[b][u]TheTwistedOne[/u][/b]
[hider=Camilla Thorton]
[b]Name: [/b] Camilla  Thorton
[b]Appearance: [/b] 
[hider=Appearance]
Camilla stands at 5’9”, muscular and toned. 
[img]http://i955.photobucket.com/albums/ae36/MetalGearZombies/images_zpsyhccjvus.jpg[/img]
[/hider]

[hider=Armor and Weapons]
[img]http://i955.photobucket.com/albums/ae36/MetalGearZombies/c5302f10963647.560eeb5bf1cc0_zpssaxxjh7j.jpg[/img]
[/hider]


[b]Age: [/b]27
[b]Gender: [/b]Female
[b]Race: [/b] Human
[b]Rank: [/b] Knight-Corporal
[b]Personality: [/b] The type of woman that never loses sight of her duties, she’s strong willed, and often mistaken for stubborn. Despite trying to convince the world of her hard exterior at the core of her being she is kindhearted, and merciful; a woman that would sacrifice everything, and anything, even her own life for those close to her heart. She has a strong sense of integrity, but is not afraid to hold her tongue for anyone.
[b]Bio: [/b] The daughter of a fisherman and the only girl of five, it came as no surprise that Camilla shared the same wild imagination as her brothers, and most young boys;  being a mighty warrior capable of slaying any beast, or a champion of justice praised throughout all of the lands… a life full of dangerous and daring adventures, however,  being the only girl her parents had different expectations of her, and although it was not unheard of brave woman fighting for their kingdoms and its people, they were old fashion and already with four boys and no need for their only daughter wanting to follow in her brothers footsteps. 
Camilla struggled constantly at trying to be the young girl her parents wanted her to be and the truth was it left her feeling caged. Having realized how unhappy Camilla was they came to terms with the fact that their only daughter would not be tamed and that she would be reckless and hard-working like her brothers. Thus she was, she hunted big-game with her eldest brother, and became skilled in spearfishing alongside her father. 
At nineteen she found herself at the steps of the Covenant. She’d grown into a strong young woman both physically and mentally and wanted more out of life.  
[b]Magic: [/b] Restoration--- Resistance Aura--- Camilla is able to channel her energy to manifest a protective barrier around herself or her allies in combat; however, the larger the barrier the more fatigued she will become both mentally and physically  leaving her extremely vulnerable in battle.
[b]Post Example:[/b] [Getting around to this >.>]
[b]Theme Song:[/b] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J16lInLZRms
[/hider]


[b][u]TheTruthWhale[/u][/b]
[hider=Valerie Zylcan]
[center][color=00FFFF][b][h1]Valerie Zylcan, Wraith Slayer[/h1][/b][/color][/center]

[center][img]http://img04.deviantart.net/2953/i/2011/362/8/3/a_new_lease_on_life_by_rui_shi-d4khc6n.jpg[/img][/center]
[i]Credit to artist Stevie Cole (rui-shi.deviantart.com)[/i]

[hr]
[color=00FFFF][b]Age:[/b][/color] 28

[color=00FFFF][b]Gender:[/b][/color] Female

[color=00FFFF][b]Race:[/b][/color] Half-Elf (Wood Elf Father, Human Mother)

[color=00FFFF][b]Rank:[/b][/color] Templar

[color=00FFFF][b]Personality:[/b][/color]
Valerie is quite a compassionate individual, so much so that she worries constantly about the weaknesses of her allies being exposed or exploited. She also understands her own weaknesses very well, and will sometimes insist on doing things alone, simply to not endanger others due to her own shortcomings. Her mind is incredibly analytical, seeing things and connections that most people either miss, however, this means that she is often overly critical, and quite blunt, despite only wishing to be helpful. As a result, she generally keeps quiet, unless directly addressed, or she feels the need to speak up. The exception for this, however, is when talking to herself, or under her breath, where she can be as snarky or as blunt as she feels, without hurting another's feelings. She has an innate fear of a total failure, in which she will lose everyone she cares about, and, as a result, will not accept a rank that requires her to command others.

[hider=Bio]
Valerie Zylcan is the only daughter of the male wood elf, Elvara Zylcan, and a female human, Samantha Zylcan. Not only was she an unusual half-elf for having a human mother, her mother and father were also married, and lived as textile merchants in the human kingdom of Farendar. Though there were some obvious hardships, especially with the racial prejudices found throughout the kingdom, Elvara and Samantha made a decent enough living, using the elegance of elvish design to create clothing and decorations that were as functional as they were beautiful. In fact, their living was decent enough that they decided to have a child, and, thus, Valerie was born into the world, and would remain one of the few half-elves that were not bastard love-children, abandoned by both parents, but, instead, was raised with love and affection that only caring parents could give.

It was quickly discovered, however, that Valerie was not made for the textile industry. She had always seen things a bit differently, obsessing over the flaws and weaknesses that each individual piece had, and seeking near-perfection in everything she tried to make, leading her to take months on a single piece that should have taken a few weeks. Disappointed that their daughter's quirks would mean their business would end with them, they began to search for a different form of apprenticeship for Valerie. For a while, she apprenticed under a local hunter, and she seemed to fit within that job rather well. The planning, the trapping, and the hunt all seemed to flow well for Valerie, so much so that her parents asked the hunter to make her a permanent apprentice. Unfortunately, he refused, not only because of what she was, but because he was leaving to more prosperous grounds, and knew that he would become unfavorable if he apprenticed a half-elf. It was only a short time after that the Covenant approached her parents about taking their daughter in to train her there.

Though younger than most other initiates, Valerie was able to hold her own on the archery range, but that was about it. It would take her several years before she was comfortable with a sword, and it was quickly understood that putting her in the heavy armor that Knights generally wore would only hinder her more. When it came to magical studies, she was weaker in that area as well, finding that, while she could manifest magic, but, the moment she tried to cast spells against targets, they fizzled before they ever left her person. She was, instead, taught how to coat her weapons in magical energy through a process called enchantment, although, as far as her training went, she was only able to add elemental damage to her weapons. This was because the majority of her training was to increase the efficacy of her hyper-analytical mind to be used as an advantage on the field. They labeled this type of training "Slayer Training," and focused on the understanding and exploitation of weaknesses, be it human, mer, or monster.

Eventually, she passed her trials, and was made an official Templar, only to be kept within the general vicinity of Starwatch, having her aid the people about the city, and never really send her on a hunt. That is, until they received word of an alleged Ice Wraith in the North, and determined that it would be a perfect opportunity to "field test" Valerie. It was here that she was given her sword, the yet-to-be-named Reaver, and sent off to dispose of the Wraith. She did so, and returned to find that they wished to promote her to a higher rank, to which she promptly refused. She knew all to well that she could not handle leading anyone, as she would over-analyze everything, and lead to just as much inaction as she would success, which was not something, she believed, the Covenant could afford.

Fast forward several years, and she is now under the command of Knight-Sergeant Draxis, and although she is neither his most trusted or his first, she is the analytical mind of the group, as well as the spellsword, and the scout. She has never accepted a promotion, though, she highly respects her Knight-Sergeant, as he lived through what she feared the most, and came out better for it.
[/hider]

[hr]
[color=00FFFF][b]Weapons:[/b][/color][list]
[*][color=999999][u]The Reaver:[/u][/color] A special, quasi-physical blade forged in a far-away land. This weapon, brought to power by an experienced Necromancer, affects both incorporeal and ethereal creatures as if they were fully corporeal. It does not, however, do anything special against corporeal targets. It's sheath, however, contains a powerful field of negation, making the blade appear and function as if it were non-magical until drawn from the sheath.
[*][color=CC9900][u]Frostwood Bow:[/u][/color] A bow crafted in the North, and possesses a natural Restorative magic within the wood, allowing it to self-repair from almost any damage. This allows it to fire enchanted arrows without the string being damaged or destroyed by the properties of the arrow, and prevents the bow from being affected by the arrow notched against it.
[*][u]Carving Dagger:[/u] It's a Carving Dagger. It's designed to carve monster hides. Back-up weapon if she becomes disarmed. Nothing special here. Move along.[/list]

[color=00FFFF][b]Magic:[/b][/color][list]
[*][color=CC6699][u]Elemental, Enchantment:[/u][/color] Valerie can coat her weapons in the magic of one of the following elements: Fire, Ice, Water, Electricity, Acid. This causes the weapon to do additional damage based on what element it is coated in, and can even allow her weapons to harm usually-intangible enemies (such as a water spirit), so long as the element would harm them. However, in addition to being the only form of magic she has learned, it seems to be the only type of magic Valerie is capable of. She cannot sling spells, and can only channel her magic through her weapons. She is currently working on a way to combine non-opposed elements, as well as learning how to coat her weapons in other forms of magic, such as a Necromancer's Energy Drain.[/list]

[color=00FFFF][b]Other:[/b][/color][list]
[*][u]Light Armor Training:[/u] Valerie prefers the use of lighter armors (studded leather is her personal preference) to the bulkier sets of full-plate that the other knights wear. She always felt they were too restrictive. As a result, she is generally more agile, and can perform acrobatic feats without penalty. She also doesn't sink like a rock if put into a situation where she has to swim.
[*][u]Slayer:[/u] Valerie's specialized training and skill as a Slayer allows her to survive in solo mode, as well as when working with a team. She has done extensive research on the weaknesses of all manner of creatures, and can understand the weaknesses of opponents simply by engaging with them, although this is not instantaneous, nor is it supernatural in nature. The drawback to this is, unfortunately, she can never simply "turn it off," and is in a near-constant state of awareness, and makes her wholly unfit to ever lead a team, especially from the sidelines.[/list]

[hr]
[hider=Post Example]
The frosted winds of the northern mountains had been blowing quite hard this evening, pelting the region below with chilling temperatures. It was only luck that no snow or ice had begun falling, though, the evening light was growing dim, and soon, the cold of night would set itself upon the denizens of this village. However, it was not an issue for these villagers, as they were among the proudest blacksmiths that could be found. They used the colder-than-average temperatures to temper iron in a unique way, allowing for the forging of iron weapons and armor that were rumored to be more effective against the Mer. The heat and light of the forges, ones that burned throughout the night, would keep the village safe, for the most part. However, there was the occasional creature that made itself a threat, and that is why Valerie was here.

There were more than a few rumors of this creature's appearance: an Ice Wraith. While not technically a damned spirit from beyond the grave, it was an incorporeal creature that moved with bone-chilling cold surrounding it's very being. They are fiercely territorial, and, beyond that, they drained the heat of creatures around them for sustenance, making them almost impossible to fight in a prolonged battle. The best way to kill them was with a strong source of heat, and the forges usually repelled them, but not this winter. It had been colder than usual, and the forges could not burn as bright, which resulted in this Ice Wraith moving it's territory closer and closer to the village. Fearful, and rightfully so, they contacted the Knights of the Dawn, and asked for someone to deal with the problem. They had chosen to send Valerie, the 24-year-old Templar that had shown incredibly skill in hunting down "monsters."

[color=00FFFF]"This cold is nearly unbearable,"[/color] she said, huddling within her furs for warmth. She was stationed in a watchtower closest to the mountains, where she was to keep alert for any and all suspicious activity. The Wraith had yet to be confirmed, and it could simply be a Frost Troll, something that was far more manageable. Looking down at her sword, she began to get a flashback of what had transpired before she came here...

[b]"We're sending you on your first real solo mission. It's not something we normally do, but, it's also not something we can spare an entire squad for. It could be nothing, but, given your aptitude in your training as a Slayer, it has been decided that you should investigate."[/b]

[color=00FFFF]"It would be my honor, Knight-Lieutenant. What, may I ask, am I hunting?"[/color]

[b]"It could be anything, but, eyewitness reports seem to suggest that an Ice Wraith has been making it's way towards a village in the North."[/b]

[color=00FFFF]"... An Ice Wraith? I mean no offense, Knight-Lieutenant, but, why me? Even with my ability to enchant, my magic is relatively weak, and their natural aura would even further negate my fire. Shouldn't you send a mage?"[/color]

[b]"No. This will be a perfect test of your abilities in a solo environment. However, we are not sending you there completely unprepared. Consider it your reward for completing this mission, paid before it is done."[/b] With that, the Knight-Lieutenant had waved his hand, and two Initiates brought forth a sheathed blade, set it before Valerie, and left, allowing the Knight-Lieutenant to continue. [b]"This is a very special blade. We still don't know all the details of how it's magic exactly works, but, it will allow you to defeat the Wraith. We've not much use for a single weapon like this, and it's power is not valuable enough to be locked away with our other relics. Consider it your payment, in full."[/b]

[color=00FFFF]"But, sir, how will a magical sword help me defeat a Wraith? Even magical weapons have their effectiveness reduced, if they even connect at all."[/color]

[b]"This weapon, Templar Zylcan, is not your usual magical sword. It exists as simultaneously physical and ethereal, and, according to the mages that have examined it, it should cut through incorporeal creatures as if they were solid. Now, enough questions, your official orders are sealed in this envelope, and you depart for the North immediately."[/b] With that, Valerie took the envelope, and the blade, and began to leave the office, only to hear as she departed, [b]"Oh, and bring some furs with you. It might get a bit chilly."[/b]

... Her mind snapped back into the present, the temperature of the area having plummeted, and she felt herself shivering, even beneath her furs. That's when she saw it, or, more accurately, saw that which surrounded it. The very air about the creature was frozen and freezing, giving the creature a false form. She knew that, beneath that ice, there was nothing physical. If she was a mage, this would be over quickly, but, she wasn't, and it wouldn't be. Valerie climbed down that watch tower as quickly as she could, and landed on the frosting ground, holding the sheathed blade in her right hand as she approached the creature. As the creature spotted her, her left hand quickly drew the blade, and immediately felt the difference. The weight of the blade was almost non-existent, and it seemed to be almost transparent, as if it was a poorly made illusion. However, the very presence of the blade seemed to agitate the Wraith, who became immediately violent. Draining the heat from her seemed to no longer be it's priority, as it formed the ice about it into many daggers, and began firing them at her.

Thinking quick, Valerie dodged to the right with a quick roll, more of a half-flip than anything else, skidding to a quick stop, before rushing at the Wraith. She had to end this incredibly quick, otherwise, she'd be forced into a hypothermic state, and die. The fading blade became coated in fire,  and although it's flames were dim, their purpose was served as she extended her left arm out to her side, using her speed to substitute for the strength, and sliced through the Wraith. She had felt as if she had missed entirely, or, perhaps, the blade could not function while enchanted, as she felt no resistance as she carved through her opponent. However, her fears were quickly dispelled, as the area itself began to increase in temperature, and, as she turned about, she saw the ice that had enveloped the wraith was in two halves, and melting rapidly. Smiling to herself, she sheathed the blade back into it's scabbard, and immediately felt the weight of the blade again.

[color=00FFFF]"How strange,"[/color] she told herself as she began walking back towards the village, tightening the furs around her as she shivered.

[color=00FFFF]"It's still too damn cold."[/color]
[/hider]

[hr]
[color=00FFFF][b]Theme Song(optional):[/b][/color]
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XYKUeZQbMF0

[i]Credit to TheDarkTemplar for layout idea.[/i]
[/hider]

[b][u]LeoricAquila[/u][/b]
[hider=Draxis Felwind]
Name: Draxis Felwind
Appearance:
[hider=Armor,Primary Weapon and Face]
[img]http://i.imgur.com/gpAEt.png[/img][/hider]
Age(20 and up): 26
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Rank: Knight Sergeant 

Personality: Draxis is, at times, a gentle man, a kind man, and a generous man. But in the heat of battle, he is vicious and unapologetic. He is night and day when it comes to protecting his countrymen. Sweet to his brother-in-arms, but a beast when protecting them.

Bio: Draxis was born into nobility, afforded a good education and the best military training as a young man. He was taught to be proud of his heritage and to be proud of all the men and women who had laid their lives down in order for there to be lasting peace. Draxis spent 
much of his life after his 18th birthday working to prove himself to the Knights of Dawn that he wasn't just a privileged noble brat, trying to prove that he deserved to be among their ranks. He fought outside the walls with the Knight-Corporals and Knight-Sergeants, defending his countrymen from the great beasts that would regularly assault the walls of his home city. Draxis rode into combat as he rose through the ranks, proving his might to his superiors through repeated victories, until his first, and most devastating defeat. He suffered a great loss as he was leading his team into battle against a group of ogres that threatened to destroy the wall if he didn't intervene. Draxis knew this would be dangerous, but he also knew that if there was a breach in the wall, all manner or beast could invade the small town he was stationed in at the time. He decided to bring his team directly into the field to handle the problem, disregarding how inexperienced many of the Templars under him were. The walls were painted with blood by the end of the week and Draxis was the sole survivor on both sides of the skirmish, finding himself atop a pile of ogre corpses and the bodies of his fallen brothers and sisters in arms.

Draxis bore this shame and this defeat on his shoulders until he was promoted from Knight-Corporal to Knight-Sergeant. It was an event that was never forgotten by any in the ranks of the Knight of Dawn, a massacre that earned him respect, and admiration from some, but also earned him a certain reputation for being foolhardy. His might was not questioned, but his strategies and his ability to lead were often brought into question. Draxis was broken, but he had not given up on his belief in mankind and in the peace with the elves and dwarves. He still carries the weight of the loss on his shoulders, using it to embolden him in the face of danger and grant him the will to protect his brethren. Draxis continued to prove himself to his superiors by adapting his leadership style and his approach to training with the lower ranked members.

Weapons: Primary: Blade of Radiant Dawn
         Secondary: Bulwark of Justice
         Tertiary: Scabbard of the Blade of Radiant Dawn
Magic: Geomancy - Mainly creating and rebuilding walls with the. He uses this power to protect cities and in a more likely situation, to protect his allies.
Other: He only has a tie to his family's ancient history set in stone at the end of the first era. There were tales that the first to take the name Draxis Felwind, died in battle and came to be known as a warning in his family. The body was never found, but legend speak of a terrifying undead.

[hider=Post Example:] [color=red] "HOLD THE LINE!"[/color]
Draxis lifted his shield up to deflect the incoming blow form an ogres club. The resulting crash and thud of the 
club with the earth to the left of Draxis shook his balance, causing him to stumble back a few feet even though he had parried the attack. He gritted his teeth as he heard the wails of ogres in pain from the attacks of his Templar, and the cries of his own men suffering mortal wounds from crude weapons wielded by the ogres. 

[color=blue]"Sir Draxis, We cannot win, We must retreat to within the city, funnel them into the streets to protect our men!"[/color] A voice yelled to him from behind him.

Draxis glared back at the young Templar and shouted back. [color=red]"No. We fight here. We cannot risk them hurting the citizens, the wall cannot fall."[/color] He was determined to keep innocent casualties to a minimum. Even if he had to sacrifice himself to keep the walls standing, he would, but there were so many ogres. Draxis knew this was a problem, normally the ogres came in packs of two or three, never more. But this was more than a dozen at once, as if they were forced to march together by some dark force. 

[i][color=red]'This isn't normal. They should be at each others throats, not working together to fight us. What is causing this...'[/color][/i]

The battle raged on, and more of his men had fallen, and more of the soldiers aiding him died in their attempts to fend off the great beasts. It looked bleak, but Draxis needed to push on, he needed to fight on and defend his countrymen. Beads of sweat formed on his brow as it seemed like an eternity passed in just seconds. Blood splattered on his blade and his armor, his face covered in mud. Draxis ached everywhere, feeling as though his body was about to give up after four days of constant fighting. There needed to be an end. This needed to me his victory.[/hider]

Theme Song(optional):[url]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0ZgNpboHPMI[/url]
[/hider]

[b][u]RomanAria[/u][/b]
[hider=Alyssia Rosethorn]
Name: Alyssia Rosethorn

Appearance: A woman who is quite short, about 4 feet 11 inches tall. She is rather thin, as would be expected of a woman who grew up on the street. What is surprising about her is that though she isn’t “big” in any sense of the word, she is strong and her muscles are toned. Her skin is tan and even in hue; her dark brown hair is usually pulled tight into a braid, with a strap of leather with spikes on it woven through it, to discourage people from grabbing her by the hair. Her ears are noticeably pointed, and so are her teeth to a slight degree; her slightly slanted eyes are a very pretty dark green, though if the light angle is just right it seems like they flash almost reddish…

Age: 20

Gender: Female

Race: 4/8 human, 3/8 wood elf (with 1/8 of dark elf (her great grandfather was one))

Rank: Templar

Personality: A levelheaded, calm woman who knows how to survive and run a family, something you wouldn’t expect from a barely-twenty-year-old. She cares mostly for her own survival and but will help others whenever she can after her own needs are met. She has often been known to give a large portion of her salary to the hungry beggars on the street, having a soft spot for them, because she once was one of them.

[hider=Bio (wall of text warning!)] Alyssia was born to a human prostitute and… well, she’s not exactly sure who her father was. Obviously a travelling elf, but there were so many of them going through the tavern that they couldn’t exactly figure out which one was her dad. Alyssia’s mother was sixteen years old when she was born; it seemed that Aly was going to be killed, as any infant would be. But then the house owner noticed how beautiful she was, even as a mere infant, and decided to keep her as a “future investment” of sorts.

It was one day, when Aly was ten (and already quite a fair young lady), that raiders stormed the tavern. Apparently, the owner had cheated one too many times and he was going to pay in blood. They killed everyone inside; Aly herself was only spared because she had been sent to the market.

As she saw the wreckage of the tavern, and thus everything that she knew, tears sprang to her eyes. There was a little tug on her belt and she looked down to see a tiny girl, she couldn’t have been more than five, who asked, “Mum, ken I has a copper? I be hungee, and my sisters be too.” 

“You’re very brave, to ask someone like me for help. But I think I can give you more than a copper. I don’t have anywhere to go myself, so I might as well help you.”

Over the next eight years she learned skills from other kids on the street. How to pickpocket, and steal, and most of all how to fight. With fists, with daggers, with a rusty screw, with a stick. She learned how to cheat, and seduce men for a little extra pocket change.

Then when she was eighteen years old, she happened into the wrong place at the wrong time. Four elvish “travelers”, who wanted to strike a deal of sorts. She was to travel with them, be a companion, and provide “entertainment”, until they tired of her… “service.” In return they would teach her how to shoot and fight like an elf, not like a dirty human streetchild. Of course, if she refused, they’d kill every beggar in the city, they said.

And she believed them, so she went along, for two bitter, painful years. They did make good on their promise to teach her, and did not mistreat her so badly as she was mistreated as a kitchen girl. What was different, what hurt her now was the… type of service they requested. The last time she had ever served she had been a little girl, and now she found that, being a woman, it was extremely different.

They traveled along the country for two years, the four rowdy elven men and their demure little maid. In that time she never learned their names, never learned what they were doing. (and they somehow concealed any “business” they might have done in the towns from her) Then, they left her at the gates of her home city with no further explanation, but a substantial gift of money, and were gone.

Now twenty years old, and confident in her abilities, the young woman’s first stop was the Templar’s office; she volunteered herself for service. And though the recruiter was somewhat taken aback by the short woman, either the archer’s gear or the multitude of concealed daggers must have convinced them that she was serious.[/hider]

Weapons: Daggers, longbow

Magic: A bit of restoration magic—she has a lot of raw power but no training at all in how to use it. Usually it’s only use had been in healing cuts and scrapes from sparring matches and ensuring that an accident wouldn't cause her to follow in her mother's footsteps.

Other: N/A
[/hider]

[b][u]Wraithblade6[/u][/b]
[hider=Damien Varomere]

Name: Damien Mithias Varomere

Appearance: 

[img]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v178/Wraithblade6/6acadf66346e034ec82d8dbc01bc3e47_zpsyieexibn.jpg[/img]

Age(20 and up): 27

Gender: M

Race: Human

Rank: Soldier

Personality: Split between a patient, obedient, disciplined, and caring young man, and a less often loosed darker side of paranoia, fear, hatred, and distrust. Either way, Damien keeps quiet most of the time, but acting independently, without asking for permission or communicating appropriately beforehand. It's difficult to tell if he hates others, or hates himself. Fortunately, he seems to enjoy hating the enemy, and is well able to stay focused on that. 

Bio: Damien started in an orphanage. He claims to have taught himself necromancy, but there is no doubt he had some kind of outside influence. He's been an adult long enough to have learned such magic, but it's strange to find one so young so adept in this particular field. Necromancy is not so popular among the civilized and noble. 

In short, he was different than the other children, even the older ones who had more wretched dispositions. Religion was half-beaten into him, and inwardly, he rebelled. His primary grounding in sympathy, Mother Luna, passed away right before he was forced to leave the orphanage. He never actually got adopted. He distrusted most everyone and lived as a rebellious skeptic until a woman softened his heart. She was of course promptly murdered by gangsters for supposedly being in the wrong place at the wrong time. They hadn't been married long, and Damien still wears her ring around his neck on a chain. He'll kill anyone who touches it.

He searched for her killer, but was never able to find him. In his depression, he turned to blood magic and seriously fucked up his mind, hence the split personality. He focuses on killing monsters in general now to placate himself. Nobody knows about his past illegal use of magic or why he dabbled in it. "Don't judge me."

Weapons(Primary, Secondary, Tertiary): Damien's primary weapon is his magic. Secondarily, he is fit and can fight with a sword, but he's not very practiced. He carries one in case the need would ever arise, and it has a few times. Tertiary, he has a couple daggers. 

Magic: 

So necromancers seem to be characterized by the raising of temporary, powerful, undead minions, and he can do that. He can call on spirits, speak to ghosts, and sense souls like a second sight with a little concentration. But what good is a necromancer that can't use his magic to directly defend his own corpse? In this endeavor, Damien has learned to cause fear, cause sickness, and cause weakness at a short distance, and to drain the lifeforce out of his assailants with his touch. He can use some of that drained life energy to heal himself, but it's not very efficient. He can of course control undead, destroy them, and torture them should they try to resist him. He is resistant to cold and needs little sleep. He learned to cast a weak lightning spell as a ranged attack, but hopefully, his minions will be doing most of the fighting. 

Other: Damien really.... really, really hates dark elves. 

Post Example: 


[hider=The Edge of Anarchy]

I wrote this collab with a friend 3 years ago. It's a sample. Enjoy.

At the moment he found her, time stood still. The sun ceased crossing the sky and his heart beat no more. All that he had been had died within, his spirit vanquished in a merciless instant, leaving behind a body that could only be described as an empty shell. Vacant, despondent, the same moment never ticking over for him for weeks, Damien Varomere was wasting away. Friends had abandoned him to his grief, calling him hopeless. Every moment, he saw her blood, her beautiful face... The images forever burned into his eyes. Waves of tears beat him raw, locked away in the home that had once been theirs. It was starvation that eventually drove him out.

Mindless, like an animal, or rather "souless," to be more accurate, the grief-stricken widow
had walked the streets. Breathing was familiar, sunlight was too, but Damien inwardly cursed the world for coldly continuing on without her. It was nothing to him without her, and as fierce as his denial was, reality remained unmoved. That is when he saw the ring.

No one in the universe may know what brought his eye to that jewelry stand, but he saw it. Lifting it up in complete disbelief he confirmed it was in fact hers. The very ring he had wed her with shortly before her murder. Suddenly, time rushed forward in a blur. Every moment he had ceased to exist rushed to catch up to him, colliding with him mentally with such force it was practically lethal. He lunged at the vendor, grabbing his neck and quickly drawing the attention of the law. He made the vendor tell him who sold him the ring, and only after that was he able to collect any shred of composure. The vendor was not his lover's killer and not his target. Damien, the crazed maniac, was forced away. Unfortunately he could not have afforded to buy back the ring even if he hadn't been arrested, but from that moment on, his mission was clear. The flame of vengeance blazed like a bonfire over his sorrow. He would find the murderer who took that ring off his wife's dead hand and kill him. No threat of pain or death would stop him. Thus it was when he turned to darkness.

Damien knew no good god would have supported him in his murderous endeavor. He blamed them, all of them, for his foul fate and the persistence of wickedness and chaos that randomly took his beloved's life. He sought to profess himself to the other side, to plead with the supreme forces of evil and order to support his cause, to lend him aid. There was only one deity that suited him. To him, Damien had constructed a meager alter beneath his home where he offered prayer and worship. Time went by and Damien learned more of this newfound faith, but he drew no closer to finding his target. Truth be told, he had fallen far during his despair. He had already had a childhood fraught with difficulty. Without Saria, he had no shield or hope against a word that hated him for his bloodline. She had been the blessed one, leading him and others to the light of good. How she was everything to him. The fact she had been taken from him was a clear demonstration of how meaningless it had all been, that faith and hope were pointless and powerless. Their goddess was either careless... or powerless. Thus, he bared his vengeful desires to Asmodeus.

One night, Damien had a strange and powerful dream. In the dream, he was at his secret altar when a sense of dread came over him, and a shadowy figure with horns reached out a hand to him. He awoke with a start. Once he had calmed himself, he got up and went down to his shrine. Seeing nothing, he lit several candles and knelt down to meditate on the dream, pondering its meaning. Had it been a premonition? And omen? or was his sleeping mind merely envisioning his true heart's desire? After a few moments, the hair stood on the back of Damien's neck inexplicably. Without knowing why, he felt like he sensed a presence in the room with him. The air became heavy, the flames on the candles began to flare up, and the energy in the air was palpable. Something was directly behind him.

Fearful, yet excited with his heart racing, Damien turned around sharply. He saw the horned figure from his dream, clearly present and glaring down at him. This was an agent of his god. He was terrified, yet eager to prostrate himself before it. His body literally trembled all around him. He waited, cowering, until it would speak, or for whatever it would do to him.

The figure stepped out of the shadows and spoke in a soft velvety voice "There there child, your master has heard your pleas." The figure puts one foot on Damiens shoulder and kicked him onto his back. "The Father of Lies will have none of that pathetic groveling you call a proper prayer!"

Now on his back, propping himself up on his elbows, Damien got a good look at her. She was about 6 foot, with red skin and blonde curly hair that framed her face. The tiefling had horns that came from her forehead and swooped back, piercings all along both ears, a voluptuous body, and wearing a very loose, scant robe. A single dagger hung at her waist. He stared at her in awe, fear, and readiness. "Teach me, master. I beg of you."

"The Father of Lies is not without his mercy, he has sent me to guide you, but first you must prove worthy of my guidance. 'Beg.'You say? Well then..." She crouched down and cupped Damiens face in her hands. "I will teach you how to truly beg. Then, you know how to make others do the same." As she said this, she got right in his face, straddling him, and kissed him. Pulling away, she stood back up. "You will call me Mistress Revin, and you, my pupil, will do well to please me. For pleasing me is pleasing our Master."

The kiss was stolen from his lips without his consent, and thus Damien first realized that she could take whatever she wanted from him at any time. ...and he would give it to her. "Yes Mistress. I will obey you. Give me my vengeance, and I will give my soul."

A smile parted her thin lips. "Good boy, but you are a far way from vengence on anyone. You are to soft. I will break you of that. Asmodeous has no need for those who hesitate. Now, be a good pet and guide me to the nearest bar. I need a drink."

His heart filled with twisted gratitude and alacrity as he rose before her. Damien was at least her height, yet he felt is if she were far above him. This was a blesing of unparalleled magnitude and for Damien, it marked the point of no return. He knew he would do anything she told him. He craved this path, wanted the control that would be the end of the crimelords who were responsible for his beloved's death. The lesser evil that they were needed to be eliminated.

Upon enetering the bar with an attractive woman, most of the crowd stopped and stared. Men dropped their drinks. Womens jaws dropped, and to some of them this woman was the finest thing they had ever seen. It wasn't long after they sat down that a fumbling serving boy clambered over to their table and asked for drinks and returned promptly. The tiefling drank four drinks before she turned to Damien, "Tell me what is it you can do, exactly?"

Damien refused any drinks but took water. He was too intent upon his mission to exhibit any weakness and mental dullness. "I have magic in me, Mistress." He looked down and reached his hand toward her slowly to touch her skin. "And, this is its nature." With that, he showed her his bloodline power, causing an abhorrent chill to shriek its way into her body. He had no idea how she would react, but he meant to be direct despite the risk of rebuke.

"Oh how cute. You thought a little display of power would impress me." She snickered. "Let me show you what I can do!" With that, she stood up and walked over a wealthy bar patron. Without even touching him, he fell to his knees and began kissing her boot. Seconds later, another patron gave her his full coin purse before kicking the other man off of her. She promptly returned to the table with a sack full of coins. "All that, and without a drop of magic. Perhaps it is more then magic I should teach you, my lovely pet." She kissed Damien's lips.

She had kissed him again, and this time Damien was irritated at himself for being completely unable to resist. He felt no love for her, only admiration and devotion... but no. He was denying the obvious. She ignited a feeling in him that had been dead, murdered along with his wife. It was pure lust. He did not deny it as he contemplated a reply. "Your ability to manipulate and control is truly astonishing. I am eager to learn." Damien tried to reign in his growing passion. He heaved a breath. "You know you have me completely in your control. Please, do not seduce me further. I cannot concentrate."

"Oh but that is your first lesson." she retorted pleasantly. "Our emotions give us power. Had I been angry, instead of having that man kick the other off my boot, I would have had him run him through. Had I been feeling a bit more playful, I could have had that man take me right then and there, but these are things you must learn." She jabbed him in the chest. "Your rage burns deep within your heart, but that is not the only emotion you have. They are all still there, even love, as pitiful as a notion that it is." Revin tossed her hair and grabbed Damien's hand and pulled him up, just as the tavern erupted with the sound of music. "Come! Dance with me. Forget your sorrow and grief for one night. For tomorrow, the real training begins." A smile crossed her face, one Revin rarely gave, one that was sincere and almost warming.

Dance?? The notion was like a foreign language. An inanity! All out war ignited inside Damien as he fought with himself internally. he was in no mood to be dncing. still, she said he had to use his emotion, that he still had the capacity for love. Everything within him resisted her command, as she pulled him up and toward the dance floor, but he knew he had to obey. He had to finally wrest his will to cave in to despair and sulking and prove his ability to stand up and fight. Sorrow was for the weak. And so he began. Her smile was actually warm, mimicking the smile he had once loved. He would find his feet and dance, for her, for revenge, for his dark lord.

The crowd parted as Revin led Damien out onto the dance floor, and to anybody watching it was obvious she was leading. With fluidity and grace the tiefling made the dance seem like nothing more then a cake walk, others approached and began to ask her to dance she politely turned them away always with the same reason "I'm here with my lover." It was a lie but they didn't need to know that, she knew Damien was still centered on vengance but he still had far to much to learn. After the song ended she pulled him outside, it had started to rain, as they walked to Damien's home she asked a question she knew would catch him off guard "Tell me about you wife?"

It was either the newfound emotional strength that his mistress had instilled in his heart, or a coldness to his former emotions that she had given him, but in either case, it was enough to allow Damien to answer her question. His eyes became unfocused as he walked. "Her name was Saria. She was loving and joyous, innocent, yet surprisingly capable. She was a follower of Iomedae, leading others to the light. She was my heart."

The human's mental stability trembled.

Revin cringed at the mention of Iomedae, she wasn't a huge fan of any of the "good" gods. She could feel her companions sorrow, his grief and his grip on sanity failing, she pitied the man but at the same time she knew she had a job to do. The tiefling gripped his hand tight and held it all the way home, still giving off the appearance of lovers, upon reaching his home she turned to him, stroking his face before embracing him "I'm sorry for your loss, but their is hope, if you do well you will see her again. However, there is a threshold you must cross. Are you willing to do so?"

"She was murdered pointlessly, but brutally." He grimaced. "I found her body in an ally, the ring I gave her was stolen. She was a causality of the crime in the city, merely caught at the wrong place at the wrong time. I don't care what it takes, but I will give anything to avenge her. Iomedae be damned."

"So be it. I will teach you what I know. Once your vengeance is complete, payment will be due." She pulled him tighter thinking what would have happened if she had met a man this dedicated. "You need rest." she stroked his face once more. "I must warn you the training will be brutal and strict. Are you sure you want to do this? The contract still has not been made."

Damien bowed. "I do not care what becomes of me after this. I am already dead. I will serve no god except Asmodeus. I foresee his victory. I long for him to ascend and subjugate this pathetic world. For this, he shall ever have my loyalty. Do not underestimate the heat of my desire, mistress. I have lot all sense of mercy and will not desist in my training."

The cleric was slightly taken aback from all of the, usually people didn't come over to the following of Asmodeous without some more prompting, but this man came willingly, much as she had many years ago. But today Revin felt odd and out of place. This man who she had only known a breif time was already far more powerful then she was. She didn't know how it could be possible. There was something about him. The first kiss she gave him was just her normal playful self. The second was different, and as Revin kissed him a third time, she felt something she hadn't felt in a long time from herself, passion. She abruptly pulled away, thankfully her skin was red to hide the blushing. What had this man done to her? "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend, I should go now." Revin turned to go but deep down hoped Damien would stop her.

Damien did not stop her. He was cold as ice.

So, he didn't stop her. Soon she would change that. In his heart, he lusted for her. That much Revin knew, but the real question was, did she lust for him as well? Was it something else? The rain was pouring as the tiefling walked the streets. Several inns turned her down either because they were full or they didn't like her appearance. She could have worked her magic but she didn't waste her time, after a hour of wandering she returned to a familiar house, fulling expecting to find its occupant asleep. She opened the door and quietly shut it behind her, she supposed Damien wouldn't mind if she lit a fire and warmed herself up, after all where else was she going to go, back to Hell, the flames of Hell didn't give off the heat of a real fire, or a lover for the night.

Damien returned home to find his place... which used to be Saria's place, unexpectedly warm and lit with a fire in the hearth. The house was a disaster, as one might expect would result from severe depression. Without caring what intruder might lie within, he walked past the corner to see his mistress by the fire. He approached, and knelt beside her, staring at the flames. Her presence was irresistible. "Mistress. I have one request." He turned to her, placing his hand down to the floor before her wanting nothing but to surrender to her physically. "Please, teach me to pray."

"Very well, but first I must get out of these wet robes. Do you think you have anything to fit me? If not I'm no stranger to being naked in a strange mans home, especially one as promising as you." She winked at the young man before removing her robes and letting them fall to the floor with a loud plop. Revin looked back at Damien, by now he would have noticed the tail, "well of course hes gonna notice it" she screamed mentally "your using it to pick up your dagger after all." The cleric knelt beside Damien and began to show him the way she had been taught to pray, drawing a few drops of blood from each of them she led him in a prayer to Asmodeous, after she was done she passed him the dagger. "Now, your turn."

Seeing her perfect, naked body was painfully driving him, yet the love-lost human dared not move from his position. Damien had completely forgotten she had asked about clothing as he stared at her. He watched her kneel, entranced. He gave her his hand. Only the pain of her dagger pricking him seemed to shake any sense back into him. He blinked as he watched the red rivulet flow. With their blood together, they prayed, and Damien felt ever moreso in communion with his dark deity. He accepted the dagger from her and this time cut himself of his own volition, near the cut she had given him. The act of bleeding himself willingly held spiritual meaning. It gave weight to his words when he was nothing more than a weak mortal convert. It was willingness to sacrifice, willingness to die in service. He felt a power suddenly fill him and he opened his arms, lifting his head back, to accept it. "My god!" He gasped.

Revin was pleased, she could see the same devotion she had gained when she went through her first ritual. She had noticed his eyes linger over her body. She didn't mind, for she knew what she was. Besides a cleric and sorceress, she was a woman, and a whore at that. When he had settled from the ecstasy of the ritual Revin beckoned him over. "It is no crime to look, my pet, no crime to enjoy the sights before you. I don't bite...much." The tielfing winked at the young man.

The two consummated their lust for each other. 

[/hider]


Theme Song(optional): 
[youtube]https://youtu.be/vX1P3F_EyYQ[/youtube]

[/hider]

[b][u]Mag Lev[/u][/b]
[hider=Abigale Freshen][center][color=#00CCFF][b][u]Abigale Freshen[/u][/b][/color][/center]
[hr]
[center][img]http://orig09.deviantart.net/141b/f/2012/053/2/1/knight_girl_by_hbdesign-d32oqdm.jpg[/img][/center]
[hr]

[color=#00CCFF][b][u]Age:[/u][/b][/color] 21

[color=#00CCFF][b][u]Gender:[/u][/b][/color] Female

[color=#00CCFF][b][u]Race:[/u][/b][/color] Human

[color=#00CCFF][b][u]Rank:[/u][/b][/color] Initiate
[hr]
[color=#00CCFF][b][u]Personality:[/u][/b][/color] 

[color=#00CCFF][i]”A woman of noble birth considers the world ending on her first bleeding, I simply saw it as another inconvenience.[/i][/color]

Abigale, or Gale as she is simply called by her comrades, is a pragmatist at her core though she masks this rather disheartening trait with a simple cover of realism. She is not one to care much for the emotions of others when she makes a decision which tends to distance her from others. Though, Gale does her best to avoid insulting or causing more pain to those who have already suffered in the cruel world. In fact, Gale considers herself quite merciful when it comes to dealing with people as she never lingers on a subject which is sensitive to the being whom she is conversing with. Neither will Gale ever fight another person without the intent to kill or injure them to the point of which they can no longer fight, with the exception of training spars.

[color=#00CCFF][b][u]History:[/u][/b][/color]
[hider=The Life of Abigale Freshen]
The only child of the coupling of one Theren Freshen, a blacksmith of lesser renown, and Maria Louaise, a simple woman whose most notable trait was that of her beauty, Abigale was destined to become a blacksmith or marry into wealth, the latter of which was less likely. As such, Abigale was made to watch her Father as he smithed simply things such as the blades of hoes and arrowheads for the village huntsmen. Theren was no artisan though he was also no man whose craft could be called sub-par. Rather, Theren made enough money to provide for his wife and daughter a comfortable life, at least one which could be called comfortable in their small village. Abigale lived a rather normal life for the first twelve years of her life. She loved a local boy, or at least thought she did, and played in the fields collecting flowers with other little girls whom she called friends. 

That is, until her little town happened to become the unfortunate victim of a crop disease leaving the entire populace short on food. One would be surprised how people act when food becomes scarce. People become far more willing to take more than a little from others so long as it means they are able to feed themselves.. Abigale was one of the many whose food was stolen, an act which her Father would not stand for. It was one fateful night when the dense man Abigale called a Father killed a townsmen who he thought had been stealing his bread, though the truth was that the man was simply there to ask for the crafting of a skinning knife. The mob which resulted ran Abigale and her mother out of town while Theren was left to be lynched. 

The life of the young girl who was Abigale was left behind as she took to shortening of her name, Gale, and walked with her mother many miles to another town, hoping to be able to make a life there. All they pair found was poverty and the cat calls of many men whose minds were solely on the idea of getting with the beautiful Maria, though some were also likely intent on getting with the maturing Gale, whose womanly form was coming into shape around this time. The wandering women survived off of scraps which were thrown their way and what little coins they could gather from the peasant folk. There were times when Maria questioned whether to sell herself, and brand herself a harlot in the process, for Gale so that they may eat but decided against it for, no matter how hard their life was, in no way was Maria willing to lower herself to the level of a whore. 

Abigale was never one to believe in fate until she and her mother wondered into the village established around Starguard Castle at the age of eighteen. It was around this time that Abigale began to notice odd happenings whenever she was around water such as its movement when ever she really focused on it. Occasionally, she froze the water in the glass simply by touching it. It was by chance that such an event happened outside a tavern in the village and a Templar had seen her skills. He invited her to join the Covenant and have a purpose in her life while making cash to provide for her mother. Gale jumped at the chance to earn a place in the world for her and her mother and went into the service. Despite having been in the Covenant for three years now, Abigale’s sword work is still below what is required for her to become a full Templar though her wit has proved to be her strongest attribute.
[/hider]
[hr]
[color=#00CCFF][b][u]Weapons:[/u][/b][/color]
Primary: Standard Issue Short-sword
Secondary: Small wooden buckler
Tertiary: Crossbow

[color=#00CCFF][b][u]Magic:[/u][/b][/color] 

Cryomancy/Icy Touch: With her training in the Covenant, Gale has managed to become skillful enough to freeze something she touches on command so long as it has water in, on, or around it.
Cryomancy/Water Control: Gale can manage to move a small amount of water and often uses it in tandem with her Icy Touch in order to coat an opponent in small amount of water and freeze it.

[color=#00CCFF][b][u]Other:[/u][/b][/color] None
[hr]
[color=#00CCFF][b][u]Post Example:[/u][/b][/color]
[hider=Posting]
[b]”Oi, a pretty face like yours shouldn’t be on a battlefield nor wearin such heavy armor there little miss. Why don’t ya let me take off for ya we can a peak at yer assets.”[/b]

The call came from a rather brutish man, most likely one in his late thirties and deep into his drink for the night, who sat a mere few feet behind the brunette in full plate. Despite the lack of a telling facial expression, it was easy to discern that the woman had been greatly annoyed by the brute’s display of foolish confidence. Yet, she held her tongue for she knew that to argue with a drunk was like arguing with a troll and this was one ugly troll to argue with. Her comrades in plate simply looked at the drunkard in disgust, muttering their own curses towards him, as they talked of the training they had done for the day. It was the first time in nearly months that Gale had managed to feel like leaving the camp after training and she already hated the experience she had been subjected to. She, an Initiate of the Dawn Covenant, was hollered at by a man whose own appearance was akin to that of a ghoul by her standards and who smelled of sweat and ale. All would have went well that night had the man not made such a foolish error to approach Gale afterwards as if she had warranted such a harassment.

[b]’Come now pretty lass, why don’t you just slip it all off for one night and we’ll see just how well you like my Knight’s Lance.”[/b]

The man had brought about his own downfall as, in his drunken stupor, was unable to stay standing as Gale swept about him and brought his arm behind his back, pressing his face into the solid floor with an audible thud. Anger clearly marked the face of the Initiate while the others simply watched on in amusement at the man’s fate. He had chosen the wrong lass to harass

[color=#00CCFF][b]”Normally I’d consider this punishment enough for your drunken ramblings but I must say that, while my face may not have a place on your battlefield of glory, neither should a mother have the blood her of her firstborn on her hands. But the world is not all glory and beauty my drunken captive. A mother’ll hold her firstborn in her hands knowing he was not to live for he was stillborn. Such is the way of the world and such a world I live in that I can say I belong on the battlefield more than a fool of your caliber who would do nothing more than swing an ax and hit an ally. Now leave with your dignity you fool.”[/b][/color]

Gale stood as the man crawled away and stood up with a look of drunk embarrassment on his face. The brute quickly ran out the doors and into the cold of the street where his drunken stumbling overturned a cart. After a few moments of quiet, the entire bar erupted into such a laughter that it was sure to be heard hundreds of feet away. Gale simply sat back down and drank her ale in silence as her comrades praised her for being so bold and teaching the man a lesson.
[/hider]

[color=#00CCFF][b][u]Theme Song:[/u][/b][/color] Love the beat for her.
[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CfDmB2rZmkI[/youtube]
[/hider]

[b][u]Groompy[/u][/b]
[hider=Gavlan]
[centre][img]http://orig12.deviantart.net/7fbc/f/2016/053/8/3/he_angry_by_fenixking13-d9sph2n.jpg[/img][/centre]

[hr]

[b][color=aba000]Name:[/color][/b]   Gavlan Bitterstout
[b][color=aba000]Age:[/color][/b]    230 Years Old
[b][color=aba000]Gender[/color][/b]: Male
[b][color=aba000]Race:[/color][/b]   Dwarf
[b][color=aba000]Rank:[/color][/b]   Templar 

[b][color=aba000]Personality:[/color][/b] 
The manners and charisma of a [b]mountain dwarf[/b], if he's not busy drinking himself silly or punching the guy in the seat next to him, he's probably either buried in the ground or busy putting something or someone else in the ground. Like most Dwarves, Gavlan is stout, and trustworthy, but incredibly stubborn. He'll hold onto a grudge longer than he can even remember why he had it in the first place. Not to say his memory is terrible, in fact, it's quite accurate, but if anyone lived a lifestyle like his, they would find they had a shit list a mile long. A stalwart battle companion, Gavlan is capable in almost any situation, except sea battle because he despises water. He is a dwarf of few words, if not well chosen ones; in his line of work, the less said the better. His solitary life is devoted to hunting down the fiercest creatures in Miras. He does not back down from any bounty or claim, and has maimed, burned, slashed, punched, hacked, smashed, and, on one occasion, bitten his way to glory. It's impossible to keep this Dwarf down. 

Anyone that spends enough time with Gavlan will quickly note his deranged humor, and strange behaviors. Hunting in solitude for over a hundred years does that to a person.

[b][color=aba000]Bio:[/color][/b] 
Gavlan was born high in the most northern mountains of Miras, as is such, he grew up in the harshest environments, which made him even more sturdy than most Dwarves; this would come in handy later in life for him as a bounty hunter. Although, he was the model Dwarf in the eyes of his mother and father, he was quite bored of their lifestyle. He did not share in his brother's or father's love of blacksmithing, or mining, but preferred to be outside the mountain, exploring the landscape. He would conquer mountains and hunt down beasts in the wild, all in solitude. As this was, he was not around in the halls of his mountain when tragedy struck; the merciless mountain trolls that inhabited the area had banded together for a surprise attack. Their sheer numbers wiped out his entire tribe and family. They had fought valiantly, but for ever dwarf there was another ten trolls. When Gavlan returned from his hunt, his home had been reduced to rubble, and the stench of blood filled the air. The extreme grief and pain he felt was only matched by his desire for revenge. Taking out his sharpened greatsword he roared with denial in the face of his fallen homeland, and, with ruthless conviction, he bathed the the destroyed halls of his heritage in the blood of its killers. He hunted down any last surviving troll, driven by an endless fury, repaying their cruelty in kind even their beastly nature could not match.

He was now truly alone. The only thing to accompany him in his long journeys was his grief, and the bitterness he felt at the world. He spent many long years as a rover, living off the land and living by the bottle. Any gold he acquired was quickly and predictably spent on spirits. It wasn't until he had finally hit the lowest point in his life that he was directed to the The Knights of the Dawn Covenant by a friend of his who was concerned about his stench and his dirty, matted hairy face. Although, his original reasoning for joining the covenant was purely based upon monetary gain, he learned to appreciate aspects of their values; specifically, how quickly they bring vengeance to their enemies. His interpretation of vengeance is a little more brutal than most hold, but most certainly effective. His preference to work alone is not adored by his superiors, but they cannot deny that he is an invaluable asset to the covenant. His experience with the covenant has spanned fifty years, despite his comrades constant assurances that his next mission would be the one to finally end his miserable old life. But time and again he would prove them wrong, and before the door would even so much as shut, he would be marching back out into the war driven world with a steely gaze, and his hands clenched around the familiar warmness of Naptime.

[b][color=aba000]Weapons:[/color][/b] 
Throughout his years, Gavlan has used almost every weapon under the Sun, but none could match his love for his tried and true battle axe. He claims to have found it deep within the catacombs of a remote mountain, and that it's over a thousand years old; however, if you asked anyone else, they would tell you that he swindled it in a fixed bar bet. His name for his weapon is Naptime, although, most people he introduces it to take more than a long nap.


[hider=Naptime]
[img]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/ca/be/ea/cabeeab1dc91610b2bf6f4ce362f0a93.jpg[/img]
[/hider]


[b][color=aba000]Magic:[/color][/b] 
He's about as magical as a rock to the face. [b]"Hey you! CATCH!"[/b]

[b][color=aba000]Other:[/color][/b] 
- Scars on nearly every part of his body.
- Cares very little about his safety, but cares a lot about the job at hand.
- Would have been able to retire years ago, but still spends every gold piece he gets on liquor.
- Probably wouldn't have wanted to retire anyway.

[b][color=aba000]Post Example:[/color][/b]
Noting the obvious footprints left in the dirt, Gavlan heaved his satchel over his shoulder, and gazed off into the distance. [color=1a7b30]"Can't have gone too far..."[/color] He whispered under his breath. Nothing now could prevent his prey's brutal incoming demise; once he had their scent, no obstacle could stop him. A hill giant had been terrorizing the local populous: stealing their livestock, crushing their crops, and, quite recently, destroying their town hall. If it had been a brighter giant, though none such exist, it would have kept to the small annoyances as to not evoke the wrath of the covenant. As it was, Gavlan was now on its trail. [color=1a7b30]"Ah, yes."[/color] Gavlan noticed a large opening in the side of the mountain that would suitably fit a giant that the trail lead off to. Climbing up the steep rocks, making sure not to make any noise as he did so, he readied himself to surprise his foe.

Peering over the ledge, hidden from view by rocks, he saw his prey clear as the sweat dripping from his beard. It was sitting, sharpening what was once an entire tree in front of its cave, and humming to itself. Even while sitting, it still towered over any human, or elf, muscles making it look quite like the boulder it rested upon. Gavlan took a quick sip from his flask, and began to skirt along the edges of the flat piece of rock the giant called home. Through clever maneuvering, he was now directly above the giant, axe poised and ready to strike down his immense foe. Letting forth a mighty cry, Gavlan plunged off his perch. The giant immediately looked up, and immediately regretted it. If not for the giant's tough skull, Gavlan's axe would have tore its face vertically down the middle and continued onward. As it was, the axe was jammed into its face, handle sticking up into the air. The giant gave a cry of pain, echoing across the valley, as Gavlan landed near its feet. The giant swatted at the ground blindly, as blood rained from the gash in its face. Easily dodging every face crushing swing that the giant sent his way, Gavlan took out his hunting dagger, and jammed it with all his might into its calf. Buckling over in agony, the giant gave a wail pain, and was now bent on the ground trying to pull the axe of its blood soaked face. [color=1a7b30]"Here, let me help you with that, ya' stupid brute."[/color] Gavlan shouted with battle rage running strong through his blood. Picking up a sizable rock off the ground, and with all his muscles flexing, he slammed the rock into the flat side of the head of the axe, breaking the giant's grasping hand, and shoving the blade mercilessly through its skull. With its last breath, the giant let out a long groan and collapsed on the ground in a bloody heap. Chuckling to himself, Gavlan took out his flask, again, and downed it entirely.

After excavating his axe from the giant's mangled head with a few choice swear words here and there, Gavlan reached his hand inside its mouth and yanked out a tooth as a show of proof. If not for inconvenience he would've taken its entire head along with him, but the journey was long, so a simple tooth would be good enough. His tunic drenched in blood, he doubted many would question the validity of his claim, anyway. Turning to face the view from the mountainside, he began his climb back down.

[color=1a7b30]"There had better be an empty seat at that tavern."[/color]

[b][color=aba000]Theme Song:[/color][/b]
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