Wasn't the Black Knight "None shall pass," though?
1
like
1 yr ago
You ever realize that you haven't changed your status in months, go back to change it, and then wonder what the *fuck* your previous status was even talking about?
12
likes
2 yrs ago
No, no, they clearly are referring to Ohio -- which Georgia is geographically south of, so the theory is still sound.
I'm an exceedingly enthusiastic roleplayer who's been writing for about ten years now and yet still hasn't managed to produce any kind of solo piece of writing worth reading. I like to consider myself a good writer, but that's kind of a matter of opinion, as many would argue that my tendency to ramble on at entirely excessive length about things is boring rather than interesting. I'm also incredibly OCD about formatting, so if you're wondering why my bios look so fancy, that's why. It's just something I do because... reasons, I guess.
Anyway, as you've probably noticed from my avatars and RP choices, I'm more than a bit of a fan of anime and manga, but also enjoy movies, video games, the occasional comic book... the list goes on. For you see, I am not a mere dork - I am the one spoken of in legends, the one whose dorkiness transcends all forms and boundaries. I am... the Legendary... OMNI-DORK!
...Anyway, thanks for dropping in to check on my profile! Hope to RP with you sometime!
Julian was going to backpedal. There was no reason to expect anything else. She was clearly rattled already, and stalling for time -- what reason could she possibly have to step forward, then?
But that was exactly what she did. As Nathaniel approached, sword upraised to deliver a heavy stroke and knock her weapon from her hands, she didn't even try to block it. Instead, she simply lunged forward, raising her own weapon.
A ploy, then. No matter. There was still ample time for a swordsman as skilled as Nathaniel to deflect a strike from such an untrained and feeble opponent. It would be a simple matter to pull his own attack, parry the blow, wind his blade over her guard, and then force the weapon from her hands.
Or, well, he was probably thinking something like that. Julian wouldn't know -- she didn't know anything more about swordsmanship than what she had heard of in books about knights and fantasy stories. But whatever his plan might have been, he probably was at least expecting her to actually swing at him.
But no swing came.
Instead, the hand she had hidden inside her pocket came darting up and a curtain of blinding, itching, scratching pain filled his vision as, of all things, a handful of sand, meticulously collected from the riverbank that morning and saved for this very moment, was hurled directly in his face. Her last resort, and strongest weapon had finally been unleashed, as, deprived of every other trick she could think of, she was forced to fall back upon the very first teachings of the school of hard knocks: when in doubt, go for the eyes.
Caught off-balanced by his own attack, this would in turn open the way for teaching number two: if they can't stop you, go for the legs. A swift kick was aimed at his shin, then, a moment later, she rammed her shoulder up against his chest, aiming to knock him to the ground, before finally...
The match would only end when someone was disarmed. So, in this moment of golden opportunity, all that was left was to whack the crap out of his hand until he let go of his sword!
...In her defense, he had asked her to "be done with this." So really, she was just obliging his request by ending things as quickly as she could. And so quick it was that most of the crowd probably wouldn't even have time to shift their attention from the overly-flashy duel happening in the next arena over before Julian's ruthless counterattack was already complete -- leaving them in silence as they wondered what had just happened.
Both times before, when Julian had entered the arena, she had done so with calm, if not with bravado. She had felled first a mountain of a young man, then a skilled incanter -- one through sheer anger, the other through trickery.
But the opponent she was facing in the third round was a different sort. A noble. Not just that, but a proud master of the blade. He must have been important, whoever he was -- she'd guessed as much when she heard his name called. The cheers from the crowd had been deafening compared to the others, save only for the one whose name was called shortly after him.
But whoever "Elidthianis Hawke" was didn't matter to her. What mattered was the brown-haired boy standing in the arena across from her. What mattered was the rumbling in her stomach. What mattered was the cloak that had been stripped away from her, depriving of one of her few weapons against those bigger, stronger, and more skillful than herself. What mattered was the sword gripped tightly in her trembling, white hand. What mattered was the sun shining above her, and the dark place she'd left behind, never to return to.
She slipped a hand into her pocket, and held it there until the trembling stopped. But the rest of her body didn't seem to get the memo -- or rather, she didn't let it.
When Julian Baker entered the arena for her third match, she entered it with her head low, her teeth gritted, and her eyes darting about like a cornered rat. She entered it looking for all the world like a weakling, about to be crushed, grasping at straws in hopes that something, anything, might turn the tables in her favor. She looked like she had nothing left to offer, and everything still to prove.
As though realizing it only too late, she gave a stiff, awkward bow -- a barely-adequate attempt at formality from one whose mind was clearly preoccupied entirely by things other than the match she was about to lose, and lose badly. Then, she slowly, jerkily raised her sword, and waited for her opponent to approach and claim an easy victory. The crowd booed and jeered, but then, all at once, seemed to just... forget about the blonde's existence. After all, there were much more interesting matches afoot than some street urchin getting crushed, right? In the very next arena over, two nobles were going at it in a glorious showdown of magic and swordplay. Even her opponent's gaze was liable to wander, dazzled by such a spectacle. And why wouldn't it? His own opponent was practically beaten already, without him having to so much as lift a finger.
...But what was important hadn't changed, no matter how much her outward aspect had.
What was important, you see, was that no matter the odds, and no matter what it took... Julian Baker was still going to win.
As another round of duels wrapped up in the arena below, in the box overhead, a red-haired man gave a contemptuous huff, and the silver-haired elder seated next to him laughed. While the former Lord Marshal seemed quite pleased at the turnabout match that had concluded the set -- no wonder, given the victory had been performed with a Snow Incantation, a form of magic few other than Ser Ward could even use in the first place -- the head of the Eastern House was, predictably, disgusted.
It was no wonder, the raven-haired man mused, his armor clicking as he shifted in his chair. Though the other Knight-Commanders had donned more comfortable clothing for this little occasion, Commander Gilbert Tervellan alone had chosen to attend in full battle dress. Perhaps the others thought him foolish, or a mere braggart seeking to make an imposing first impression -- but Prince Laurentius, the Lord Marshal, had merely given him a wry, knowing smile and said no more.
Yes, it was no wonder indeed. Aside from a select few worthies, the lion's share of this year's candidates were lacking, by all objective measure -- moreso, even, than the usual fare of the previous years. Most of the commoners who weren't already known the order thanks to the prestige of their teachers or their victories in other, provincial tournaments were... well, just that. Common. At best, they knew how to hold a sword -- at worst, they didn't even seem to know how to swing it.
And even if things went according to plan, most, if not all of those nobodies were going to end up under his command. It was ironic, then, that Vallentin was the one complaining -- though, Tervellan supposed, he didn't know yet just how fortunate he was going to be. Not that he'd appreciate it, even if he did know.
But, his annoying co-worker aside, at least some of the nobodies made up in other fields for what they lacked in swordsmanship. The young man with the Snow element was only the most obvious in this regard. Really, some of them were quite inventive, actually. Though, that wasn't always a good thing. As if on cue, one of the matches down in the arena concluded rather abruptly as a short blonde boy who'd just moments before been running away from his opponent's wind incantations suddenly reversed directions, dashing headlong into him the moment he started chanting again. Before the taller youth could even finish his spell, the blonde had... thrown his cloak over the young man's head?
...Wait, why was it wrapping around his neck like that? Struggle though he might, forgetting not to drop his sword in the process, he couldn't seem to remove it, either. It was almost like something was --
A loud whack split the air as, blinded, muffled, and his concentration broken, the taller lad was knocked to the floor with a solid -- albeit utterly uncoordinated -- blow. And as he fell...
-- weighing it down.
From every pocket of the dislodged cloak, rough and heavy rocks began spilling out onto the floor, and though Tervellan couldn't make out all of the rather heated words between the boy and the horrified referee for his quarter, he could have sworn he heard the lad vehemently insisting that "You said we could bring our own weapons if they're blunt! These are blunt rocks! What's the problem?!"
The ref cast a glance up to the box, and it was only then that Tervellan realized the match had happened in the quarter flying his banner. He supposed it fell to him, then, to adjudicate. He raised a hand in acknowledgement, and gave a slight, authoritative nod. He'd respect the victory for no reason other than the fact that it had amused him -- but he also wouldn't allow such a thing to happen again. The referee seemed to adequately grasp his intentions, as a moment later, the fiery blonde's cloak had been confiscated and he was grumbling his way back over to the sidelines.
...He turned back to the other commanders. Laurentius looked like he wasn't sure whether to laugh or gape in confusion, and so had elected to do neither. Caius, on the other hand, had decided immediately upon the former and was laughing uproariously. "They might not be as skilled as last year's, but it seems this year's candidates aren't lacking in audacity!" He chortled.
Vallentin, on the other hand, mostly just looked like he wanted to strangle someone -- and whether it was the blonde boy who'd just committed such a dishonorable act in front of the entire crowd, or Tervellan himself for letting him get away with it, the raven-haired knight couldn't say for sure.
...But, well, he was going to be getting his pick of the dregs, anyway. He had to take what talents he could get -- even if those talents weren't those of a knight.
As the next set of contestants was announced, he sighed, sinking back into his seat with a creak and a clattering of mail. His hopes had been negligible, but, well... perhaps this year's worst candidates might surprise him, after all.
Colorless is a pretty perceptive one, it seems. The words hardly even managed to leave my mouth before she noticed. "Lived" -- not "live."
Well, logically speaking, it's not like the way I said it was wrong. After all, I'm gonna be living here for the next four years, unless I do something really stupid. But then again, I suppose for a normal person, it's pretty strange to make that adjustment so quickly. No doubt, most people my age would be more attached to that place called "home." But can you really blame me in that regard? A rented one-room apartment over a shady izakaya isn't even the worst place I've stayed until now -- but it's also not one I'm attached to even slightly. All the thoughts spilling in through the thin walls and floor, the sounds of passionate drunkards lamenting and rejoicing until the wee hours of the morning --
Ehem. Suffice to say, I'm more than happy to be gone. Compared to that, a few hundred flustered high school kids is easy-peazy.
At any rate, as a fellow observer, I have to admire her perceptiveness -- especially since she's flying blind -- or rather, deaf -- compared to me. She seems like a "my pace" sort of person, but she's a sharp one. I'll have to make a mental note to remember that for future interactions, so that I don't tip her off to anything I actually want to keep hidden. Clever people are always the most fun to watch -- but only when they're not watching me in return.
"Nice to meet you, Touko-sama," I answer bluntly.
That was a joke, by the way. You're free to laugh. I know. I'm hilarious.
Sigh. Tough crowd, I guess.
"Manaka Kokone," I continue. Since my first joke failed, I try to force a smile for my next one -- not that I even know how to. But I do my best to think in orange and my facial muscles -- atrophied though they may be -- do the rest. "Not sure if you heard me introduce myself before -- actually, kind of hope that you didn't."
Another miss, it seems. The life of the party, I am not.
"It does seem like we're going to be in the same class, though, so I hope we can get along."
At any rate, it seems like I've distracted Tachibana long enough. Though I lost track of what Akisuji-kun was thinking about, I tune back in just in time to hear him saying something about what those eyes of his actually do. They can shoot beams, apparently -- though why he's so afraid to talk about it continues to elude me. Or... that's not all, apparently. He can also create more of them, and control them remotely -- an ability which only just begins to pique my curiosity before it happens.
A sound beyond words fills my mind once again. My head is shattering. Somewhere, his -- my -- our eyeball is screaming, and I realize only too late what this sound is, as Tachibana helpfully asks about the ramifications of a Quirk that can and, apparently, does overload one's brain.
It's a Quirk somehow alike to my own, meant to transfer information from one living being to another -- and unlike him, I don't have any of the necessary brain functions to process it.
I want to scream, but then I remember that there are others near me. What kind of facial expression am I making right now? I haven't moved, so my face is probably still frozen in orange even though my thoughts are already green again. Even so, I must have flinched involuntarily, despite myself, and can only hope the others didn't notice. The urge to vomit just came back in full force, and I only barely choke it back before, mercifully, the noise stops -- and I find myself suddenly basking in complete --
"SILENCE."
For most kids, that speech was probably the most nerve-wracking thing they had experienced today.
Me? I was more afraid of the short kid who'd been seated next to me than anything. After the ceremony ended and the teachers gave us our marching orders, I almost didn't even notice who I was supposed to be following. It took until she repeated herself for me to realize that the one thinking in green was 1A's teacher -- a fact which did little to assuage my unease. I don't do well with people who think in the same color as me. If I stop paying attention, it's all too easy to forget which thoughts are mine and which aren't -- and that scares me.
Thankfully, she doesn't seem to be thinking about much of anything in particular... Anything except some kind of test, that is. So, they're throwing us right into the deep end, huh? Normally, this sort of thing wouldn't even faze me -- but my ears are still ringing and I can't make out the details in the teacher's brain. The worries of everyone around me aren't exactly helping, either -- particularly as some overly nervous student steps forward and nearly bites his own tongue trying to offer the teacher a pineapple.
And worst of all, that senpai just took my headphones. Even if I can't use them right now, just having them is reassuring in case something happens. Without them, I feel like a samurai going into battle without a sword, and I can't help but be uneasy... Just what sort of test is this going to be? And how can I pass it without drawing attention to myself... or to my Quirk?
Julian had been hoping for easy wins. The last couple contestants hadn't seemed all that impressive -- and the match in the quadrant next to her had already ended before her opponent even reached the stage. If she could just get a pushover like that to fight too, then she wouldn't even have to resort to using any of her tools this early!
...Or so she'd thought, until she set eyes on the person who took up his place in the arena opposite her.
"You've gotta be kiddin' me. This is my opponent?"
The boy -- no, the young man across from her could easily have passed for a knight already -- in size, at least. He was a head and a half taller than Julian, and built like a brick house. He held his sword with a confident and practiced hand, his stance rigid and his grip firm.
That was as far as his resemblance to a proper knight went, however. His scruffy tunic and the tattoos adorning his bare arms, coupled with his scornful smirk as he gazed down at her with the air of a predator sizing up its prey, instead made him resemble a common thug more than anything else.
At a glance, it was hopeless. Even someone as dense as Julian could tell that there was no chance of her winning this fight. The hot anticipation coursing through her blood had suddenly chilled to an emotion that ran as cold as ice and as heavy as lead. So, in the face of this all-too-familiar feeling, she did the same thing she always did.
She smiled.
"Got a problem with that? If you're feeling scared, there's always next year to try again." She shot back, tapping her short wooden sword against the stones in front of her, then leveling it in a way that she was pretty sure looked reasonably intimidating -- or would have, if she was about a foot taller. The chorus of laughs that followed from the spectators' gallery indicated that her attempt at looking cool was... somewhat less than successful.
...Actually, judging by the look on his face, rather than intimidating him, it looked like she'd just pissed him off. He raised his sword with a scowl and began to advance, his brows tying themselves in so many knots she almost couldn't see his eyes.
Well, angry was fine, too! She could work with that. He was more likely to slip up like this, which meant that just so long as she kept her cool, she could --
"Who're you callin' scared? Me?! Of a scrawny little runt like you?! I'll wipe that smirk off your face, you little brat!"
...
......
.........What. Did. He. Just. Say?
"...A runt?" Julian murmured, her knuckles whitening as they clenched around the handle of her sword. Her opponent raised his own weapon, bringing his two-handed down with a mighty yell.
"...A runt?!" She hissed once again, stepping just far enough back that his first swing missed her. Undeterred, he lunged forward and swept the blade back up -- or tried to, only to find his footing thrown off as, with every last ounce of strength her spiteful little body could muster, Julian ducked low beneath his swing and stomped down on his toes. He recoiled in pain, stumbling from the momentum behind his own mighty swing -- and in the next instant, toppling forward completely as the blonde's knee connected directly with his groin. His roar of anger gave way to a breathless whimper, which was in turn silenced completely as, raising her wooden sword over her head, Julian brought it wildly, artlessly, but violently down with both hands.
"I'M NOT A RUNT! I'M STILL GROWING, YOU BIG!"
THWACK!
"STUPID!"
THWACK!
"OAF!"
THWACK!
...
......
.........Everything got really quiet after that. Julian slowly drew back, then took a deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale again.
Right. She had almost forgotten. She was supposed to keep smiling. She turned to the knight in charge of her quadrant, then glanced back to the man sprawled groaning on the ground in front of her. He reached for his training sword. She smirked, and kicked it away. She looked back to the knight. He looked strangely pale all of a sudden.
"...Hey. Heeeeey. Mr. Knight? He dropped his sword. That means I won, right? Or am I supposed to keep going?" She raised her sword again, miming yet another another swing with it. The young man on the ground curled into a ball and covered his head.
"Uhh... The winner is, Julian Baker!"
"Yahoo!" She cheered, thrusting her sword up at the sky. Nobody else cheered with her.
...Well, at least it had turned out to be a pretty easy win after all. Although, come to think of it... who even was that guy? She'd completely forgotten to get his name.
Oh well! One down, however many more to go! Fortune favored the bold, and right now, Julian felt bolder than anyone! She could do this thing!
Through the gates, into the outer courtyard, and then skirting around the inner rampart, the crowd was ushered on. Knights stood assembled around them, guiding a path around to a large square arena on the western side of the castle. Just beyond the high wall, the sound of the Barrier Falls echoed off the towers over their heads, mingling with the countless excited voices of prospects and knights alike, and rendering the whole plaza a perfectly unintelligible din.
This was the storied tournament grounds of the Sentinel Knights. On both the Northern and Southern sides were the stands -- towering stone structures with rows and rows of wooden benches, in which countless spectators had already taken up their places. And, built high in the western wall was a box for the nobles, the officers, and the royal family. Four seats in particular were pulled forward from this assemblage, and figures clad in red, gold, white, and black could respectively be seen peering intently down into the arena below.
The arena floor itself was set upon a raised dais, with a staircase leading up to it from the gate by which the prospects entered. It was further segmented by makeshift fences into four separate quadrants, each flying the flag of one of the Four Houses from one of the great marble pillars positioned at each corner.
It was a vivid spectacle. All color and life and vibrancy packed into such a small space and filled with so much sound and energy and... and...
And Julian couldn't see anything.
Hop. Just a little higher. Hop. No, still not enough. Hop. Almost made it that time! Hop. Okay come on, this was getting silly. Hop. There! And the arena floor was... still empty! Or at least, she was pretty sure it was. Maybe one more just to check? Hop. Yup, still empty.
Rumble.
Her stomach was still empty too, just in case she had somehow managed to forget that unpleasant fact. But she still had at least a couple coins left in her purse... Maybe after the fighting was over she could at least get something to tide herself over for the next few days. She just had to hold out a little longer. Sure, she'd only had a slice of bread that morning... and hadn't had anything the day before. But she had technically eaten, which was better than nothing!
She sighed. And she actually heard herself sigh, which told her that something must have been happening after all, since everybody around her had suddenly stopped talking. She hopped again -- to little avail. But the blaring trumpets that echoed through the courtyard a moment later thankfully conveyed the general gist of what was going on even to one as vertically challenged as herself, as all in attendance stood, and the cadets were ushered forward to assemble at the foot of the arena. And then, ringing through the clear morning air, punctuated by the low rumble of the Barrier Falls, an announcer began to speak.
It was a longwinded speech. There was a great deal of preamble dedicated to commemorating the noble tradition of Grayle's knighthood, the history of the Four Houses, the accomplishments of their commanders, the duties of a true knight, and the noble purpose of protecting the people of Grayle. Really, it was incredible how easily the man managed to turn so many of her favorite things into something Julian could hardly listen to without yawning. It was so belabored, in fact, that she almost didn't even notice when he finally started to explain the rules.
Matches would be split between the four arenas. They'd be one-on-one fights run four at a time. Training swords would be provided -- and no other weapons. However, those with their own weapons could use them, provided that their edges and tips were blunted and safe. Magic could even be applied -- but no offensive spells capable of inflicting lasting physical harm.
Julian nodded to herself, bobbing up and down as she did so. The pockets of her heavy mantle gave a reassuring rattle that thankfully went unnoticed over the rumbling of the waterfall and the words of the announcer. Her weapons were definitely blunt, so there was no problem there! And as for magic, well -- that just meant her odds were even better than expected! If her opponents had to fight at her level, then maybe -- just maybe -- she'd be able to drag them down and score some wins - particularly since the actual win conditions were pretty flexible. You could win by disarming the opponent, pushing them out of the arena, or landing "a decisive blow." She wasn't really sure what constituted that last one, but... Well, whacking 'em in the head a few times was pretty decisive, right?
Without any further ado, candidates began to be called forward one by one. Judging by the short and simple sound of the names being called, though, it seemed like commoners were being called up first -- a fact which seemed confirmed when she noticed that the crowd of prospects was splitting into two distinct groups, and one of them was distinctly better dressed than the other. A more intelligent person would have probably realized that since the nobles didn't have anything to prove, they were free to take this time while the commoners were struggling to even make the qualifiers to exchange greetings and start making connections with their fellow blue-bloods.
Unfortunately, all of Julian's working braincells were currently far too busy thinking of strategies to beat trained swordsmen with a pocket full of sand and a cloak full of rocks. And, wouldn't you know it, she was going to need every last one of those strategies she could muster -- because after a round or two of quick fights she was unfortunately too short to even see, she heard the name Julian Baker called. And, after taking a moment to remember that was her name, she quickly scampered her way up to the stage, wondering as she did so just what was up with the contestant called to the next arena over from her, and just who exactly named their kid Donathon.
"'Then who among us shall bear this missive to the King -- that his Light might save us in this, our darkest hour?' Asked the knights, despairing. 'The road is long and fraught with peril, with Daemons ahead and behind and upon either side, such that no man can neither enter nor escape this place. Surely, 'tis all for naught -- for any man who tries will surely die and be Accursed!' And each and all of them breathed a hopeless sigh, for not a one of the knights dared to take upon himself this impossible task.
Yet lo and behold, before their number, one stood -- not a knight, tested by battle, but a mere boy -- a page of the King, who bore neither blessing to shield him nor sword with which to smite his foes. Yet unarmed and unarmored, he alone stood where all men cowered and feared to rise.
'I will go,' he said -- and his eyes shone as brightly as a thousand Stars. 'For the strength of my arm is the weakest among us all, and will scarcely be missed, should I fail in this endeavor. But I'll wager my life that I'll not fail -- for the strength of my heart is second to none.'
And the knights cheered, and all of them gathered round to praise this boy, who would take upon himself the quest which none before him dared to venture. And they each took from themselves a gift, to help him on his way -- one his silvery mail, another a plumed helm, a third his sharp sword, and the last a sturdy shield to set before himself, that neither man nor Daemon could do him harm. And they asked of him his name, and he said that it was Julien, the King's page. And thenceforth they did swear that all men should know him as Ser Julien, bravest of the knights of Grayle."
"...Julian Baker?" The knight repeated, staring down at her with such an intense and suspicious expression that she probably should have been terrified. But she wasn't. Of course she wasn't -- because Julien was the name of the bravest of knights, and it was her name now.
Or, well... Julian. She couldn't just spell it the same way, obviously. If she did that, everybody reading the history books would get really confused.
"And you're sure that's not some kind of clever alias?"
"Ehehehe... Why would you think that, ser?" She asked, running a hand through her messy mop of blonde hair in a manner that could almost have been described as "nervous." Except she wasn't nervous at all. That twitching was just... anticipation! Excitement! Definitely not fear -- particularly not fear that she'd end up having her cover blown before she even made it through the gate. She really didn't want to have to walk all the way back across King's Bridge on an empty stomach... Particularly not when there wasn't much prospect of filling said stomach, either, unless she succeeded here.
...But when all else failed, she could only smile. And in the face of that stupefying, dopey grin, the supervisor eventually relented and allowed her through -- though not before repeatedly questioning her on who she was and where she came from, no matter how many times she gave him the same answers.
Name? Julian Baker!
Hailing from? The eastern border regions!
Which border? Eh, just pick one -- They're all kinda over there in that same general direction.
Family background? Obviously, the second son of a baker!
Could she bake? Of course not -- why do you think I'm here?
Why a knight specifically, though? Because I want to be a hero!
This rough exchange repeated itself at least five times before he just gave up, signed her in, and allowed her entrance.
And so it was that, on a cool and misty Grayle morning, bathed in the wispy fog that rose up from the Viridian River and blanketed King's Bridge, one small young "boy" successfully infiltrated the growing throng that entered into the castle's training grounds, and assembled themselves around the square foundation of a large and storied arena -- one in which they would all soon fight to secure the road to their dreams. And though that road would be long and fraught with peril...
Julian Baker would wager her life, as her namesake had done before her, that she could -- and would -- see it through to its end.
As usual, it was easy. Almost too easy, in fact. Getting the one-eyed zealot riled up had become such an effortless task that there almost wasn't even any fun in it anymore. Just like fighting her, really. She'd received the other hunter's flames almost too many times to count -- weathered the storm and been broken down to dust, then stuck herself back together again and kept going. She'd ripped the haughty woman limb from limb and relished the taste of soot as her fingers snapped and her organs ruptured and her bones turned to ash inside her insatiable gullet. She'd lost. She'd won. She'd stopped caring.
Ah, maybe it would have been better to push a little more -- take the one-eyed fool up on her offer and see if she could actually kill her in a way that mattered. But then she looked down to the blade already peeking its way between the seams of her flesh, and breathed an almost imperceptible sigh.
The flower.
That damned flower.
Everything else faded away, but it seemed there was still one thing she couldn't seem to forget. That must have been its doing, too.
"You're welcome to try," Was all she mumbled in reply, giving an absentminded shrug as her would-be murderer turned away in shame. Her voice carried with it naught but resignation -- as, once her adversary's heart was no longer in it, so too did Fianna lose the will to continue provoking her in earnest. If she couldn't kill and she couldn't die, what else was there for her to even do, exactly?
...Bide her time, and wait until she was let off her leash again, she supposed.
Full Name - "Julian Baker" Age - 14 Gender - Female, disguised as Male Heritage - Unknown. Claims to be a commoner refugee. Magical Affinity - None. Absolutely hopeless with all four elements.
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P E R S O N A L I T Y
Just a Little Bit Shy The first impression one tends to get of "Julian," is that "he" is a very quiet and reclusive person. This couldn't be farther from the truth, but, since it helps with her disguise, the girl behind the act doesn't necessarily do much to dissuade people from this opinion at first -- at least, not intentionally. Put simply, she doesn't really go out of her way to draw attention to herself, and even if she wanted to... well, truth be told, she's not exactly the most experienced at dealing with boys. Anyone would be a little awkward in her shoes, right? So, she generally doesn't really speak unless spoken to, unless there's something she absolutely can't stand, or if she's in the company of those she regards as dear friends.
Compensating for Nothing ...Which turns out to be a lot of things, surprisingly. It wasn't necessarily her intention to play her character as an insecure brat with a Napoleon complex, but, well, she fits the role perfectly. Her fears of being outed as a girl translate surprisingly well to the insecurities that a particularly girlish boy of her age would probably have, and she tends to react with outrage whenever somebody makes fun of her for being small, or for her somewhat delicate features. This means that it's not only easy to rile her up, but also pretty easy to get her to do some rather stupid things, since, once challenged, she's usually all too eager to prove her masculinity. In order to fit in amongst men, you have to be the manliest of them all! Well, she probably read something like that once, at any rate, and so thinks she's being perfectly normal, but her exaggerated character tends to just make her seem like a brat.
Little Hero Her only barely hidden bluster and vigor, and only barely contained childish curiosity aren't necessarily bad traits, though. To those who approach her first, even if they tease her a bit, she's capable of being surprisingly amicable, seeming to just relish the fact that people are actually willing to talk to her at all, so long as they're at least mostly well-meaning. "Julian" is the type of person to change moods quickly, going from righteous indignation to joking and teasing right back with a great big grin in the blink of an eye. Forgive, forget, and forge ahead is her way of life, and despite how many layers of secrecy she's currently living under, for the most part she just follows her heart and hopes for the best.
She's blunt, but honest and charming in her own way, finding ways to appreciate something about almost anybody -- even those who most would disregard or deride as useless. If somebody has a unique talent, you can bet she'll dig it up and praise it for all it's worth, even if the person in question never even noticed they had it. Everyone everywhere has at least one lesson to teach, and she's all too eager to learn.
Still, even she has her lines she won't cross. With a strong sense of justice, she absolutely can't stand cruelty or injustice, and, like a little Don Quixote, will do her darndest to right just about any wrongs she encounters. And if you ask her why, well...
"Because, a Knight is supposed to be a hero!"
S K I L L S E T
That's Not How a Knight Should Fight! "Julian" is, perhaps unsurprisingly, woefully underequipped to actually become a knight. She possesses no training in how to fight or use weapons of any kind -- or at least, no training more extensive than valiantly and enthusiastically swinging sticks to slay imaginary ogres. What's more, her physical strength is laughable, and, although she's at least rather flexible and somewhat light on her feet, that doesn't actually help too much at keeping up with the scions of noble houses who've been training in swordsmanship practically since they could walk. But, she has to win somehow, otherwise she'll never be able to achieve her goals -- and what she does have going for her is a surfeit of determination. So, she's just got to even the playing field, right?
...Practically speaking, this means she fights in a manner so dirty and dishonorable that even an angry drunkard in Grayle's filthiest slums would blush and look away. Cheap shots to the groin, fistfuls of sand, spitting in eyes, biting hands, and pulling hair -- she does it all with the sort of gusto and desperation that can only come from having a dream you must fulfill at all costs.
Wasn't a Knight supposed to be a hero, Julian?
Didn't Hear No Bell As mentioned above, what "Julian" lacks in skill -- as she's completely hopeless at both swordsmanship and magic -- she makes up for with sheer tenacity. Surprisingly, for someone so scrawny and lacking in physical ability, her stamina is quite good, and so long as she paces herself, she can keep pushing ahead without tiring herself out -- though she may look like she's about to collapse at any given moment despite her stubborn insistence on continuing. What's more, her tolerance for pain is surprisingly high for somebody so small -- though given that she claims to be a refugee and fights like a gutter urchin, that probably comes as no surprise for most of her fellow cadets.
At any rate, what all this boils down to is that she might get slapped around and knocked on her butt, but like a bad penny, she just keeps coming back. Which is... actually kind of worrying, given how blase she seems to be about getting herself injured, and how quickly she ends up back on her feet when really, maybe she should just lie down. Determination and the desire to achieve one's dreams is good, but one doesn't become a knight in a day -- and trying to push yourself hard enough to catch up with those who have several years of a head start will only end in tragedy.
Clever Idiot How can one be so clueless and so sharp at the same time? Looking at Julian inside and outside of the arena, one could swear that she's two different people. In her day to day life, she's... unspeakably dense, to the point it'd be easy to write her off as a fool and be done with it. Yet in her training, as her squadmates have quickly had the misfortune to learn, she can be shockingly manipulative -- feigning fear or weakness to get her opponents to underestimate her only to bring them to their knees with a ruthless surprise attack, or making false starts and distracting motions to hide her real intentions as she palms a hidden weapon. But that begs the question -- how can she read her opponents well enough to play them like a fiddle when she can't even read the room?
She's certainly not telling, regardless. But one thing's for sure -- whoever taught her to fight clearly had a mean streak more than wide enough to cover for her own bumbling naivete.
Physical Description
There are some girls who could, perhaps, pass easily as a boy of about the same age. And "Julian" is... just barely one of them, but probably not for the right reasons. She's perhaps the shortest cadet in any of the Four Houses, let alone just her own, and is quite scrawny to boot, in some places having barely any meat on her bones. She stubbornly insists that she'll get taller and she's just a late bloomer, but actually fears that these claims may be true, since she's only recently started growing in ways that, given her current predicament, she'd really rather not. She doesn't need curves, she needs muscle!
But, for the time being at least, just binding her chest and adding some padding around her thin waist has at least managed to fit her into her new uniform without quite looking like a child wearing her father's clothes, so that's... better than nothing. And, given that her cover story of being a street urchin is pretty well known after a rather... memorable debut spar, most people for now write off her frail, petite build as the results of undernourishment. Which, technically speaking... isn't untrue? Yeah, let's just go with that. The best lies always have at least a grain of truth to them, after all.
Her face, thankfully, benefits from rather strongly defined cheekbones, which, with her hair cut short and messed up properly, makes her look at least passably masculine, though her long eyelashes are somewhat less than desirable in this regard. At any rate, she's got a few more years where her youthfulness will help her go unnoticed before her real gender becomes obvious, so she'll surely be able to figure something out in that time... right?
The oddest thing about her appearance, however, is that... well... lustrous golden-blonde hair and eyes as blue as a clear summer sky aren't exactly features one normally associates with commoners, let alone with homeless ruffian children from the frontier. She's scrawny, yes -- but she really doesn't look mangy enough to fit the part she's set out for herself. But then, if she's a disguised noble, why would she look like she got half-starved at some point? Is she secretly an unwanted child of some high aristocrat? Maybe an Alexandrian fugitive on the run from the Sages' Tower? It's just enough of an abnormality that it makes her the source of some... shall we say, unique rumors, but she usually just laughs such things off. After all, that'd be ridiculous, right? Almost as ridiculous as a girl pretending to be a boy as part of some childhood dream of being a hero.
Too unfortunate to be a proper noble, too refined to be some nameless pauper, too honest to sell her lies quite as convincingly as she'd like, and too... female to fulfill her dreams, Julian appears to be many things, while embodying none of them. She isn't what she seems, and is what she doesn't, and just when you might think you know the truth about her... Well, let's just say she's full of surprises.
Character Conceptualization
Whenever the Knights open for recruitment, they always end up with a few odd ducks. Cadets with conveniently unverifiable pasts applying under obvious pseudonyms are more common than one might think, and the order -- despite its reputation for taking all comers -- does its due diligence in confirming that they're not a threat. Cadets are often treated in a very hands-off manner during their initial days in training, to encourage them to relax and let their guard down -- all while being shadowed and observed quite carefully for any signs of danger. Some end up being criminals trying to make a break from their old lives, others spies from foreign countries looking for information on the inner workings of the order -- these undesirables tend to swiftly find their way to a nice, dark cell, and, for the most part, none of their fellows notice that one out of the many has stopped showing up.
Of course, the girl now known by the name "Julian" didn't know any of that. All she knew was that her name, her past, her very self -- such things were more of a burden than they were a blessing. She needed shelter -- a place where nobody would ever find her. A place where she could truly be herself. A place where she could make her dreams come true. In this sense, her motives for joining the Knights were wholly selfish and contemptible... But on the other hand, she really did want to help people -- to make a difference. Her earnest devotion wasn't a lie -- and it was this dedication, perhaps, that stayed the hands of those who would otherwise be inclined to banish a suspicious, noble-looking youth with an obvious fake identity. That's not to say that she isn't still under some degree of scrutiny, or that she's favored by any means, but... well, she has a chance, and though she's blissfully unaware of the full extent of the risks she's already undertaken, she's determined not to waste it.
And so, it was quietly, discreetly passed along. "Julian" is a child from the border regions, and things tend to get lost there. Things... and people. So, it's fine if there's no record of a Julian Baker, or if he can't easily say what town he comes from, or if it turns out that he's fully literate despite only being a baker's second son. Whoever he might be, whatever name he might have borne -- he's Julian Baker now, so until he does something to deserve a second look, we'll humor him for now, and make the best use of him we can. He'll probably drop out anyway, so why worry about it?
If only they knew.
Other Information
It's a dubious honor, to be sure, but a Null -- the opposite of an Absolute, being someone who doesn't have even a single elemental affinity -- is actually almost as rare! So, in a way, the fact that she can't use any of the four elements is actually pretty unique.
...Look, sometimes, you just have to look on the bright side.
Grayle: a beautiful, vibrant country whose proud palace stands astride the Viridian River, overlooking the Barrier Falls and the Wildlands beyond. It is a realm known by many names -- the Land at World's End, the White Tower, and the River Kingdom, to list a few. However, its most famous name outshines all the rest, and for good reason. On account of its mythic history, Grayle is hailed far and wide as the Kingdom of Knights. Its ivory walls have stood against all threats, human and otherwise, for almost 500 years; a testament to the prowess of its vigilant Knight Sentinels.
This renowned order continues a venerable tradition of service as the first line of defense for not only Grayle itself, but for all the lands of Grandor. Even now, in the present era of peace, they hold themselves to the same principles that guided them in their founding days -- the Age of Darkness, when mankind's most hated scourge and its most beloved hero crossed blades for the fate of the world. And, just as they once pledged their allegiance to the Knight-King Arbert Grayle, who founded their nation and bestowed it with his own noble name, so too do their modern successors loyally serve his descendants in the Age of Light which he helped to usher in.
This history is perhaps the first and dearest story learned by every man, woman, and child who calls Grayle home. It begins with the tale of the evil sorcerer Fendel, who was once regarded as a hero in his own right -- until his burning ambition drove him to subjugate the entire world with a horde of terrifying primordial monsters, conjured up by his unholy powers over Darkness. His temptation and descent into villainy has been played out again and again upon stages the country over, becoming a cautionary tale against the evils of exceeding pride. Yet against this seemingly unstoppable horde, an unlikely band of heroes arose.
Fendel's apprentice Alexander, The Reader of the Stars, rose in rebellion against his teacher, teaching the secret arts of magic to the people that they might break free from their chains and resist the Dark Lord's all-consuming might. Yet this alone was not enough, and so he sought the guidance of the heavens, which led him to the boy favored by providence -- he who would ever walk in the Light, who would become known as the greatest knight in history: Arbert Grayle. Together, they journeyed to the Dark Lord's palace at the edge of the earth, upon the very horizon of the night sky itself, overcoming many trials and winning many companions along the way. Seire, the King of Thieves, at first tried to deceive and rob the heroes of their sacred treasures, but was defeated and spared by the Knight-King Grayle, to whom he pledged his life in atonement. Maria the Witch, Fendel's apprentice, envied Alexander for the favor shown him by their mutual teacher, and tried to thwart them again and again in order to earn Fendel's approval -- but Alexander's love for her ultimately redeemed her, and she, too, joined their side. The chieftain of the northern lands, the dragon lord of the southern wastes, and countless other legendary heroes rallied one by one to their cause, won over by Alexander's wisdom and King Grayle's kindness.
Together, the heroes confronted Fendel, and at last, King Grayle's blessed Light scattered his darkness to the far reaches of the world, killing him for all time. Yet, with his dying breath, he spat forth foul curses upon the world, corrupting the lands and the people to sow ruin upon those who had slain him, and promising that one day, a successor would come to claim his power -- an unsurpassed wielder of the dark arts who would surely avenge him. In order to defend against this final blasphemy, King Grayle took up his peerless sword one final time -- and with it, cut a vast chasm in the earth, raising up the lands of Grandor upon a vast plateau, with an impassible cliff to keep the Accursed creatures of the Western Wildlands and the Daemon servants of Fendel from ever desecrating the lands of men again.
Or so the story goes. What is known is that when Grayle returned to his homeland, he did so not solely as a triumphant king. He erected his castle, and his kingdom, atop the very brink of the newly formed highlands, setting his throne astride the very edge of the civilized world, such that he and his knights would stand forever ready, should the Daemons and Fendel's Curse ever return.
The other heroes, too, went on to found their own nations. The eastern Empire of Alexandria, founded by the wise Alexander and the penitent Witch Maria, continues to this day to produce the finest wizards in all of Grandor, while the southern Principality of Valefor -- created by the King of Thieves and the Dragon Lord -- produces metalwork and trade goods unlike anything seen in the markets of any other nation.
For a time, these, and the other nations, were bonded together with ties of loyalty still fresh from the war against the Dark Lord. However, as the years passed, and generations faded into history, the lessons and loyalties of the past were forgotten -- and several minor wars have broken out since as various monarchs squabble for dominance. With Alexandria now eyeing the bountiful lands of Grayle, and Valefor remaining stubbornly neutral in their sporadic border conflicts, tensions are on the rise. As such, although the Curse of Fendel and his monsters have not been seen for over a hundred years, the Knights of Grayle, as ever, must keep their swords sharp and their wits sharper...
But this is not the story of the heroes of the ancient past, or even of the Knights of today. Rather, this is the story of the young knights of tomorrow, and of their quests yet unknown -- of their lives, their loves, their dreams, and how their fates will unfold. No, rather, how they shall make their fates for themselves... no matter how tangled or how unsightly they may be.
At times awkwardly, at times doubtful, and at times full of fire -- the curtain rises upon a new legend never before seen, and on their story!
The Lore Codex
With the basic history of the world now established, this section will contain several small folders with other bits of worldbuilding and lore to use as inspiration for bios -- such as the basic fundamentals of magic within the setting, the structure and hierarchy of the aristocracy, and, of course, some more information about the Knights of Grayle themselves, and their inner workings. This section will likely be rather scatterbrained and meandering to begin with, and is mostly optional stuff meant to just give more detailed pictures of specific bits of the lore that I didn't really get into too deeply during the introduction, so don't feel pressured to read through all of it if it doesn't concern you or give you any ideas. It will potentially be expanded going forward as new lore and worldbuilding is revealed.
Magic is a complex discipline that exists in two primary forms. While almost everyone in Grandor utilizes magic in some way in their daily lives, the gap between the average person and a true mage is astronomical. This is not only due to the fact that one's abilities with magic are, to some degree, born of their nature -- thus limiting true proficiency with magic primarily to the ranks of the aristocracy, most of whom still claim direct ancestry to the heroes of old -- but also due to the level of study and discipline required to properly utilize those latent talents.
The first type of magic is known as Incantation. This takes the form of spoken or drawn spells meant to serve a specific function -- a fireball spell, for example, creates a ball of fire and launches it at something. It's something that works the same way, or at least almost exactly the same way, every time it's used. For example, one could create a fireball and hide it around a corner, detonating it manually as a makeshift proximity mine rather than ever launching it as a projectile; however, even in this case, the basic principle of the spell is still the same.
The reason for this is that the spells are sort of like "shortcuts," copying and mimicking the feats of other magi -- usually ancient heroes from the distant past, in the case of combat magic. Rather than manually shaping one's own energy into a desired form and actively controlling it every step of the way, spells offer a way to cut corners by just replicating an experience drawn from collective memory. The Sages' Tower in Alexandria keeps compiled a list of almost all known spells, distributing this knowledge as much as possible to expand this collective experience, since the more wizards cast a given spell, the more efficient and streamlined that spell becomes, and the more variations upon its template become possible.
Because of this, Incantations are much more accessible to the average magician, since they can just learn the formula and then use it when needed. Even commoners with little-to-no magic power usually know a few Incantations, though these are mostly parlor tricks and common bits of housekeeping magic -- a small gust of wind that gathers up dust for cleaning, a spell to start a small fire in lieu of a match, a spell to create ice or cool the air, and other such conveniences. Dedicated magicians, on the other hand, may have a library of dozens, if not hundreds of spells at their disposal, with an option readily available for almost any situation -- the reward of years of intense training and study to commit such a vast repository of knowledge to memory.
As mentioned before, Incantations are normally chanted aloud to activate them -- however, they can also be drawn out in the form of runes and magic circles, allowing even those not versed in the particular spell to activate them just by pouring their own energy into the glyph. However, such written Incantations -- sometimes called separately as Enchantments -- are very expensive and difficult to create, as they must be either engraved manually by an experienced wizard, or drawn in costly magic ink, all with the utmost level of precision so as to ensure there aren't any errors in the spell. For this reason, while things like magic swords and armor do exist, they're seen almost exclusively in the hands of high aristocrats and members of royalty.
There is, however, one other type of magic that falls outside the governance of the Sages' Tower. Unlike Incantations, which were developed by the archmage Alexander during and in the wake of the Age of Darkness as a means of quickly spreading the knowledge and ability to utilize magic to the people at large, Aura is a much older art -- of the sort that the heroes of Grandor used in their ancient battles, and that the evil sorcerer Fendel himself wielded against them.
It functions on a much more direct principle than Incantations. All creatures have some degree of internal energy inside them, which they can expel into their surroundings in the form of magic. With Incantations, that energy is effectively automated and programmed to perform a single, specific task. With Aura, however, that energy is instead continuously released, forming a sort of "field" around the user's body that can then be freely manipulated. At its rudimentary level, Aura serves as spiritual armor, protecting the user from harm and amplifying their own strength and speed to superhuman levels in turn. On top of this, it can even be shaped and imbued with elemental natures, allowing Aura users to freely create and shape magic in their surroundings -- something which not even the most complex Incantation could do.
Needless to say, however, Aura's incredible power comes at a steep price. Since one has to constantly control the Aura, complete focus is key to its use, and the farther away from the user it gets, the more difficult it becomes to control, giving it a hard and fast range limit that restricts its usage to close quarters. Furthermore, it's also vastly inefficient compared to Incantations, requiring a truly incredible reserve of energy to even manifest briefly, and risking draining the user's vitality and life force if they can't provide that level of power.
In the Age of Darkness, when heroes and legends walked the earth, Aura was commonplace. However, today, those with the power to use Aura at all are few and far between, even among the oldest houses of the nobility, and are thus regarded as prodigies the likes of which may only appear once in a generation, their births heralded by falling stars and other portents great and terrible. In the Celestial Faith, it is even believed that their power stems from blessings divine -- favors bestowed by the heavens, along with some great task these fortunate souls are meant to fulfill.
Oddly enough, as the power of Incantations rises and the power of Aura wanes, however, some of the most recent users of Aura in the past 100 years have been found not just among royalty and other prestigious bloodlines, but rather among lower nobility and even the commonfolk. This anomaly has led to some confusion and concern, as these low-born geniuses may threaten the dignity of those great old families whose prestige and magical power are directly intertwined. At any rate, it's something that almost any boy growing up in Grayle has dreamed of at least once -- awakening the power of Aura and becoming a hero overnight, following in the footsteps of the Knight-King himself. Who wouldn't want to see a dream like that come true?
But if heroes are starting to appear again, then what, exactly, are they meant to use their strength to fight?
One's ability to use magic isn't just tied to one's studies of Incantations, or to celestial gifts and the self-discipline to cultivate the power of Aura. It's also linked intrinsically to one's disposition and natural affinities with magic. While it is possible to use an element one doesn't have a natural knack for, only the weakest and most basic of spells can be performed without an utterly disproportionate exertion on the part of an incapable caster.
These affinities are roughly categorized into four fundamental elements, with several rarer secondary elements derived from combinations of the primary four. They are, respectively...
Fire: Associated with passion, drive, energy, and courage -- but also with anger, self-destruction, foolishness, and ambition. Someone with strong desires and the power to make them a reality, be they good or ill. Negated by Water, but it combines with Earth to create Metal and with Wind to create Lightning.
Wind: Associated with freedom, cheerfulness, curiosity, and hope -- but also with a lack of willpower, selfishness, and a fear of commitment. Someone impulsive, unbound by rules, who follows their emotions moreso than a thought-out ideal or purpose. Negated by Earth, but it combines with Fire to create Lightning and Water to create Snow.
Water: Associated with gentleness, empathy, wisdom, and temperance -- but also with madness, an inability to express one's self, shyness, and cowardice. Someone who cares a great deal about the feelings of others, and perhaps an excessive tendency towards self-sacrifice. Negated by Fire, but it combines with Wind to create Snow and Earth to create Wood.
Earth: Associated with stability, conviction, determination, and diligence -- but also with stubbornness, inflexibility, laziness, and a lack of creativity. Someone who lives and dies by their routine, and stubbornly resists changes to it.
The combined elements are a bit harder to categorize, as they often represent a mix of specific traits from multiple fields that can vary greatly from user to user. A Lightning user, for example, might mix the best parts of Wind and Fire to create someone who strongly values personal independence and tries to lead by example, driving those around them to be their best selves. But, conversely, they might just as easily be a tyrant who seeks to have their own way above all else, mixing the ambition of Fire with the chaos of Wind. The same sort of principles hold true for Metal, Wood, and Snow as well.
While most people have only one elemental affinity derived from their strongest personality traits, it's not all that uncommon for members of the nobility to have two elements at their disposal instead. More rare are those who are gifted with the flexibility to utilize three elements, and rarest of all are those gifted with the power of the Absolute -- to use all four major elements with equal skill, a talent as rare as the ability to utilize Aura -- though, not since Alexander himself has an Aura user also manifested the Absolute, a combination which is considered the ultimate pinnacle of magic.
In addition to these elements, however, there are also two aberrant elements that fall entirely outside of normal classification, due to their bizarre interactions with other forms of magic. These are, naturally, Light and Darkness. Both derive their power from the same source -- the primal essence of life itself -- which they then shape into a variety of forms and effects. However, they hold the unique distinction of universal interactions, which cause them to react the same way when exposed to any other elements, regardless of affinity.
Light, universally, interacts with other elements through negation, taking on principles similar to their opposite elements in order to neutralize their power and restore balance. Fire is extinguished, Earth is eroded, Wind is calmed, and Water is evaporated. Because of this, Light magic is regarded as the ultimate defensive ability, capable of neutralizing almost anything. It was through this potent ability that King Arbert was able to weather the unspeakable powers of the Dark Lord, and cut him down.
In the intervening centuries, a few more Light users have also appeared, and have demonstrated several other powers, such as supernatural healing abilities that could even cure mortal wounds, agelessness, the ability to influence the minds of other living creatures, and, of course, the power to purify curses and destroy Daemonic beasts impervious to normal magic. Regardless of their unique manifestations of the power of Light, however, all of these figures share one thing in common: they are all descendants of the Grayle royal family, directly inheriting the powers of their famous ancestor.
Darkness is just the opposite, in almost every way imaginable. Rather than negating other elements, it is capable of combining universally with any other element, creating amalgams with strange and anomalous properties that are not fully understood. For this reason, it's considered the ultimate offensive power, since it can absorb and circumvent almost any magical defense, wrecking unspeakable destruction by warping creatures into new forms, and turning other mages' own power against them. For this reason, and, of course, because it was the power wielded by Fendel, it is the most feared of all magics -- though its exact details, abilities, and limitations remain largely unknown due to a lack of formal study.
That's not to say that there haven't been Darkness users other than Fendel, however. Once every few generations, someone may develop the power -- but, more often than not, they are quickly identified, and shackled by special "sealing stones" created by the Sages' Tower and a member of the Grayle family working in concert, inscribed with the subject's name and nature, and allowing anyone who holds the stone to freely restrict the use of their powers. Through this means, the power of Darkness has been effectively banned from practice, and its users sequestered to prevent a repeat of the Age of Darkness. But even so, that hasn't stopped rumors from circulating that anyone, anywhere, could be Fendel's prophesied successor, hiding their nature and waiting until the time is ripe to come and bring destruction upon the world once more...
Grayle is, in essence, a stratified society, with a mix between western feudalism and something slightly resembling a caste system (Translation: it's a bunch of stuff that sounds incredibly organized and cool but actually probably makes no sense if you stop to think about it, which I won't do because I'm not a political science major :P).
At the lowest rung, there are serfs and peasants whose families are tied to a specific patch of land granted to them by a local noble. They have little upward mobility, and seldom leave their own lands due to the contracts that bind them to tend to it in exchange for protection. Above them, there is a broader caste of commoners, tradesmen, merchants, and artisans, who either own their own small plots of land, or do not settle down in any one place, but rather travel the span of the kingdom in search of work. Above these are the Guildmasters -- wealthy leaders of organized conglomerates of other artisans and tradesmen, whose influence over what goods get produced and shipped where gives them some measure of leverage even among the nobles.
This is where the waters get somewhat muddied. Those granted titles of Knighthood are, effectively, honorary nobles. However, as they do not necessarily possess land or estates of their own, while they may hold positions of military or sometimes even political power by obtaining other ranks or titles, they may also just be glorified commoners with no non-military duties, and thus rank below wealthy commoners on the social totem pole.
Proper nobles, however, possess at least some duties in the governance of the land, and thus claim a firmer position above both landless Knights and the commoner gentry. There are five ranks of nobility in Grayle, each corresponding to a larger territory and a greater role in the governance of the kingdom. At the lowest rung are the Barons, who are granted authority on a local level, managing individual townships and cities, usually on the frontiers of the kingdom. Above them are Viscounts and Earls, who manage many such townships within their respective counties. Next, there are the four Marquess houses, who not only exert authority over all the lesser nobility within their fiefdoms, but also form a Council of Lords that is second only in both legislative and judicial authority to the King himself. This council, then, is headed by the Grand Duke, who, while only technically holding a small fief close to the capital, serves as an overseer and intermediary for all the other, lower rungs of the nobility. The Grand Duke is traditionally the member of the royal family who is second in line to the throne at the time of appointment, should they be of age to adequately perform their duties. As such, the position is often held by the king's brother, or by the Crown Prince at any given time -- although in the latter case, the position is forfeit upon ascending the throne himself, and a new Grand Duke is appointed.
The precise identities of the holders of these positions will be left deliberately vague for now, so as to allow players interested in noble roles to make whatever lore they want for their characters and their family background.
The political landscape of the country is far too complex to easily summarize, but to boil it down for simplicity's sake, there are currently two factions that dominate the nobility. First, there is a moderate faction that wishes to simply defend Grayle as it is, without waging what they see as pointless wars that might jeopardize their own holdings. Secondly, there is a more radical War Hawk faction that sees Alexandrian border conflicts either as an unpardonable slight against the pride of Grayle, or as an opportunity to earn fame, glory, and power by conquering new territory and protecting Grayle from the threat of foreign incursions. The current King, Albus II, and many members of the Council of Lords belong to the former faction. However, several of the candidates for the position of Crown Prince hold conflicting views, wanting to start a war which they could use as an opportunity to rally followers under their own banner, securing the throne for themselves. Their desire for conflict is further supported by many houses of the frontier nobility, who either view the war as inevitable and want to ensure their own territories are protected by starting it on their own terms, or want to claim more land and more power for themselves in the ensuing conflict.
Inheritance, as you might have guessed, tends to default to male-dominated primogeniture, with the firstborn son usually only losing out on the bulk of the inheritance if he proves himself to be notably debauched, idiotic, or otherwise unfit. The only notable exception to this trend lies in the royal family itself, which promotes a strong belief of meritocracy. Anyone who claims the crown of Grayle should be a worthy successor to its founder -- or so it is said. As such, the crown prince is often decided solely based on merits rather than order of birth, and the competition is often fierce between prospective heirs to distinguish themselves in any way possible, giving rise to the glory hounds of the present day. However, should a family bear no male heirs, rather than adopting a ward to fill the role, it's also not unheard of for the firstborn daughter to take the role of family head until she should marry.
Despite their usual inability to inherit, women are also expected to bear a great deal of responsibility for managing family affairs, such as tending to the management of a fief while their husband is away. Given that Grayle's founders were primarily knights and soldiers, it should come as no surprise that their society is well adapted to keep things running smoothly, even while the men are at war.
But, even so, there are bound to be those dissatisfied with such unequal arrangements... some of whom may even entertain the ambition to take up the sword themselves. After all, boys are far from the only ones raised on tales of the Knight King, tales which might easily lead even a sheltered young girl to admire the life of a hero...
Grayle's knighthood stands in an unusual place within the politics of the kingdom. Those bearing the title of Knight are technically nobility, regardless of their background, but possess no formal power. Conversely, however, due to the reverence with which the kingdom treats its mythic history, the Knighthood has been known to exercise a remarkable sway over the politics of the nation despite this. Several times in the nation's history, individual officers of the order have been known to come forward and publicly make "suggestions" or "requests" of the nobility, the Council, or even the King himself -- and more often than not, this "advice" is heeded. When those who have dedicated their very lives to shoulder the country's well-being ask for something, it's very difficult to refuse them without looking bad, and what's more, whatever faction has the support of the Knights can count on the nation's military strength in times of crisis.
The structure of the Knights is, in many ways, a microcosm of the country as a whole. They are split into individual squads, each with their own numerical hierarchy, in order of importance. The First Seat of each squad them reports to the overall unit Captain, who in turn reports to one of the four Knight-Commanders, the foremost of whom is appointed Lord Marshal -- both the bodyguard of the King, and the commander-in-chief of Grayle's armies. This structure is somewhat peculiar, however, in that it is quite malleable in actual warfare, as the Knights themselves only comprise a small part of Grayle's armed forces. Levied soldiers, conscripted peasants, militiamen and men-at-arms are all far more commonplace than fully-fledged Royal Knights when actual lines of battle are drawn. As such, even a Fifth or Sixth Seat can end up commanding small units on the battlefield, should senior officers be otherwise indisposed, and squads that originally train as tightly knit units may end up having to separate to fill multiple roles as needed in an engagement.
The bottom line is that any rank of Royal Knight, even one who is not an officer, holds a prestigious and glamorous sort of title by comparison to the average rank-and-file soldier. And for precisely this reason, knight candidates are expected -- nay, required to excel in some way in order to earn those honors. Whether it is through mastery of the sword, the spear, the bow, the lance, magic, or even unorthodox disciplines such as espionage or assassination, one can earn the title of "knight." However, as the Knight King was renowned for his mastery of the blade, those who excel in swordsmanship are particularly favored over all other candidates.
Becoming a Knight Candidate is actually surprisingly easy... at least, to begin with. Strictly speaking, there is no hard and fast rule that requires service in exchange for citizenship. However, due to the reverence with which the knighthood is treated, most well to do families -- even those that aren't part of the nobility -- send a candidate to carry the name of their house and try to earn a spot in the order. Second and third sons without anything to inherit flock to the training grounds, hoping to distinguish themselves and earn a glamorous livelihood. The order, by and large, allows this, assembling countless rookies for the first few months of training, be they the accomplished students of distinguished sword schools, or the children of noble houses looking to maintain their family's honor, or just random nobodies with a chip on their shoulders and something to prove. Even foreign refugees are allowed to try out for the knights, and are offered full citizenship should they earn their keep -- a rare treat for those with no one to help them and nowhere else to turn.
Once candidates are admitted, they are organized according to their talents into squads ranging in size from five to twenty. Particularly promising candidates tend to get sorted into smaller groups with one another, allowing them opportunities for more personalized training and hands-on experience sparring with or against their equally talented peers. Unremarkable candidates, on the other hand, tend to get shunted into larger groups and handled en-masse, with those who eventually show promise despite their slow starts picked out and sorted up into more favored squads, and those who don't left to languish along with the rest of the merely ordinary.
These squads are then sorted into four dormitory houses, each bearing the heraldry of one of the four Knight-Commanders, and instructed by members of that particular officer's retinue. The competition is likewise fierce between houses to secure the best candidates each year, as these will likely go on to serve under their respective commander in the future should they become fully-fledged Knights.
As I said before, becoming a candidate is easy. Actually staying a candidate, however, is far more difficult. A grand tournament is held periodically in order to cull the herd, with those who perform particularly poorly in training exercises having special attention paid to their results. If they fail to acquit themselves in combat, they'll be kicked out and sent packing. Conversely, those who perform particularly well can be hand-picked, either individually or as an entire squad, to jump up the ranks and serve as pages and squires to actual knights, taking on real responsibilities and duties within the order, in addition to their continued training. The four Knight-Commanders are even said to attend these tournaments, and select specific elites and specialists among the candidates in their own divisions to serve as their own personal attendants and aides.
And, as if this wasn't incentive enough, the Knight-Commanders' own rivalries tend to get mixed into these tournaments as well, with their chosen instructors pushing their students to excel and claim victory at all costs, for the honor of their own commander and to thumb their noses at the others. For this reason, there's quite a bit of hostility between the four houses, with friend and foe changing on the fly depending on the conditions of the next tournament, and on the relative perceived competence of the houses in question. This also tends to foster an odd sort of "my dad can beat up your dad" sort of mentality amongst the younger candidates, who begin to idolize their respective commanders and, based on their own rose-tinted view of things, try to decide who would win in a fight. Obviously their teacher. Right?
As the holders of the Knight-Commanders' positions are subject to change, so too are the crests of the four houses. At present, the Northern House is represented by the White Griffon, the Southern House by the Crimson Lion, the Eastern House by the Black Wolf, and the Western House by the Golden Stag.
The current generation of Knight-Commanders is, with one exception, perhaps the most decorated and respected that the order has seen since its founding. It is commonly said that, among Knights, there are three paths to excellence: those who seek to hone and master their strength above all else, those who live and die by their honor, and those who can read the tide of battle. And, it is also said that none exemplify these traits better than the three senior members of the council.
His Highness Prince Laurentius, only son of the venerable Grand Duke Logan, is, without a doubt, the finest swordsman of his generation. From his auspicious birth as the only Aura user born into Grayle's royal family within 100 years, through his formative years where he took as naturally to a sword in his hand as a bird takes to the open sky, to the present day where he now sits bearing the twin accolades of Knight-Commander of the Western House and Lord Marshal at the comparatively young age of 33 -- a title which the previous Lord Marshal, Caius Ward, willingly handed over upon Laurentius' ascent, recognizing the prince's suitability for the position.
However, as if unsatisfied with even this unprecedented achievement -- as might well be expected from a wielder of the Metal element, marked for both ambition and perseverance -- he has honed his skill with a blade to such a degree that it is said he could even defeat other Aura users without ever employing his own. His skill is such that no one questions the legitimacy of his position, despite the fact that he has never once resorted to leading his troops in active battle against a foreign enemy -- or rather, precisely because of this fact.
As Commander of the Western House, his and his subordinates' duties primarily involve keeping watch over the Barrier Falls and the Wildlands below; a tainted and untamed wilderness the threat of which he treats with the utmost seriousness, despite the fact that neither Daemons nor the Accursed have been seen in over a hundred years.
It is said that when a war almost broke out with Valefor over a vein of precious ores along the southern border, Prince Laurentius superceded the Commander of the Southern House and, despite the dangers of exposing himself as the commander-in-chief of Grayle's knights to a potential enemy, journeyed alone to negotiate a peaceful resolution. While there, he was -- allegedly -- asked the reason for his obsessive pursuit of strength, and if his presence there was meant as a threat to cow them into submission. He is reported to have replied that "The reason I came here is precisely because I do not wish to sully my blade with the blood of my fellow men. I have never once endeavored to strengthen myself for such a petty reason, either. All I wish is that, if a monster were to appear before me, then I would like to cut it down without hesitation." It is said that this calm reply both moved and frightened the Valeforian general in equal measure, and Valefor conceded the region without bloodshed immediately thereafter.
The second of these excellent knights is Ser Valentin -- though of course, anyone with a knowledge of history would immediately ask "which one?" Ser Rubeus Valentin sits as commander of the Southern House, just as his father did before him, and his grandsire before that. They have always loyally served the royal family, and maintained a watchful eye upon the border, purging bandits and barbarians and protecting the citizens of that troubled region. His pride is as tall as a mountain, his will to succeed and excel in all things unrivaled and unshakable -- and were he born into any other era, he doubtless would have been crowned the foremost warrior in all of Grayle. Unlike Prince Laurentius, however, he is not solely a master of one particular style, but rather an expert in the use of several. Be it archery, jousting, swordsmanship, or any other knightly art. Even if Rubeus does not necessarily excel all others in its practice, he acquits himself with remarkable alacrity; and, in the use of his signature weapon -- a monstrously large poleaxe fit to cleave a horse and rider in twain at a single fell stroke -- he is almost unrivaled.
However, his high pride and short temper have also made him many enemies among both the knights and the aristocracy -- and though both his personal skills and the honor of his house are both beyond reproach, there are those who say he is lacking as a military commander, a logistician, and an instructor to those he takes under his wing -- particularly after the Southern House's crushing defeats in the Grand Tournament over the last three years.
The final of these three luminaries is, of course, the esteemed and venerable Ser Caius Ward, former Lord Marshal and current Knight-Commander of the Northern House. A veteran of several wars with both the northern nomad tribes of the Great Steppe, and the River Kingdoms up the Viridian River, he is a living monument of Grayle's glorious military history -- and, some might even say, to the very art of war itself. He, like Valentin, favors an eclectic blend of martial artistry -- but in his case, the weapon with which he practices this art is significantly more humble. A long, double-edged cross spear -- hardly the weapon of a knight, but rather more like something one would expect to see employed by an unskilled footman. And yet, the White Griffon wields his mighty fang with unprecedented mastery, blending all manner of different styles of combat and even magical arts into a fluid and dynamic mix that confounds the eyes and baffles the senses.
But despite his admittedly formidable talent with a spear, Caius' rank has a bit more to do with strategic acumen than pure martial prowess. The old Griffon earned his spot through some exploits in a border war with some minor River Kingdoms up the Viridian River, where, after a series of lost battles under the Northern House's former commander, Caius, his squadron, and an assortment of militia forces were cut off during the retreat. So, unable to return to their homeland, they instead moved covertly behind enemy lines and strolled around raiding outposts and occupying villages until the enemy's supply chain broke down, and an army five times the size of his own ground to a halt and was forced to surrender without ever even meeting the wily Griffin in pitched battle. He returned home a hero, and was given his disgraced predecessor's position as a reward -- for though the former Knight-Commander had nearly lost the war despite having every advantage, Caius had gone and won it anyway with just a handful of men! Or so the story goes, anyway.
But among these living legends and storied personages, there is an outlier: a common man from a common house, which has neither land nor title to its name -- a friend of Prince Laurentius from his academy days, an internal reformist greatly respected among the lower ranks of the Sentinel Knights, and a smooth talker who somehow managed to earn the favor of not only the Lord Marshal, but also his father, the Grand Duke. This last and least of the Knight-Commanders is the elusive and mysterious Commander Gilbert Tervellan, of the Eastern House. A childless widower whose wife passed some fifteen years ago, he has neither living relatives nor an heir to inherit his name and meager estate. A patriot, he is -- at least, by all measure -- and he carries himself with all the dignity and composure one would expect of his standing. And yet, if he has any martial achievements, he does not boast of them -- nor does he have any special magical talents that might qualify him for the position. Those in power vouch for him, and he himself works blamelessly in discharging his duties -- but there are many who view him as an opportunist and an upstart -- particularly once his scheming begins to involve the young prodigies who might one day shape Grayle's future...
Celestial bodies hold a special role in Grandor's mythic history, as even to those who do not venerate them as deities, they are commonly accepted to hold mysterious powers, particularly over magic and the fates of men.
These powers are not merely abstract in nature, either -- as meteors said to be made of the same stuff as the Stars themselves have long been known to be supremely conductive to magic. Starsilver, as this exceedingly rare metal is called, is often used in the making of Enchanted items of supreme quality, and is worth a fortune even in its raw form. It is also the only material known to be capable of sealing away Darkness magic, and is used in the construction of Sealing Stones by the Sages' Tower. What's more, it cannot be denied that the only users of the blessed and rare power of Aura are those for whom an Omen appeared at their birth -- which many take to be an indication that the superhuman reserves of energy necessary to use an Aura in the first place come not from the actual user -- but from the Star that gifted them their power.
But, even leaving aside the practical powers of Stars, Astrology is a commonly used method by which even the magically inept attempt to divine the secrets of the future based on signs and omens that appear in the stars -- and the moons themselves as they wax and wane indicate the cycle of fortune and of woe.
The two moons that adorn the skies of Grandor are both cracked at their center from an ancient collision said to have been wrought by Fendel's hands, and surrounded by countless shimmering shards of debris.
The first is the Silver Moon, Ketheire, sometimes also called the "Dead Moon" due to its bone-white surface, marred and scarred by countless craters. Through the hole in its side left by the lunar impact, one can clearly see the ten-branched constellation of the Tree of Wisdom, with the Sage's Star at its peak -- for which reason Ketheire has long been likewise associated with prosperity and the blessings of magic, and particularly with the guidance of Alexander. In addition to its irregular waxing being seen as a sign of bounty and good fortune by the people of Grandor, and its waning being seen as a warning of ills to come, it also is the more unstable of the two moons. Shards of Ketheire frequently slip out from amidst the debris surrounding it and fall to Grandor as meteors. The Starsilver contained therein is also known to be of surpassingly fine quality. It is said that but a glance at this sublime material can captivate the heart of any man -- and some great sages of the not-too-distant past are purported to have been driven to madness by their lust for it, believing it to be the key to becoming one with the Stars.
The second, and smaller of the two moons is the Black Moon, Malkhuth. Wreathed perpetually in cloud and shadow, its surface is hazy and indistinct save when it eclipses either its sister moon, or the sun itself. As Ketheire is associated with fortune and heroic blessings, Malkhuth is seen as a font of misfortune and misery -- as is only fitting, since it was said to have been raised into the heavens by Fendel himself -- a profane monument to the Sorcerer King's madness and glory. Even now, what shards fall to earth are tainted by his alien Darkness, said to spawn forth Daemons and spread his Cursemark wheresoever they fall. Thankfully, King Arbert's mighty barrier serves to protect the lands of Grandor from their influence. But even so, it still remains, an ever-present celestial reminder of Fendel's Curse -- and the prophecy of his return.
Though none have been seen in the last hundred years, the creatures spawned forth by Fendel's powers remain the boogeymen of faerie tales and the creatures of Grandor's nightmares even now -- though some believe them to be a mere fable conjured up for exactly that purpose. Nevertheless, surviving records from the time of the old war categorize them into two groups.
The first are Daemons. Though once natural creatures or even humans, they are said to have been amalgamated with other forms of life by Fendel's unholy powers. Legends tell of everything from freakish chimeras formed from multiple mangled bodies to mighty beasts as beautiful in their unnatural perfection as they are terrible to behold -- such as the Dragon Lord Vaalascha who would later become one of Grayle's companions.
Nevertheless, though warped by Darkness, the Daemons do not actually wield it -- its power long since having merged into their forms and become inert. In its place, however, they often wield the classical elements as naturally as they command their own bodies, such as the Dragon Lord's mythic breath of flames that was said to have turned the surface of the Valeforan desert to glass during her battle against the Hero and the Great Sage. And, as was the case with Vaalascha, Daemons are also capable of retaining an ego even after corruption -- as without the power of Darkness remaining active within their bodies, their minds are not controlled by Fendel's Curse. However, as the process of transforming into a Daemon warps them in often-excruciating ways, they are far more often reduced to mindless insanity than any other outcome -- and those which do retain any level of sapience often emerge with personalities that little resemble their former selves.
But this is a mercy compared to the fate of those unfortunate souls who find Fendel's Cursemark inscribed upon their flesh. An Enchantment of Darkness, an unspeakable inscription, and a permanent shackle of servitude -- the Cursemark is rightly regarded as the most horrific form of magic ever devised, and the greatest of all taboos. Like a perverse mockery of a Star's blessing, the Cursemark grafts a sliver of Fendel's own Aura onto the victim -- a "gift" which they can burn their own lives as fuel to use. They become tremendously powerful, capable of reshaping their bodies into whatever form they desire, taking whatsoever they wish, and killing whosoever they want. But in exchange, their souls must bend in service towards one dark purpose -- to spread the Mark to all of humanity.
No matter how they try to disguise their new forms as human, the Accursed cannot hide the telltale signs of their pact. Black ichor writhes beneath their skin, coiling into and out of their heart like a serpent biting its own tail, forming the eponymous "mark." When the Aura that forms it is harnessed by the host, this serpent uncoils itself and lashes out, erupting from their flesh in a grotesque display of eldritch might. Those touched by this Aura will in turn find themselves afflicted, willing or not. The lucky ones will become Daemons, their bodies warped and twisted before the power of the Curse within them dies out. Those less fortunate will be afflicted by the Cursemark themselves, have their wills eroded, and become puppets used to continue spreading the unholy affliction.
For Daemons and Accursed alike, there are only two cures. The first, of course, is death. By destroying the body of the afflicted, the Darkness within it will also die, lacking life force with which to sustain itself. The second is the Blessing of the Light, which alone can expunge the Mark and its unholy influence, and deliver salvation unto those who languish within the mad wizard's clutches.
...Needless to say, it's no wonder the people of Grandor don't often go outside at night when they've been raised on such horrific tales. But what is truth, however exaggerated, and what is outright fiction... who can say? After all, such fanciful and horrific beings haven't been seen in over a century. But then again, doesn't that also mean that none alive would even recognize one if they saw it?
Maybe it's best to heed the fables -- just in case. After all, even the most kindly of strangers could be a monster clad in human skin...
There are three prominent religions throughout Grandor, each commanding a large section of the population's devotion.
The first is a sort of Hero Cult mostly unique to Grayle, which venerates the party of heroes that saved the world as demigods of a sort, with Arbert obviously being the chief among them. His spirit is believed to persist even after death as a sort of cosmic force watching over the world, and people believe that by praying to him they can be blessed with miraculous healing, protection from evil, that sort of thing. Alexander, meanwhile, is invoked for counsel in times of crisis, wisdom and temperance in all of one's dealings, and for fortune in one's fate. Penitent Maria is called upon for forgiveness by those who have committed sins, the Thief King is called upon for protection on the road, and the Dragon Lord for prosperity in all of one's business dealings. Of the three, this religion most resembles one -- with churches established all throughout Grayle in particular, each with statues and idols of their patron heroes.
The second is a more animistic religion largely practiced in Alexandria, known as the Living Faith, which believes Magic itself to be a sort of deistic force that surrounds the world and binds it together, maintaining all of its laws, aspects, and principles. Those who utilize magic are believed to simply be communing with the Universal Will that governs the world and all of its natural laws, with a sort of Transhumanist element thrown in where the end goal of this religion is to discover the unifying principles of all magic to supercede things like "elemental affinity" and achieve things otherwise deemed impossible or restricted to "special" magic. It is believed that through this enlightenment, all people can achieve the blessings of the Absolute, and walk in the footsteps of their nation's founder, Alexander. When all mankind is one with magic, the world itself shall bend to the human mind -- and not even the stars shall be beyond mankind's reach.
The final one is more generally spread across the world, and oftentimes is intermixed with one or sometimes even both of the other two. This more generalist religion is known as the Celestial Faith, and is comprised of the belief that all celestial bodies each represent a divine being or collection of beings with a direct interest in and a hand guiding human affairs, with different constellations representing different "wills" with their own agenda, much like how in Astrology each constellation supposedly holds its own significance with regards to anything from your mood and temperament to how lucky you're going to be on a particular day. Individual families chart specific signs in the stars that have signaled good fortune throughout their histories, and offer prayers to them that this fortune may continue unabated. It is also because of this faith that the Omens that appear at a person's birth are said to be divine commandments that will guide them on their path later in life to fulfill their purpose, with Auras seen as gifts reserved for those with a particularly grand or important mission.
Character Sheet
Character sheet template courtesy of Gowi and Supermaxx. Thanks, and sorry for the plagiarism. XD It just looks pretty.
[color=YOUR COLOR CHOICE GOES HERE][CENTER][img]Character Name Font Meme[/img][/CENTER] [table][row][/row][row][cell][center][img]Character Image[/img] [color=2E2C2C][sup]_______________________________________________[/sup][/color][/center][hider=// INFO][indent][sub][b]P E R S O N A L D E T A I L S[/b][/SUB]
[sup][COLOR=SILVER] [b]Full Name[/b][COLOR=#807B84] - Give me your full name.[/COLOR] [b]Age[/b][COLOR=#807B84] - Character age, preferably early to mid teens to begin with, since we're starting as kids and there may be a timeskip down the line.[/COLOR] [b]Gender[/b][COLOR=#807B84] - Self-explanatory, though bear in mind female characters will need to disguise themselves to fit in[/COLOR] [b]Heritage[/b][COLOR=#807B84] - Are you an aristocrat? A commoner? The child of a military family, or a wizard clan? Are you native to Grandor, or do you come from elsewhere? Just give a few words to summarize your social position.[/COLOR] [b]Magical Affinity[/b][COLOR=#807B84] - What elements can you use, if any? Don't list big spells or techniques or anything here, though. Put those in skills.[/COLOR][/color][/SUP]
[color=#2e2c2c]-[/color][/indent][/hider] [hider=// PERSONALITY][indent][SUB][b]P E R S O N A L I T Y[/b][/sub]
[sup][COLOR=SILVER][b]Character Trait[/b] [COLOR=#807B84]Explain a bit about your character's personality.[/COLOR][/COLOR]
[COLOR=SILVER][b]Character Trait[/b] [COLOR=#807B84]Explain a bit about your character's personality.[/COLOR][/COLOR]
[COLOR=SILVER][b]Character Trait[/b] [COLOR=#807B84]Explain a bit about your character's personality.[/COLOR][/COLOR] [/SUP][/indent][/hider] [hider=// SKILLSET][indent][SUB][b]S K I L L S E T[/b][/sub]
[sup][COLOR=SILVER][b]Skill Trait[/b] [COLOR=#807B84]Explain a bit about your character's skills and abilities. Try not to go too crazy with it, since these are just kids.[/COLOR][/COLOR]
[COLOR=SILVER][b]Skill Trait[/b] [COLOR=#807B84]Explain a bit about your character's skills and abilities. Try not to go too crazy with it, since these are just kids.[/COLOR][/COLOR]
[COLOR=SILVER][b]Skill Trait[/b] [COLOR=#807B84]Explain a bit about your character's skills and abilities. Try not to go too crazy with it, since these are just kids.[/COLOR][/COLOR]
[/SUP][/indent][/hider] [/cell][cell][b]Physical Description[/b] [color=#807B84][indent]Self-explanatory [/indent][/color] [b]Character Conceptualization[/b] [color=#807B84][indent] A brief summary of your history, any important NPCs connected to your character, why you chose to become a knight, and maybe a bit of foreshadowing on where you hope to take the character going forward. If you want to hide stuff and not include it yet in order to reveal it later, PM me about it.[/indent][/color] [b]Other Information[/b] [color=#807B84][indent] Anything else you think people need to know.
[/indent][/color] [/cell][/row][/table][/COLOR]
This RP is invite-only for the time being, as this reboot was primarily made for those who requested it and/or asked to rejoin. Sorry, but I'm just not really very good at GMing for large groups of players, so I can't really accept more than what I already have.
But that's enough rambling from me. Welcome back, everybody!
[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FZUcpVmEHuk]Oh, hi. Thanks for checking in.[/url]
I'm an exceedingly enthusiastic roleplayer who's been writing for about ten years now [s]and yet still hasn't managed to produce any kind of solo piece of writing worth reading[/s]. I like to consider myself a good writer, but that's kind of a matter of opinion, as many would argue that my tendency to ramble on at [s]entirely excessive[/s] length about things is boring rather than interesting. I'm also incredibly OCD about formatting, so if you're wondering why my bios look so fancy, that's why. It's just something I do because... reasons, I guess.
Anyway, as you've probably noticed from my avatars and RP choices, I'm more than a bit of a fan of anime and manga, but also enjoy movies, video games, the occasional comic book... the list goes on. For you see, I am not a mere dork - I am the one spoken of in legends, the one whose dorkiness transcends all forms and boundaries. I am... the Legendary... OMNI-DORK!
...Anyway, thanks for dropping in to check on my profile! Hope to RP with you sometime!
Nyanpasu~.
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><a target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FZUcpVmEHuk">Oh, hi. Thanks for checking in.</a><br><br>I'm an exceedingly enthusiastic roleplayer who's been writing for about ten years now <span class="bb-s">and yet still hasn't managed to produce any kind of solo piece of writing worth reading</span>. I like to consider myself a good writer, but that's kind of a matter of opinion, as many would argue that my tendency to ramble on at <span class="bb-s">entirely excessive</span> length about things is boring rather than interesting. I'm also incredibly OCD about formatting, so if you're wondering why my bios look so fancy, that's why. It's just something I do because... reasons, I guess.<br><br>Anyway, as you've probably noticed from my avatars and RP choices, I'm more than a bit of a fan of anime and manga, but also enjoy movies, video games, the occasional comic book... the list goes on. For you see, I am not a mere dork - I am the one spoken of in legends, the one whose dorkiness transcends all forms and boundaries. I am... the Legendary... OMNI-DORK!<br><br>...Anyway, thanks for dropping in to check on my profile! Hope to RP with you sometime!<br><br>Nyanpasu~.</div>
Lemons
Izurich
SilverPaw
Zeroth
Punished GN
Asura
mickilennial
Vampiretwilight
