Reynar Smithson:
The World that Never Was

Name: Reynar Smithson

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Age: 25; both

Appearance: Long jet hair falls in waves just passed Reynar's shoulders, framing the lithe sharp features of his face. Keen silver eyes shine from the shadows of his pale visage cast by heavy black brows. A light grin usually curves his lips ever so slightly, it's intent unknowable. Tattoos run along the underside of his jaw and around his neck stretching underneath his clothes. Strong muscles cling to his tall lithe frame (6'0", 170lbs), carrying the posture of a king, never daunted. A black leather jacket holds his frame tight with a white t-shit that stretches over the endless tattoos that move across his body. His tattooed hands usually rest in the pockets of his black, fitting jeans.

Soul Branch: Hunger of Famine

Soul/Cursed weapon: White armor plating that spans the length of his right arm. Used primarily to guard, but also aids in strong hand to hand blows. It also helps to channel soul essence more effectively.

Cursed Equipment: NA

Soul Radiance: The radiance of Reynar's soul is powerful and adaptive, much like he is. It's attuned more to element of the skis as it rests calm, free, yet always holds the capabilities of a destructive tempest if the right conditions are seen. He is able to use the nature of the element to speed his movement, and even leap some great distances. This could also be used to create greater impact force when he uses hand to hand. The possibilities of the adaptive nature of wind and the creative nature of his mind seem to unfold endlessly. An affinity for barriers also sprouts from his need to protect. Again, he likes to rely on creative ways to implement them.

Personality: Reynar's strength of will surmounted any other quality, not letting anything stop him from reaching his goals, and his goals never fell short of perfection. In life he explored many creative outlets, music, art, etc., and everyday was a struggle to improve, to reach whatever it was he was looking for. To that end, he couldn't quite find what that was, but he never stopped. However, as a person he was far less harsh, opting for compassion and kindness, if not in his own unique way. However, pushing people to do better, be better, always seemed to be a priority, even when unwelcomed. Other than that, Reynar was described as accepting, caring, always ready for a new experience, a new day, a new chance to be better, and always ready to share it with who ever happened to be close. Essentially, the opposite of what other's assumed at first glance of his dark exterior. Another dominating quality was his need to keep moving, figuring if he wasn't moving, he wasn't going forward. Despite this, he always found people to care about and who cared for him, and he hoped to leave them better than when he found them. However arrogant, he figure his intentions to be good. He found a way to become attached to these people, and often he found himself in the role of a mentor or protector for those in need. This is one of the things that seemed most fulfilling to him. Then like the winds of change, he'd be gone. Still, at the end of the day, he felt empty, and even until death he couldn't fill that hole.

History: The resounding plunk plunk of water smacking a pot placed bellow echoed in the dull empty room, accompanied only by the zipping sound of a brush running over the deep ridges of a thick paint canvas. It's wielder's expression grew stern as he paused to observe. A chill in the air made the hair on his bare skin raise as he sat cross-legged on a worn wood tile. He had no reaction, the painting being his sole concern. Nothing else existed. A switch had gone off in his mind, one that caused ever fiber of his being to be draw to the canvas, and every detail became his world, every stroke like a breath that lead to another and another. A grin crossed his face and he quickly began to swipe across the painting again, each stoke he grew with excitement. Maybe this time, he'd get it. Frantic movements forced him back to his feet allowing him to reach the far corners of the large canvas. The air became electric and the dull room seemed to buzz with the bright colors of his mind. Suddenly, he stopped. He sighed. The muscles of his jaw tensed, and in one quick movement he tore through the canvas with a growl. The man turned and took a few measured steps as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. The energy died, and the room again became reminiscent of a prison cell. "Not good enough," he whispered. He gripped the copper locket sitting against his bare chest, remembering the moment he first wrapped his finger's around it. He'd opened it to behold it contents, and whispered, "perfect."

She gave it to Reynar what seemed like an eternity ago. A youthfulness still filled him, and eternity sat at his fingertips. Though, that hardly matter when she was there. He sat in amazement as she would work across her art with precision, never doubting what it would be, if she'd done something wrong, if it would be exactly what she envisioned for it. When she finished, the girl turned into the twilight sun flooding her small studio, and perfection never seemed more attainable. Reynar smiled as he stood and looked it over with awe. "Like it?" her voice carried with a softly but ever so sweetly.

Reynar chuckled lightly, "Yeah, but I think I hate you now," he joked. She laughed with him, and moved closer as he turned. Only a breath separated the two. With a nervous smile, he brushed back a lock of her golden hair. His awe faded as an odd sensation washed over him, consuming him and leaving only contentment, joy.

"What's the matter, Rey?" she asked, with a sincerity that he'd never heard again.

A warm grin spread across his face, "Nothing, Sky, nothing at all," and it seemed that things could stay that way forever.

Her head leaned ever so slightly in curiosity, but it passed as something caught her attention, "I got you something," she reached into her pocket, pulling the locket and raising it into the sun's brilliant rays for it to glisten as it swung in and out of the light.

Reynar raised an eyebrow, "Jewelry?" he chuckled.

"Open it," she said with playful exasperation, and pushed it against his chest for him to catch. With a clicked, it snapped open, and for the briefest of moments, he found what he was looking for. Sky fidgeted briefly, "You know, it's...it's," a softly laughter escaping him interrupted her.

"It's perfect," and she let the brightest smile escape her lips, the one he'd not forget in a lifetime, or more.

What is your favorite part about RPing: Writing in general, but if I were to say my favorite part of writing, it would be developing characters. Not just seeing how they grow individually, but to see how characters grow together, how they connect and interact. It's really quite fascinating to me.

Mionons Kurn:
Mass Effect: Let the Galaxy Burn

Name: Mionos Kyrn

Call Sign: The Hunter

Race: Drell

Creed: Silently in, Victorious out

Official Personnel Description:

Weapons:
- N7 Shadow Sword; Kylia
- M-358 Talon; Raan

Speciality: Sentinel

Powers:
-Tech Armor
-Incinerate
-Combat Drone; Theera
-Warp
-Throw
-Lift Grenades

Homeworld: Kahje

History: Mionos grew up as the eldest of four, considered a large family among the Drell. With parents who, despite low income and poverty, managed to put food on the table for him and his siblings. His father became the provider of the family, and as such, could not be around much of the time. Though when he was, he made it a point to make sure, Mionos had the ability and wisdom to protect and guild his family. He grew close with his father as he got older and his father disappeared more frequently, leaving him in charge. Despite dreary surroundings, their household never failed to make him smile. Everything seemed quaint, simple, and the young Drell liked it that way.

Slowly their father began to bring in more money, until it seemed they could afford better living, even some recreational spending. Eventually it seemed they were all but rich, but it begged the question, how was his father bringing in all this money. He shrugged it off, never doubting his father's morals; his respect for him had become too great.

One day his father never came home. There were no reports of dead Drell, and there were no calls from the man. It seemed so unlike him. Days became, weeks, became months, and they gave up the search and sank into their grief. The end seemed yet to come. After almost a year passed after the disappearance of his father, and Mionos had taken the burdens of his family as the man in his family, a knock came from his front door. Two krogan barreled through the door, and shouted for money that was owed to them. As a warning they put bullet through his youngest sister. Unable to give them what they wanted, they began to threaten another of his siblings. Desperate, Mionos jumped in the way, only to be shot and left unconscious. Unaware, the Drell hadn't died, they left him, and as a parting gift, the burn down the house and killed every member of his family. Mionos was pulled from the burning wreckage and saved.

After that, he left his home in search of those that took everything from him. Learning what he could along the way, and quickly becoming a fierce lone mercenary. All the while hoping to get a lead on the ones who turned him into the killer his is.

Writing sample:

Blue eyes shifted back and forth, accompanied by a ceaseless tapping. The dimly lit room held one light the came down upon a beautiful Asari that sat, jaw cocked in annoyance. Finally she sat forward, directly into the light, which seemed to shimmer off her azure visage. "Well, Mionos?" Her eyes fixed in front of her, "My men obviously don't know what they're doing. I need someone who can get the job done, I need a killer, I need you." The two Turian guards to her side shifted uncomfortably. The young Drell shifted his weight as he looked from one guard to the next. He wondered when he became more than a match for two experienced Turian soldiers. Probably, some time after he was pinched by a dozen Vorcha, or had to kill a Krogan Battlemaster in close quarters.

"Alright," his voice carried the signature Drell reverb, but Mionos still had a coolness to his tone. "I think we have a deal," a grin graced her for a second.

"I will also look into the mercenaries who you mentioned," she smiled provocatively, "Free of charge."

MIonos nodded, "I appreciate that, Lady Vr'ana."

With that he spun on his heels, and vanished into the shadowy room.

---

The statuesque Drell, marched the hall with no expression, only decisiveness. Two human stood guard the door, one seemed distracted while the other took quick notice to Mionos' rapid approach. "You know," he began, "The point of a secret base is," He pulled his pistol and fire two quick rounds, "for it to be secret." He paused next to the collapsed bodies. "Doesn't help if everyone knows where it is," he said as he pulled the info for the facility from their omnitools. Quickly passing through the door, he found himself in a series of overlapping halls, none that seemed to lead anywhere, and surprisingly little resistance. It didn't sit right. With a quick gesture, he closed his eyes, "Amonkira, guild me," and like a sign from his god footsteps echoed nearby. Following it, he found a large locked door, though that meant nothing to Mionos' hacking expertise. However, the dozen guns pointing at him from the other side did. He quickly put up his hands.

"Mionos, the Hunter," a voice called from behind the wall of weaponry. "I'm surprised Vr'ana's pockets still reached that deep," the man jeered. "To bad, not even a mercenary with a record such as yours will help her," a small volus man squeezed between his men. "I'll make it simple," he paused to take in a ventilated breath. "I'll pay you double to work for me, OR I have my men riddle you with hole right now."

Mionos simply nodded as he brough his still raised hands together, quickly activating his omni tool and with a few swipes over loaded the generators, causing the lights to blow and the door in front of him to close. Shots sparked off the door, before the backup system came online. "FIND HIM!" the volus shouted, as he turned and hit the nearest soldier in the groin. The rest of the men scattered in the search. With a clapping of his boots on the floor as he fell, Mionos appeared behind the small man, even having to crouch to conceal himself from the alerted guards. Several red dots ran around the figure of their boss.

"Put your weapons down," he said calmly.

"How did you?"

"The ventilation system, now," he gestured downward.

"Do as he says, idiots!" They complied as he expected. With a scrapping sound, a lift grenade landed at their feet. They tried to avoid it, but it was too late; they were forced into the air. Mionos stood, and walked right down the center toward the door he'd just been on the other side of, pushing the suspended men out of his way. "Are you not going to kill me?" The Drell didn't stop or look back, simply flicked his gun back and pulled the trigger. The smacking of the volus' face on the ground meant it was a satisfactory shot.

Walking back through the halls he'd came, he looked at his gun. "Three shots. Damn, I thought it would take two."

UserName: ArchangelUriel

Character name: Nhane Freyanon (NAH-nay)

Age: 25, Appears 20ish.

Mageblood type: Obiligatio

Favoured Magic Class: Motemnecromancy (hates mortumnecromancy)

Previous Magic training: No official training

Race: Wood Elf; Vampire

Appearance: Nhane is pale, white haired, tall, and lithe of form, as any elfish vampire would be. HIs features are as angular as most elves, though he bares a scar running under his left eye. The elf usually keeps his hair short, though unkempt. He carries a somber visage under a dark hood most of the time. However; few have caught him off guard laughing or smiling with Shala. He wears a grey cloak with a fur trimmed hood and many pockets either sewed to the cloak itself one of the several belts he wears. Several tribal markings line the underside of his jaw stretching under his cloak,

Short Bio: Nhane was born in the forests of Ghannos like most other wood elves, and grew up in the trade village of Bayahm. Everything about his life as a youth could be defined as quaint, not unlike most of the wood elf culture, and for the most part Nhane greatly enjoyed it. The part he didn't enjoy was being son of the Farathel, the elven equivalent of a Duke, meaning Nhane inherited all the responsibilities of royalty without any of the benefits or titles. So while Nhane would rather be out climbing, or swimming in the river like the others, he had to attend a ceremony, meeting, or whatever preparative garble his father designed. On the rare occasion he could join the other children, they would avoid him for reasons he didn't understand until got older, so his only friend was a wolf dog, Shala.

At the age of ten, Nhane stumble upon a bear's cave, and to protect him Shala attacked the bear. While the bear did retreat, Shala received a fatal injury. Nhane managed to get the wolf back to Bayahm, but nothing could be done for her. In a fit of rage and despair over the loss of his only friend, Nhane animated the dead wolf in front of the healer and his parents. His parents pleaded with the healer to keep it to herself, but to no avail, everyone soon knew how Nhane defile the natural order, breaking a sacred connection to nature. He was shunned from that point forward.

Nhane soon started to become a man, but between the constant pressure his father put on him, and the disgust from the villagers he had to endure daily, the young elf only wished for freedom. On the night he tried to escape Bayahm, he witnessed his father and two other men outside his home, arguing. His father and one of the other men came to an agreement, and in the blink of an eye, took the third's life. It clearly wasn't the first time it had been done, and it dawned on him why everyone always seemed cautious of him. His father was nothing short of a tyrant, and that's what Nhane had in his future. That was that last straw; that night Nhane fled.

Travelling beyond the mountains, Nhane found himself in Hearth. The town seemed so different from what he knew; stone structures, round-ears, and the purest lack of connection to the natural order. In short, Nhane finally felt freed of those bindings; the shame, the responsibility, and the misery. However, it was soon that he would pay the price for freedom. A couple moons passed, Nhane found himself on a late delivery for a some coin. An ambush sprang on him; three or four hooded figures surrounded him. They attacked pinning him down, biting him. Final thoughts of his dreary life passed through his mind, just as a few arrows met the attackers, causing them to flee. It seemed a few passing guards saved him, but little did they expect the elf to have survived. When he woke, he was met with a wolfish grin, one of a vampire named Meyia. She told him what he'd become, and told him of her plans to make use of his magic. He didn't know how she knew this, but he didn't let her finish. He fled, heading for the only place he could think of, Bayahm.

When he arrived, stumbling in out of exhaustion, and fatigue, he expected the shunning, but what he got shocked and frightened him; fleeing villagers. Making his way to his home, his parents met him with shocked expressions. He pleaded with them to help, but they wouldn't get within ten feet of him. Nahne got angry, letting all of his frustration out, blaming his father, and yelling with all the energy he had left in his body. A the height of his furry, he mindlessly tackled his father, feeding on him. After the first taste, he couldn't stop himself. His mother was next, then whoever he could get his hands on. Finally, when the hunger subsided he found himself in a pool of his parents blood.

---

Intense Writer Mode Activate

A soft dripping echoed through motionless blood-spattered surrounding. The room had once been an eloquent living space, entirely of woods, and soft fabrics and furs. Now it stood, a monument to a shattered way of life, devastated and devoid of the living. Two bodies, fallen limp, lay in a pool of their blood, shrouded by the night, sorrow twisting their faces in the pale moon light. A soft sob broke the relentless dripping. Another figured, a silhouette almost as dead as his company, kneeled in front of them. A tear caught the light of the moon as it hit the blood. If felt like time stood still, and living this moment forever seemed the punishment for wrongs committed. Something shifted on one of the fallen figures, falling into the light. The figured looked up as it glistened, then crawled to it and held it in his hand, a necklace. He gripped it in his crimson soaked hand and stared at it.

Almost as if in response, and voice broke, "Nhane, stand," it said in the soft caressing tone of a woman.

"Mother?" he responded desperately.

"No," the voice said carefully.

"Who...," he said as he stood.

"I don't know, but I know you," the voice seemed to sooth Nhane. A shadow moved into the soft light, and Nhane turned toward it quickly. A wolf moved gracefully toward him, and circled, not breaking eye contact. "Nhane, my master." Looking closer, the elf noticed fur did not cover the animal, just stone. Before him stood the statue that cover the grave of Shala, Nhane's only life friend. "Come master, they will soon be on us," the beast strode off through the door. Still baffled, Nhane hesitated, but eventually followed out into the brisk night air.

The nocturnal light pressing through the treetops filled him with a strange energy, something he could not get used to for a lifetime. The golem moved deftly between blackened oaks. "Wait," he called as he quickened his pace.

"There is no time," the voice called back, almost a whisper, "You are in danger, master. Can not stop moving." With a growl, Nhane quickened to a run. The forest floor seemed to begin to slope, though he could not recall any hills around Bayahm. Soon, the statue vanished into the night. "Shala- she wolf?"

"Shala," a soft voice echoed behind him, "That is a fitting name." The stone wolf padded softly passed him. Nhane's expression grew stern at the discomfort with the wolf taking to Shala's name. Another voice echoed, but this time not the golem's. Shala looked back quickly, "Hurry," she urged. The elf bounded up the ever sharper slope. Finally the two emerged over the top of the mound, looking over the expanse of the forest just as it touches the mountains beyond. The moon shimmered brilliantly of the treetops, and countless stars lit the night sky like a thousand souls dancing across the sky plane. Nhane could not help but gap.

When it finally seemed to settle, the young elf looked at the statue, "Where did you come from she-wolf?"

With the most unexpected yet soothing chuckle Shala looked up, "I came from you, master. I came from your pain, from you tears and your blood. I came from magic."

---

After escaping Bayahm that night, Nhane and Shala went where the wind took them. She reminded of his friend once lost, but more importantly, she became the one friend he had in the world. One whom without, he would have died or gave into another rampant thirst.

Finally, years later, the she-wolf asked the young elf why they had not considered traveling to the mage's college, where they would not be persecuted, but in fact accommodated. Nhane reluctantly agreed, and the two set off.

Good Attributes:

Kind: When it matters, Nhane is always willing to help, but the situation is usually dire one's before he get's involved with others.

Adventurous: Being naturally inquisitive, and an outcast by most standards, he has traveled to many corners of the land and grown keen, and agile as a result.

Quick-Learner: When he was younger, nothing was more imperative to his father than being quick of mind and hand, and so it is something that he still strives toward.

Fighter: Though he's never raised a weapon to another, being attacked comes with being a vampire, and so he has gained skill in observing and reacting quickly to such attacks.

Agile: From both being an elf of the forest, and a strengthened monster, he has gained incredible speed and agility when compared to the average human.

Vampire: Stronger, faster, and keener than most.

Bad Attributes:

Introverted: Nhane keeps to himself, for obvious reasons, and often lashes out at those who intrude upon him bubble.

Sarcastic: Not the most pleasant conversationalist, often coming across arrogant and a bit narcissistic.

Vampire: Thirst, sunlight, etc.

Fear of the Undead: Ironic, but since bringing Shala back to life, when he was young, it sickens and angers him.

Secret Word: Rebirth