[hider=Leith Calder]So I've got one of these CS thingies all set up. Here it is. UserName: Konan375 Character name: Leith Calder Age: 25 Mageblood type: Aqua Favoured Magic Class: Hydromancy Previous Magic training: None Race: Naerse Human Appearance: Leith was born with albinism, so his skin is about as white as it can get. His eyes are a very light blue, and he has no hair. He stands at 6 feet tall and is very skinny. He usually wears dark green coloured clothing. Short Bio: Leith did not have a nice childhood. the other children were afraid of him. They had heard stories of vampires and what they looked like, and in their minds, Leith was a vampire. He had learned quickly that fear could turn to violence, and had gone home with bruises, and one time, a black eye. As he got older, the fear disappeared, and he made some friends. He discovered his ability to control water, and started to try and figure out what he could do with it. When he was twenty, Leith Heard about Twilight College and decided to go there and get a better grasp on his hydromancy. He figured it wouldn’t take that long. A few weeks at most. He got there five years later. Not after a few days of travelling, he encountered two men who immediately apprehended him and tried to kill him because they’d "be doing Eania a favour. The only good vampire is a dead one, right?” Leith tried to explain that he wasn’t a vampire, and that the men were making a mistake, but they wouldn’t listen. The men took him off the road, tied him to a stake and one of the men went to set him on fire. In his panic, Leith felt water nearby and pulled at it. He was splashed by something warm and lost consciousness. He was found and rescued by a herbalist who was restocking his inventory. When Leith woke up, he felt like he needed to repay the old man, and decided to become his apprentice. Near the end of Leith’s fourth year of being an apprentice, the old man got sick, and quickly died. After burying him, Leith stayed at the little hut in the forest that they lived for a few more weeks, and then started out for the Twilight College for a second time. Fortunately, the second time was uneventful. Good Attributes: Very knowledgable. He has a love of learning and can learn more quickly than other people would. He is very helpful. He knows a lot about Earnia plant-life and can usually tell which ones are harmful, and which ones are helpful. Bad Attributes: He is very weak physically, and when he feels that his weakness stopped him from helping someone, he can get very depressed. He also trusts people too easily. Secret Word: Fade... wait a second. Rebirth[/hider] [img=http://www.rickross.com/wp-content/uploads/approved_red_stamp.png] [hider=Ponders Mordent The Twenty Seventh] UserName: Sundered Echo Character name: Ponders. Mordent. The Twenty-seventh. Age: 36 Mageblood type: Natura Favoured Magic Class: Geomancy Previous Magic training: None Race: Awakened Harmony Appearance: [img=http://static1.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20131128182710/steamtradingcards/images/e/ed/Endless_Space_-_Harmony.jpg] Ponders’ form is pale blue by nature, comprised of a number of separately moving stones. The central glow is pale blue. When arranged in humanoid form, he stands at an imposing 8’1. Given the variable nature of his shape, however, his height at any moment can vary greatly. Short Bio: Like all Awakened, Ponders rose from the lakes beneath the harmony at the last Awakening. At the time he was given the name ‘Mordent,’ which he retained for a number of years. He also bears the title ‘The Twenty-Seventh’ as he was the twenty-seventh Awakened to rise from the waters. Like all Awakened, he immediately set out to explore the world and gain knowledge. Ponders particular journey took him first to the Dwarven City of Ironstead. There he learned the dwarven language, as well as the common language, and first began to comprehend the world he now lived in. The Dwarves found him and his brothers fascinating, and for four years Ponders spent his time exchanging information with several Dwarven Geomancers as well as a Necromancer of the Motem-Necromancy learning. He was treated almost as an experiment, a being to be studied, however, he did not mind as the mages around him merely observed, and they also told him of the dwarven ways, their culture and history. Young Awakened, however, are voracious learners, and rarely stay in one place for long as they hunger for knowledge. He departed Ironstead at age four, travelling south. He wandered the wilderness for 12 years, observing the many plants and animals of Eania and northern Djarkel, remembering all but never delving very deeply into the study of any one being. During this time, the Accelerated learning of a newly formed Awakened wore off, leaving him more in control. Many a month he would find a vantage point to watch an animal's den or hunting ground and stand as still as as a statue, simply watching. This time of observation ended when he was found by a curious Eanian villager. It was much to the villagers surprise when the glowing statue struck up a conversation with him, but his curiosity won out over his sudden fear, something Ponders greatly approved of. The pair travelled back to the village, where Ponders once again took up an observing role. He remained here for 6 years, and it is here he received his name. One day one of the villagers asked him what he was actually doing while he stood watching and he replied ‘thinking.’ The villagers response was ‘what are you pondering?’ Though the villager did not know it, Ponders took a liking to the idea that he was forever pondering an idea, and so adopted it as his name. After a time, Ponders had learned much of what there was to know about that particular village and asked if he could travel to the Eanian capital city. Instead of simply walking there, the villager who had first discovered him devised a plan. He would take Ponders, who would pose as an ancient statue, to the archeology guild in the capital and sell him. From there, not only would the village have a large source of gold, but Ponders would get to observe all that went on there unhindered. The plan mostly worked. Ponders was sold to the guild. However, the guild had seen the harmony and the Awakened before. Two months into his observations, one of the Archeologists discovered Ponders true nature. When he was questioned, Ponders simply asked to be allowed to observe the goings on. This was allowed for a time, as long as he contributed occasionally to the Guilds knowledge of the Harmony. When he eventually asked how the Guild was storing what he told them, he was introduced properly to the idea of books - objects the fleshy creatures used for storing information. It took Ponders a number of years to read the majority of the Guild Library, a feat that quite astounded the faculty. They knew of the Awakened’s hunger for knowledge, but to witness it in action was quite something else. Eventually, Ponders discovered the books detailing the sum total of Eanian knowledge on his own kind. He learned many things from these that had before been simply instinctual, but one discovery would stand out, bringing forth a new hunger for knowledge, a very specific kind of knowledge. When Ponders discovered from the books that he was capable of Geomancy, he decided to travel to the best place the guild could point him for learning it. The Twilight College. However, his journey has not been particularly direct. He was distracted first at the forest in southern Eania, never having seen such a concentration of trees before. He observed it for six months before eventually moving on. He was once again delayed when he encountered the Twilight lands, and stopped to observe this strange phenomena and try to fathom why it was like it was. Three months he roamed the area before finally making it to the Twilight College, only a day before it was accepting new members. Good Attributes: -Knowledgable: 36 years may not seem like much, but when you need almost no rest and have no other interruptions to learning, it is a long time in which to accumulate knowledge. Ponders’ travels have taken him to many strange places, and he has learned all manner of things. From time to time, one of the facts he knows can come in useful, though only if he remembers in time. -Patient: Even for a rock, Ponders is patient. He is content to act like a statue for extended periods of time, during which he will watch and think. He has also been known to read entire libraries of books with no concern as to the time it takes. -Body of Stone: Ponders has all the advantages of being an Awakened Harmony outlined in the race description. Bad Attributes: -Curious: Ponders is a curious being. Far too Curious for his own good in fact. He will gladly risk damage and destruction for more knowledge, such is his thirst. As well, he has a particular hatred for secrets. As far as Ponders is concerned, no-one has the right to withhold information from him for any reason. -Mind of Stone: Ponders may be a sentient thinking creature, but he is still made of stone. Ponders’ thought process and reaction times are slow compared to most beings. This can make dealing with him frustrating, as well as providing a potentially significant disadvantage in combat. -Body of Stone: Ponders has all the disadvantages outlined in the Awakened Harmony race description. Secret Word: Rebirth[/hider] [img=http://www.rickross.com/wp-content/uploads/approved_red_stamp.png] [hider=Auriel Laval]UserName: Sundered Echo Character name: Auriel Lavai Age: 20 Mageblood type: Lux Favoured Magic Class: Pyromancy Previous Magic training: None Race: Wood Elf Appearance: [img=http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d45/Jadefox88/Elf-1-1-1.jpg] Standing at 6'2, Auriel towers over human woman and even many men, even though she is average height for a woman of her race. Her skin is pale, her hair crimson and her eyes green. She has a small tattoo on her forehead in a simple elven pattern, and three barely visible scars from the wounds inflicted by Siala's arrows, marking otherwise largely unblemished skin. There is a fierce and somewhat feral look about her, as if she is only a word away from tearing you apart with her hands - a fact that isn't particularly far from the truth. Her attire is usually practical, but with a slight tendency towards showing off her body. Many men have called her beautiful, and she makes sure not to give them reason to doubt. Her Weapons [img=http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2137/2241678957_3fb75b16db.jpg] [img=http://fc08.deviantart.net/fs42/f/2009/101/2/9/Elven_Boarding_Axe_by_Ironstaff.jpg] Short Bio: Born into the tight knit community of the forest elves, from the age she could walk Auriel Lavai could be best described as a hothead. She was climbing trees not long after she could walk, and always very physical. In her early years she proved a fairly quick learner, but also very physical, reaching for violence first and thinking second when confronted with trouble. She didn't take long to form both good friends that shared some of her temperament and bitter enemies that couldn't stand her careless attitude. Among these people, one stood out, the antithesis of Auriel, a girl by the name of Siala. She went on to become a minor trouble-maker, sabotaging hunts and picking fights, in particular those of Siala, yet often proving fleet of foot enough to escape any real retribution. This started early in her life, but as she grew older her actions became more audacious. Her elders did not pay these traits too much heed, calling her young and inexperienced, and she never managed to cause enough trouble at once to draw any more attention, despite quickly getting to know all the forest wardens on a first name basis. Ironically enough, some of the wardens had begun to teach her their martial skills, as well as the laws of the land, partially in hopes that it might temper her and partially to give her something to do. She took to the martial training swiftly, but found the laws somewhat harder to focus on, largely because she still spent most nights breaking them. Had things continued as they were, she might have eventually become more tempered and made an excellent warden. However, this was not to be so. At age 17 her life was turned on its head. Having sabotaged the hunt of one of the most skilled of her peers, her lifelong enemy Siala, she was running from retribution as usual, several angry hunters on her heels. Long time rivals, Siala had finally had enough of Auriels pranks, and had begun firing live arrows at her. A day that had begun as a fun escapade changed rather drastically when the first arrow nicked her upper arm, drawing blood from a long but shallow cut. Two arrows later had earned her a cut in her upper leg and one on her ankle, at which point she took shelter behind an Ironbark tree, unable to continue running due to her injuries. In those long, painful moments of terror as the hunted, everything stopped being fun and light-hearted, and for the first time she feared for her life. Wishing for a distraction, any distraction, she suddenly began to smell smoke. Looking around, she found it coming from under her fingers on the trunk of the tree she was using as shelter. A moment longer and fire was liking at the dry autumn wood, and as it did, Auriel began to run again. What began as a small distraction, hardly a smoke signal, soon grew into a full fledged fire, engulfing the tree and spreading to those around it. Rather than return to face her people and atone for the destruction being wrought around her, Auriel ran. She knew enough of the forest and its trees to treat her superficial wounds and survive for a time as she moved ever towards the mountains. In rare forethought, she harvested some offcuts of Ironbark to take with her on her exodus, as she had no currency of any type with which to buy her way in the strange lands beyond the forest. In what would be remembered as one of her most harrowing experiences, Auriel scaled the mountainous passes that lead between Ghannos and Ironstead. She was driven to this immense act by a feeling of wonderlust, a desire to see the world beyond the seemingly endless forest of Ghannos. After the periloous journey, she was only reminded of the violence that sent her away by the thin scars Siala's arrows had left. That was far from her mind as she traded away slivers of Ironbark for food and shelter, followed by exploring the surface portions of the Dwarven city. Ironstead, however, proved far to staid and orderly for Auriels wild heart, and she quickly decided to trade away the last of her Ironbark for passage to the Eanian capital. From there, she took up odd jobs to eke out a living, favouring those that made best use of her combative skills and minimised emotional heights. This approach only partially worked. Auriel is and has ever been a creature of passion, and on several occasions her temper has flared. She once almost burnt down a tavern fending off over-interested drunkards. Once, on the cusp of being caught by Eanian guards for trespassing, she set one of their cloaks on fire rather than get caught. She only narrowly avoided discovery and conscription into the Eanian military each time. In this time, she did not purposefully practice any magic, largely trying to keep her talent a secret - both from the world and from herself. Life in the human city was quite different to the Elven community from whence she'd come. The city was far more detached and uncarring for its people, and everywhere she went she was surrounded by strangers. Partially because of this, she never settled in one place, flitting between Taverns and Inns while in the city, and favouring jobs protecting caravans that would let her get away from it all. One travels a remarkable amount as a Caravan guard, and picks up a fair amount of combat experience even in a fairly safe country like Eania. Her skills with all manner of small melee weapons were honed against a myriad of opponents in the years in human lands, and her pockets were kept full of enough gold to get by. In these travels, she also heard of the College for magebloods in Aerta. Several times she considered traveling there to learn to control her ability, but every time she choose not to, still unhappy with the very idea of being a Mageblood. It was only when one of her Caravan guarding jobs went wrong that fate forced her hand. A particularly long trip to the hold of Oerm, it was ambushed by a predominently elven group of rogues and bandits just past the forest. Auriel had faced down competant raiders before and turned them aside, but when the first arrow struck, nicking her arm in almost the same way as the one that had first driven her away, she began to feel she'd met her match. The raiders refused to engage up close where she could best fight them, and the other guards were quickly cut down in a flurry of both arrows and magic - the raiders having brought a mageblood with them. Seeing defeat, Auriel ran once more. Before she went, however, she knocked over one of the oil lamps in the caravan and with a brief flare of pyromancy fanned the flame to a size large enough that it would consume the Caravan before the raiders could stop it. This marked the first time she had intentionally used magic in her life. She ran for her life, but also away from the life she'd taken up and all the fearful possibilities she'd come close to over the years, abandoning the helpless merchants under her charge to their fate to save herself. She kept running long after the raiders had stopped giving chase, even with a number of light wounds caused by arrow near misses and a close call with a lightning bolt. Eventually, she could run no more, and collapsed in the grassy fields - almost within sight of the College. Good Attributes: Physically fit and quick, she is not well muscled or strong, but still capable of running a great distance under duress. Martially skilled - specialising in the weapons she habitually carries, a dagger and a hooked axe. Bad Attributes: Highly emotional and aggresive, Auriel reaches for her blade at the slightest insult and cannot always maintain perfect control of her magic when particularly aggravated. Secret Word: Rebirth[/hider] [img=http://www.rickross.com/wp-content/uploads/approved_red_stamp.png] [hider=Ssarak Dyreackthanose]User Name: EliteCommander Character Name: Ssarak Dyreackthanose Age: 27 Mageblood type: Lues Mageblood Favored Magic class: Psychomancy (with a single Noxomancy spell: a caustic breath attack) Previous Magic Training: Mostly self-taught, with some training from elders in his clan. Race: Esyire Appearance: [url=http://www.deviantart.com/art/Your-Soul-is-Mine-147402964] (with this: [url=http://www.deviantart.com/art/Comish-So-Close-397900213] armor, but black in color, and this: [url=http://www.deviantart.com/art/Black-Axe-of-the-Baruman-85605036] battleaxe) Short Bio: Ssarak, being an almost eight foot tall Esyire, looks even at a glance to be a seasoned warrior. It was a role he was born into, a role that shaped his entire life. He was born into Dyre clan, a collection of a few nomadic villages in the Eastern Scorched Lands. His father Taraesar, like himself, was born with Lues Mageblood and was a proud warrior of their clan. Lues blood was rare among the Dyre clan, and due to the stigma they held against Noxomancy, most of that blood pursued Psychomancy. Ssarak would have been trained in the use of his mageblood by his father, but unfortunately, he perished in battle early in Ssarak’s life. Since Taraesar had been the only practicing Psychomancer in his village, he was left to learn to use his gifts by his own devices, receiving only basic training in the use of mageblood from the clan elders. In the Dyre clan, all warriors must have and be able to use magic, so no matter how skilled he became in mundane combat, he would have been ultimately rejected if he could not learn to control his blood. Nevertheless, his fervor for his training allowed him to learn enough to become a warrior his father could be proud of by the time he came of age. He delved into Noxomancy long enough to learn to cast a corrosive breath attack that he could vary in form from a near-liquid to a gaseous cloud, but his peers encouraged him to pursue Psychomancy before he could learn any more. Despite his intense training, Ssarak is more skilled in martial combat than with magic. He inherited in arms and armor from his father, who crafted them by his own hand. Ssarak has a good deal of physical strength to back up his axe, and though he was at a disadvantage with magic compared to his fellow warriors, he was generally intelligent with its use. Since he lacked a proper tutor, Ssarak’s casting was inefficient, but he was able to teach himself to create a number of different types of illusions that could be used for misdirection in combat. He has been less successful with the more direct applications of psychomancy, as the only minds he can have a forceful, direct influence on are those of simple creatures. Part of Ssarak’s duty as a warrior was to escort trading groups between the Dyre’s villages and to the cities of the Scorched Lands’ settled Esyire. The relationship between the Dyre and the Esyire who settled in the cities was sparse, but peaceful. They traded from time to time for resources the Dyre could not gather on their own, so Ssarak received more exposure to outside cultures than most of his clan. He became somewhat familiar with the territories of other races beyond the Scorched Lands through these trips to the cities, but he was still very much focused on the needs of his own people. Most of Ssarak’s early career was wrapped up with fighting the Dyre’s rival clan, the Xhoth. The two clans had been at odds for generations, and since they were of roughly the same side, neither were able to keep the advantage for long. Ssarak survived several battles with them, but he never felt proud of those achievements. In his eyes, he was simply a participant, unable to really influence the tide of the war. He longed to be the warrior his father was, to be the hero that could end the conflict in its entirety. While in his early twenties, Ssarak found a wife and had children of his own, but secretly, he was still dissatisfied with his life. He loved his family, but still desperately wanted to bring an end to the conflict that consumed his people. After years of conflict, he finally thought he found the answer. For as long as the war had been raging, it had been a battle strictly between their warriors. Ssarak viewed the Xhoth as a plague upon the land, one that deserved to be wiped out completely. Over the course of a few months, he drummed up enough support from his fellow warriors, mostly younger ones, to plan an attack to completely wipe out a Xhoth village. Both clans had several villages, but Ssarak hoped that, by eliminating one entirely, it would push the war enough in their favor to finish it once and for all. Under the cover of darkness, Ssarak and the warriors who supported him made their way to the outskirts of the village. Ssarak took a small team with him and used his skills with misdirection to stealthily eliminate a few of the lookouts. His team then proceeded to slit the throats of as many warriors as they could find before they were discovered. Ssarak then sounded the horn to signal the attack. The battle was quick but bloody. About half of Ssarak’s force was killed, but they won the battle. Instead of taking prisoners and accepting the village’s surrender, they slaughtered everyone they found, save for a few that managed to escape. Once they returned and reported their actions, there was an intense debate among the village’s leadership. They had violated the honor that had driven their warfare for generations, but enough of their warriors had supported Ssarak’s plan that they could not be punished outright. The debate had been raging for about a week when they received word of an impending Xhoth attack on a neighboring village. Ssarak was among the men who was sent to aid them, but to their surprise, they found no Xhoth forces anywhere in the area, and the village they had been sent to protect had no knowledge of this attack. They returned home as quickly as possible only to find it in ruins. Evidently, messenger who informed them of the supposed Xhoth attack had betrayed them to get the majority of their warriors away from the village. The few survivors explained that the few soldiers remaining had not been enough to defend from by the massive attack by the Xhoth. Just as in Ssarak’s attack, they killed everyone indiscriminately…including all of Ssarak’s family. Ssarak was overwhelmed with grief and anger. He wanted to personally execute the traitor responsible, but was powerless to do anything to attain his vengeance. He considered suicidally attacking the Xhoth alone in the hopes of killing as many as possible before being killed himself, but he eventually decided to leave his people entirely. Many of his clan resented him and the other soldiers who took part in the initial attack, but he simply wanted to be away from it all. Ssarak left the Scorched Lands and wandered for a while, acting as a mercenary for about two years to support himself. During that time, the anger he felt toward the Xhoth had been replaced by immense regret. It had been his actions that had instigated the Xhoth’s attack, his fault that his family was dead. He continues to wander from place to place, unsure of what to do. Part of him wants redemption, but mostly, he believes himself a lost cause. After hearing of a College that could teach him to use his mage blood more effectively, he decided it would be as good of a place as any to begin a new chapter of his life. Good Attributes: As an Esyire, he is capable of flight. He has a great deal of strength and is a rather intelligent individual, capable of planning tactically to make the best use of the skills he has. Bad Attributes: Ever since the traumatic event that caused him to exile himself from his home, he has been prone to fits of rage that can severely impact his judgment and make him more violent than normal. Reminders of his family can also lead to episodes of depression that harm his ability to motivate himself. Secret Word: Rebirth[/hider] [img=http://www.rickross.com/wp-content/uploads/approved_red_stamp.png] [hider=Aramir]UserName: Rtron Character name: Aramir Ryk(generally does not give her last name) Age: 22 Mageblood type: Lux Favoured Magic Class: Pyromancy Previous Magic training: None. She's amused herself by making sparks or small balls of fire, but that's about it. Race: Snow Elf Appearance: [img=http://lh3.ggpht.com/-R-tvnafQXlI/Tk-ngnyFOJI/AAAAAAAAD6w/5zOFljsZHRg/s800/Elf%252520Girl%252520Snow%252520Archer%252520-%252520Magick%252520Warriors%2525201.jpg] Standing at two feet 11 inches and weighing 45lbs, Aramir considered herself on the taller side for a Snow Elf, and she was a little bit proud of that height...until she finally met others than those in her tribe that is. She has [url=http://content.photos-room.com/previews/Cold_as_Ice_by_lorency.jpg]ice blue eyes[/url], and matching tattoos on her left and right arms and on the left and right side of her face(seen in appearance). The golden tattoos(marking her tribe) stretch from below her eyes down to the edge of her collar bone, while the tattoos on her shoulder(marking her place in the tribe) go down her arm(occasionally splintering off in a jagged pattern, in a likeness to cracking ice, but still following a major path), till they split into five smaller line tattoos that end just behind her fingernails(with that same, but much smaller, occasional jagged pattern). The design on the back of her vest identifies her family in the tribe. Most of her hair is usually in a long plait. She has a scar on her side, as if someone had stabbed her with a knife and twisted, and half a dozen of scars on her back, right over where her vest is sewn, as if someone had slashed at her back with a sword. Short Bio: Aramir's earliest memories are that of struggle. Struggle to survive, to not be one of the ones yearly claimed by the Plains. To become a useful member of her tribe, She was taught from a young age how to handle a bow, her path as a hunter already predetermined by her family. She would have to earn her arm tattoos, straight lines that extend down to her wrists and stop on her upper shoulders in a hook, to mark her as an apprentice hunter before she could earn the additions to her arms that marked her as a fully fledged hunter, and then the golden tattoos that marked her as a full member of the tribe. However, she nearly never got the chance to earn those tattoos with a stupid mistake that she made when she was 8. She had been practicing her archery(at a snowman hastily constructed while the family prepared the camp for the freezing night), when the howling wind suddenly changed, sending her arrow far beyond and to the left of her her target. Instead of telling someone where she was going, and keeping the camp always in sight, she set off to find the missing arrow. She couldn't afford to leave it, wood wasn't cheap to come by. She got caught up in her search, wandered too far, and by then it was too late. The eternal blizzard worsened, till she couldn't see her hand in front of her face. It was still largely day time, and all she could see was white. That didn't bother her. She saw unending white all the time. For what seemed like hours she walked in what she was hoping the direction she came from, towards the camp. Then, night fell. Aramir had always had an irrational fear of the darkness. Now it came straight to the fore. Time ceased to have meaning, and she couldn't have told you how long she walked. All she was aware of was sheer terror, sobbing, and frozen tears on her cheeks. She finally collapsed from exhaustion, and the snow began to pile over her. Though she didn't know it at the time, her pyromancy was the only thing that saved her from freezing to death, though it nearly killed her in the process, as she instinctively overused her mageblood to heat the snow cocoon she had made. When she next awoke, it was to complete darkness once more, and she began to panic again, trying to claw her way out of what she thought was a snow tomb. Which is exactly when a pair of feet crashed through her 'tomb' and nearly landed on her head. Her heat had weakened the snow above enough that a snow elf from her tribe to fall down into her cocoon. After the joy and relief that she was alive was over, the scolding and punishment began. Aramir was too relieved to be alive and back with her tribe to be ashamed. She never did recover from the sheer terror of darkness she possessed. At the age of 19 she finally gets her golden tattoos, three years after finishing her hunter tattoos. The year had been bad for the tribe. More members had died, all were hungry, and Aramir's group for the tattoo ceremony was the smallest that anyone could remember. There were mutterings that the tribe leader was leading them into disaster. Only from one or two members, the ones who felt the worst of the year. The next two years were successively worse and worse. The mutterings became talking. Then the talking became agreement. Finally the agreement became demands, shouting. The tribe began to divide into two camps. One still supporting the tribe leader, the other wanting him gone. Tension rose in the tribe, and shattered one night when Aramir and her friends went out hunting. They came back with a good catch, and were in high spirits. This would be the turning point of the succession of bad luck that had plagued the tribe for years. They could feel it. The Tribe leader himself came to congratulate them. As he was doing so, violence erupted. An arrow sprouted out of the Elf's chest. For a moment that seemed to stretch to infinity, there was nothing but silence. And then the killing began. Aramir had thought her friends calm, cool headed. She herself had disdained from picking either side, urging the two sides to reconcile in the face of the harsh Plains, and had thought her friends had done the same. They proved her wrong immediately when the fighting broke out. Before Aramir could even attempt to bring order to the chaos, someone tried to kill her, for nothing more than the markings on her vest. The howling of the blizzard masked the screams of the wounded and dying, the falling and overturned snow covered the blood and bodies quickly, and the nature of the Glacier Lands froze the hot blood that was spilled almost immediately. Aramir and a few others were the only survivors. The tribe had been destroyed. Her family, killed.Sometime during the fighting she had set fire to something with a blue ball of flames. Heedless of her wounds(a deep gash in her side, and half a dozen cuts on her back), she left taking only her bow, a quiver full of arrows, what supplies she could scavenge, and a couple of hunting knives, taken from the corpse of a friend. She had heard of the Twilight College, down to the far south, out of the Frozen Plains. Maybe they could teach her to control her flames. Maybe they could help her forget. It took her another year to find her way through the strange lands to the College. And while the physical wounds of her tribe's self-destruction healed, the emotional ones were only scabbed over, ready to break and bleed again at the slightest hint of over stretching. Good Attributes: Though this can also be a disadvantage, she's very light, allowing her to go where heavier people are unable to follow. She's a master with her hunting bow, having used it from the time she could draw it to hunt in the harsh Plains(though, it is considerably weaker than a war bow). Aramir is also perceptive, a necessity when one is a hunter in the Glacier Lands, where the animals are all white in an unending white plain. She's nimble and quick(quite handy when one needs to climb quickly, or dodge an oncoming snow ball). She's comfortable in colder climates, used to the freezing temperatures of the Frozen Plains. Bad Attributes: Obviously, she won't be any good in terms of strength(which stretches from simple tasks that require brute force to fighting in prolonged melee combat, and everything in between). She's also [i]very[/i] uncomfortable with silence or quiet places, used to the howling winds of the Frozen Plains. She's terrified of complete darkness, barely tolerating shadows. She's uncomfortable in hotter climates, used to the freezing temperatures of the Frozen Plains. She dislikes arguments, and while not going out of her way to stop them, will either stop the arguers if they carry on for too long or leave abruptly. She sleeps very little willingly, haunted by nightmares of her tribe tearing itself apart in front of her. Secret Word: Rebirth[/hider] [img=http://www.rickross.com/wp-content/uploads/approved_red_stamp.png] [hider=Althalus] UserName: Rtron Character name: Althalus Marik Age: 32 Mageblood type: Lues Favoured Magic Class: Noxomancy(Shadows) Previous Magic training: On the job training, so to speak. He's fairly quick at gathering shadows around himself to prevent horrid death. Race: Human, Naersan. Appearance: Armor:[img=http://fc04.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2011/326/9/1/lord_of_cannibals_1_by_zerofrust-d4h0fza.jpg] The mask is nothing more than a scare tactic, having made a name of it(and thus, himself) when he worked as an assassin. Why fight when you can intimidate people? As a matter of practicality, his armor has runes of silence engraved(through Subscription) upon it all, combined with his, now unconscious, tendency to move in almost complete silence it gives him the unnerving(to some) habit of unconsciously sneaking up upon people, who only figure out someone is behind them through sound. Face: [img=http://www.theaveragegamer.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/Assassins-Creed-IV-Edward-Kenways-Face.jpg] Althalus stands at five foot seven inches, a couple inches taller than your average Naerse human. He has golden eyes and a rather nasty scar going horizontally across his throat that gives his voice a slight rasp. Short Bio: Althalus was born in Port Slaughter, son of a tavern owner whose wife was a rather skilled Vitalimancer who healed all the patrons who were injured. For a fee of course. For him, his older brother, and his younger sister born a few years later, it was a happy time. He had a caring father and a loving mother. Protection, warmth, shelter, food, and clean water. It wasn't so for a large amount of Port Slaughter. There are a few things one has to realize about Port Slaughter to appreciate how lucky Althalus was to be born to a Tavern Owner. There is only one rule that governs that town. Loyalty to Family. Whether they be adopted or related by blood, one doesn't betray, manipulate, cheat, or whatever else they do, their family, for any reason. Anyone who isn't family is a potential target or a potential victim. Most of the population is poor, and most of the population is tearing itself apart to survive. Muggings, scams. murders, thefts, the list goes on. Althalus grew up in this world, yet he and his siblings were sheltered from it. A tavern owner had wealth, denizens of Port Slaughter liked to drink away their pain, and wealth meant power. Althalus's father was able to pay bodyguards to not only protect his tavern, but also his children. Still, his father taught them how to survive on their own. How to be ruthless, cold, efficient. For Althalus and his younger sister, these never really stuck. It wasn't that they [i]couldn't[/i] be ruthless, it was simply that his sister was too young(just having turned four a couple weeks ago) and Althalus preferred to be friendly, rather than terrifying. Respected and liked, rather than feared. Of course, that wasn't able to work in Port Slaughter, but he never stopped giving people at least one chance. The lessons stuck with his brother. Perhaps too well. Althalus was 13 when he began displaying his aptitude for Noxomancy(rotting a coin, rather than someone's face thankfully), around the same time his brother(two years older than Althalus), began displaying an aptitude for Psychomancy. While their father began to search for a teacher for one or both of them, their mother began making sure they wouldn't accidentally do something stupid...like kill themselves by overusing their blood. She even went so far as to delve into the legends of Wild Magic. Much to Althalus's brother's interest. In the following year his brother grew more withdrawn. Scribbling on a journal, talking, muttering, and snapping to himself, sneaking off at random times during the night(though only Althalus noticed this), he was jumpy, hostile, and seemed to be suffering from a decided lack of sleep. The family grew ever more concerned. He grew ever more withdrawn. The night of his fourteenth birthday(where his brother wasn't there) Althalus, overcome with curiosity, sneaked into his brother's room, determined to get a look at the journal. He had been lucky, and came at a time when his brother was gone. After a few minutes of dedicated searching, he was successful. Not the journal, but a page from it. Hidden behind the dresser, it appeared to be a list of names when Althalus unfolded it. That's when the screaming began. Shoving the paper into his pocket, Althalus ran too the noise, picking out the baritone roars of rage from his father, the shrieks of his mother, and the terrified wails of his young sister. The screams were coming from the Tavern, a purplish light glowing behind it. Just as Althalus reached the door, the wails were abruptly cut off, and the roars of rage and the shrieks grew louder, torn with grief. As he opened the door, he saw what should have been impossible. His brother, bloody sword in hand, over the still bleeding corpse of his sister muttering something Althalus was only able to make out part of. '-ld!'. In quick succession, the blade flashed again as Althalus stood their, frozen. Two more corpses hitting the ground. Every part of him screamed the need to run, to [i]flee[/i], before this purple eyed monstrosity that had become his brother noticed and killed him. Too little, too late. Even as his feet began to move in retreat, his brother noticed him. And spoke only one word. "[i]Stay.[/i]" Althalus froze. His brother approached, slowly, blood still dripping from his blade. There were no explanations. No final words. No taunting. Just step, after step, until he was close enough to swing a the sword in a lazy arc towards Althalus's throat. To this day, Althalus has no clue what allowed him to break free. His own will? A mistake on his brother's part? Some small part of guilt? Whatever it was, it allowed Althalus to leap back. Far enough that he wasn't killed, but close enough that damage was immediately done. What happened next was a blur with brief moments of clarity. His brother, howling and gibbering as his body glowed with the purple light, twisting in inhuman ways. Stumbling out onto the street, looking for help. Collapsing in an alley. A terrible mask leaning over him, a voice speaking to him in a strange accent. Then, darkness. The mask wasn't, as it turned out, the person come to loot his corpse. Rather, it was someone to who Althalus was better off alive than dead. The man didn't give any name, didn't remove his mask, didn't do anything but be Althalus's mentor. "I need a partner. Getting too old to go alone on my missions. You're the lucky one who I decided wouldn't kill me later." 'Missions' turned out to be murdering people for money. Or, as Althalus's mentor insisted upon calling it, assassinating problematic people for a small fee. Though, he never did explain how a young girl could be 'problematic' to a young noble. By the time Althalus was 22, he was good at his job. He helped his savior, and never even thought about betraying him. Name or no name. But, as the years had wore on, his mentor grew ever more paranoid. Till, the very night the man had been celebrating Althalus's birthday with him, he tried to kill Althalus. Althalus won, leaving the man gasping for breath with a knife in his ribs and his lifeblood pouring onto the ground. Althalus took the mask with him. Ten more years passed, and Althalus made a living for himself. Even gathered a small guild of Assassins to help him out. But his brother was always a persistent one. Mages came. Mages came with their spells Althalus could do nothing to respond forcefully too, and killed his guild members. Althalus, barely escaping with his life, decided to run to the College of Mages. There at least, he would be able to learn how to use his long neglected magic. Good Attributes: Althalus is patient, fairly well versed in moving, and killing, silently, he's accurate with his throwing knives and competent with his array of daggers(hidden). He always has an optimistic, slightly defiant, outlook on life. He's also quick to react and quick with his reflexes. Bad Attributes: Some, actually quite a few, would call him childish. Lazy. Due to his profession, open combat isn't exactly his style. He fights openly only when he has to, and even then he fights dirty and to get out of the open fight as quickly as possible. There's no such thing as a fair fight in his book. Despite everything, he's far too quick to trust and make emotional attachments to those he meets. Secret Word: Rebirth [/hider] [img=http://www.rickross.com/wp-content/uploads/approved_red_stamp.png] [hider=Uicle]UserName: Rtron Character name: Uicle Age: 195 Mageblood type: Obligatio/Aqua Favoured Magic Class: Necromancy/Hydromancy(not by choice, by necessity. Those are the ONLY mageblood classes he possesses.) Previous Magic training: A variety of Necromancy teachers, as the God Aarem is easily displeased, and Uicle had the unfortunate luck of having the teachers to do that displeasing. His Hydromancy training came from years of study in Twilight College. He is currently the Necromancy teacher. Race: Yarosmere Human(Formerly) Appearance: [img=http://images2.wikia.nocookie.net/gw/images/a/a6/Avatar_of_Grenth_concept_art.jpg] A cruel joke from Aarem. Uicle's soul is bound to the staff, but he can stretch it out to possess whatever, or whoever, is holding the staff. In this case, it's a suit of armor. The suit of armor is about seven feet tall. Short Bio: Uicle was born in Yarosmere, roughly a 100, a 110 years ago. For most of his life he worked with his father and his mother, helping them run their general store. He didn't display his original mageblood of Obligatio until the age of 29. Rather than be forced into the military for his mageblood, he left to go to the Mage College. He made it across Yarosmere easily enough, but when he got to Djarkel things got considerably more...difficult. Uicle wasn't a soldier, he was a store owner. He didn't even have his own mageblood yet. So when some bandit's came and decided they wanted both his money and his life, well, he put up a paltry resistance, but he still ended up with a dagger in his stomach, bleeding his lifeblood out onto the ground. There were very few Gods one could pray to who would stop the natural course of life. The only one who came to Uicle's mind when he was dying was that of Aarem. Having no other choice, and not wanting to die, Uicle offered his soul to the God Aarem in return for his death being prevented. Aarem granted his wish, though it didn't stop at preventing his death right then, it stopped his aging entirely. Uicle was immortal. And what was he to do with his new found immortality? Cause as much suffering to as many people as possible. For majority of his time as an immortal, Uicle shoved his morals and disgust at the actions back into his mind and did what he had to do. Hundreds, thousands, have died because of his actions. More have experienced days, months, years of intense suffering because of him. Poisoning wells. Burning down homes. Torture. Causing a local lord to crack down viciously on his subjects. Inciting a riot or a doomed rebellion. Causing a Snow Elf tribe to tear itself apart. Anything that would cause suffering, he did it. Over the years, however, it became harder and harder to repress his self-disgust and guilt. But he managed to hide it. He'd seen what Aarem did to those who started regretting their decisions publicly. It wasn't pretty, and it usually happened to his Necromancy teachers, ancient men who had grown sick of their foul work. Regardless, as he continued on, he began moving more and more away from innocents, and more into criminals and people he classified as 'evil'. He grew more reckless, hoping for a death that Aarem could call natural and not suspect the truth behind it. At first, Aarem didn't notice, and Uicle remained frustratingly alive. Eventually, however, the God [i]did[/i] notice his actions, and demanded an answer. Uicle gave an honest, and very hateful, spiteful, and regretful, answer. Naturally, Aarem was...displeased, to put it lightly, with this revelation. Still, he didn't immediately doom Uicle to a hellish existence. Uicle had been one of his most successful and longest lasting servants. Rather, he tried to 'persuade' Uicle to reconsider his decision. Which meant lots of pain and torture. Finally, when it became clear Uicle had resigned himself to his fate, Aarem just threw him away into one of his realms of eternal agony. Or, the god tried to at least. For reasons still unknown to Uicle, the god Ren intervened, saving his life...or what passes for life now anyways. Rather than letting Aarem throw Uicle into an agonizing existence, Ren forced the God of Evil to return Uicle to life. Perhaps he should have been a bit more specific. Uicle was returned to life, but as he is now. Trapped in a staff that used to be carried by a Hydromancer, whose armor Uicle now possesses. The Hydromancer was killed in Uicle's process of being returned to life. Aarem tried to cut Uicle off from his mageblood completely, but did something...peculiar by accident. Rather than leaving Uicle a soul in a staff, he only cut off half of his mageblood, and gave him the other half of the poor Hydromancers. Uicle suspects Ren had more to do with the latter than Aarem, but hey. When you're given such a gift, you don't question it. Up until about fifteen years ago, Uicle wandered the land, righting his wrongs. Unfortunately, he couldn't rebuild the tribe, it being destroyed. But he could do more for those who he didn't kill or destroy. Rebuild their homes, give them money. Help them out anyway he can. Eventually, he had done all he could to help, he decided to learn his new found mageblood a bit more. Years of study followed and he was offered the position of Necromancy teacher, as the other one had died of age. He accepted, and has remained in the College till this day. Good Attributes: Do to the nature of his soul, Uicle doesn't feel pain, and what would normally be a killing blow isn't. One could chop off his armor's head and he'd still be alive and kicking, as long as he possessed the armor. This, however, doesn't mean he can use unlimited blood. That, in fact, is where his green glow comes from. The more blood he uses and the closer he comes to over using his power, the dimmer the light becomes. Uicle can have 'an eye in the back of his head', so to speak. He can be watching from the front of his armor, while at the same time facing the glowing green part of the top of his staff backwards, seeing through that as well. Therefore, sometimes it is rather hard to sneak up on him. Uicle can't sleep. At all. He physically cannot go to sleep. Don't have Uicle interrogate you. He will use very painful methods designed to cause a large amount of suffering. Aarem was good for something at least. Bad Attributes: Uicle's entire existence hinges on that staff touching someone or something mobile. The second he's alone in the staff, he's useless. He can't manipulate liquids, or summon spirits from the Pit. If he's alone in the staff and someone breaks it...Uicle ceases to exist. No Pit. No rebirth. Just eternal torment at Aarem's hands. Just because Uicle is no longer a servant of and can't be killed by Aarem, doesn't mean he still isn't punished by the God. Aarem, it seems, has made it a pet project to make Uicle pay for his betrayal. Uicle's life can be turned hellish in a second. To the casual observer he just has really, really, [i]really[/i] bad luck. The God of Evil is sometimes joined by others who don't feel a hybrid blood user should be walking around unpunished. Secret Word: Rebirth[/hider] [img=http://www.rickross.com/wp-content/uploads/approved_red_stamp.png] Hit my text limit, get ready for page two.