood behind him, shocked. She seemed to have dropped a bag of some sort and was staring at him with a mix of horror and awe. He chose to work on the awe and within moments found himself in what she had called "an apartment." A little more work devulged information on this new place and with just another smile and touch, he was allowed to live with her.

Over a course of a couple months, the elf acquired clothing and a car-the most amazing contraption he had ever seen. And as time flew past him, he also found himself is the more shady regions of the city. How interesting, this place was so different, but held the same qualities of his own world. At this point, Kort has smiled. "I'm going to like this place."


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Fourth and the member that allows play ^^ woot!

Gaia Name: Yo_Landa
Character Name: Na’fiel
Age: 21
Race: Mermaid
Alignment:Neutral
Class: Street Warrior
Second Class:((Only if applicable))

Weapons:Mainly her fists. If she wishes, she can inject a small amount of poison from two spears in her wrists. However, it would take her a full two weeks before she could inject another. The poison is only potent enough to cause dizziness or confusion and, in more serious cases, the victim to faint or fall unconscious.

Appearance: Na’fiel is a tough woman. Her tanned skin looks almost mismatched with her hair, which is a pale blue, and falls to her waist. Her eyes are also a striking blue, although they are brighter than her hair. She has a slender build, with compact muscles and a modest chest. Though she doesn’t look like she has much strength, she can defend herself well in any fight. In her mermaid form, she doesn’t have a tail like most would expect. Instead, she grows fins on her forearms and two ‘flippers’ on her feet. The flippers and her fins are both (you guessed it) a light, powder blue. Touching salt water transforms her into her aquatic form, but drying herself off changes her back into a regular human. In addition to her fins, she also aquires a pair of gills that are on either side of her neck, just above her collarbone. They, too, disappear when she dries off. No matter weather she is dry or wet, she always has her ‘spears’ which extend from her wrists (see Weapons for more details).

Personality: Unsure of her alignment, Na’fiel is hardly self sacrificing. She fights for what she believes in and not for anyone, or anything, else. Her first priority is always herself. Although this may seem ‘selfish’ she does not consider it so, especially since she is hardened in the laws of the darker parts of the city. However, if it came between a choice of saving herself or another, she would choose to save herself. Still, she would not betray a friend unless the situation called for it. Following her gut instinct, she doesn’t have a main goal in life as of yet, but she has never been close to anyone before. Even as a friend. Na’fiel is a solitary person and is usually cold to others. It takes a long time to earn her trust, but only a second to destroy it.

History: The day had begun innocently enough, with the regular routine. Rising early, Na’fiel yawned and flicked a fin, slowly following the current onto the streets of the underwater city. Atlantis was a beautiful place, but the young mermaid, only 17 at the time, did not notice the wonder, since she had been here her entire life. Humming softly, she made her way to work, passing a few friends as she swam towards the fields. Her line of work was…boring and she loathed it. Where was the excitement in collecting shells? Where was the adventure in gathering plants? Where was the reward of carrying stones that would be used to build the city’s castles? However much she loathed her work, it was work and work would be what’s keeping her from a life on the streets.

After her third bag of green shells, she began to swim further and further away from the city to collect more. The areas that she had visited already were picked clean. Almost unconsciously, she found herself in uncharted waters.

“I should go back,” she thought, turning towards Atlantis to find that the Palace was only a blur where she was. Na’fiel was about to turn back when something caught her eye. A rainbow shell; not even chipped. Her eyes lit up. If she sold this in the market, she could afford a few days off from work…

Not even thinking, the mermaid swam over to the shell and reached out to grab it. The moment her fingers connected with the smooth outer layer, something pulled her back. The water turned cold, rather than the warmer temperature of the city.

“Huh?” she thought, “What happened?” Looking around, she felt the environment begin to change. Suddenly, the water seemed lighter. When she lowered her feet, she didn’t feel the soft sand of the ocean, she felt…a substance like…marble? Looking down, she found that it was a ‘shell-like’ material, flat, and in a pattern. The surface seemed so…close… Mermaids often walked among the surface, usually to barter for goods or to find entertainment that would not exist underwater. Someone bumped into her as she surfaced, panicking.

Na’fiel found herself in a modern day pool.

As the years passed, the mermaid found herself an apartment and a job. She was a lifeguard, part-time and a swimmer as well. She had won numerous awards, but the cost of competitions and travel kept her apartment in some of the darker parts of the city. However, she developed a strength in fighting, often being assaulted in dark alleyways. However, most of the ones who tried ended up with broken bones, or worse. The mermaid changed her ways to accommodate her new surroundings. Sure, it was different, but every day seemed like…an adventure.

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Our first ebil charrie whee w00t!

Gaia Name: Sephora_Demassi
Character Name: Azriel
Age: About 150 (in Tiefling years, appearance is a 25 year old woman)
Race: Tiefling
Alignment: Lawful Evil
Class: Mystic
Second Class: Psychic
Third Class: Swashbuckler
Fourth Class: Special ((Approved by Chaos Sakura))

Weapons:

Favoring tradition over modern machinery, Azriel regards weapons such as guns to be sinful and vestiges
of physical weakness. She uses a longsword known as "Abkommen," which has been used for centuries by her ancestors in combat and has lived through much strain in war. Its blade is pure sapphire and onyx, crafted together by elf blacksmiths and
sealed with magic to keep it strong and sharp. The handle is gilded with silver in the shape of a screaming phoenix head,
with poisonous spikes placed cleverly right beneath the blade so that if it sinks deep enough into the flesh, Azriel is able to twist it vertically into the victim's body, further crippling them with the venom. She is adept at magic, being a Mystic, especially in the darker aspects of sorcery. Also a psychic, she has limited skills, such as the rare ability to read a person's mind (not all the time however) and determine their alignment by their aura. Azriel is not physically strong, however, and becomes faint or ill after walking too long, rumored to be because of her Tiefling heritage and its extreme exposure to the Dark Arts.

Appearance:

Azriel has burgundy curls that flow past her waist and sweep the ground while she walks, almond-shaped eyes and an extremely pale complexion, making her constantly appear deathly ill. Her eyes, while usually a sharp, cat-like amber, have a permanent, amethyst gleam to them, due to lack of oxygen at birth because of her mother's failed attempts to strangle her. However, like every Tiefling, she also has a glow to her features, giving her a supernatural sort of appearance to those whom first see her. She is short at 5'2'' and is somewhat thin with a curvaceous frame, and is known to have lured men with her delicate features and using them to her advantage. Her attire is almost man-like, as she wears suits often that tighten around her feminine figure and is partial to slacks and pinstripe. She usually wears pinstripe vests with some sort of flower on the chest and pleated skirts underneath, as well as leather boots, or even German Nazi coats and swastika symbols upon casual clothing. Azriel has a religious tattoo on the side of her neck in an X-symbol with two circles outlined around it, a symbol to the
Shadow and its thinning, which she has made a deity out of and worships fervently with her cult.

Personality:

A religious fanatic of her own established cult, Azriel deeply admires unconventional and often insane thinkers of the past, such as Adolf
Hitler and Machiavelli. Her cult is part of a larger conglomerate that has been making pacts with demons to acquire magical
power to strengthen their company and allow them to experiment on beings coming from the shadow. Quoting "The Prince"
regularly, she believes that tyranny is the only way of ruling, and despises the compassionate and their inability to control
their emotions. Azriel is not completely in her right mind, as she believes the Shadow has come back to this world to call its faithful subjects to a religious crusade against the weak and invalid of humanity, and its thinning should be encouraged as the beginning of a New Era and the "cleaning of the Earth, replacing the creatures of the Shadow with the weak," she being the messenger of this New Era. Because of this she has deeply racist views, disgusted by orcs, elves and any half-breeds whom do not submit to the teachings of her Shadow deity. Any who oppose the Shadow and its thinning she will question, and if they speak "heresy," she will try to kill them. However, Azriel holds her own morals, such as never killing an unarmed opponent, never killing a child in cold blood and never submitting to arrogance unless it is for the good of the Shadow and its crusade.
Azriel is cool, calm and collected, and is not a stupid Tiefling; she is one of the smartest of her race and refuses to
allow the need of vengeance to warp her acquiring of her intended goals.
She is extremely good-looking, an exceptionally well speaker and thinker, and knows many things of the world, especially Shadowkind and the mundane.

History:

It was a century ago, but it still seems like eternity. I can still smell my mother's perfume, I can feel her discarding me on the ground with every stroke of her fist she took into my body. I can still feel the coldness of the alley floor, the slippery fabric against
the blood caking my flesh, like a slow molasses leaving my body in the form of my life.

A little girl whimpered, face-down on the ground, her broken nose buried into the cement, scruffy burgundy hair covering her tiny almond eyes. They were a jagged pink from her continued sobbing, her tears traveling down in salty canals across the ground and down her pearl white cheeks to touch her trembling, split lip. She was sure her mother had torn off her black wings, as they had just recently sprouted from her upper back while she slept-an emblem of a true Tiefling, which, to her mother had made her nothing but a worthless, vile insect grown from a dirt-infested larvae that at this time must be stamped out.
Willing to open one aching eye, her vision blurred by the tears that fell-those damn tears, when would they ever stop?-she saw a small but noticeable clump of charcoal feathers, discarded carelessly against the nearest dumpster. It was her wings-those little ragged feathers that bent against one another in an insignificant ball of fuzz. They looked like the remains of a crow, of
a raven shot down to the ground, patches of blood strewn along their tips. The girl could make out traces of ivory in the mottled ebony and scarlet of her wings, and realized in horror that it had been part of her backbone, torn viciously off of her body. Her shattered ligaments now shrieked in pain inside of her tiny body, the open wounds throbbing in a crescendo of utter pain that caused her to cringe and bury herself deeper within the cement. She was insignificant now; a vessel of her former self, a dreg of a tangible being that she realized was now set to die.

"You worthless little scum," The quivering voice of her mother hissed above her, and she could feel its icy undertones gripping
her with a looming sense of foreboding,

"How dare you grow those-those things! It has been centuries, centuries of my living in this damned place,
taken from my home and into this dark corner of the world...and then I began to raise you, and you've been nothing
but a burden on my back. I have torn my wings years ago in an effort to keep you warm, in an effort to raise you as if you
were human! And look at you...look at those,"

As a trembling finger pointed at the wings that had been torn from her body, Azriel turned her head the other way towards the illuminated world outside. Before her a tapestry of sidewalks and budding flowers and homes stood tantalizingly on the borderline of her vision, an apple always ripe for the taking that she wished she had enough courage to pick, to bite full and regretless into. She wanted to stare at anything but her mother and this scene before her, this part of her life that she so dearly wished she could amputate from her soul and pretend it had all been a foolish dream.

"You'll pay attention to me when I speak to you, you piece of s**t!"

Soon something gripped her, so strong and terrible that she felt as if she were surely about to die. Coldness sunk deep into her skin, as she cried and screamed to herself in agony, a coldness that seized every inch, every precious cell of her body and seemed to shatter it into pieces. The emerald green of the spell cast upon the young Tiefling coiled around her eyes and her lips and forced its way into her lungs, piercing them with the intensity of blades skewering her whole. And she was trapped, the icy coldness and the suffocation emanating throughout her like a complete and utter manifestation of death, and she knew that her mother was killing her. Azriel knew that she was now going to die, and it was completely out of her control, that she would be no more than a pile of bones along the unknowing world, shrouded forever in the darkness, even lesser than an animal, lesser than an insect.

I am going to die. I am going to die and nobody will hear me scream.

And then, suddenly, everything came to an end. Everything except for the eternal nightfall.

Even as the girl opened her eyes, expecting to see the alleyway around her, her mother's enraged face, her broken wings...anything that seemed relevant to what she had been raised to see each and every day of her life, she found that she saw nothing but a dark, winding abyss before her, engulfing her mind, body and soul. The child opened her mouth to speak, but she found that nothing came out but the softest of whimpers, and in this sea of darkness that coalesced and twisted around her being it merely echoed once before evaporating soundlessly into the thin air.

"Azriel."

A voice in the darkness.

Who's there? Where am I? What are you? Why am I here...?

Her thoughts drifted into the sea of nothingness around her, flimsy and sounding unbelievably foolish to her ears. She was dead, of course. Why would she have any reason to survive? She had been killed by a Dark spell, she had been condemned to nothingness. She was not in purgatory, heaven or hell; she was inside of the bleak nothingness of her deceased mind.
Of course, that had to be where she was, where else would she be? She most certainly wasn't alive...

"But you are, Azriel. All these years you have been dead...but now I will bring you to life."

This had taken her by surprise, filling her already numbed emotions with a sense of prickling, distorted fear. Where the hell was she? What was happening to her? She struggled to move, yet her muscles contracted painfully within her body, and she held herself still for another horrible moment, forcing herself to calm down and listen to what this booming voice within her was telling her.

"You would have died if I haven't found you. I finally found you...and you are more than a creature to me. You are my child,
Azriel. You are my body and soul."

The young girl's mind reeled into an enigmatic contortion of severed thoughts. Her eyes began to focus around the abyss that surrounded her, and she began to see the outline of a man within the Shadows that had taken her hostage into its fierce embrace. She watched as the outline of a human form stretched its hand to her, and she felt something strike her heart with a sudden flare of intensity.

He was accepting her. She had never felt accepted before, and here he was, giving her a home in his rescue of her, giving her a past...a present, a future. These were elements of a dream that she never thought she could acquire, always ending in a requiem as she brought herself to reality each morning. But now...now was different.

She didn't care where her mother was at this moment, she didn't care where she was. All she cared about was that someone found her a significant part of the world, and it brought happiness to her heart that she could never have explained with what she had experienced the feeling of acceptance that brought her an unbelievable ecstasy. This-person-had saved her life, and was offering to shelter her for the remainder...but what was he? What did she call him?

As the days passed and Azriel began to grow stronger, she ventured out into the world known as Earth, perceived as a human because of her missing wings. She dabbled with the Dark Arts and gained control of the magic that ran through a Tiefling's veins. And she owed all of this to the man who had helped her and given her a home, an identity...

He called himself the Shadow. And she worshipped him as a deity, carrying out his wishes that she would cleanse humanity of its sinners and bring a rebirth to the world through death.

Azriel works currently under Draco Industries, second-in-command only to Franz Draco. She and Franz make up partial leadership for the Industries, as Carlton Ashe and Dr. Astrid Kolgrim follow them in order of power. The Industries is dedicated to Shadow Hunting and killing Shadowkind in order to acquire their magical abilities. However, Azriel has her own agenda in mind...

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Our second ebil charrie whee
Gaia Name: Shazzer
Character Name: Syshe Sen
Age: 52
Race: Half-Elf
Alignment: Chaotic Evil
Class: Technomage
Second Class: Artificer

Weapons: Syshe is the very proud owner of a tricked-out WWII M1D Sniper Garand that she almost never carries around (as it's worth over ten thousand dollars, impractical unless she's on a roof, and very, very illegal). Two long-barelled revolvers are attatched to her hips, as well, but they've been so modified it's impossible to tell what they once were. She also keeps a subcompact secured to her left thigh for tight situations, but it's unlikely she'll use a charmed gun in lieu of techmagic.

Appearance: Already intimidating at a redoubtable 6', the last thing Syshe needs to look even mildly approachable is her face: angular and pale with a touch of crazy in just the right place--the eyes. Set in their sockets like beryl and shaded the same way, sparks of purple against a grey-hued backdrop, they place the punctuation mark on her vizard of a visage. Falling past her shoulderblades and framing said mask is an enviable mass of thick dark hair, wrought with curls that intensify near the tips (due to a recent fascination with adolescent culture, however, there are a few streaks of neon pink throughout).

Other than her height and slightly pointed ears, Syshe looks all the world like a teenager. Her clothing often consists of tight jeans and a midriff-revealing shirt, revealing that she's relatively fit, and several pieces of expensive-looking jewelry jangle from her person.

Personality: When it comes to anything but which pertains to her classes, Syshe isn't very smart... more the type to shoot things and not even bother asking questions anytime post that action. She's aware of the fact that she isn't the sharpest tack, but it doesn't bother her much, for she has little will to learn and the attention span of a goldfish to boot. But talk to her about technology and she's a veritable encyclopedia of information, brandishing a cornucopia of facts and stats that she seems to pull out of nowhere. Some intelligence is selective, or so they say.
Her disposition is an oddly friendly one, sometimes creepily so. She finds pleasure in the pain of others and will often chat to those she kills... after she kills them. Unless it's a mass shooting. Then it's just fun.

History: When living in the realm beyond the Shadow, Syshe was an inventor. A darn good one, too, rich like a Nazi due to her imrovements to the weapons of the era. Crossbows powerful enough to pierce the thickest of armours, endowed with charms to puncture magical barriers. Swords with perfect counterbalances formed by ingenius combinations of twine and hollowed metal. Daggers whose cuts never stop bleeding unless magically treated by a great healer. All of those, and more, came from the deranged mind of Syshe Sen, daughter of a blacksmith, before the age of twenty-five.

If it would help you kill things, Syshe would help you make it for the right price (a high one). It, and a copy for herself. Why? Well, she held such a fascination with death stemming from a massacre that took place in her home village, a strong curiousity. She believed the more she'd help cause, the more she would realise its mystery. And her natural ability to create weapons of destruction was really quite the way to go.

Eventually she had enough money to stop worrying about others (she murdered the last one to ask with a serrated knife to the eye, and was never sought after again), locked herself in her manor of a house, went even more crazy with her creations. Talked to corpses, dug up graves. You know, the norm.

When the shadow took her but a few months ago, it flew her from her house into a classroom. Luckily, it was nighttime when it happened, and even more luckily, it brought quite a bit of gold gilding powder along with her. At first she was confused and angry (resulting in the death of a policeman on her fuming travels around the evening streets), but then she discovered something wonderful on his body: a gun.

How pretty it was, how simple! Pull trigger, high-speed projectile buries itself in target. Syshe learned quickly about the amazing new technology this world presented to her, and, with the return of magic, she fused her knowledge of both and became a self-learned technomage

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Gaia Name: Shouyin
Character Name: Connor Neilson
Age: 26
Race: Lycan
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Class: Street Fighter
Second Class: Swashbuckler

Weapons: Smith & Wesson .357, brass knuckles and a switchblade.

Appearance: A pair of yellowed eyes stare out from under black, matted and often sweaty hair that brushes his jawline. He stands about 5'10" with a weight of 187lbs. and the lean muscles of someone who's been fighting for years, which well, he has. Usually dressed in a thin pair of jeans and a ragged tight t-shirt, the only thing of somewhat considerable value visible being a worn-out leather jacket that serves as concealment for anything he needs to hide. An avid smoker, Connor is rarely seen without a cigarette in his mouth, whether he's bashing someone's face in or not.

Personality: What used to be your average teenage rebel now used to the troubles of the streets. Rough and generally impartial to most things he's mastered the art of complete nonchalance. A devislishly calm fighter, his weakness is that he often ends up just not paying attention to his opponents.

History: Born into a line of werewolves he was bred to be a respectable lycan despite his family's financial inadequacies. Obviously, he ran away, deciding the life of a thug to be much more preferable to that of a 'respectable' lycan. Soon into this new life he discovered that being a werewolf was useful for many more things besides heritage. At the age of sixteen he was already well-versed in the way of muggings and petty-theft.

A local gangster realized the boy's potential as a fighter and took him under his wing, offering his services as an agent for a smooth 60% of whatever winnings the kid brought in. Let's just say the man became rather wealthy very quickly. He'd be an outstanding street fighter using just half his strength and cunning. In a knife fight, he'd kill his opponent bare-handed, half the time he broke his brass knuckles trying to use them. And that's Connor's life. From the moment that gangster found him he's been fighting, although now he works alone, usually betting on himself.

The influence of his current situation and instincts have made him a perfect animal. And yet, his fangs are never bared, his eyes never wavering. Calm, lucid and intense, until you bring women and alcohol into the equation of course ^^

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Gaia Name: Dorobo Irien
Character Name: Jaden Greybeast
Age: Few Months
Race: Kitten?
Alignment: Neutral
Class: Squire
Second Class: N/A as of yet
Weapons: Claws and Teeth?

Appearance: A bit on the fluffy side still, the assumption is that she’ll grow out of her baby fur eventually. Black fur, other than a single white boot on her left, back foot. Her tail is inordinately long for her size, but eventually she hopes to grow into that as well. One golden eye and one blue, the kitten has an unnerving serious gaze and ability to focus on a single thing rather than everything at once.

Mid-back on the kitten, a few ridges ruffle her fur in an unusual way. Mundanes tend to see a kitten that is underfed, but to those that know better, there is something unusual there. However, approaching the strange cat to find out what those ridges are is another matter entirely.

Personality: For a kitten she seems to have a strange, serious personality. While her siblings still chase after anything that moves, Jaden had the personality and temperament of a cat far older than he. She likes to watch, anything and everything that passes before her eyes fall under the scrutiny of a bright intellect. There are, of course, moments where the kitten lapses back into the mode of those who are young and foolish.

History: Jaden was the last of her litter, hatching shortly after the others had already arrived. She doesn’t recall anything before coming to the mundane and though she’s only been alive a few short months, she is already aware that she is different from the other kittens in the litter.

The owner of Jaden’s mother placed an ad in the paper attempting to give the litter away for free. In pairs and singly, the other kittens of the litter were given away, eventually leaving only Jaden and her mother. An unnerving stare and intelligent expression had left those that considered taking Jaden unable to bring themselves to do so. There was something different about that black kitten from the others in the litter. Mundanes were unable to put their finger on just what it was, but they felt the difference never the less. Before the man could simply throw Jaden onto the street, the kitten left on her own, determined to find out what it was that made her so different from her siblings.

For the last month and a half her search has proved fruitless, for all the mortals of the realm see in her is a kitten. To his advantage this has resulted in free meals, though this is not what will sate her quest for knowledge. The most recent conclusion that Jaden has reached is that she is indeed not a cat. However, if she is not, what exactly is she?

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WOOTAGE!! First applicant!! biggrin

Neh, I get the plot, I get the storyline, I get the scenery. ^^; But I'm stupid, so do ya think you could explain to me about the chosing of good, evil, neutral for your character?

The alignments denote the type/stereotype, if you will, that you will be playing. Usually you pick the closest alignment to your charrie, and play around that. They can vary a bit, for instance take a Chaotic Neutral Barbarian. He is hired to save a village. He wouldn't do it because of his 'moral compass' persay as much as his want for the money or his own wish to do so. The idea behind it is that everyone else can know OOCly what kind of a behavior to except, even if it is unexpectable. Such as that same barbarian turning on the village he is protecting because he sees a better profit in the opponents line of work. sweatdrop I hope that helps whee

Pyrotechnics would only be allowed as a Mystic, Archmage, or any other type of mage on the class list. You would simply be more inclined to use fire instead of other magics and have concentrated in your lists more on those magics instead. As a class though, no a 'Pyromaniac'((Which I am irl whee )) would not be allowed, although a mage could be. ^_^ Hope I answered your questions. If not just clarify or whatever else xp

Okey dokey, once I get my brain back from being kicked around, I'll do something about a charry. ^^;;

FOURTH time I'm writing this. Starting to REALLY HATE GAIA.

Gaia Name: Blueshadow
Character Name: Z'kort ((Kort))
Age: 50 ((Adolescent Elf? ))
Race: Elf
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Class: Glamourist
Second Class: Speed Demon

Weapons: Sharp and slender knives hidden all over various parts of his clothes and person. He also holds the ability to rip a branch off and beat people with it. And beat them well with his skills.

Appearance: Pale skin contrasted well with his raven black hair, which fell around his head in feathery layers. The longest part falling a couple inches past his shoulder blades and the shortest falling just over deep green eyes. Almond shaped and tilted slightly up gave him an exotic look, coupled with a strong chin, square jaw, and roman nose to give an aristocratic face an imperious aire. A pouty bottom lip hinted at a spoiled child or a man to be spoiled, the latter which was more used. Long and slender, Kort seems like a tall person but it only about 5'7".

Personality: Z'kort has a volatile personality. He's quick to change his mood and often those that are unsure can be forced into closed corners and to walk on eggs. His temper is easily set off, but then quick to ebb when off. Easily offended, Kort takes what people say to him to heart. Something attributed to his speed demon talents. But on the other side he is also a very charming man. It is said he could make rocks blush and mountains bend willingly, a gift from his 'glamour.' Many cannot resist his sweet words and alluring smiles, but he can resist them with ease. The only thing he can't resist, though, are cars. They fascinate him and awe him to no end.

History: Speeding along through the forest, he jumped over a low hanging branch. Behind him chased half a dozen guards to protect their princess's maidenhood. He sighed, glancing behind him with a raised eyebrow. They were easily 100 yards behind, clambering awkwardly through the uneven brush. But he continued to run, keeping them at an even distance away.

Thinking back, though, Kort thought it was ironic how they were trying to protect the virginity of their princess. She's no maiden, he thought with a snort. So what if they had caught the two in an awkward moment? He wasn't actually encroaching on her supposed maidenhood. She was safe from him. The elf had just managed to charm her into a sweet state and wanted to take advantage of the moment, none the wiser. It was a shame those maids had come upon him and their mistress.

Z'kort shrugged, and checked to see the guards' progress. The branch had seemed unscalable to them so they had hacked it down, only to capture a comrade under it. Alas, they would be stuck there awhile, what a shame. He slowed to a trot, going backwards and watching them with interest. Was there no one in this world faster than he? This wasn't fun sport at all!

"Idiots, they ar-" A sucking feeling came at his back and moved over him, pulling him in. With dismay, Kort felt himself thrown backward, blind to what was coming.

Opening angry green eyes, the elf flipped to his feet and looked around. A girl stood behind him, shocked. She seemed to have dropped a bag of some sort and was staring at him with a mix of horror and awe. He chose to work on the awe and within moments found himself in what she had called "an apartment." A little more work devulged information on this new place and with just another smile and touch, he was allowed to live with her.

Over a course of a couple months, the elf acquired clothing and a car-the most amazing contraption he had ever seen. And as time flew past him, he also found himself is the more shady regions of the city. How interesting, this place was so different, but held the same qualities of his own world. At this point, Kort has smiled. "I'm going to like this place."

*pokes Chaos* Ya didn't comment on mine <<;.

Oh..

Well, ya didn't exactly accept it, you know? xd