Want(s): To steal power away from the Nephilims, and eventually from Raziel. Fear(s): Dying alone and forgotten.
Favourite...
Colour(s): Various shades of Purple, Black, Dark Blues. Time of Day: Dusk; To better flee out of sight. Food: Anything Lark can get his hands on. Animal: Bird. Place in Terra: Wellborough.
Skills and Attributes
Skills
Special ablilty/ies: Asides from his magpie-like instincts for spotting shiny trinkets Lark has not discovered or developed any sort of special ability of his own. Good at...: Taking anything that isn't bolted down. What's yours is his and good luck running fast enough to catch him. Bad at...: Lying; Lark is infamously bad at lying. He's got, what some would say, a "Terrible poker face".
Traits
Good Habit(s): Shows kindness towards children and animals alike. Bad Habit(s): Cannot resist the calling of shiny trinkets. If it's within arm's reach nine times out of ten he's going to attempt to snatch it. This gets him into trouble more often than naught.
History
The Past
Lark Sylvsson, a man born from average parents raised on an average farm but lived to experience a not so average life. Lark's parents, Sylv and Letta, were farmhands working on one of the numerous farms that dotted the capital's outskirts. Much like any other peasent out there they were very religious and believed that God was the almighty soverign of Terra, and that he sent his son, Raziel, to bring life and order to the Hell Alithe had created. As such when was born he too was raised on the word of God and all that he stood for. That is until one day Lark's parents, completely absorbed in their religious fanaticism, left Wellborough for good to go on a pilgrimage to the Institute. They left Lark to do what any one fanatic would do; Become a Nephilim and serve Raziel in body and soul. Barely even past his fifth year in life Lark was left in the care of one of Letta's closest friends at the farm while being promised that one day his parents would return as full-fledged Nephilim, children of Raziel, and enforce Raziel's law wherever they may go. Thus he waited with innocent hope gleaming in his eyes.
Days went by. Weeks, months, even years passed with not a word as Lark waited for the triumphant return of his parents. As time slipped by that hopeful gleam in Lark's eyes grew dimmer and dimmer until one day they had vanished entirely to be replaced, instead, by resentment and hate. He started slacking off more and more at the farm. On more than one occasion he had been caught stealing from the other farmhands. Day after day. Year after year he grew from the hopeful little child into a resentful young adult who felt betrayed by the ones who loved him most. However his hate wasn't directed towards his parents, who had abandonded him in their pursuit of religious glory, but instead at Raziel who he felt had stolen his parents away from him. His parents weren't in the wrong as Raziel had clearly stolen away their minds and souls! In his eyes Raziel was the one who ultimately killed his parents for if they weren't dead then why wouldn't they come home.
During his many years of waiting Lark had picked up the art of thievery, and while still a novice he had stolen his fair share of coin from his fellow farmhands. If he couldn't vent his hatred towards who he wanted then the next best thing would do. That next best thing just happened to be all the farmhands around him. By plundering the wealth that others worked hard to get Lark felt a certain satisfaction that attempted to fill the gaping wound in his heart. Not feeling completely satisfied he continued to steal more and more until eventually he realized that the feeling would never heal the wound. In the end Lark had becomed completely addicted to the feeling while desiring more and more. After some time had passed, when Lark hit the fifthteenth year of his life, he was ultimately chased out of the farmlands as the criminal he was.
At this point Lark had two choices. Leave Wellborough for good or flee deeper into the capital, hide from the sight of the law, and live in the shadows clinging to the dark to survive. Outside Wellborough was nothing but endless forests teeming with a myriad of creatures far and wide. His only real option was to flee to the city and do whatever it took to survive. His life may have started out average, but through the choices of others and choices of his own everything was quickly turning out to be anything but average.
The Present
Currently Lark resides within the leafy confines of Wellborough, Humani's forest capital. Here he lives a life in the dark. In the few short years after fleeing from the outskirts Lark has managed to make quite the name for himself. Although in no way are any of these names good. Thief, conman, and burglar would be far too lofty names for Lark as he is far more infamous for stealing, or attempting to, just about anything at almost any time even in broad daylight. Whether it's food, coin, or your child's favorite plaything. If he desires it, for whatever reason, then there isn't anything that's going to stop him from attempting to pocket it. Nearly every day one could catch a glimpse of a platoon of guards chasing after a dark figure.
In the beginning he had stolen purely to keep his stomach full. In the end, though, Lark had developed a sort of sixth sense for shiny objects and valuables. Like a moth to a flame he couldn't help but take it all. He even went as far as to vow to steal all that Raziel held dear whether it be money, woman, or power. Lark desired to one day stand above Raziel and sneer as he crushed him beneath his foot. A desire that burned like a raging flame in his heart which did nothing to douse his kleptomaniac passion.
Full Name: Eric Sower Age: 26 Gender: male Birth Date: 23,5 Race: humani Alignment: neutral currently
Appearance
Hair Colour: dark blonde (no goatee) Eye Colour: brown Face Shape: as seen in image Skin Tone: fair Height: 175cm 5"7 Weight: 82kg 180lbs Body Type: lean, muscular Natural Markings: - Scar(s): a scar across his upper back, a clean cut which had been stitched a few years back Tattoo(s): -
Personality
3 Words: loves a laugh Like(s): honeycomb Dislike(s): strong alcohol, outlaws Want(s): to gain enough money to live in the capital without trouble, become a swordmaster Fear(s): vampires
Favourite...
Colour(s): green Time of Day: afternoon, sunset Food: honeycomb Animal: cat Place in Terra: Aelarian peninsula, he has never been there but has heard many stories about it
Skills and Attributes
Skills
Special ablilty/ies: stare directly at the sun without hurting his eyes Good at...: cooking, farming, swordsmanship and archery Bad at...: magic, lying and horse riding.
Traits
Good Habit(s): waking/sleeping at good times Bad Habit(s): -
History
The Past
Eric was born in a small farm village famous for the invention of sowing crops, he was born from humani parents along with his older brother Aldus, from the age of five Eric had already learned the ways of the farm, more so than his parents could have at twice his age. As well as farming Eric mastered hunting and cooking, being able to hunt down common animals and make complex soups and roasts. At a later age Eric began training under an old knight in the ways of swordsmanship, it was a pastime for him, farming was more important. One night a band of raiders pillaged the farms, Eric, believing that all his time training led to this, attempted to defend the village, but it was a vain attempt, Eric had only been able to wound one of the outlaws, severing ones hand, he had been wounded as well, a clean cut across his back. the raiders burned the village to the ground and crucified Eric, forcing him to watch helplessly as they killed his brother and locked the village population inside a burning building. What seemed like days passed as Eric hung pinned to a tree, and after a day a trader saved him from the torture of crucifixion. Eric healed and swore he'd get revenge, but not at the moment, he was too weak, he'd go to the capital and train, make money as a cook in the Silver Swan Inn and at the same time work as a mercenary or a bounty hunter.
The Present
Today he works as a cook and mercenary at the Silver Swan Inn, when he's not in the kitchen he's breaking up brawls and throwing drunkards out if they aren't already living there. he regularly uses the pinup board for work and extra coin, during his free time he searches the city for battle trainers if not already training under one, becoming more versed in swordsmanship... before he wouldn't even imagine coming to a city like Wellborough nor wishing to become a sword master, but now it is a necessity if he should find and kill every last one of those raiders who utterly changed his life.
Scar(s): Many burns and slash marks from the battle against his tribe's attackers
Tattoo(s): Large blue Vinterkin tribe tattoo on his upper back, and Raziel's runes cover his arms.
Personality
Kaezira is of the INFJ personality category. INFJs have an inborn sense of idealism and morality, but what sets them apart is the accompanying Judging (J) trait – INFJs are not idle dreamers, but people capable of taking concrete steps to realize their goals and make a lasting positive impact. Kaezira is very kind and likes to help his allies and friends in any way he can. To people who do not know him, he is at first glance, frightening. But people who get to know him realize that he is a kind hearted, pure soul. Kaezira is emotionally unstable, and his emotions control him. When he is angry, he is very violent and rash. When he is upset, he is stubborn and close minded. Becoming enraged in battle is one of his greatest yet most dangerous weapons. He is usually a strategic thinker and very honorable in battle, but when enraged, he becomes a relentless and merciless fighter.
3 Words: Cold Winter's Wrath
Like(s): Magic.
Dislike(s): Fire Magics and Fire Elementals.
Want(s): Kaezira's goal is to avenge his fallen people, and protect Terra from evil. He has such a passion for magic, that he dreams to become the most powerful mage through the entirety of history.
Fear(s): Being unable to protect his current friends and allies from destruction, once again. He constantly seeks to become more powerful to ensure the safety of everyone around him, and those he swears to protect.
Favourite...
Colour(s): Light blues, White
Time of Day: Late Night
Food: Roasted Marshmallows
Animal: Bear
Place in Terra: Northern Mountains
Skills and Attributes
Skills
Special ablilty/ies: - Immensely masterful and powerful ice magic. - Resistance to harshly cold weather conditions. - Raziel's runes grant him many powers, most prominently empowered magics. - The Braidh.
Good at...: Using magic
Bad at...: Cooking
Traits
Good Habit(s): Mindlessly kind and well mannered.
Bad Habit(s): Acting rash and violent when angry.
History
The Past
Kaezira was born as one of the Vinterkin tribe, a Humani-like people evolved over time to fit their habitat. They are native to the north, inhabiting the mountains. He was named after a legendary Vinterkin hero, who died in a great battle. The Vinterkin are the only peoples indigenous to the north. There are many beasts, but no other tribes or people. The Vinterkin are a family tribe, they put their fellow tribe members before themselves, and they protect their tribe at all costs. The Vinterkin are territorial, whats theirs is theirs, and the only way anyone else can have it, is if they kill the Vinterkin first, which is not an easy task. The Vinterkin are fierce warriors. The children, boys and girls, are trained at young ages to fight with their signature ice magics. Many of techniques using their unique magic have been created and mastered by many of their kind over the years. Kaezira especially was adept in using the Vinterkin's ice magic. He was a natural born battlemage, his efficiency with magic came with little effort needed. He was very determined to become a great wizard, his ultimate goal being becoming known as Terra's most powerful and respected wizard. He would hope to learn other types of magic to accompany his natural ice magic.
Kaezira was son of the head of the tribe, the Hødvig, "Tauzin the Mighty". Tauzin Fjellborn was a strong, burly, pure hearted and loving man, and he was the Vinterkin's fiercest warrior. He fearlessly led the Vinterkin through everything they had endured. His mother, Haelden, passed soon after Kaezira was born. Haelden was a very loving partner to Tauzin, and she had stuck with him through sorrow and triumph. Kaezira, being the son of the Hødvig, was expected to become the new leader once Tauzin had passed. This brought him great distress, as he looked up to his father has his hero. Kaezira wanted to be just like his amazing father, but feared that he could not become as strong and fearless as his father, and would be a poor leader to the Vinterkin.
One seemingly peaceful night, a terrible event sealed the Vinterkin's fate. An unknown evil army attacked the Vinterkin villages, mercilessly killing everyone in the tribe. Many woke and fought to defend their tribe and home. Battle raged, but the Vinterkin could not put up a strong fight againts the fire the evil army used against them. Kaezira and his father were the last two of the Vinterkin standing, and they fought alongside each other until their very last breath. After putting up as strong as a fight they could, Tauzin fell first before Kaezira's eyes. The sight of his home village burning, his people perishing, and his father's death enraged Kaezira. His full potential was unleashed, and he fought against the evil army with all of his power, though it was not enough. Kaezira took down many foe, but he eventually was forced to flee from the attackers.
Kaezira had to eradicate the army that ended his tribe to avenge his fallen people, but he knew that he could not overcome them on his own. He soon set off travelling, seeking to further master his power and avenge his people by defeating the evil army.
In the 34 years that passed, Kaezira met many wizards, battlemages, sorceresses and sorcerers who taught him lots about magic, but he was only ever able to use ice magic. At the age of 20, Vinterkin are given a title that they will be acknowledged by. When Kaezira turned 20, his whole tribe was lost, so no naming ceremony could take place. Instead, he decided to give himself his own title, to uphold tradition. He decided on "Kaezira of the North" because he is the last of his kind, indigenous to the north of Terra. He worked as a mercenary for many years to help him practice and apply his magic that he learnt in battle. Rarely did he ever face any real threats, but when he did, he learnt immensely from the battles, and he became more powerful because of them.
After becoming immensely proficient in magic, it became more difficult to find wizards who could teach him anything, as he was more powerful than any other magic user he met. He sought out Raziel, the Avenging Angel, the Leader of the Nephilim, one of the two creators of Terra, and the only one who Kaezira thought would be more powerful in magic than he was. Kaezira traveled to the Institute and met with Raziel. Kaezira bowed down, and asked of Raziel to be taught further mastery in magic. Raziel denied his request, but offered him a position as an Arch-mage in the Nephilim faction to help him further master his sorcery on his own. Raziel transformed Kaezira to Nephilim, burning his runes onto his arms.
The Present
Kaezira is, and has been for many years, an arch-mage of the Nephilim faction, a highly respected and followed position in the faction. Kaezira is known throughout Terra to be the most powerful mage alive, even in knowing little about other types of magic besides ice magics, he has such a mastery of it that makes him unequalable in power. Many magic users throughout history have been considered to be more powerful than he is, but Kaezira's goal is to become greater than them. Once he passes, he hopes to be unsurpassed and unequaled in power of future magic users, making him the most powerful magic user ever to exist.
Kaezira has many Nephilim apprentices that he trains to become great defenders of Terra. He spends most of his time in his quarters, studying and practicing magic. His best friends mostly consist of other magic users who are from the Nephilim faction or are neutral. He and his friends use each other to become more powerful magic users. Kaezira's most important projects are learning to use other magics alongside his greatly powerful ice magics, to become the strongest magic user in history, to identify the army that wiped out his tribe and eliminate them all, and to protect Terra from all evil.
Memories
- Vinterkin feasts. - Roasting Marshmallows at fires during the night. - Learning to hunt, and going on hunting trips with his father. - Practicing and learning magic. - His tribe being attacked. - His father's death. He uses it as a catalyst for becoming enraged in battle.
Full Name: Daewyn Tyrgwyn Age: About 180 Gender: Male Birth Date: The seventh day of the third month, or so he says. Race: Elf Alignment: Neutral
Appearance
Hair Colour: Brown Eye Colour: Hazel Face Shape: Pointed nose, high cheekbones, strong, thick jawline, but rounded in the sense he isn't going hungry anytime soon. Skin Tone: Tanned Height: Six foot, eight inches. 203.2 cm Weight: 205 lbs, 93 kg. Body Type: As average as he can manage, not wanting to get overweight, but not really going out of his way to be muscular. Natural Markings: None Scar(s): He has scars covered a fair portion of his body. Most of them a thin lines that criss cross over each other from getting caught in wire traps, others are wider, with smooth edges from sword blades, and some are jagged tears from whips. Tattoo(s): None.
Personality
3 Words: Whimsical, sarcastic, stern (What 3 words would best describe your character's personality?) Like(s): Being left to his own devices, being occasionally helpful, books, testing out spells and traps on the unsuspecting, finding answers to questions that bother him. Dislike(s): Being told what to do, being talked to like someone thinks they're better than him, being left with a cliffhanger, someone purposefully withholding an answer he seeks, extreme amounts of effort
Want(s): His ultimate goal is one that he realizes if never going to be complete: he wants knowledge, more and more knowledge. The more there is to know, the more he wants to know it. He also wants to see Sybil find her way in the world. To find a purpose meant just for him. Fear(s): To run out of answers. Something happening to Sybil.
Favourite...
Colour(s): Teal Time of Day: Night Food: Anything sweet Animal: Uh, cats? Place in Terra: The Institute- Books, duh?
Skills and Attributes
Skills
Special ablilty/ies: None that he's aware of- hasn't really gone out of his way to find something. Good at...: He's very good at determining when to use his wit and when to stay silent; he's also good at finding the answers and figuring out where to look to find them if his clues are obscure. He also is apparently good at raising wayward children found lost wandering in the woods. Bad at...: Not making it clear that he thinks your idea is stupid or what you said is, caring for others plights aside from his own that would take him out of his current way, raising a teenaged girl
Traits
Good Habit(s): Listening to others before acting/speaking... or at least letting them finish first Bad Habit(s): No poker face, not tuning people out if they're long winded or he doesn't agree
History
The Past
Daewyn grew up learning from his uncle, Nero, all that there was to know at the time about poultices and even the history of the world as he knew it, but Nero always made one thing painfully clear for Daewyn. He said that even with as much knowledge as he had shared with him, he had barely scratched the surface of what all there was to know. The world was huge, practically impossible to completely explore without needing to back track to learn new things that had changed and been discovered in a place you'd already been. Daewyn spent his younger years hanging on his uncle's every word when he was around, but Nero was a wanderer- as could be expected from his tales- and was gone more than he was present. His parents fed the desire to explore and to learn by buying him books and scrolls of random facts and recipes that he would try to memorize or create. His aunt Amera was well versed in magic, an expert at it as much as her brother was an expert at gaining knowledge, and from her he learned the craft and learned to excel at it as well, showing off for her new techniques he'd learned in her absence whenever she would blow through town. She didn't wander for knowledge but rather to avoid creating too deep of roots in a place. Daewyn's mother, Marianna, had explained that their childhood had been fraught with danger from their own father, and that fact had lead Amera to avoiding relationships outside of her siblings, never trusting anyone and never allowing herself to feel much of anything. Seeing the difference in his mother's siblings showed Daewyn what he wanted to be as an adult, and what he didn't want. He liked the idea of wandering too and from, never really settling too long in a place, but he liked being there long enough to gather information, to always be in the know of what was going on in the different parts of Terra. He didn't go completely unscathed. He had a bit of a witty, sarcastic attitude about everything, including his own failings, which got him into a skirmish or two. He could have easily dealt with each wound so that they didn't leave a mark, but he remembered how many scars his aunt Amera had hidden under her tattoos. He felt like it was a sign of his maturity, his experience, and so he kept them. They also reminded him of what he should and shouldn't do in certain situations in order not to gain more. It was in these wanderings he'd come across the young Sybil. She couldn't remember much aside from her name and that she was lost when he found her, and he could tell she'd been wandering for a long time. He couldn't help but be moved by her plight and promised to take her with him as he traveled so that maybe they could find her parents as they went. She's been tailing at his heels ever since. However, Sybil and Daewyn's personal views differed. Daewyn doesn't much see the need for sword play when he's as well versed at magic as he is, but Sybil was impatient when it came to learning something so intangible. She liked the feel of a blade in her hand (she tried the bow and arrow first, but after nearly shooting him, he quickly banned those for good), so he sought out a different sibling of his mother's (she had like five or six, he couldn't remember exactly), Raina, who knew weapons well. She got Sybil started with a sword and knives for close quarter combat, but she wasn't much of a teacher. Raina wasn't typically a wanderer like her other siblings, but somehow always found somewhere else to be when Sybil insisted they go visit her. Daewyn was forced to make stops here and there for Sybil to get her form practice on with a tree or two, though he's finding himself hoping when Sybil has a little more "world knowledge" Raina won't find her so annoying that she keeps leaving and he can leave the two of them together for a change. However, he tried it once, and Sybil acted as if he were the worse traitor there was- that he was trying to go back on his word of helping her find her parents. The thought of that face always evokes a sigh from his lips. He hasn't tried it again since..... yet.
The Present
Daewyn is merely a wanderer, picking a what he can find as far as information goes, here and there. He's yet to actually visit the Institute since it's so.... claimed? The idea of getting into the turf war between the nephlim and the revenant doesn't particularly seem like something he wants to do, but the idea of so much knowledge being in one place, it's practically enough to make his mouth water. So he's slowly making his way in that direction, keeping ears out for any other such place, but he knows there is none. He still has Sybil in his company, and he tries to help her improve her battle tactics by having sparring matches with her, but it's like a wolf sparring with a puppy- it's completely one sided. As he wanders, Daewyn is finding the one thing none of his aunts or uncles could tell him how to find- a purpose. True, he wanted to help find Sybil's parents, or some information about who they were, but what then? What if they never learn that information, what if it's just lost? He desires to find something to do for himself, something to fill the void. But he hasn't the faintest idea of where to even begin trying to find what his heart desires, what would make him feel that much more complete....
Full Name: Sybil Nightwind Age: 80 Gender: Female Birth Date: Not entirely sure, but she knows it was in the springtime Race: Elf Alignment: Neutral
Appearance
Hair Colour: Brown Eye Colour: Green Face Shape: Mostly round with a pointed chin Skin Tone: Mostly fair, though a touch of a tan Height: 6ft even, 183 cm Weight: 180 lbs. 82 kg Body Type: She's more lithe than slender, but Wyn thinks she could put on some weight Natural Markings: None Scar(s): None Tattoo(s): None that she'll admit to
Personality
3 Words: Lively, naive, determined Like(s): To prove herself capable of living up to expectations, even better if she can surpass those expectations; increasing her skills in both defense and offense; seeing Wyn actually being impressed with her Dislike(s): When she fails; feeling like she's making no progress in improving her abilities; being looked down on because she's young or because she's a bastard child
Want(s): She wants to learn who her parents are/were, why she was abandoned, and, in a mostly unrelated means to become strong enough to travel on her own- brave enough really. Fear(s): Being beaten for real in a fight on her own, never learning the truth about her parents, being a burden to Daewyn
Favourite...
Colour(s): Red, but more like blood red rather than rose red, not that she's saying she likes blood Time of Day: Sunset Food: Red meat Animal: Horse Place in Terra: If she has to pick something it would be the Lake of Terra
Skills and Attributes
Skills
Special ablilty/ies: Nothing that she knows of Good at...: She is actually quite good at putting together traps for hunting, and she has incredible stamina during a sword fight. Bad at...: Aiming. Daewyn won't even jokingly put a bow and arrow in her hands. She's also bad at drinking. No tolerance whatsoever.
Traits
Good Habit(s): She is diligent in her training, and she follows directions well when she realizes that somene is better at something than her so that she can learn the proper way to do something. Bad Habit(s): If Daewyn admonishes her for doing something wrong, she tends to get really mouthy and doesn't listen to reason from him specifically
History
The Past
Sybil's earliest memories were the woods. Being surrounded by them, and the dark of night. She was lost from the start, but at first too confused to realize. She just started walking and walking, following the wind since she couldn't see the sky. She didn't know what the sky was supposed to tell her, but all it had for her was clouds, which she knew wasn't what she wanted. She didn't know why she knew that or how, but she did. She followed the wind whenever and wherever it would blow that night until it brought her to a road. She followed the road, not thinking to ask for help, not yet. She was just trying to remember who she was. It wasn't until her stomach started to growl that she was pulled from her revere, her fog. She realized her legs ached, she was cold, and now hungry. She looked around, trying to determine where she was, how long she had been walking, but she looked over just as a scarred male reached the crest of the hill where she was standing; he offered her help, offering to help her find her parents. She didn't think about it till he said it that she needed to find them. She thanked him for his help and followed him when he told her to go. She decided that if she followed him, he could help her find the answers she needed- about who she really was and why she was there alone. She remembered her first name was Sybil, but he came up with a last name for her when she kept drawing a blank. She found the longer she was with Daewyn, the more she looked up to him and wanted to prove herself of worth to him. He didn't really need anyone to protect him- he'd figured that part out- but she didn't want him having to protect her. That's why she wanted to learn how to fight, but magic was too complicated, too time consuming to be bothered with. When she held a sword for the first time, it just felt right, like it fit right into her hand- was meant to. She still needed some training, and Raina was useful enough for getting her started- though she never wanted to and she made that crystal clear. She was fine with that, it was Daewyn trying to leave her with the insipid woman that made her upset. She thought he was abandoning her, that he was going to go back on his word- she knew how he wandered, it could be a decade before he decided to come back! But he didn't and she would make sure to prove her worth so the idea didn't cross his mind again. She didn't want to be alone with so many things unknown.
The Present
Sybil is tagging along with Daewyn these 10 long years later, though she's much more efficient with a sword. She realized at some point that she knew the art of the sword already, that it was what was lost in that mind of hers, but she still has no idea what she was and where she was from. She figures that Daewyn was on the right track all along- imagine that, the know-it-all being right- that finding her parents would answer a lot of questions, they could at least tell her who she had been at some point, but she worries about whether or not they're even alive. What if she had gotten lost when running away from something that happened to them? It would explain why she had been empty handed and barefoot. For now, she just follows her comrade for as long as he'll allow her, and she hopes she can one day conquer her fear of the unknown- or more her fear of abandonment- that she will be able to spread her wings and do things on her own. She doesn't want to be a burden to him and as she has come to realize he's searching for his own purpose- which means she'll be getting in the way. She's been paying close attention to his methods of getting information as of late so that she can do the same herself once she finally decides she's able to go off on her own. But the nighttime darkness whispers threats of solitude and of her being lost forever the second she tries to go her own way....
Full Name: She goes only by Nyx, having abandoned her surname upon her infliction Age: 40 Gender: Female Birth Date: 13/07 Race:Lycan Alignment: Neutral, but her behaviors lean towards Revenant
Appearance
Hair Colour: Light red, close to orange (fur is lighter, more like a grey) Eye Colour: Greyish-green Face Shape: Round Skin Tone: Tanned Height: 5 foot 8, 178 cm (lycan height 6 ft 2, 189 cm) Weight: 185 lbs, 84 kg (lycan weight 210 lbs, 95 kg) Body Type: Muscular, but not bulky Natural Markings: Nope Scar(s): She has many older scars on her arms and back from her early days of a soldier, and there's the scar from the bite that turned her on her thigh Tattoo(s): She has a sword and shield tattooed on her right shoulder blade
Personality
3 Words: Cold, driven, non-sympathetic. Like(s): Having a purpose; reaching a goal; being respected for her prestige as a humani; the occassional chance to just relax after accomplishing a goal Dislike(s): Being a lycan; the sort of thrill she gets from killing now that she is one; a certain bloody pathed elf that lead her to this fate
Want(s): She either wants to be freed from this curse or to find a place she can belong as what she is now; not just a place that can use her for what she is but will actually accept her. Fear(s): That she becomes forever the wolf and cannot return to her humani side.
Favourite...
Colour(s): The green hue that clean sea water gets Time of Day: Midday Food: Even without her lycan tendacies she loves a good cut of meat Animal: She doesn't like a particular breed of beast, but one horse in particular- her war horse, Winter's Ghost (no, she didn't name him) Place in Terra: She tends to stay closer to Wellborough for jobs, but spends a fair amount of time at the graveyard, mourning the loss of her comrades
Skills and Attributes
Skills
Special ablilty/ies: Uhh, I don't think so?? Good at...: Though her skill tends to lie with a blade, she is an exceptional seamstress and is also very skilled in leather crafts- hence how she made her lycan form its own leather based armor. She is also very good at holding her alcohol. Bad at...: Caring about other people's problems. She tends to tune people out once they start spewing out their life's story or just walks off altogether. She's also bad at poker.
Traits
Good Habit(s): Keeps her items, weapons, and horse maintained, always measures a situation before inserting herself into it Bad Habit(s): Not listening to people when she's come up with a plan, blaming herself for the loss of her men
History
The Past
Nyx was born in Wellborough and had a fairly trouble-free childhood. Her father did odd jobs and sometimes took up bounties to make ends meet, and her mother made clothes as well. But it was boring. Nyx would often play with the neighborhood kids with sticks, pretending to be fighting, to be soldiers. As she got older, the game became a desire. She would not live her life idly like her mother. She had grown up learning the craft, and learning how to work with leathers from her father, but making things wasn't satisfying. She wanted to get out of this village and do something meaningful. In her late teens, she acted on that desire. She and those friends took up being a small troupe, taking on seemingly more difficult jobs that would take them away from the protection of the town and into the woods around them, going as far as they could. They gained a reputation- a good one. They were skilled fighters and Nyx was an unrelenting force of nature with a sword. But all the glory would come crashing down on her head- her ego would be her undoing. They were on their way back to the village, to collect their bounty for a hard job done, when a young elf woman came out of the trees, covered in blood. When their eyes made contact, the woman began to suddenly beg them for help, beg them to come help her friends, they were being attacked by monsters. No one stopped to think about any of the oddities of the situation. Nyx said that they would help her, and her friends thought of how they'd be called heroes for doing so. They charged into the situation without knowing what they were even getting into.They followed her deep into the woods when suddenly they couldn't see her anymore. They dismounted their horses to make sure they hadn't trampled her or left her behind. Her men began dropping one by one, blood showering on their horses, even their horses getting cut down, their squeals of pain echoing in the woods. Nyx started to mount Ghost, in an attempt to flee the terror they had gotten into when a thick blade, like a butcher's knife, dug into her shoulder and she hit the ground. She yelled at her horse to run as the elf woman turned on the beast. She just laughed and looked down at Nyx, saying something about how she'd let her go, let her contemplate the foolishness of her actions- she'd had enough fun anyways. She left after removing her blade from Nyx's arm, laughing as she went into the woods. Nyx didn't sit still. She got back to her feet, looking for something on her friend's fallen horses to mend her shoulder, swearing and apologizing to their corpses all the while. Just as she took up one of their swords in her left hand- not her strong hand- she heard a growling surrounding her. She turned to face the beasts as they came from the woods and she put up a fight but not before one sunk its fangs into her leg. She didn't beat them, and she shouldn't have outrun them. But it seemed that elf was not the only one who wantd to enjoy watching her suffer...
The Present
Nyx got her revenge against those wolves that had turned her into what she was- she felt no sense of camaraderie with the beasts, only hatred that they would condemn her to this fate. She hunted them down and used a mix of her own abilities and the curse that they'd inflicted on her. She got the corpses of her friends before anything could happen to them and had them buried in the graveyard- their memories did not need to be tarnished with something changing them after death. It was there that Ghost reappeared to her as if he had been waiting for her there. He did not seem afraid her regardless of what she was. She created a leather-based armor for her lycan self so that she would not be so easily injured by the basics, which she keeps on Ghost's saddle. She has resumed her position of a sellsword, taking oddjobs as she sees fit, though she plans to murder a certain elf if she can ever find her. She wants to make her pay for everything that happened that day- she didn't care why, nothing justified it, she just wanted to tear her apart.
Full Name: Corra Lerouge Age: 30 Gender: Female Birth Date: 14/08 Race: Fire elemental Alignment: Neutral
Appearance
Hair Colour: Auburn Eye Colour: Red, like a brick Face Shape: Semi-heart shaped, more pointed though Skin Tone: Fair Height: 5 foot 5, 168 cm Weight: 145 lbs, 66 kg Body Type: Petite Natural Markings: Nope Scar(s): No Tattoo(s): She has a flaming heart on the left side of her chest
Personality
3 Words: Passionate, hot head, impulsive Like(s): Getting her way, meeting "not stupid dwarves", making an extra flame here or there Dislike(s): Being told no, being surrounded by dwarves, rain
Want(s): She currently doesn't have one, aside from getting out in the world, but she's open to anything Fear(s): Being forever trapped Volkungthad and having no real purpose in life
Favourite...
Colour(s): Red and black Time of Day: Daytime Food: Sweets Animal: Lizards Place in Terra: Anywhere other than Volkungthad
Skills and Attributes
Skills
Special ablilty/ies: Well because of Analise, the whole body flame thing is kind of taken, but she can create forms with the flames, and sometimes even manages to make a sentient flame to do something for her. Good at...: Making an impression, convincing people what she wants is what they want (through the sheer power of they'll give it to her to shut her up), smelting weapons and armor Bad at...: Behaving, keeping her flames under control when she's angry
Traits
Good Habit(s): Keeping her word Bad Habit(s): Her hair will turn to flames when she gets mad, even if she's trying to keep a straight face
History
The Past
Corra has spent her thirty years in relatively the same way. For the first decade, as a child, she did not question anything. She followed the rules and expectations of her betters, learning crafts that put her fire to use. She learned how to direct her fire to heat blade and metals that they crafted in the forges and she herself learned to use the hammer well- though that would be in the midst of her second decade of her life. However, it was during that time that she began to realize that there was more to life than what she knew. She had no grandiose ideas of what to expect in the world, not expectations of it in general. She just wanted to see it, to learn of its ways. What lie outside Volkungthad? But when she began to question and to ask about it, her elders shot her down and told her she was not mature enough to handle what lie outside their world, and she should be grateful for what she had. The more she pressed, the more they oppressed, until finally she had enough. She was not going to spend another day by a forge and surrounded by foul smelling and foul mouthed dwarves. She grabbed the basics and during the night started out of Volkungthad, following the signs to pretty anywhere else. She hasn't found a place she wants to call home yet, and has still been wandering since she left Volkungthad. She's aware she's been lucky, she's heard the stories of those who have not been so much. She doesn't necessarily wish to experience everything that they had, but she disliked the fact she just sort of existed. She's done a few jobs here and there, worked at a forge or two when desperate, but she knows that's not what she wants. She wants to do something to shake the possibility of being called naive and make some sort of impact on the world, but she has no idea where to even begin.
The Present
Corra finds herself on the way to Wellborough, she's heard good things about the place, but she's only interested in a place to sleep for a few nights while she figures out where to go next. She's heard about many of her kind that join some group called the Revenant once they leave Volkungthad, but she's not met anyone yet. She's also heard of the Nephilim, but they sound like the elders she kinda hates so that does not sound like anything she's interested in. For now, she's still searching for her purpose. She is trying not to get desperate for fear that her desperateness will lead her into a career she has no desire to be a part of. She is desperate though, feeling like she is wasting her time, wasting her life away wandering with no purpose. It's true she's learned a lot of the world, learned a lot about the things that people experience, both positive and negative. But she is still vying for the chance to experience it herself.
Full Name: Alistair Hemshaw Age: 90 Gender: Male Birth Date: 03/03 Race: Water Elemental Alignment: Neutral
Appearance
Hair Colour: Greenish-white Eye Colour: Green Face Shape: Semi-round, not quite pointed Skin Tone: Pale Height: 6 ft, 183 cm Weight: 170 lbs, 77 kg Body Type: He's a little more on the slender side and not very muscular Natural Markings: A weird jagged birthmark, a blue birthmark, on his left side Scar(s): No Tattoo(s): No
Personality
3 Words: Inquistive, Confident, Adventurer Like(s): The chance to show off (What little he knows), the chance to learn more magic, getting to learn anything new at all Dislike(s): When he fails at magic, the fact he's incapable of truly excelling more than he has
Want(s): To become capable of the same level of magic as other elementals Fear(s): That he's reached the peak of his abilities
Favourite...
Colour(s): Deep blue Time of Day: Midnight Food: Poultry Animal: Fish Place in Terra: Norione Village
Skills and Attributes
Skills
Special ablilty/ies: He can turn water into ice and morph the shape of the ice. Typically he only uses it in defense, as he can quickly thicken the layers with more and more ice. Good at...: Taking criticism, continuing to try at something regardless of failures, defense Bad at...: Offense, seeing his errors right away
Traits
Good Habit(s):Practice, practice, practice Bad Habit(s): Never being satisfied with what he's achieved
History
The Past
Alistair was born in Norione village, or somewhere between there and the Lake, but basically there. He grew up with the residents there, the fae, and the other elementals, but he never quite fit in with them. He wouldn't let it hold him down though. It didn't get him anywhere as a child saying "woe is me" so he gave up that approach and decided he would try the opposite. He would take up practicing what water magic that he could. He learned quickly the more complex magics were lost to him, so he focused on what he could do rather than what he couldn't. He could do the basics, move water, summon it from the ground or through cracks in a wall, but water itself wasn't very good for offense with him. It led to some of the more self-important elementals reminding him how far down the food chain he was. His constant view on life as he got older was that he couldn't focus on what was holding him down, or on what he couldn't change. He couldn't change his natural abilities, but he could hone what he had. He studied and studied what was available until he learned the art of ice, something that only really manifested for him when he used it to defend against the same bullies that had hurt him before. It frustrated them that his shield was nearly impenetrable. They were neaderthals at this point, so he let them beat on his shield until they wore themselves out. He decided to remove himself from a place where he just wasn't getting along until those idiots matured enough to let their bias go. He would definitely return home one day though as he loved Norione and the Lake. He would use this as an opportunity to seek out a well known ice mage he'd heard rumors about. He just wondered if the man would even hear him out as he was neutral in this Nephilim/Revenant mess, and he wasn't sure if he was even allowed to change that. But he would seek out answers nonetheless.
The Present
For the past week, Alistair has been in Wellborough village, and he's been studying what he can on the Nephilim, as he wants to approach the renowned Kaezira of the North. He wants to make sure that when he finally approaches him that he has at least a shot of getting his attention. Not that he'll be entirely upset if he ignores him, it's not his life goal, but it would be a tremendous step in the right direction for him if he could get his help. He's not even sure if the man takes students, but it can't hurt to ask right? If not, then his only hope would be to seek out some lesser known mage and hope they have even a modicum of Kaezira's skill. He could always just experiment until he figured something out, but that seemed detrimental to progress and a waste of time. He had a bit of money saved up so he's not had to seek out work thus far, but he's done simple things here and there that he was capable of, making himself feel rather confident in his abilities that he was actually earning his work and not getting pity pay from people back home.
Hair Colour: Ginger Eye Colour: Green Face Shape: long, and soft-angled Skin Tone: Pale Height: 122 cm/4"0 Weight: 20 kg/44 lbs Body Type: Slender and delicate Natural Markings: None Scar(s): None Tattoo(s): None
Personality
3 Words: Curiosity, mischief,entertainment Like(s): Pranks, peace and quiet, nature Dislike(s): Being given orders
Want(s): Has no goals but is always looking for ways to entertain herself Fear(s): Capture by humans
Favourite...
Colour(s): Green Time of Day: Sunrise Food: strawberries Animal: Woodpecker Place in Terra: Lake of Terra
Skills and Attributes
Skills
Special ablilty/ies: Amber can use her magic to enchant animals and grow plants to a degree, though she channels this magic through melodies played on pan pipes Good at...: Puzzles, riddles, games of chess or similar mind games. She has a good mind for problem solving. Bad at...: Anything remotely physical
Traits
Good Habit(s):Compassion. A strong moral compass, and a nurturing, motherly nature towards animals of the forest. Bad Habit(s): Loves to prank and cause mischief. Shows no respect to any humani unless that respect is earned. She has a mean streak a mile long when roused.
History
The Past
Fae tend not to gather in towns or cities. At best, you get a very small village, but more commonly, one family will live by themselves in a secluded home in the woods, often to next to a stream or small lake. Fae grew up with one such family, and as is also customary for her species, moved out to find her own home and a mate when she was ten years old.
The ever-growing humani population, however, coupled with many neutral parties wishing to move away from the cities and form new, smaller settlements, made finding a mate or a quiet place to live difficult, however, and Amber took to doing typical Fae mischief like souring their milk, making their pets and livestock go wild again, steal tools, that kind of thing.
As she got older, she noticed that her magic was very weak for a Fae's, and if she ever tried really hard to force it to work, it would explode out of her and cause her harm. While she pondered this dilemma one day, she came across an elf child playing a set of pan pipes. Amber sat and listened to her for hours, and the elf would smile and play just for her. The two kept this relationship up for weeks. No words spoken, so greetings, just music. One day, the naturally curious Amber asked if she could play the pan pipes for a while. The elf girl happily agreed, and when Amber started to play, the plants around her started to grow.
Their relationship lasted for several years, and in that time the elf girl taught Amber how to play these pan pipes expertly, and even gave her them as a gift. But, one day, the elf girl disappeared, and in her place was an elf woman, who wanted to travel the world and see where adventure would take her, so she disappeared from Amber's life, leaving her alone once again.
The Present
Amber is now in her own adulthood and her search for a mate, or even others of her species, has proved fruitless thus far, though she still gains pleasure from the occasional prank. She is more mature now, however, and understands more that her actions sometimes cause harm, so her pranks have gotten less...mean than they used to be.
Amber has become reliant on the pan pipes as the vessel in which she can focus her magic, though it's not clear whether his has amplified or limited her magic power. What she does know is that she can no longer use magic without the focus of a melody, even though the extent of her magical power over plant growth and animal behavior is fairly weak compared to what many other Faes or Elves would be capable of. She is simply too scared to try magic without the pipes anymore.
Hair Colour: Blonde Eye Colour: Brown Face Shape: Slender, pointed chin Skin Tone: Fair Height: 5”5/165 cm Weight: 110 lbs/50kg Body Type: Lean Natural Markings: None Scar(s): Faint scars on arms Tattoo(s): None
Personality
3 Words: Freedom, Take, Savage Like(s): Luxuries, stealing, the feeling of besting another Dislike(s): Captivity, rules, working for others
Want(s): Adventure Fear(s): Very little
Favourite...
Colour(s): Blue Time of Day: Evening Food: Cakes, bread, things that are not found in the wild Animal: Owl Place in Terra: All of it
Skills and Attributes
Skills
Special ablilty/ies: None Good at...: Archery, hunting, climbing trees and navigating their branches, creating remedies and potions Bad at...: Integrating into society
Traits
Good Habit(s): None Bad Habit(s): Stealing, bathing nude, eating very messily
History
The Past
Vania always had dreams of adventure. She would listen to her father tell stories of brave warriors who travelled the land, fighting off beasts and evil men. From as young as she could remember, her heart was set on following in the footsteps of these heroes. Her family, however, was strict when it came to traditional lifestyle. Vania was taught how to hunt, how to cook, how to create potions and remedies using naught but the ingredients of the forest, and when she came of age, would be married off to an elf from another family.
Her one solace was that she’d often take daily walks through the forest, where she’d sit at the edge of a small lake three miles out from the village, and play pan pipes. It was during these trips that she met a Fae, and the two became close though they rarely ever talk to each other, being that Vania couldn’t speak in the tongues of man, and the Fae couldn’t speak Elvish. Still, they’d take turns on the pipes, and laugh, and point out the visible wildlife to each other.
But every time this happened, she’d eventually go back home, back to being groomed into a bride. Her solace at home was that every night, she’d read more tales about adventure, and freedom. She finally decided that the day before she was to come of age, she would run away. Away from her family. Away from the Elf her marriage had been arranged with, who she had never even met. The day came, and she wavered in her convictions, but still, she couldn’t stay here a day longer otherwise she’d miss her chance to leave forever, and she’d live an unhappy life regretting it.
She ran. She ran so far that they’d never catch up with her. She didn’t know how far or how long she ran, just that when she stopped, she threw up and then passed out from exhaustion. She woke up feeling nothing but regret. She had been a child. She should return and apologize, but she realised that she was lost. She had made a terrible mistake.
In her search for home she unwittingly travelled further and further away from it, if it hadn’t have been for her training at the hands of her parents, she’d have died. She slowly learned more and more how to survive in the endless forest, and eventually forgot about returning home. This was her life now.
As she got closer to humani civilisation, she started discovering lone human travellers. Once upon a time, she might have engaged them in conversation, but the laws of nature had long since overridden any semblance of civility in her, and she robbed everyone she met, besides Nephilm authorities, whom she quickly learned that she had to flee from to avoid capture.
Once, she actually was captured, but during her year in captivity she learned many things, such as how to speak humani, the factions of Nephim and Revenant and the Gods they worship, and though she was still not a civilised Elf, she was now too educated to be a savage.
The Present
Vania did her time, and is now free again. She has returned to the forest as that is the only life she knows, and the honest work of the towns and cities just seems like yet another prison for her. She enjoys being free. Sometimes she will buy nice things from the towns and cities from money she has stolen. She is on the razor’s edge between an intelligent, cosmopolitan being and a beast of nature.
She still has no home, sleeping in caves, up tress, or in streets of towns when nobody tries to move her along. She bathes in rivers and lakes instead of hot baths, and eating food she hasn’t killed herself is a rare luxury for her. Still, there a tiny part of her brain which is unsatisfied with simply living. It yearns for a real quest of purpose. A real adventure.
Sutagara is only a given name. Windleaf is the name of her tribe, which she has adopted as a surname for dealing with the more city-dweller peoples. Often, she even prefers being called Windleaf.
Age: 30. Over middle-aged for a centaur.
Gender: Female.
Birth Date: Summer Solstice.
Race: Nomadic Centaur.
Not all centaurs live a nomadic life, but many of the more traditional groups still swear by a restless lifestyle. They graze like a herd, until all the grass is eaten up so they can wander off again.
Alignment: Neutral, leaning Nephilim. Windleaf hasn't yet fully decided, but she's gradually heading towards the Institute.
She would always side with Raziel over Alithe, but she might just as well declare war on them both.
Appearance
Hair Colour: Shining white, both on the head and the body.
Eye Colour: Deep maroon.
Face Shape: Rough and angular as a mountain.
Skin Tone: Tan, with a hint of red.
Height: Centaurs ride like giants. A solid eight-and-a-half feet, or 260 centimeters.
Weight: 1100 pounds.
Body Type: A war-horse with an attached warrior.
Natural Markings: Nil.
Scar(s): A deep horizontal gash along her back, and a disgusting scar on her face.
Tattoo(s): She has but one tattoo, hidden away on the back of her muscular neck: a leaf blowing in the wind.
Personality
3 Words: Impulsively, loudly unpreditable.
Like(s):
She loves the forests, the task of surviving on your own and the conjoining with the natural things.
She also has a great exhilaration in combat, and an admiration for lycans- the only humani to ever be one with the wilds.
Dislike(s):
Her tribe followed an odd tradition regarding race. They believed that all the thinking creatures of the forest- elves, centaurs, fae, treants, and elementals- represented a part of nature itself. The elves are the plant-eaters, graceful and fleeting. The centaurs are predators, proud and fierce. The fae, finally, are the omnivores, sharp yet not malevolent. The treants are plants, of course, and the elementals represent the substances of nature itself.
So, who doesn't fit in?
She looks down on the dwarves, humani and corvi who live in the forests. They are intruders in nature's realm, taking from it but never adding. They clear out the plants and extinct the animals. Even the destruction of a fire elemental serves some purpose: they clear the way for regrowth. But when a humani or a dwarf makes their structures, nothing may ever recover again.
She has nothing against them if they stick to the clearings and the Wastelands and the mountains, where they clearly belong.
Want(s): Her only want is the forests, the freedom of exploration, and the rush of combat.
Fear(s):
Windleaf only has three fears in this world: one for herself, one for her faith, one for her people.
For herself, Windleaf fears that she may never be able to cease wandering, but she is equally terrified of being held down by obligations. She fears that she won't always be the leaf blowing in the wind, and she fears that she will be.
For her faith, Windleaf fears that the Gods she has always worshiped are only deluded myths spread by bored centaurs. What if Raziel and Alithe are all there is to the world? A desolate truth.
For her people, Windleaf fears that the centaurs truly are just a magical conjoining of man and beast. Her entire people: a simple wizard's experiment gone wrong. No grand creation story, no oneness with nature. Just a spell going too far.
Favourite...
Colour(s):
Red.
Time of Day:
The morning times, when golden sunlight first streams through the trees.
Food:
Grass soup.
Animal:
Horse. How could it be anything other than horse? When half an animal is growing out of your rear, you learn to like that animal.
She also likes boars. And wolves. And boars. And dogs. And boars. And did I mention that she likes boars?
Because she likes boars.
Place in Terra:
Those clearings that occasionally run along the forests.
Skills and Attributes
Skills
Special ablilty/ies:
None, outside of astounding athletics.
Good at...:
Skilled with spears, blades and bows, Windleaf is a terror in the charge or from afar. Her speed and strength are renowned, even among the nomadic centaurs.
When it comes to more practical skills, years of wilderness survivor has taught all the basic skills for living in the forests: foraging, fire-starting and cooking, hunting (for pelts, not for food- the body is wasted on a herbivore) and subsequently skinning, wood-working... and so on.
Bad at...:
Admitting failure. She's as stubborn as an old mule, and about as patient as one.
Traits
Good Habit(s): Quick to befriend, quick to forgive.
She can never hold a grudge. Before the offender can apologize, she's already forgotten the offense.
Bad Habit(s): Quick to anger, quick to kill.
She can never settle down. Before she can adapt to a new home, her hooves grow restless and her eyes turn towards the horizon.
History
The Past
Centaur birth is a painful and complicated ordeal. Especially when the baby is born hooves-first.
Sutagara split her mother's stomach in half. Their tribe's shaman tried to heal her, but these centaurs were warriors and gatherers, not spell-casters. Nothing could be done. It was bittersweet: a girl born and a woman dead on the same day.
From there, her childhood was nothing worth note. She was raised in a nomad's life. They grazed all the grass in sight, than moved on.
She tried many things as a foal. Hunting, gathering, cooking, building. She had a little skill for all of them, but as the little Sutagara grew, the tribe discovered her real talent. Even as a filly, she was eager to rush into a fight with the adults. But while she could shoot it like any of her kind, she often shied from the bow in favor of a sword or a spear. This marked her place.
She was a protector: her task was to defend the nomads from raiders, mercenaries, dwarves and humans- all were a little too common in a few of the countries her people wandered through. All the healthy centaurs could wield bows, to be sure, but a protector's role was unique as a swordswoman or spear-wielder. She would run with the other protectors, forming an impenetrable circle around the tribe. They galloped at full speed, round and round, so that no intruder could pierce into the tribe without facing their whirling blades. From within the defensive circle, the herd would fire arrows with lightening speed. By some miracle, they never hit their protectors.
Her life changed on the day a particularly vicious attacker managed to gash her along the back. It hurt, and it bled, but it wasn't a real threat, nor was it the first time she'd been injured. It would heal in time, maybe leaving a scar, and her life would continue the same way it always does.
Then it struck her: she'd suffered a dozen injuries just like this one in a dozen battles just like this one. Her life was stale and predictable. The only peaks of excitement, defending her herd, had become a routine event.
Centaurs live only fifty years. Sutagara was already nearing twenty. She had no time to waste.
Without stopping to consider, she suddenly knew what to do. The idea hadn't once occurred to her before but she was without doubt: it was her time to become a soldier.
She joined up with a fortress of nature's defenders. Mainly centaurs, but a fair few elves and elementals stood with them. They brought the fight right to the intruders: any dwarven or humani civilization which caused harm to the forests was first warned, then warned again, then destroyed.
These centaurs were nothing like the peaceful grazers that brought her into this world. They were proud soldiers in gleaming armor, each one a cavalry all their own. They rode into battle like thunder. If the her tribe was a herd, her army was a pride.
Windleaf, which she was now calling herself, rose quickly in respect. She was soon a commanding officer in the fortress's "cavalry" (read: centaurs) division. It was here that she learned the finer points of combat, and it was here that a deft little elf gave her the tattoo of a leaf blowing in the wind.
Her life changed on the day a particularly well-trained defender managed to gash her along the face. It burned, and it gushed, but it wasn't a real threat, nor was it the first time or the hundredth time she'd been injured. It might heal in time, definitely leaving a scar, and her life would continue the same way it always does.
It struck her: she'd suffered a hundred injuries just like this one in a hundred battles just like this one. Her life was stale and predictable. The only peaks of excitement, attacking the invaders, had become a routine event.
Centaurs live only fifty years. Windleaf was already nearing thirty. She had no time to waste.
Without stopping to consider, she suddenly knew what to do. The idea hadn't once occurred to her before but she was without doubt: it was her time to become an explorer.
And so without hesitation, she said her goodbyes, and left to explore the world... heading subtly to the Institute, all the way.
The Present
Windleaf may be traveling to the Institute, but she isn't a friend to Raziel. On the one hand, Alithe destroys nature wherever she goes, leaving only the disgusting Waste. On the other, Raziel's law often spawns civilization, which will ruin the forests if left unchecked. A balance is needed, but who can find one? Certainly not the "angels".
But.
The Institute is a place of great knowledge. Windleaf is far from a scholar, but her travels have still given her many questions. She's seen unexplainable things, and met people of many faiths. All of it has left her wondering: are the Gods her tribe believed in true? And if so, did they create centaurs, or is her whole existence the spawn of some twisted magic? These unanswered questions burn in her mind. She has to find the truth, and she fears that the Institute may be the only place such knowledge can be found.
So for now, the traveling centaur heads slowly for the Raziel's realm, but only because the knowledge he wields may answer her. When she knows all she needs to know, perhaps she can chose a side, or perhaps she will leave the balance of chaos and order in the hands of her Gods.
Memories
Her whole life has been somewhat of a blur, traveling from place to place and waging battle after battle. Only a few memories stay firmly in her conscious.
The most persistent memory is of her grandmother, telling her the stories of their tribal pantheon. There were nine gods, each residing over different elements and concepts.
She respects and loves all her deities, but her favorite was and is Espeeria, God of the Wind, Travelers, and the Restless. He is the God said to have created centaurs from his great breath. She still carries a small wooden symbol of Him around her neck.
This new character is a pacifist, so you either read this fucking CS or he'll kick your ass hug you firmly.
Basic Information
Full name: Lumao Suulaliva
Age: 27
Birth Date: 3/7
Race: Corvi
Alignment: There can be no true law without exception. There can be no permanent freedoms without law. The key is when people have learned to do the right thing without needing to be pushed by Raziel, when people can be kind without motivation.
The Revenants are among the purest evil in this world, but the Nephilim can only create goodness through force. What is peace, if it was made with violence?
Appearance
Feather Colour: His mother always said he looked like a checker board.
He is covered primarily in endlessly black feathers from head to toe, with the exception of his face. Thick, bright stripes of white run completely across his chest and his neck. Thinner strips of a matching shade also dangle on his wrists and ankles, as if they were bracelets.
Eye Colour: Bright, piercing yellow. Other's eyes are immediately drawn to his.
Face Shape: Angled, coming to a pointed knife of a chin. His cheekbones are high and proud, his eyebrows are raised and structured, his lips are long and black. His nose is masculine, rugged. Clearly it broke at one point, then failed to ever heal correctly. It is a structured, sharp face.
Skin Tone: Pale under the feathers.
Height: 4'5" / 135
Weight: Corvi are incredibly light; lighter than any healthy human could be. For a creature as large as a humanoid to fly, the bones must be hollow and the frame must be thin.
60 pounds / 25 KG
Body Type: Petite in the extreme. Bird-like.
Natural Markings: None, other than the white feathers.
Scar(s): Many, many, many scars.
Three deep gashes strike through his face, two on the nose and one across his left eye. Dozens trace his wings.
Speaking of wings, they're shattered. Patches of leathery skin are revealed on both, interspersed between rotten feathers. The left wing is bent out of shape, literally being forced at a crooked angle, yet it never heals.
A long, featherless, rubbery stretch of scar tissue worms along the front of his neck.
Tattoo(s): None.
Personality
Lumao is incredibly considerate. He attempts to put others first. It is his honest belief that, if everyone were kind and if everyone thought of others before themselves, there would be no need for war or violence. The world could be at peace, so easily.
3 Words: Artistic, hippie, merciful.
Like(s): He loves to listen to others, to be in company without having to interact, to simply appreciate the presence of another.
He loves to create, to collaborate, to show off even his non-magic art.
He loves those silent relationships, where you do not need to remind eachother that love is there: you both already know.
Most of all, he loves when others love righteousness without needing to be forced.
Dislike(s): Revenants and the militarism of the Nephilim.
To Lumao, anything aligned with Alithe is rarely better than a Revenant. Yet while he respects the Nephilim, they are too cruel; too unforgiving.
The Revenants are black, yet the Nephilim are not white. They are only a pale gray: an attempt at goodness that falls short.
Want(s): To see a world without violence, without hate, and without murder, where he can travel to sell his art without being attacked by robbers who can't pass up attacking a flightless Corvi sitting on a walking pile of rubies.
Fear(s): When his journey begin, this idealistic artist promised himself he would never harm anyone. The world is too beautiful for that, he told himself. However, it is just as dangerous. In time, his promise decayed into only harming those who would end his life, and in time that decayed into only harming those who end his life or the life of an innocent. What if it continues to decay? He fears that he may soon be no better than the Nephilim, claiming love but acting in hate.
Favourite...
Colour(s): White, black
Time of Day: Midnight: peaceful and beautiful.
Food: Trail mix, with chocolate and berries.
Animal: All of them! Especially the one he built himself.
Place in Terra: The public art-station in Wellborough. It's a wide, open centre where all artists can create. It looks almost like a town square, but it is caked in clay tables and painting supplies.
Skills and Attributes
Skills
Special Ablilties:
Lumao is a wizard to the core: he is drawn to knowledge and bound by curiosity. His knowledge of the world's lore is impressive for his age, as is his myriad forms of magic. But you know what they say about someone who knows a bit of everything. "Jack of all trades, master of none." He knows many magics, yet he has only become an expert of Mystic Art.
Like all mystically-inclined Corvi, Lumao was born with a modicum of talent for bending shadows. But as he grew, he realized that darkness is not a substance in-and-of itself: it is simply a lack of light. To control the shadows is to control the light. He has since practiced creating blinding lights or concealing darknesses. Within magical circles, this is known as "phantasm", and is widely regarded as the only useful magic Corvi may learn.
The true masters of phantasm have learned to bend light to such a degree that they can even bend it around them to become entirely invisible. Lumao is only an apprentice by comparison.
Also, he does have command over a good bit of healing magic: enough to cure himself or others of simple wounds and sicknesses. But like his phantasm powers, it is limited in comparison to true healers. He is still a Corvi- this entire field of learning is a massive challenged for him.
And last but far from least, he has discovered the uncommon mystical art of Mystic Art: the power of creating paintings, statues or figurines and animating them to life. This ranges from the simple, such as moving paintings or dancing clay, to the truly amazing, such as living statues and voodoo dolls. This is the only supernatural power he has even begin to fully understand.
Lumao has made a good deal of money by selling paintings that move: drawings of sultry women who *ahem* get more sultry on command, watercolours of children that can be seen dancing in blowing fields, or so on. Peasants are initially frightened, but the nobleman... they're more expectant of such things. The Mystic Artist has no shame in admitting that he is overpaid.
Yet, even knowing that he could live a wealthy and long life this way, Lumao still finds more joy in the art of golems: creating living statues. Most, he sells as personal body guards to kings and nobles. Dwarves especially: they love nothing more than being protected by a stone soldier that fights for them.
It should be noted: none of his creations will ever kill or maim without express command. He builds that right into them.
Sounds useful, right? It's rarity primarily stems from the unusual materials required: a golem needs several precious gems to focus it's magical energies. Diamonds, rubies, emeralds, gold, silver... the list goes on.
But despite their obvious warfare applications, Lumao did not create his personal golem for combat, or even in the figure of a warrior. It is a...
...drumroll please...
...turtle! He built a turtle! A gigantic stone turtle, to be exact, about the size of two grown humans. His name is Shell and he's Lumao's best friend. Its eyes are crafted of emerald, its body is the blackest stone but its plated shell and claws are fiery ruby.
It's primary purpose is for the sake of companionship during travel: it is not as fast as a horse, not even close, yet it never tires. The middle of its shell has a built-in dip that Lumao fits right into. He can sleep on its back with relative comfort. Not only that, but it can be used to channel magic.
Though it is not for harming anything seriously, he has used Shell to defend himself. When it stomps, the ground shakes. When it glares, light blinds threats. It can act independently of Lumao, so that it is a constant company in peace or in conflict. It has some simple, animalistic intelligence.
Essentially, Shell is a pet/bed/magic-conduit/defender.
It should be said, as a final note: Lumao has never and never intends to use voodoo dolls, though they are a part of Mystic Art. They are powerful, but a peaceful man has no use for them.
Good at...: Well, not flying, that's for damn sure.
He's a skilled sculptor, painter and all-around artist.
Bad at...: Flying. And speaking. And killing things.
Traits
Good Habit(s): He is always on time, he always tries to consider another person's needs, he always tries to comfort the mourning and sad. He has mercy even on his enemies.
Bad Habit(s): He taps his feet along with flaps of his wings when impatient. He also tends to pick at the leathery patches of exposed skin barricading his scars.
On a sadder note, he still tries to fly when nobody is around. He always falls.
History
The Past
He was born into the "ruling" family of a village which didn't have a ruling family. It was there he learned the beginnings of shadow magic. It was there he learned violence. His family was a flock of semi-mystic criminals who ran the town as a mob of gangs.
It was an all-corvi village that they reigned over, where being 4'5 was being intimidating. His father cherished Lumao's strength. If a mark stopped paying up, it was up to him to beat the gold out of them. Few Corvi are skilled mages, but he did have that natural ability for cloaking himself in shadow, which he found amazingly useful in the life of a thug.
Growing up, he never questioned his place. The strong take from the weak, and isn't that natural?
It all changed the day a group of dark mages finally noticed their lawless little settlement. It was such an easy target. No defenses, no connection to the crown, no protectors. Just a few scattered "tough guys", and Lumao.
They came to find sacrifices to Alithe. He tried to defend his home, when tribute was demanded. At first they laughed. Then they made an example of him.
He was thrown to the ground like a ragdoll, tossed around. He tried to fly away, but the leader only had to put the very tip of his boot down on Lumao's wing. He tried to vanish into the darkness, but the mages saw right through it like daylight. He was a toy to them.
Then the real agony begin. They swarmed on him like crows on a corpse. His wings were torn to shreds. His throat was ripped open. He saw a flap of skin hanging from his face and had to wonder how much they had already cut off.
This is what violence is, he realized. This is what pain means. This is what it is to be crushed, this is what it is to become nothing.
Even there, under those cruel knives chopping for his wings, Lumao knew that he could never inflict this on another living soul again. Even for his father.
At that repentance, something miraculous happened. The burning pain in his wounds was pacified in a numbing cold. Gushing blood congealed to hide his open throat. Fractals of ice cracked their way across the ground beneath him.
Blood stained over his eyes, blurring his vision in red. But even through that he could still see that the dark mages had collapsed to the street floor.
He crawled over, slowly, to the limp bodies of his attackers, only he found they weren't so limp. They were stiff. Dead statues.
He touched one cautiously. That was a mistake. It was as if all the heat had been sucked right from their bodies, so much that it hurt
He wiped the blood clear with one weakened arm, so that his sight could now show where the ice was coming from: a figure in deep blue. It was wearing hooded robes and a cold face.
One gloved hand outstretched to lift him up. "I am Kaezira of the North."
---- ------ ------ ----
After that day, Lumao swore never to do that to another thinking being.
Over the years, his promise eroded. The world is a beautiful place, but full of violence and evil. Seeking out magic is a rough path to walk- he's been forced to defend himself more than once. At first, he would never harm anyone, but that decayed into only harming those if he must to defend himself, and that decayed into only harming others if he must defend himself or someone innocent.
But he still won't kill, and he still won't injure anyone more than he has to. He is gentle even to his attackers.
Inspired in part by his natural "gift" (by Corvi standards), and in part by Kaezira, Lumao further advanced his magic over the following years. Instead of building his power up, however, he spread it out: he began to learn many forms of spellcasting, as opposed to focusing on one genre until it is all you know. Like a certain ice mage.
His first drive for magic was purely born from fear. Remembering how easily conquered he was by the dark mages terrified him to his core, but seeing how easily Kaezira disposed of them rejuvenated his hope. He became determined to learn that power. Corvi may be weak magically, yet he would not give up. He has learned what he knows over years of endless determination and pure motivation.
As he grew, though, his need for magic diminished into a desire. He realized that his fear was misplaced. It was not being weak that was to be avoided, it was violence itself. He began to take on a pacifistic view of the world, which has held (mostly) intact to the day.
Even still, he traveled all across the globe to study his magics, visiting temples and colleges alike. He considers even traveling to the Monastery of Flesh so that he may learn of fleshspinning, or the Institute to learn of runes. Afterall, it would be pleasing to see Kaezira again: to show him how much he's learned.
The Present
His wings and his throat are still torn. Dark magic is fused into the wounds; they shall never heal. The scar at his throat stole his speech, the tear at his wings stole his flight. He will never again soar or sing. He can speak only quietly and with extreme difficulty.
Now, speechless and flightless, he refuses to pity himself. He received only what he deserved. Many of his victims cried out for retribution. Though Lumao is not a religious person, maybe this was a God's way of answering them.
He has been there many times before, but he travels to Wellborough again. It is the very best place for maps and news.
Sorry for the length.
Note: if you're wondering what a "Fleshspinner" is, the information is found under "Special ability/ies" in unnecessary levels of detail.
Basic Information
Full Name:
Shertul the Unnatural. He outlived his family long ago. No more reason to keep his tribal name, outside of useless sentiment.
Age: 81, though it is impossible to detect his age by appearance. No wrinkles, no damage, no aging. Most Fleshspinners live well into their hundreds, or even their thousands.
Gender: "He" was once a man. No more. His reproductive organs are now dead and useless- furthermore, it's impossible to title any of his features as male or female.
Birth Date: The eleventh day of the tenth month.
Race: Born humani, but now he is no more a human than he is a male. Race, gender, sex, age- it is all irrelevant to a Fleshspinner. They are only terms used to describe minuscule physical differences, which become vestigial as soon as one learns to change their makeup.
Alignment: Neutral, but leaning strongly towards Revenant. At the least, you will never see him become a Nephlim.
Appearance
Hair Colour: No hair needed.
Eye Colour: The art of Transcendent Flesh is as of yet far beyond Shertul, but he has learned to shift coloration at will. The shade of his eyes are unpredictable. That being said, he tends to gravitate towards pink and grey.
Face Shape: Shertul prefers to wear a grossly over-sized black cloak in public, to hide his extraneous limbs, but it isn't so easy to cover a face without drawing the very attention one seeks to ignore. His skull, therefore, looks to be almost elfish, riddled with sharp features, angular dives and dagger ears, topped off by an up-pointed knife of a nose. It is a cruel face, a dangerous face.
When asked, he likes to tell people he is only half humani. Most assume the other half is elf. He doesn't bother to correct them.
Though he has a third eye, for seeing magically, he has shaped it so that it blends-in when closed. And though his Fleshspinner symbol is proudly exposed, few outside of magical circles can identify it. The red crown is usually assumed to simply be a complex tattoo.
Skin Tone: A very pale, off-white shade covers most of Shertul's body, while an intricate and interwoven crown of red stripes adorns his forehead like a tattoo. At the center of the sanguine "crown", staring out above his middle eye, is the symbol of the Fleshspinners:
Height: 5'2 feet tall, or roughly 155 centimeters. But he prefers to dip down on all six limbs when not in public.
Weight: 100 pounds / 45 kilograms
Body Type: Slender but toned: the body of a predator, for running after prey in short bursts like a lion, or long hunts as a wolf.
Natural Markings: None. All birthmarks and blemishes were long ago removed, in par with Fleshspinner tradition: "Let your body be immaculate, and without blemish, to show for all your perfection in flesh."
Scar(s): None. As with natural marks, scars are quickly healed over to hide any evidence of flaw.
Tattoo(s): None. Noticing a pattern? Fleshspinners simply change coloration, if they desire to mark themselves, as Shertul has done with the symbol upon his forehead.
Personality:
3 Words: Guilt-ridden, introspective, moody.
Like(s):
Shertul loves all magic. To him, it is the true source of power in this world. It would not surprise him at all to discover that Alithe and Raziel are simply embodiments of magical energy.
Outside of the mystical, he holds a deep respect for the dwarves and their crafts. They, along with humani, are the only race he truly holds as equals.
Dislike(s):
The whole idea of nature. Fleshspinners are often titled "unnatural" by those who consider themselves upright, and so it's no surprise that many of Shertul's kind have simply abandoned that entire bloated concept. This spreads into his views on the treants and elves, plus fuels his abhorrence of those who foolishly believe that forests and jungles should be protected as any more than a resource. There is nothing spiritual or special about a forest: it's simply a collection of plants trying to survive, the same as any living creature. It can also be fairly said that he is not too fond of centaurs, fae and elementals.
He also doesn't like pets. The only animals you shouldn't eat are children.
Want(s): To escape his past, to convince himself that Rayu was wrong- that the Monastery is simply a place of magical study, and that it is no abomination to be what he is.
Deep down, though, there is another ambition which he will not admit to any except himself: to finally abandon his concerns and his search to return to the Monastery, to the only place on this world that has ever been called home.
Fear(s): That Rayu wasn't wrong, that he's already sold his soul to the Revenants. If his life must lead him to that path, he can imagine a world where he does willingly swear himself to Alithe, but he must know that it was willingly. He cannot bear the idea of those years at the Monastery having been all for his recruitment. The thought makes him shudder. But it also sparks an idea.
He is near to mastery of Flesh: he lacks only the most advanced of the most advanced techniques. He's certain he could teach others the art as his masters taught him; he could create his own Monastery, further from the wastelands and un-plagued by the foul shade demons. He may even gather together with other out-cast wizards and wanderers of different magical schools, to add further knowledge. A true, unaligned institute for true, unaligned magic. Such places have existed before and certainly some continue to exist now, but none teach Fleshspinning outside the Monastery.
Favourite...
Colour(s): Pink, white, gray, black.
Time of Day: The nighttime hours most in-between dusk and dawn. He has a habit of watching the stars, and the cool weather is nice in the frequent humidity of a land like Terra.
Food: Everything! Maintaining the extra limbs, magical eyes and ears, poison and disease immunity, blatantly ignoring all the laws of biology... it's a lot of energy. He needs unholy amounts of food to keep up. Starvation is a very real threat.
Animal: The one he is eating.
Place in Terra: The wastelands around the Monastery. The emptiness lends a strange peace, especially on quiet nights.
Skills and Attributes
Skills
Special ablilty/ies:
Shertul is what most call a "Fleshspinner": wizards who have forsaken spell-casting, instead focusing their magic on twisting the shape of their own bodies.
Important note: Anyone can play as a Fleshspinner, or have a character which becomes a Fleshspinner- just let @Jeyma know you are doing it, so that I may insure it matches what I've already written.
Fleshspinning (fleshspinners) is otherwise known as flesh magic (flesh mages), carnality or carnalism (carnalists) and, among scholarly circles, "magical auto-alteration". It is sometimes inaccurately titled "dead necromancy" by those who spread the myths that 'spinners are corpses which have risen themselves from the dead through sheer evil will, then become hideous monsters to eat the bad little children who weren't scared by the boogeymen stories.
General Summary:
((For those who do not have time to read the full description))
"We learn sin by sin, we grow limb by limb." - Death-weaver proverb
Fleshspinners are mages who control their flesh through hidden mysticism: wizards forsaking spell-throwing, instead focusing their power inward, on twisting the shape of their own bodies. They use dark sorcery to distort themselves into monstrous creatures. Spawning mystical eyes, developing strong limbs and nurturing ungodly organs are their way of life. Some are giants- sporting massive, crushing fists and bones that never crack under pressure; others are imps- with eagle's eyes, cunning brains and sickly organs of flight; a few are sirens- beautiful and alluring, hinting but never showing what they truly are.
Regardless of appearance, they tend to share an almost unhealthy obsession in discovering the myriad of transformations they can force their bodies to undergo. In most cases, this leads to unimaginable strength and speed, greater than that of any mundane mortal, yet a sort of withdrawn cowardice in real danger. Their body is their art, they fear to let it come to harm.
It is rare, however, to find any skill that requires more devotion, more concentration, or more time than the path of a carnalist. It is an endlessly patient art. Months or years are demanded to fully develop an organ of sufficient quality, and it is an agonizingly painful process all the while. Furthermore, 'spinners must eat absurd troves of food to satisfy the magic trapped in their veins. And they can never use healing magic, for the light will attempt to "cure" their extra limbs or organs, slowly reverting the would-be patient back to their true body and age. Needless to say, this is deadly for those many who have slowly stretched their lives into centuries.
Yet ironically, if they can avoid "healing", immortality is a simple thing for them. They learn to rid themselves of age a few years into their training. And when you can control your physical self down to even a cellular level, it is no challenge to remove wrinkles and cure aging-induced disease. The greatest sign of years is the wisdom that comes with eons.
If one is brave or desperate enough to seek it out, this is taught in only a single sacred structure in all of Terra: the Monastery of Flesh, rooted right within the border to the Wastelands. It is a fortress of dark-purple bricks held with rough wood, spires standing proudly over the dust and bridges spanning it all. Over two-thousand eternally living and eternally growing carnalists reside in this microcosm of a city, yet somehow every single tower is connected by tunnels or bridges or doors.
It is closed off from the rest of the world to the extent that the Monastery monks have developed a strange culture of their own within those locked gates- a quasi-religious lifestyle bonded so strongly to Alithe that it is sometimes believed this entire doctrine began simply as a magical branch of the Revenants. The original founder of the Monastery still lives, in fact, but it rarely deigns to answer questions.
"Ashes to ashes, waste to the Wastes. The weak vessel dies, a strong flesh rise." - Death-weaver mantra
Power over flesh does not come naturally: it must be granted through dark dances and shadowy spells. There are dozens of these rituals, but three primary: Rebirth, Awakening, and Transcendence.
Rebirth is the beginning of a Fleshspinner's life, Carnal Awakening is their mark of maturity, Transcendence is the twilight of old age- an everlasting twilight, for the immortals.
The Rituals
"Void of vacant soul, one final power to be told" - Death-weaver mantra.
There is much that any carnalist could tell you about fleshspinning. There is much they could explain, and describe, and inform to you. There is much they could say. But there is little they could teach. It is a skill you must be born with. It is also a skill nobody in history has ever been born with. Or at least, nobody is born with it the first time. Instead, the student must undergo the ritual of Rebirth: to be born again. The student must die. Then they will be risen from beyond the reaper's reach, immortal. Those few outsiders who know of the undergoing believe it is proof of the Fleshspinner's existence as twisted undead. Practitioners themselves vehemently deny this. The argument is that their death lasts but a few moments- more akin to a short stop of the heart.
The second grand ritual is the Carnal Awakening. The 'spinner enters a deep meditation- deeper than any occurring without magic. No warning is given to those who undergo until the very morning it happens, before the sun has even risen over the Wastes, when guards in black cloaks came to drag them from their beds and enter them into a featureless, dark, empty room without any food or even a change of clothes. Then the door is locked, and they do not leave for years. They are kept alive only by the magics of the tower. And there they meditate, for years on end, locked in thought. When their eye(s) open, decades later, they cannot recognize themselves: new limbs, new organs, different bodies. This is typically done in close-knit groups- friends, mates, family- so that they may feed of eachother's mystic energy.
Finally, there is Transcendence. At the completion of this last ritual, all boundaries fall. Sustenance is drawn directly from pure magic, removing any need for food or any limitations to their physical power. They can grow and change organs and limbs with no delay or pain, shifting from one form to another in flashing speed. It should come as no shock: this gift is offered only to those who are hundreds or thousands of years old. One must prove themselves with the eons. The controversy runs deep, but even a few practitioners swear that Transcendence rids the target of the soul- tears the spirit right out of their waiting body, to finally free the flesh.
In the many thousand year history of the Monastery, but a handful of practitioners have ever completed all three rituals- all seven of them still live today, buried somewhere deep in those halls.
Only a select few are chosen to grant the rituals, in darkened under-chambers during the all-consuming nightfalls of the Wasteland. These are death-weavers- those blessed, blessed, endlessly blessed few carnalists who can still channel magic out of their bodies. They are the weavers to the spinners.
Body spells are a macabre art. Learning of them before you have died is forbidden. Only the flesh-spinners and the death-weavers know their true nature, and none have ever convinced one to tell either by coercion or by torture or by threat of death.
"Harder than bone, faster than flesh; the double-edged sword means life and death." - Death-weaver proverb
Strengths of Fleshspinners
-Fleshspinners are stronger and faster than even a warrior of any race. They can match a centaur's sprint, they can stand unbroken against a treant's blow; swords do not pierce their skin, hammers shatter before their bones. They are the masters of melee.
-These creatures heal with unnatural quickness. Fatal wounds are gone in an hour or two. Those who have achieved transcendence have been known to heal so quickly that they simply cannot be killed by anything short of the most potent archmages.
-Their senses reach a capacity unseen in mortal creatures. Most of this art see, hear, smell and feel the world around them in ways others can't begin to understand. There's no such thing as surprising a 'spinner.
-It should be assumed that, if there is a physical function which might be useful, the mages of the Monastery have already mastered it. Turning their heads around like an owl, unhinging the jaw like a snake, running on all fours like an animal, howling like a wolf...
-There has rarely been a poison brewed or a disease discovered that will kill one. The only substances which a carnalist's body allows are those made by masterful alchemists. Their body rejects typical herbs and chemicals as soon as any effect is felt. Of course, this also means that most medicines are useless to them as well. They cannot even get drunk- they will urinate the alcohol right back out.
Weaknesses of Fleshspinners
-Fleshspinners must eat constantly. Half a day without food drives them mad. One day withers them into a coma. Two days ends them. The longer without food, the weaker their bodies and their minds.
-Without powerful medication or the easing magics of the Monastery, the agony of slow bone growth becomes overwhelming. They must gather these painkiller potions from special alchemists who have learned to brew substances that will not be rejected by a carnalist's body.
-They can never use healing magic or have it applied to them, as the healing energies will attempt to "heal" their extra limbs and organs, slowly reverting the would-be patient back to their true body and age. Some claim this lends more credibility to the argument that fleshspinners are simply an advanced form of undead.
-To add insult to injury, they're as sterile as a hospital. The Rebirth ritual rids the beneficiary/victim of any potential for children. Most carnalists, luckily contrary to that title, are more concerned with improving their own flesh than breeding with another's. Worse still, those who become a 'spinner before puberty never hit it at all. No sex drive.
-There has rarely been a poison brewed or a disease discovered that will kill one. The only substances which a carnalist's body allows are those made by masterful alchemists. Their body rejects typical herbs and chemicals as soon as any effect is felt. Of course, this also means that most medicines are useless to them as well. They cannot even get drunk- the alcohol will urinate right back out.
-Magic is incredibly potent on beings such as these, who are essentially made of magic. Spells interact explosively with the dark energy of their existence. That is literal: a Fleshspinner may burst into flame at the will of a skilled wizard. When magic is in the air, the monks are running.
-Being dark mages themselves and vulnerable to spellcraft, Raziel's anti-magic runes are particularly vicious for them. A carnalist can rarely enter Wellborough without death or trauma: they are almost made of magic.
-It is such an intensely personal experience, relying on such intimate knowledge of one's individual biology, that they cannot transfer their powers to any others. This includes the dead. Many a necromancer has discovered Fleshspinning in joy, only to have it turn into bitter disappointment.
-Finally, none can use any magic outside of Fleshspinning. Only the mysterious death-weavers can sew both together- they are an enigma even to others of their kind.
Shertul spent decades in meditation, slowly changing his body. His bones have gotten both harder and lighter, his skin smoothed out, his hair fell out, his senses became attuned to the flow of magic throughout the world so that he can literally hear and see it, he grew a working pair of gills, he developed clawed and webbed fingers, and perhaps most surprising, he sprouted a full set of extra arms. He could suddenly move with lightening speed and strength.
The only organs he could not develop were wings. Most small Fleshspinners create wings for themselves at some point, but Shertul never could. He earnestly tried, for years upon years, yet flight never came. He still looks on Corvi and Air Elementals with a bitter jealousy.
Unfortunately, the lifetime of devotion spent creating his flesh as it is now equally means that he cannot easily change it again. While he heals with indomitable speed, truly growing new limbs or changing the chemical makeup of his body would still take months or years for every change. Fleshspinning is an endlessly patient process.
And, of course, all this comes at a cost: the slow change is also a painful one. Without herbal medication (read: potions), the pain becomes overwhelming. Furthermore, Shertul can never use healing magic or have it applied to him, as the healing energies will attempt to "heal" his extra limbs and organs, slowly reverting him back to a normal humani. An eighty-one years old normal humani.
Adding insult to injury, he must eat constantly. While Shertul has always been thin and short, all that he has added to his body by magical needs forces him to consume even more food than a "natural" being would. In a sense, he's feeding the magic as much as he's feeding himself. Starvation is a constant, all-encompassing threat whenever he takes the risk of leaving civilization. Even a day without food would be incapacitating, and two would mean certain death.
On the bright side, if he doesn't starve to death or allow himself to be "healed", he'll live forever.
Good at...:
The Monastery has a bad habit of only teaching magic, and only flesh-magic at that. Very few practical skills were learnt in Shertul's eight decades of life. His only true skill is an incredible gift both hunting and fighting, though this comes not from skill but from biology. He is unfairly strong and fast, so much so that it covers his lack of practical experience.
Bad at...:
Everything. He can't cook, he can't build, he can't sew or clean or manage time. It's a wonder he can walk. When it comes to day-to-day abilities, Shertul is lost.
Traits
Good Habit(s):()
Perhaps it was those years of meditation, but Shertul has more patience than any humani you'll ever meet.
Bad Habit(s):
He has a habit of taking everything too seriously. His only humor is an occasional jest about his fleshly abilities, usually followed with a tell-tale wink. Serious, moody, and dramatic till the end.
Another habit: he tends to be wordy. Everything he said is explained and re-explained using the most verbose terms he can think up.
Also, he constantly steals food off of other people's plate. No meal is safe! He'll point in another direction and, before you know what's happening, the flesh-mage has swallowed up your whole meal.
In his defense, he'll die if he doesn't.
On a lighter note, he tends to click his claws together when he's nervous.
History
The Past
Shertul's origin may sound odd to those who spawn from the lush forests and gentle streams of Raziel's land, but for the few who take residence in the Wastes, it is a common story.
He was born to a tribe of wandering nomads. No destination. No origin that anyone can remember. They traveled in path with the few prey animals that survived in the desolation of Alithe's lands, living out of animal-skin tents and simple spears.
It was a rough life. Nobody grew fat, nobody grew old; some didn't grow up. Shertul was small. They all knew he would not survive.
The day his fate changed was the day he saw it on the horizon: a fortress of dark spires, rising proudly over the wastes. It was surrounded by shadow demons, even more than normal for the Wastelands, and a strange, totally indescribable aura was felt from it. His young eyes, only a decade old, had never see anything like it. So powerful, so frightening. He's hands latched to his mother. She saw his fear and tried to comfort him, but she didn't hide the truth.
It was at that young age he learned of the Monastery of Flesh, a institution altogether glorious and terrifying. His tribe explained to him that it was a city of magical "abominations", thousands of them, living unnatural lives that could lead only to destruction.
The more she said, though, the less Shertul heard. He was already entranced. Before the spires were even out of site, he was begging to join. His child's mind couldn't understand their objections. It sounded like a warm place, with food to spare and beds to rest and magic to entrance.
Most parents won't understand what his mother did next.
She let him go. Not because he was ready, and certainly not because she changed her mind about the Monastery, but because she knew it was the only real chance he had at a life. Not a normal life, to be sure, but a life better than feeding on scraps out in the waste.
When he arrived, two monks were already waiting on him. Their mutated eyes had seen him coming a mile away. They introduced him to the masters of the Monastery, who explained to him what this place truly was. The people there, the "monks", learned a macabre magic forbidden in other realms: Fleshspinning. The name alone almost made Shertul vomit, but he stomached it and listened.
It was a very old order, a very strange one, that taught to keep magic wholly contained within yourself. Fleshspinner's bodies literally traps the mystic energies like a cage, soaking them up to infuse it right into their own flesh. In this manner, they can forcibly alter their bodies in a myriad of ways. They can grow new limbs, wings, gills, and more. They can harden or soften their skin, and learn to perceive with senses lost on all others.
It frightened the young Shertul, but it was already far too late to catch up with his tribe. He had to stay, like it or not.
Before he could become a wizard, however, he had to become a scholar. He had to learn.
Reading and writing were lost arts on his people, but the Monastery educated him. They showed him what civilization meant. How could he not be loyal? So when the day came that he was offered the choice- either become a Fleshspinner or leave the Monastery forever, alone- he threw away his tribe's warnings and accepted without a thought.
From then, the years flew by. Shertul discovered that time moves differently for an immortal. Months were the blink of an eye. Years meant nothing.
But even in the blur of immortal life, he met a companion who's nature complimented his own: Rayu. She was, like him, raised in a life nothing like the Monastery. The similarities ended there, but sometimes opposites attract.
Fleshspinners rarely reproduce. Their relationship was not sexual. But it was emotionally intense, in a way that can only be related to by those who have endured those friendships that last decades. Shertul honestly believed that he could never betray her.
But he could.
On one night like any other, Rayu and Shertul were looking out a window when a light appeared on the horizon. White. Blinding. It was growing brighter. Screams sounded off. Shadow demons flocked to it like sparrows. What could have only been a few seconds (but felt like hours) went past before Shertul could see clearly. A Nephilim had found itself surrounded in the Wastelands, and it was hardly a shock that that the Shades were feeding.
It was a shock when one of the Monastery masters, named Erison, leaped from the window to join in on the fight. There was no warning. The master simply ran to the Nephlim and began tearing into it like a beast. The shades held it to the ground while the Fleshspinner ripped it apart.
When the melee cleared enough for Rayu and Shertul to finally tear their eyes away, he was surprised to find her angry. It took him hours to get the answer out of her, but apparently, Rayu was infuriated that a master Fleshspinner would get involved with the Nephilim/Revenant war.
"It wouldn't be a problem," she said, "except... remember Vona?"
Shertul nodded. Vona was a high-ranking Fleshspinner who, a few years prior, had been banished from the . The reason cited was "It is improper for a flesh-mage to enter into a religious war." But if that's the case, why was the Monastery overlooking Erison's unprovoked attack on a Nephilim? Why was he not banished?
He tried to calm her down, but Rayu just went on and on about it, and the more she ranted the angrier she made herself. She told the Fleshspinner leaders, but nothing was done. Even Shertul didn't seem to care (and he didn't- what a Spinner does on his own time is nobody else's business).
It came to a head two weeks later. Consumed with conviction that the Fleshspinners were just a magical arm of the Revenants, and the entire student-body was secretly being recruited, Rayu stole away dozens of irreplaceable scrolls and books from the library. She told Shertul in a hushed whisper that she would flee to the forests of Terra, or perhaps the home of the Corva. There, with no Revenants or Fleshspinners or master Erisons to stop them, him and her could build a new place of flesh-magic: a true, unaligned institute for true, unaligned learning.
Her eyes were so bright with hope, but Shertul's stayed as cold as stone.
He only said one word, "No", and her heart was broken. Still, it wouldn't be enough. He couldn't let her betray the Monastery of Flesh. He couldn't let throw everything they had away.
And so, with a heart full of guilt and hands shaking with trepidation, he betrayed out his only friend. He told the Monastery masters. Shertul was assured by them many times: something would be done, he had nothing to worry about, just go to sleep and let the masters speak to Ruya themselves.
When he awoke, the morning sun was streaming peacefully through the narrow windows, and his closest love's blood was splattered on the walls. She was gone. Rips of the stolen scrolls littered across the floor.
Ask as he might, many times, the masters would never tell him what happened. Did she live? Did she die? Did she fight them first, or was she attacked in cold blood? He could feel his dear masters growing in hostility with each question. He had only two choices left: live in peace, never knowing what became of Ruya and if she's even alive, or flee and search for her alone.
The Monastery was everything to him, but he couldn't stay there, haunted by the ghost of Rayu. If she was wrong about the Monastery, he could forgive himself. But if she wasn't? If she survived the attack, he could forgive himself. But if she didn't?
He had to know. He left his home, in search of the lands he knew she would move to if her flesh was still moving.
The Present
Shertul hasn't forgotten what happened at the Monastery, nor can he, until he discovers the truth. Either he'll find Rayu out in the world, or his journeys will finally teach him the wisdom to forgive himself. Until then, he's cursed by guilt to keep looking for a friend he may never find.
He has been in the forest for a long time now. Longer than he can remember. Longer than he wants to remember. Occasionally, he comes across a fae or elven or centaurian habitat, and they'll allow him to stay for a day or two. But he can never linger- they will eventually find out what he is, why he's there.
So he keeps his feet moving and his ears open.
Memories
It is rare to find any lifestyle that requires more devotion, more concentration, or more time than the path of a Fleshspinner. This has been especially true for Shertul.
Shertul, accompanied all the while by his dearest friend Rayu, once performed a rite known as the Carnal Awakening. No warning was given to them until the very morning it happened, before the sun had even risen over the Wastes, when guards in black cloaks came to drag them from their beds and enter them into a featureless, dark, empty room without any food or even a change of clothes.
Then the door was locked, and they would not leave for years.
They were kept alive only by the magics of the tower. And there they meditated, for years on end, locked in thought. While they sat in a trance, the seasons changed, people were born and buried, buildings were built and crumbled.
Twenty years later, when the rusted old door finally creaked open again, they lifted their eyes and couldn't recognize themselves. They found that they could now see and hear magic, not just sense it vaguely, and that they were aware of their surroundings in ways that they couldn't fathom before. Life was full of things that they felt had always been there, but they were noticing for the first time. Shertul had grown gills and arms and even a third eye. Rayu sat admiring her leathery, bat-like wings.
Nyle is a person you wouldn't expect to see playing an instrument and would be more interested in things that would suit a person of his stature. Supporting a bulky build as if he was like a lumberjack or something similar, combined with his height of 5'11 and weight makes him quite intimidating. Gained through this travels of various rough incidents which has conditioned his body to be accustomed to the hardy life on the road. His fair colored skin had been tanned as a sign of outdoors traveling but doesn't have a noticeable end spot unless you want to dig further... With wide shoulders and bulky arms that are muscular and unsuspectingly perfect at supporting his control over playing his music with the violin. With short dark brown hair and supporting a respectable beard along with hair in other places that only makes it more surprising when he shows his ability to play music as a musician. His nature all in all makes him out to be like a gentle giant, yet having the charm and confidence to pull this off even better. It contrasts to what you would normally expect a musician to be like or the typical bard to represent, but even the musically gifted has its few odd eggs whether its good or bad is up to you...
Basic Information
Full Name: Nyle Brentwood
Age: 34
Gender: Male
Birth Date: 17th of June
Race: Human with traces of elven blood and even less fae blood
Alignment: Neutral
Appearance
Hair Colour: Dark earthly brown locks of hair that looks natural
Eye Colour: Cool haselnut coloured eyes that matches his hair almost
Face Shape: A normal shaped head like an oval and angular at the chin but its not like you can see it much
Skin Tone: He has fair skin that is neither too pale or too tan
Height: 5'11
Weight: 217
Body Type: Musclar, imagine a lumberjack...
Natural Markings: None
Scar(s): None
Tattoo(s): None
Personality
3 Words: Talented Charming Artist
Like(s):
Pursuit of his musical studies, practice, and career that he's been building
The sound of music of any kind so long as the musician has pride
Watching the days pass by and what the day presents when he has nothing to do
On other days flirting with people to spice things up for fun and enjoyment
Competition usually puts him on his A-game, especially if it's for a person he likes
Dislike(s):
Being called not having a 'real' profession by people as a musician
Having to go through the cycles of drama (cliches) even though he might be interested in what's going on
When being called inferior to somebody which makes him agitated at them
Want(s):
People who listen to his music to enjoy it and themselves while he's playing it
Maybe even having a cute face on his bed to look at when he wakes up wouldn't hurt
A happy and good life in general whether it ends bad or good, as long the adventure makes up for it
Fear(s):
The complete removal of music from his life which is his soul's work and would be devastating to abandon it
Favourite...
Colour(s):
Colours to him are simply colours which he has no favortism on except for darker shades which he gravitates to for clothing. On occasion, maybe something lighter to add a pop of attention should he ever desire it for a change.
Time of Day:
Whenever he gets to play or practice is the Time of Day that he likes and besides, he is a night owl and early bird anyways.
Food:
Whatever is on the table is graciously eaten as he has no preference on what he specifically likes to eat if given a choice. Back in his younger days, he did have finer taste, but now he's humble enough to eat anything (for the most part).
Animal:
Songbirds for the music they can create from what nature gave them.
Foxes and their cunning along with whatever the cute vicious things do in the wild.
Wolves admirable for their almost majestic nature in the wild and their surprising size compared to domesticated dogs.
Cats and Dogs are the pets that mankind raised! Its hard not to call them cute no matter what kind they are whether it be cat or dog.
Place in Terra:
The forests of Terra are one of the best place to play his music as it echoes for miles if you're lucky. It's quite peaceful out there as well, and you never know who's listening.
Town centers are the most populated areas to play for people to take notice of you and test if your song is good or not and if rusty.
Taverns in the right places and cilents have a certain feeling to them when playing inside them, a community in the night dedicated to drinking, music, and whatever charades they're up to.
Skills and Attributes
Skills
Special ablilty/ies: Nyle possesses a magical ability known as 'The Genius', which is a mysterious supernatural power that allows those who are granted it the ability to master their chosen instrument. Bearers of this supernatural gift are rare and even rarer to discover their nature which makes them near nonexistent that makes their magic a mystery. Nyle himself knows about the unconscious ability that he has within him that acts like a sixth sense for music that are a part of his instincts in a sense. In short, they are people who can transcend music and even magic upon nearing mastering their instrument that can produce miraculous effects. Those who have a Genius can be considered different from Bards, as they seem like they have the essence of 'music' born into them. Consider it an affinity for music that is a combination of possessing the natural ability to perform music beautifully along with inborn magical or a higher source that makes them even more inclined to play music on a whole different level.
The Genius itself is like a very heightened instinct that a musician has with their chosen instrument, should they let it rust then it becomes incapable of being used properly. It's possible that a bearer of a Genius can become worse than those who do not have one due to the lack of care for taking care of this ability. As some could call this 'instinct' itself as sentient when they form a bond so strong to the music itself that causes a change in emotion with the bearer itself when sating one's musical appetite per say.
To push this ability beyond what the musician is possible as well as required to train it like a muscle, but at the same time tires them out at the same time. Starting from the bottom, they would begin as intuitively quick musicians who would learn their favored instrument quickly and start rolling faster from there. Developing their musical skills and unconsciously tugging the use of this ability every single moment that they are playing. This ability eventually evolves into a constant and passive thing, music and songs will arrive into their heads naturally as the environment stimulates them musically. At a point, those who bear this gift eventually realize this 'behavior' of theirs and begin to have the ability to consciously utilize this power.
People who are bearers to a Genius are sensitive to each other and are influenced by each other both in a positive and negative whichever one of them chooses. One could steal emotional energy from another or together they could enhance their music beyond what both of them are capable of doing to perform what certainly would be a miracle of music. However, due to the rarity of bearers, this is something that would be rare to happen between two musicians. Furthermore, contact between a Genius and a person who doesn't have one could also be possible through the use of emotions directed at them as a vague feeling of intent. This 'Genius' that these musicians have could be related in a sense to rare powers of psionics but in its entirety is impossible.
Either way, this ability of theirs could be called a sensitive nature to music that allows them to play music to the point of being heavenly and supernatural in itself. A talent that comes from the Gods or God some would say but it is debatable in whether it's considered something magical or extends into the other mysteries that supernatural has and entirely debatable due to the rarity of the skill.
All in all- whoever is a bearer of a Genius is an exceptionally good musician.
<Also should be noted that this idea isn't mine but I like it a lot and if you want to know where I got it just ask...>
Good at...:
Music, which is his life and passion which had come so naturally. He specializes in playing his violin and most of his skills that he's honed are related to what he does as a musician.
Reading emotions and body language is a skill that Nyle has which is like an intuition of reading the atmosphere when he plays music and using on the social scene. As a musician, he focuses on a more emotional tone to his music that grants them feeling.
Even without an instrument, Nyle is skilled at entertaining a group of people by simply with his personality that attracts people to him with his smile. On stage, he is able to excite even a dull crowd into having an interest in what he is playing.
Despite his interest in music, he also keeps himself in shape with various physical activities that have shaped himself up to pass inspection. Besides, people are more attracted to those who have a better figure than those who don't. Things that he do are like horse-back riding, the occasional sparring session, manual labor, and whatever else that is thrown his way. In general, he doesn't look like a person who would be a musician from how athletically built he is.
Bad at...:
Being biased as he likes to take a side during an argument if it feels right to him
Having to keep his mouth shut because he's a talker
Traits
Good Habit(s):
Well mannered and curtious with the propper etiquite to not offend anyone usually
Friendly to everyone he meets even if they're strangers or meeting for the first time
Bad Habit(s):
Despite his manners, he is judgemental and two-faced, but it's not like they have to know
Keeping to his own principals which make him a hypocrite should anyone notice
History
The Past
Nyle was born to a relatively normal family if you cut out the fact they were nobility, low ranking but still had their titles granted to them. His family didn't live in Wellborough due to the magical protection it had and thus lived elsewhere where they were able to revel in the magical arts. They lived in one of the bigger towns that were en route to Wallborough and had been living there ever since what his grandfather knew when Nyle asked him. His family while all practitioners of magic and frequent guests to the court, weren't all impressive or specialized to garner any attention. However, his mother was one of the representatives of the Humani and thus was the reasons why they could be called nobles in the first place. Yet, she wasn't the first to recieve the position from within their family as it seemed like each one of their family members seems to have obtained the title each time the position opened up. It was no doubt a huge plot that the family ran, but Nyle didn't understand at the time and later wouldn't care for it either. Grandfather was a battle mage who in his younger days sparred with the other young men who had his fair share of wins and losses, while Grandmother was a healer who used the magical arts to cure ailments and brewed potions to supplement this as well. Mother herself was an enchanter who navigated through the court and made deals with what she could with her abilities which is how she got to her current position while Father was also a battle mage who focused on the elemental magics and had his own assortment of wins and losses.
With magic flowing through their blood as if it was natural, it wasn't unexpected when Mother and Father had children who were able to pick up the arcane arts. Apparently, it was due to their lineage being intertwined with several elves who married into the family that then mixed their blood together with ours. However, after many generations, the prominence of their elvish traits disappeared as their family retained their humani features but still had a trace of elven blood and whatever else was in there. With this background, it gave birth to three children that Mother and Father had to raise along with the Grandparents finally having grandchildren to look after.
The three children all came to use their magical talents but were supplementary only to their pursuits they placed first. Megan was the oldest and the only girl who focused on being an enchanter only after her training as a knight, using magic to reinforce her physical abilities. Then there was Shaun who was the older son who focused on illusions and was quite talented but eventually disappeared from the family slowly for unknown reasons. Nyle himself was the youngest and a practitioner of magic but it only came as an unexpected boon when he wanted to become a musician. It was an unknown kind of magic but Mother deduced it was similar in a sense to what enchanters do but simply with music instead, however, that was a meager explanation. His dreams of being a musician were given a tight smile and placed onto the back burner of his education while they raised Nyle. However, only through the intervention of his Grandfather allowed the implementation of a music tutor into his education to hone his musical desires.
At the age of 18, he had already undergone all the education that other children of nobles went through and finished them. While certainly a smart child who understood the topics that were being taught but his cleverness shown when he composed his own musical pieces and even gave dull repetition a breath of life when he played. The praise that was given by his musical teachers were simply waved to the side as they gave polite responses before dismissing him for the final time. Now that he was finally free to do what 'he wanted', his parents were expectantly waiting for what Nyle wished to pursue his occupation. His older sister became a knight and served as a warrior to fight off threats that came to light, while his brother went into the shadier business but was successful and soon Nyle himself was expected to become something and succeed. It was obvious when voicing his desire to become a musician wasn't going to be a talk going to go well and went exactly as he thought it would go. An argument broke out and eventually lead to a period of silence between him and his parents, seeking out to make his own future beyond the watch of his parents.
Abandoning his lavish life, even as a low ranking noble was hard as it removed many of the luxuries that he was used to but managed for himself. The first few months were hard but he was definitely noticed for his emotional music pieces that ranged from originals to the common ones that everyone knew. However, his adventurous spirit took him to many other places where he visited and brought the bewitching songs he played along with him. One of the many fond memories of his travels was at the Lake of Terra, where he camped with the mischievous fae and the water elementals for several days simply watching them and talking to them. Eventually, one night he brought out his violin and began stringing a song together that brought even the fae to a momentary hush before joining in. Together, they made a night of lights and sparkles filled with the music of Nyle's violin that was played until the early morning that exhausted everyone. Later that evening, he was invited to play but instead inside Norione Village by the inhabitants who were jealous of the party down the waterfall they weren't invited to. Accepting the offer, as he was assisted by the water elementals and fae to scaling the tricky path before later that night playing once more. After the second night, Nyle himself left once the morning of the third day came upon him and resumed his travels.
Along his journies, he hit many of the major civilization and made more than enough to support his lifestyle of travel. Some of his performances were taken place in taverns like the ones he did in Volkungthad where the home of the dwarves was, other were in finer establishments during his visit to the Aelarian Peninsula where the Corvi and Wind Elementals habited. Others took place in the remote forests of Terra, where he traveled with merchants to obscure villages that lived in the wild. Then there some places where he wouldn't have dare had expected to play, such as the graveyards that bordered The Wastelands as a festival to honor the dead of all kinds. It was a bit frightening when a small crowd of shadow demons was watching and listening from afar, but beyond that, it went fairly normal as it could be. Despite the uncertainty that the next day might bring, he enjoyed the lifestyle had had as he traveled the Land of Terra and experience many things that he was sure to have missed from his place with his family.
The Present
Nyle in the present is perhaps more famous than he was when he ambitiously set off from his family's estate and went to pursue his dreams of being a musician. However, the course of his journey, his 'need' to be a great musician disappeared with simply wishing people to enjoy what he played and to hone his skills with music as well. So it can be ambiguous if he is indeed has gained a reputation for being a musician or not from his lack of promoting himself. He has done little to promote his name except for simply giving it when asked if anyone was interested and little more. Of course, throughout his journies he had attracted the attention with people of power which had given hive quite a hefty pay for performing but little else. He had no interest in politics (for the most part) and sought to ignore the brewing troubles as he himself tried to brighten the air. It is of little note that over the course of his journey, he should be more than capable of handling his retirement from the gifts of his few bewitched admirers and dedicated fans who remember him even if he had passed by several years ago, it's not surprising.
His journey right now has lead him from the far edges of Terra back to his home as he made his rounds from where the caravans and travelers went. Visiting back to his home, as he had repaired his relationship with them several years back before his Grandparents passed away. They had grown older but still kicking as they were still scheming with their political plans but that didn't interest him much. It was family time and thus he went on to see his other siblings if they were still around. His sister, Megan was doing fine and even had a husband despite her rough ways and even had two boys who were twins! His brother, on the other hand, was gone, not like he was expecting him to be there but it was a hopeful thought. It gave Nyle a small chuckle when he received a letter the next day about him and his search for Shaun, which the letter was clearly from. The letter itself was mostly small talk but it was neat to know that his brother was alive but just doing whatever he does again.
He would be staying at his family's estate for a few days and perhaps play for one of his parent's parties but leave soon ofter. He was planning to head toward the city of Wellborough and buy some things that he would bring back as gifts once the appropriate bands of merchants or travelers got together for a certain direction. The cycle of his travels would begin once more and would eventually lead him back here, year after year. It wasn't a safe lifestyle but perhaps that's what you could say adventurers did, or that's at least what they called themselves when he traveled with a bunch like that.
Hair Colour: Blonde Eye Colour: Blue Face Shape: Oval Skin Tone: Fair Height: 5'5"/167cm Weight: 60kg / 132lbs Body Type: Slender Natural Markings: Birthmark of what appears the Revenant crest on inner left thigh. Scar(s): Nil Tattoo(s): Nil
Colour(s): White, blue Time of Day: Midday Food: Mutton steak. Bleu. Animal: Lamb Place in Terra: The Lake
Skills and Attributes
Skills
Special Ablilty: Animal Magnet: Sophia has a strange affinity with animals for a humani, and can seemingly communicate with them. This is rather useful for herding. Good at...: Herding animals. Bad at...: Cooking. Her cooking could more than likely kill a man.
Traits
Good Habit(s):Always being on time Bad Habit(s): Nail biting, fidgeting, impatience
History
The Past
No-one quite knows where Sophia came from, for she just appeared one day out of nowhere. A young child that could have been no older than five had suddenly appeared out in the middle of the forest; it was strange for a humani child to even be outside of Wellborough, let alone simply appearing deep within a the Terran forests. Sophia hasn't offered a single explanation, feigning amnesia simply so she wouldn't have to delve into her mysterious past.
The girl never settled anywhere, simply coming and going as she so pleased; sometimes she would disappear for days at a time and then return as if nothing had happened. Sometimes she slept in the homes of generous citizens, no matter what settlement it was; before she was even twelve, Sophia was labelled as a world traveller, although it didn't grant much more than a fancy title and some awe and respect.
As soon as she was old enough to pick up a tool, Sophia volunteered herself to work as a farmhand for the farming region on the outskirts of Wellborough. Of course, she wasn't paid much, but she was offered food and shelter when she so desired.
The Present
Many years later, Sophia still works as a farmhand, bouncing from farm to farm each day: It seemed that Sophia simply worked whenever she wanted, but no-one seems to mind, for when she actually did work, she always went above and beyond with her duties: She has become the master of herding, and is more often than not the first thought of when such a task needed to be completed. Some days however, Sophia simply prefers to laze about or wander about Terra and it's towns, simply re-exploring her surroundings.
It isn't known where Sophia lives, for she just... disappears at night without a trace: Not even the greatest trackers could find where she'd run off to, if they had even bothered to try in the first place. There are rumors to where she goes, each more far-fetched than the last: Some think she lives in a tree in the forest, some think she lives in a cave somewhere, and some even believe that she's just a spirit that can't be seen at night. Of course Sophia will brush off any theories, again refusing to disclose her residence, claiming for it to be out of privacy concerns.
Basic Information
Full Name: Sariandi Farzorwyn Age: 197 Gender: Female Rebirth Date: 15/03 Race: Dark Elf then Revenant Alignment: Revenant - Commander of Alithe's army.
The dark elves are the result of generations of Revenant-aligned elves escaping the lush lands of Terra, preferring to instead reside in the large deathly fields of the Wasteland. Due to their surroundings, dark elves evolved to blend in with their barren environment, the colour of their skin and hair blackening; however, there is a rare gene among some bloodlines resulted in all members of the family having absolutely no pigment in their hair. Due to their locality, dark elves are incredibly sensitive to light, and many prefer to not stray into the living Terran lands where the light hails supreme.
As dark elves hail from The Wastelands, they do not have close ties to the earth as their forest-dwelling counterparts; over time, dark elves have lost most of their affinity in magic - very few are able to conjure magic, and so the dark elves are viewed more as a fighter race than as mages.
Appearance
Hair Colour: Snow white. Eye Colour: Lavender Face Shape: Gaunt Skin Tone: Ash grey Height: 210cm / 5'11" Weight: 100kg / 220lbs Body Type: Athletic Natural Markings: N/A Tattoo(s): N/A Scar(s): Sariandi's body is covered in numerous battle scars that she had aquired in her life. She surprisingly isn't proud of them, so she goes great lengths to cover them.
Personality
3 Words: Stoic, Stubborn, Aloof Like(s): The shadows of the Wasteland, dwarves, treants (just because of their appearance and power). Dislike(s): Flowers - flowers can burn.
Want(s): To be rid of the sun, so all of Terra is bathed in darkness. Fear(s):Raziel winning the war and destroying her homelands with light.
Favourite...
Colour(s): Black and white Time of Day: Night - at least then the rest of Terra resembles her homelands. Food: Sariandi doesn't enjoy food - she simply eats to survive. Animal: Crow Place in Terra: The Wastelands
Skills and Attributes
Skills
Special ablilty/ies: Sariandi doesn't have any affinity for magic, so she instead focuses on her physical capabilities: Sariandi fights with a simple half-sword and kunai knives. Having trained in combat since she could even pick up a dagger, Sarandi has nearly 200 years of fighting proficiency, making her a force to be reckoned with. Good at...: Combat and weapon proficiency. Bad at...: Literally everything else.
Traits
Good Habit(s):Fearlessness, providing excellent leadership Bad Habit(s): Impatience, quick to anger, never cleans up (it's below her).
History
The Past
Sariandi refuses to disclose anything about her past, claiming that "life before Alithe held no purpose, and thus does not matter." Sariandi bravely journeyed to Alithe's domain at the young age of fourteen, refusing to take no for an answer. Though Alithe generally thought little of weak "younglings," Alithe seemed to see a little of herself in the angry elfling, and allowed the child to reside in her Villa, though she didn't allow the girl to be turned as she had deemed her to be too young to be able to survive the process.
Sariandi, much to her delight, was still trained as a Revenant soldier regardless of her mortal status - and she was a natural. It seemed that the mortal elf child had no trouble keeping up with her enhanced peers, and so earned the respect of those around her.
Sariandi fought her first battle at the age of sixteen: Her group was lead to attack a small settlement of Nephlim families, slaughtering the wives and children of Raziel's men. Of course, there was some... resistance. Not many survived that day, and Sariandi (along with few others) returned to the Villa gravely injured.
Alithe, in a rare moment that all but her would deem "care", decided that then was the moment to change Sariandi - to save her body, Sariandi unhesitatingly paid the price of her soul.
Sariandi found little joy in life, but with a sword in her hand and a Revenant crest on her skin, she was the happiest that she'd ever been.
The Present
Sariandi has now risen to the rank of Commander of Alithe's army, and can sometimes be considered as Alithe's right-hand. She seldom leaves the Wastelands, instead remaining behind and training new troops to Alithe's army. Now and then she will take part in larger raids against Nephlim encampments and villages.
In the background, she is working with Alithe to plan a full-scale attack on the Nephlim and Raziel himself.
Memories
* Her first battle. * Finally being turned Revenant. * Earning the title of Commander.
Full Name: Gellert Formonde Age: 47 (so he claims) Gender: Male Birth Date: 01/01 Race: Humani Alignment: Neutral
Appearance
Hair Color: Grey Eye Color: Beady blue Face Shape: Square, chiseled, a light stubble covering his chin and lining his jawline Skin Tone: Pale olive Height: 182 cm/5'9" Weight: 75 kg/165 lb Body Type: Muscular, battle-worn Natural Markings: None Scar(s): A singular gash across the left side of his lips, several old scars on his chest and back Tattoo(s): One on his right shoulder; black outline of a lidded eye lined with inverse pentagramic spikes (img)
Personality
Gellert is nothing but a mysterious figure. Often coming as swiftly as the rain and vanishing without a trace just as fast, he's demure, mysterious and strictly professional with his dealings. No matter how hard you try, you'll find it almost impossible to get into his head. His thoughts are a mystery to everyone but himself and only the most perceptive can outline a pattern in his seemingly erratic and unpredictable judgment. Usually a quiet man who keeps to himself and doesn't let anyone pry at his past, Gellert has a penchant for wit and sarcastic remarks whenever he is stuck into a conversation. Generally, he doesn't go around and pick fights with people he knows to have no quarrel with. Despite his known profession as a shady mercenary and bounty hunter, he's quite peace-loving out of the job and a pleasant man all around. Just very, very intimidating, even when he doesn't mean to.
3 Words: Witty, Unpredictable, Scary Like(s): The woods, kids, good music, magic (sleight of hand, not sorcery), money, alcohol Dislike(s): Minstrels, criminals of any sort, wanton destruction, swimming, arrogance, being disrespected
Want(s): Family, home and a peaceful life Fear(s): Drowning
Favorite...
Color(s): Grey Time of Day: Evening Food: Roasted river mackerel on a stick Animal: Wolf Place in Terra: Norione Village
Skills and Attributes
Skills
Special ability(s): Gellert wants to keep this under wraps as much as possible (for the shock value), but he is able to shapeshift into a number of various animals. Specifically, a wolf, an owl and a frog. Transformations take about a second at most and last indefinitely as long as he has energy and consciousness.
Good at...: Swordsmanship, primarily. Gellert is an exemplar fighter and can overpower most opponents in an honorable one-on-one duel. His stay at Norione Village gave him the knowledge of water magic. He is also good at simple cooking, stealth, lying and combat acrobatics.
Bad at...: Archery. Gellert has always been fascinated the rangers of the wood and wanted to emulate their masterful marksmanship. However, he never could get the hang of aiming and eventually abandoned that aspiration for simpler bladeworks. He's also notably incompetent at flirting, penmanship (his handwriting is sloppier that chicken scratches), dealing with thirst and also putting thoughts into words.
Traits
Good Habit(s): Gellert has tremendous respect for nature and its children and it shows in his day-to-day life. He also has peerless diligence and work ethic.
Bad Habit(s): He's unfortunately quite antisocial and detached, detesting having to interact beyond what is rational (in his eyes). Gellert also likes to binge drink.
History
The Past
Little is known about the origins of Gellert Formonde. He is an unreliable storyteller and rumors about his past are equally dubious. What is certain, however, is that he's lowborn, the son of peasant workers from Wellborough. Both of his parents were shapeshifters and he inherited their ability, able to shift into his favorite animals (wolves, owls and frogs). His life was modest and wasn't filled with much troubles. Not much fortune, either. Some time before he came of age, his father began teaching him how to properly handle a sword, himself being a former brigand that turned a new leaf when he found love with a brothel worker, leading of course to Gellert. As it turns out, he inherited his father's combat savviness; the sword flowed so easily in his arms. He could easily duke it out with his father at such an early age.
At his parent's suggestion, Gellert took up the work of a sellsword, lending his fighting skills where the money was right. He found steady work and camaraderie with the Rogue Knights. They were a mercenary company, primarily consisting of humani, that fought for any side given the right price. Though they styled themselves knights, they were anything but knightly. Each member was given the title Sir as well as an epithet (for example, Sir Dayne the Brave). Given his rapidly graying hair even before he reached his twilight years, Gellert wqs dubbed Sir Gellert the Grey. He racked up a respectable sum of gold fighting with the Knights, but committed no small number of crimes in the process, mostly out of peer pressure. He was given the idea that the world was inherently dark despite its beautiful exterior and the only way to survive was following the nature of it.
Twenty years Gellert spent with the Rogue Knights, becoming one of their most senior members. A turning point came when the company was ambushed by the opposing force. A bloodbath ensued, heavy casualties suffered on both sides. The Knights were forced to retreat, but Gellert was picked off in the rout, thrown into the raging river rapids and left for dead. He would've drowned under the current and died were it not for the kindness of an itinerant water spirit who pulled him out of the current. Given his condition, said water spirit brought her to her home in Norione Village to care for him (with the help of trained Fae healers). He recovered in no time and was invited to stay in the Village for a while. Gellert learned many things in his stay, chief among them water magic, taught by the water spirit that saved his life. The peaceful, serene environment and proximity to the beauty of nature also proved beneficial for his physical and mental health. His faith in the world was restored after being corrupted.
Eventually, his stay came to an end and Gellert was implored to return to his people, but not without given a gift first. The people of Norione Village were not people of warfare, but they have ancient weapons in case they come under attack. He was given two such weapons. First, a short sword (Fae longsword) of enchanted steel that is especially potent against creatures of the dark. The second was a dagger (Fae shortsword) that can conceal the wielder in shadows when held. The two blades are named Dire and Kelen, respectively. They would prove useful for him in future adventures.
The Present
Gellert is now back on the path of a mercenary. Though a resident of Wellborough, he often wanders the land to seek out bounties and troublesome monsters to slay. He aims to help the prosperity of Terra's people and thinks he has no place in the Raziel-Alithe conflict. Rather, Raziel and Alithe have no place here and should take their magical war elsewhere.
Lately, that conflict has raged more than he had ever known. It seems likely that he would be pulled into it. Yet Gellert wants none of that life. If need be, he will destroy both Alithe and Raziel, not in that particular order, to ensure the world stays in peace and freedom.
Basic Information
Full Name: Cyndia Eversong, affectionately called Cindy Age: 1105 Gender: Female Birth Date: 08/20 Race: Elf Alignment: Neutral (aligned with Raziel on principle, I guess?)
Appearance
Hair Color: Jet black, a rarity among elves, long and straight Eye Color: Purple (they were once a simple dark color) Face Shape: Oval Skin Tone: Olive with a deathly pale complexion Height: 177 cm / 5'9¾" Weight: 120 lb / 54 kg Body Type: Curvaceous, lithe Natural Markings: None Scar(s): A small crack-like scar on her forehead that sometimes fades out of sight and sometimes doesn't. Tattoo(s): One depicting an intricate line (similar to those in this very CS) on the very base of her back
Personality
First and foremost, Cindy is one hell of a driven woman. No matter what the world throws at her, she always sticks to the bigger picture and everything she does will always be in the service of furthering her plans of salvation. Cyndia knows how to make the best of any situation, how to exploit anyone and anything, that they may be of use to her in the now or later. For her part, this mostly involves her mastery of charisma, manipulation and charm. Even without the aid of Nerzar's magics, she is dangerously alluring. Few men could resist the charms of Cyndia Eversong.
While on the outside she may walk and talk confident, inside she hides a lot of inner conflicts, doubts and even madness. The burden of a Herald is unthinkable and it strains the mind like nothing ever could. If left to her own solitude, her inner contemplations rage out of control and can even make her pass out due to how much stuff is going on in her head. This is why she'd like to surround herself with company. As distraction. And to spread the message. 3 Words: Resourceful, Determined, Temptress Like(s): Balance, compassion, fine dining, when people listen to her, cold temperatures, torture (guilty pleasure) Dislike(s): Excessive chaos, excessive order, when people ignore her, heat, confinement, holier-than-thou attitude
Want(s): The endgame for Cyndia is world salvation. Nerzar speaks of a world with absolutely no violence, no conflict. Where people are freed from darkness and act for the betterment of all. A utopia of peace. As his Herald, she will make that happen and that end requires the complete purging of Alithe and her Revenants. So says Nerzar. So he commands. Fear(s): The fear of failure is something plaguing her since even before her elevation as Herald. When everything is at stake, it breeds a new level of insecurity. Can she truly save everything? Can she uphold that kind of responsibility? The fate of the world hangs on by a thread. If Cyndia cannot exact Nerzar's will, it is forever doomed and life itself would be scoured off the face of Terra.
Also, she is claustrophobic.
Favourite...
Color(s): Shades of black and purple Time of Day: The dark before sunrise Food: Any manner of Elven cuisine Animal: Octopus Place in Terra: Volkungthad
Skills and Attributes
Skills
Special abilities: Cyndia is the most recent Herald of Nerzar, the Sacred Nightmare. This entails her to hidden powers never before seen in the face of Terra. She can manipulate shadows to her heart's content, creating tendrils and tentacles to harm her foes, move swiftly across short distances or create flawless copies of herself to deceive them. Much like her Lord, she is also able to manipulate the mind with whispers. By completely shrouding a person with whispers of doubt and madness, Cindy is able to subjugate them to her will. Or break theirs altogether. This can lead to illusory magic most potent, tricking the minds of the weak.
However, the whispers take effect only as much as the victim wants it too. The strongest minds are impervious to temptations and doubts, thus she must resort to weakening their resolve through other manners. Her affinity with the shadow makes her weak against light and fire magic. Her eyes are very sensitive to any form of strong light, forcing her to don hoods while in the sun. Good at...: Deception, trickery, persuasion and womanly charm, wine-tasting, archery (to a certain extent) Bad at...: Handling her inner demons, literally every other type of magic
Traits
Good Habit(s): Determined and driven, able to see the bigger picture and understand why this or that needs to happen instead of doing the mythical 'right thing'. Bad Habit(s): Chronic backstabbing disorder; Cyndia makes little to no attempt at convincing people that trust in her is not wasted. Also a compulsive liar, but she's a trickster so.
History
The Past
Cyndia's memories of her past and beginnings weren't the most reliable. If she wanted to know what happened when, she'd ask her parents, but they're dead. What she knows for sure to have happened goes as follows.
Cyndia Eversong, daughter of elven rangers Tywin and Ellery Eversong, was born with black hair. Considered to be an ill omen where she came from, it brought her nothing but ill luck to the days of her childhood and beyond in a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy. Not as quick on her feet as the other kids and bearing an abnormal shade of hair for an elf, she remembered being ridiculed and teased. Very often. She also recalled having bad dreams almost constantly the moment she reached adolescence. Cindy dreamed of a world covered in the flames of war. Forests burned, people slain indiscriminately, chaos reigning as the so-called enforcers of order turned to it themselves. Heavy dreams for a kid. These dreams irregularly and often times she'd stay up all night in fear of these horrible dreams. Cindy didn't know what they were supposed to be! Why was she being shown this?
Over the course of her maturity into a strong and proud defender of elven land, Cyndia's dreams never stopped, but there happened a widening of scope. As fire and brimstone beset the world, hope shone on the fallen horizon, but not a hero she'd expect. Darkness and shadow swept over the land and expelled chaos, reversing the damage done and ushering in a new age of prosperity. Later on, she would dream more of this shadow, learning more about its shape, form and power. Understandably curious, she ventured to vestiges of knowledge in humani land to learn more about this shadowy being. One particularly ancient grimoire identified it as Nerzar, Old Lord of Dreams. An entity thought to be evil by ancient civilizations, he was imprisoned in both an underground prison and a dimensional prison. But Nerzar was a being of purpose and it was hellbent on saving the world, for he saw in his dreams a world ruled by chaos. Chaos which he hoped to avert.
The more Cyndia read about this Nerzar, the more she was enthralled by his vision and mission. A dark creature who desired world salvation? Seemed contradictory to what she had been taught. And the more she knew about him, the more often the dreams came, until there came a point where the Old Lord himself made contact. Whispering to her in the dead of night, he beckoned her to his prison deep beneath the ancient caverns. It all made sense. The dreams, they were signs. He had chosen her and now she would answer the call.
Venturing down into Volkungthad, Cyndia found the entrance to the old cavern system leading to the prison of Nerzar. With an incantation learned to her by the dreams, she broke open the prison and...was transported into a long sleep. The Long Sleep, to be precise. The Sacred Dream personally took her to his realm, where he enlightened her on his vision, what she must do from this day forward and the true purpose of the world. The Lord of Dreams sought a world of peace, balance and free will, but the foolish progenitors Raziel and Alithe were stopping him from that path. Eventually, great wars would rise between their followers and the world would be shattered. But not if his Herald, being Cyndia, could save them from themselves. Nerzar would allow her to wake when the time was right and to that end, The Long Sleep lasted an entire millennium. When she woke up, she was a different woman in a different time. As predicted, the tensions between the Nephilim and Revenants started to grow out of proportions.
A Herald of Nerzar, Cyndia now strove to save the world.
The Present
After awakening from the Long Sleep, Cyndia now wanders the land, discreetly spreading the word of doom, that the people may know what the future holds if they don't act now. With her elven knowledge of the lay of Terra, she travels between place to place swiftly and under the shadow of the great trees. Very useful knowledge since she is always under the threat of hanging or burning at the stake for her 'mad words'.
Spinning her web of shadows like a spider, Cindy carries with her the same nightmares of doom that once plagued her as a child. Where she sleeps, everyone close to her sees the forsaken future. If they would not listen to the words of his Herald, Nerzar himself would speak to them.
Will edit to make better soon, just wanted to throw something together to get to posting
Carlisle Corvus
Basic Information
Full Name: Carlisle Corvus. Better known as Crow. Age: 125 Gender: Male Race: Nephilim, Previously Humani. Alignment: Nephilim
Appearance
Hair Colour: Raven black (y'know that black that looks dark blue if you get it in just the right light. Ye boiii (Christ please remember to edit this crap out later) Eye Colour: Stormy grey blue with flecks of Neph Silver. Face Shape: Angular angelic featured. Skin Tone: Fair Height: 6ft 2" Body Type: Slender but muscular, as most of the nephilim turn out to be. Natural Markings: Various Runes of Raziel (Black symbols scattered across his body) Scar(s): Thin silvery scars crisscross his body.
Personality
3 Words: Calculating, Curious, Stubborn Like(s): Drinking, defending the weak, working for a greater good. Dislike(s): Immorality, morning birds, various types of fashion, the list goes on.
Want(s): Most of all, Carlisle wants to see the Nephilim brought to glory again and work for the good of all. He wants the neutrals to understand that he and his brothers and sisters will sacrifice and have sacrificed themselves countless times to protect and serve. Fear(s): The destruction of the Nephilim and the return of Alithe.
Favourite...
Colour(s): Green Time of Day: Dusk Food: Lamb stew Animal: Crow Place in Terra: The woods just beyond the Institute or the Library within
Skills and Attributes
Skills
Special ablilty/ies: Abilities granted to the Nephilim by Raziel, most notably Blinding light. Upon placing his hand on the forehead of a victim, he is able to send the holy fires of Raziel himself through them. This in almost every case has left the victim a burnt out husk Good at...: Judging the intent of those around him, sword play, tracking. Bad at...: Recognising emotions relating to him, cooking, jokes.
Traits
Good Habit(s): Daily training/excercise. He has always honed his skills. Bad Habit(s): Drinking (considering there is no alcohol within the institute.
History
The Past
Carlisle was born firstborn in the Corvus line. A family in Wellborough that had a tradition of sending the firstborn of each generation off to the institute. As such, only the first 20 years of his life were spent among the humani and his family. Since his ascension and his studies, Carlisle has fought in many skirmishes against Alithe's Revenant and more commonly, the cults the worship them. These battles have hardened him over time, blunting the childlike wonder he had always felt for his cause.
The Present
Now among his new brothers and sisters, Carlisle tries his best to forward the goals of the Nephilim and to protect those he was created to. Above all he was now a child of Raziel and so he, with his brothers and sisters (few as they are), venture forth from the institute to hold the peace and to ward off the dark.
Memories
Apart from his ascension, there was one memory that has always stained his mind. A young teenage girl that he came across after tracking the traces of dark magic. Upon finding her he came to the realization that the magic he sought to destroy lay entwined within her being. Dark times in her past must have led her down a path never meant to be taken. She was just a kid... But there was no other way. And so he did his duty and burnt it from within her.
Full Name: Analise Amad Age: 201 Gender: Female Birth Date: May 9 Race: Fire Elemental Alignment: Revenant
Appearance
Hair Colour: White Eye Colour: Yellow if you can get behind the blindfold Face Shape: Oval Skin Tone: Pale Height: 6’6” Weight: 187 lbs; 85 kgs Body Type: Slender Scar(s): Scarification on her lower back of Revenant Crest
Personality
It's in her nature to be inquisitive of others, to her it keeps things in order and makes sure of herself. Speaking gets her results, more relying on studying the nature of others. Careful in her speech, making sure not a flaw slips from her mouth. Knowing was her advantage and not knowing got her nowhere. "Caring" was a tool in knowing, keeping her driven and yet a weakness to use. It was her more pleasant qualities, as she has her own attachments to Terra.
3 Words: Curious, Distant, willful Like(s): Speaking with others, making a succesful meal, releasing stress by flame, traveling Dislike(s): Overly disagreeable Nephilims, the cold and winds, physically fighting, Want(s): Showing the Neutrals the true way to living; devoting one’s life to Alithe Fear(s): Being forever restricted of her abilities,
Favourite...
Colour(s): Blue, red [though she rarely takes off blindfold] Time of Day: Evening Food: Soup Animal: Birds and insects Place in Terra: Volkungthad, Wastelands, Taverns
Skills and Attributes
Skills
Special ablilty/ies:
Relies on infrared vision
Enchant weapons with her flames
Engulf herself into flames if she wishes
Ability to heal herself and others
Good at...: Persuading and speaking to others with a sense of empathy Bad at...: Controlling her flames
Traits
Good Habit(s): Thinks in multiple views before she speaks Bad Habit(s): When agitated, she unconsciously burns things around her, bites her lip when unsure
History
The Past
From the moment she had appeared in the midst of the mining town, she had been given the gift of curiosity. Stumbling her first steps into the land, questions of every aspect around her came to mind. Turning to books would have been a natural answer, but Analise sought after the experience to those who couldn’t write it down. Simply, the young elemental listened and talked with almost any person she came across. As travelers would come in contact with her, she would always request to hear from their own tales, then retold them to those interested. Within a few years, she had been acknowledged by the elders of her town for her growing wisdom and knowledge. With such recognition, Analise had taken her belongings and went to find her own adventure.
High to the Aelerians, deep into the Terrans, and every path told was taken by Analise. Using her skill of speaking, she gained passage to anywhere she wanted. Her spirit never ceased and never did she became weary. She was free to experience her own and took whatever the world could give her.
It would come to a faithful night in which she was attacked by a small group of Revenants within the Terran forests. Though with her own success of killing them off, she herself had been fatally injured and grasping for life. Never had she felt so useless and yet tired, waiting for herself to become the same as the corpses around her. But not one breath she took became her last.
Awaking in an unknown bed by fire, the young elemental became curious of her survival. At her call, a young woman rushed to her side. “Maya”, she introduced, had happened to stumble upon the scene with her partner, “Eisa”, and had taken in Analise into their isolated home. Though she felt that her injuries were on healings way, Maya pleaded for her to fully recover before leaving. And there, she had stayed, seeing as she herself felt no need to leave and provided the two with conversation.
When the injuries themselves disappeared from their traces, Analise had became attached to the couple in which she asked to settle with them. Two runaways- Eisa who had left the past behind him and Maya who just wished to join him. How mediocre, she had thought, but thanked her dead attackers. The couple were accepting of Analise and were more than happy to have her at their side. Overjoyed, Analise had divined them her "family."
As the years would pass, Analise would watch as the couple would be married and care for the children born into the “Amad” name that she had worn herself. She couldn’t have been more content, relying on the side of the lovers and acting as an “older sister” for their children. If only the time were to stop, she would have wished then. To her demise, time went on.
Stricken and stunned, she fell to her knees as Maya laid with an arrow caught through her ribs. Though searching for any trace of the maligned, not a soul came to mind. Days after, Nephilim soldiers had seized Eisa and charged him for the death of his wife by an anonymous tip. Though he himself born no trace of the crime, being born from revenant origins ruled his place in the trial. Analise tried in her ways to prove his innocence, hoping for the last of mercy from the Nephilim. But with her pleas to the court, not a single one was heard. Instead, the payment of hi wife's murder became his job; his life.
Grieving along with the children of her family, she began to despise the flaws of the Nephilim. Raziel seemed anything but the light, taking control of all and giving power away to his despicable children. Analise had wanted vengeance and craved for power to use against her enemies. She wanted to burn whoever would come for her family, yet was agitated of the restriction on her abilities. Hell, she decided, should befall upon the law of Raziel.
The Present
A preacher of Alithe. Those who've experienced similar experiences to her are often moved by her words to the villa. She escorts and assures people from their fears, making them fail to flee from the wastelands path. Analise remains as a growing influence for the Revenants, known for the contributions she makes to the forces.
Besides celebrating new brethren, she takes care of the last of the Amad family. She keeps in touch in case troubles inflict them. Traveling had never stopped for Analise, as "tides" change with each day's passing, she was determined to know all about her path. She can keep up a conversation no matter what kind until the situation proves to be fatal."\
Memories
When she first put on her blindfold after hearing of other fire elementals acquiring infrared vision by the same training
Witnessing her friend's fresh corpse and watching the execution of her friend's husband
Full Name: Thorek SootHammer Age: 80 Gender: Male Race: Dwarf Alignment: Neutral
Appearance
Hair Colour: Ashen Brown Eye Colour: Gold Face Shape: Broad Skin Tone: Bronzed Height: 5Ft Weight: Dwarves don't tend to weigh themselves often but can definitely narrow it down to the weight of a small pony. Body Type: Broad corded muscle Scar(s): A large star burnt scar sits by his left hip. Another large gash of a scar reaches up from his chest over his right shoulder. Among these are spinkled dots and lines of shrapnel from experiments or an effort in war. Tattoo(s): Both hands and wrists are crisscrossed with the blocky angular dwarvish linework and runes.
Personality
3 Words: Stoic, Inquisitive, Loyal Like(s): Like all dwarves, he likes precious metals and gems. Beyond even that though, he loves tinkering. Dislike(s): Arrogance, Cowardice, Most non-dwarved ales and whiskeys.
Want(s): To unite and restore the might of the Dwarven Kingdom Fear(s): That the internal squabbling between the clans will be the ruin of his kind.
Favourite...
Colour(s): Gold Time of Day: Generally matters not if you live underground. Food: Mutten Stew Animal: Ram Place in Terra: Volkungthad
Skills and Attributes
Skills
Special ablilty/ies: The ability to smith dwarven runes into armour and weaponry. Royal line spoken runes: Thunder, in which Thorek is able to vastly increase the range and volume of his voice. Oathbinder, seals an oath magically so as to bind a person to their promise. Grudgestone, upon nearing his death Thorek may use this spoken rune to carve the grudge (whatever the fight was happening for and when etc) which he is bound to so that he may not retreat and must fight to the death but nor can he be moved. Good at...: Experiment, especially with machinery and runes. Brawling. Tactics. Bad at...: Social cues, Swimming, Gambling, Lying.
Traits
Good Habit(s): Excercise every day with the forge, eats well, has manners. Bad Habit(s): Heavy pipe smoker
History
The Past
Thorek was born son of Groumrick Soothammer. Each of the 3 main families had a member that was a child of the High King. To fit the portential role of high king and to be able to act in a political manner, Thorek grew up on the bureaucracy and lore as well as the histories and battle tactics of his people. He learnt diplomacy and leadership and dwarven etiquette and all manner of things but the thing that interested him most was engineering. As soon as his teachings allowed him to specialize, he dove deep into engineering studies, melding in artificing to create new technologies to further his people. This lead to many mishaps throughout his Career within the Engineering guild but no one could question his genius. His first feat as an Engineer was to rebuild and restore the massive pumping systems designed to keep the lower deeps of Volkungthad dry. They were destroyed during the last great war and the lower deeps had been abandoned by flooding through the underground rivers and lakes. Thorek was then recognized as a Master engineer in his own right, going on to vastly revolutionalise the armour of the dwarf warriors. The runes worked into their armour and shields along with the angling provided the dwarves with far more protection.
These advances came in handy when the Dwarves launched a counter assault on a pestilence-breeding necromancer tying to start their own kingdom after continued assault from the creature's minion. Thorek, as a son of the High King, joined the grudge war with his people as a Captain and it was in those bloody battles he gained recognition after Thorek's throng (ground of warriors) was split up by a savage ambush attack. Thorek was able to rally his troupes and regroup the stragglers, often having to fight his way through enemies to get to them before regaining the line and pushing back.
The Present
Thorek now devotes most of his life directly to the advancement of the dwarf kingdom through engineering and articing. He works endlessly in special built lab cross smith deep within the vaults on a project he believes will change the world. As much as he would care to spend the entirety of his existence buried in his research, the council politics is getting extreme. Already there are grumblings of guilds hiring mercenaries to disrupt and even murder members of the other guilds. Unfortunately nothing had been tracked yet and even if it had, the High King himself lay in his deathbed living the very last of his days. He constantly plays the mediator, trying to give a voice of reason to the more extreme of views as his brothers struggle for the political clout to declare themselves King.
Memories
Tracking down a ram when he was young and seeing who out of the group he was with could ride it the longest. for He won but not before being thrown into a particularly nasty bramble of thorned nettle that gave a rash he wouldn't live down for years.
His first Brew, which for dwarf standards was pretty terribly but Thorek was proud of it anyway, forcing himself to drink the barrel to prove it was good.
His first major lab accident resulting in shrapnel shredding his lower left side.
Full Name: Rowan Redpath 'the Betrayer' Age: 32 Gender: Male Birth Date: 14/04 Race: Humani Alignment: Neutral, formerly Nephilim, now branded a being of chaos
Appearance
Hair Colour: An odd mix of brown and blond Eye Colour: Green Face Shape: Oblong Skin Tone: Tanned Height: 6'2" / 190 cm Weight: 185 lb / 84 kg Body Type: Toned, muscular Natural Markings: Runes of Raziel on his chest, most have been forcibly removed Scar(s): A straight gash on his left forehead, several scratch marks on the back of his shoulders Tattoo(s): None
Personality
3 Words: Reckless, Jaded, Commanding Like(s): Valorous combat (in his words, 'a good fight'), courtesy, simplicity, younger women Dislike(s): Things that waste his time, arrogance, the Nephilim and their self-righteousness, annoying kids
Want(s): A family and a quiet life Fear(s): Dying without purpose
Favourite...
Colour(s): Mahogany Time of Day: High noon Food: Smoked veal Animal: Horse Place in Terra: None
Skills and Attributes
Skills
Special Abilities: Though he has since been purged of his Nephilim powers, Rowan remains as one of the finest combatants to grace the Nephilim ranks in recent years. A nimble sword-and-board fighter, he can overpower lesser opponents by the time they get one hit on him. His Braidh strangely still answers to him also, though remaining static as a burning blade to scorch his enemies, be they defiled or holy. Rowan names it 'Glengarrion', after a knight from his childhood stories. Good at...: Combat, persuasion and seduction, empathy Bad at...: Holding a drink, magic, following orders
Traits
Good Habit(s): Shows at least the bare minimum of respect for his fellow living beings, no matter how deep into Alithe's teaching they might be. Bad Habit(s): Has a bad tendency to act rashly and without care of the consequences.
History
The Past
Rowan Redpath, born of nobility to the wealthy and powerful Redpath family, grew up with tales of fancy concerning valiant knights slaying horrifying beasts with utmost bravery. When he heard that such heroes existed in real life in the form of Raziel's Nephilim, it seemed certain that he would do anything in his power to become one of them. Playing with the maids and studying under the snooty governesses were soon replaced with practicing swordplay and cool one-liners, at his own behest. His father did not exactly approve of this sudden aspiration (he wanted for his son to start a business one day just like he had done in his youth, after all), but as he saw Rowan to be happy in this path, what could a father really do at that point? Soon enough, the juvenile became the only warrior in a family full of merchants and artisans. Not that they were complaining. His 'knightly' antics at the dining table was amusing, if not inspiring.
The years rolled on until Rowan finally found himself steeled up and prepared to present himself to the Nephilim. This was the most intense moment of his young life; never before had he been tested and having to prove himself of worth to the Avenging Angel, Guardian of Life and Order. He rode to the Institute and, like most aspirants, was well-received, but warned of the dangers in undertaking this burden. With zeal, he declared himself ready and sought the audience of Raziel himself. Much to his elation (and pain), the Angel infused his energies into the boy and deemed him worthy. In the ranks of the Nephilim, Rowan proved to be a magnificent slayer of evil. Some would dare say that he was the best swordfighter in recent Nephilim memory. Many beings of chaos would fall to the burning edge of Glengarrion, his sacred blade and badge of office.
However, like many, Rowan came into the Nephilim expecting an organization of pure good and upstanding guardians of order, fighting against an unstoppable wave of evil. The world, of course, was much grayer than that. There were many instances where he was forced to slay seemingly normal people, who had surrendered and laid down their arms. The screams they made from the pain of consecration was a different pain in itself. Doubts were not uncommon among the Nephilim, but for Rowan, it was especially severe. So wide-eyed and naive he was at the start and yet, now it felt like everything he knew was wrong.
It all came to a head when he was tasked to investigate a recent string of brutal murders in a small out-of-the-way village. Based on the condition of the found bodies, it was heavily suspected that a being of chaos was behind the killings and Rowan was naturally given a kill order on the culprit. Further scrutiny revealed, however, that these victims were all vile men and women in life. Robbers, murderers, rapists and vandals had been the portfolios of the fallen. In Rowan's mind and indeed a majority of the villagers, this particular killer seemed to be doing a service and didn't deserve punishment.
Being a good detective and all, Rowan discovered the bestial killer, a woman with sickly wings on her back and sharp teeth, like a gargoyle manifest. He knew that this...thing was a thing of chaos, but one that had done some measure of good for the world at large. In a bold move, he unsheathed his blade and approached the woman. They had a bit of a chat, believe it or not. A chat spanning order and chaos. She introduced herself as Rayu, a Fleshspinner, apparently monks that alter their body through rituals that confused him. Rowan told her that he'd make sure she would not be subject to punishment from the Nephilim as long as she continued to feed on the scum of society and not to the well meaning people he was meant to protect. Rayu agreed to those terms, confirming his assumptions that she had a noble heart underneath it all. Eventually, they had to part ways, but promised to keep in touch however possible. She also asked to him a favor: to deliver a message to her fellow Fleshspinner friend, Shertul, that she was alive and well. He saw no problem in doing that and the two polar opposites went their separate ways, Rowan back to report and Rayu to wherever.
But before anyone got far enough, two of his Nephilim superiors arrived to 'aid' Rowan in his quest. They moved to slay Rayu with extreme prejudice. Not forgetting his promise to her, Rowan charged at his would-be comrades and fought them, much to their confusion. This gave her time to slip away unharmed and undetected. Giving her time to gain fair distance, Rowan kept them locked in combat. In rank, they were greater, but not in skill they weren't compared to him. Once he was certain she would be safe, he surrendered and Rowan was brought before Raziel to be judged.
Rowan could've easily lied, easily concealed the truth of the events, but he did not believe it to be knightly to hide the truth. He told the angel what had transpired, the identity of the killer and the victims and how he made the decision to spare the killer for she was doing the village a service. Obviously, the zealous Nephilim did not think the same way and reprimanded him heavily for this grievous transgression. Raziel admired his courage and honesty, but the word of the Nephilim was law which had to be upheld. And so Rowan Redpath was punished with...exile. An unprecedented penalty, he was expelled from Raziel's servitude and his powers ripped away (the process was even more painful than infusion). Never would he contact the Nephilim again lest he would be treated as a simple monster: to be ridiculed and slain if provoked. His Braidh Glengarrion refused to leave his side for some reason, so they opted to let him keep it, but only as a blade. Rowan left the Institute that day, his dream crushed, but his honor intact.
The Present
Like most men whose life revolves their sword arm, Rowan wanders the land to lend his fighting skills for whoever's willing to pay. His family would like him to settle back with them, but he fears that he can only bring them misfortune so stays far away. Even though he has since ended his watch with the Nephilim, he has never forgotten what his duty means. Any chance he gets to stick a middle finger to Alithe and her forces, he'll take it. Occasionally, he'll cross paths and, eventually, blades with a Nephilim on his way, but makes sure to spare them. He was usually the one to claim victory: few Nephilim knew how to effectively fight one of their own.
To this day, Rowan has not forgotten the promise he made to Rayu. He has not crossed paths with her again, but will make sure the fresh corpse of a criminal for her to feast on. His query, Shertul, remains as elusive as she is and he begins to wonder whether he did the right thing in sparing her. Seeing as she is probably somewhere doing good work, Rowan thinks so.
Memories
His first spar (also his first loss)
That time he avoided punishment by winning a spar
His first kiss and soon after, loss of virginity
The day he stood before Raziel
His first mission (also his first failed mission)
His encounter with Rayu and facing off against friends to save her
Full Name: Gul'mos Age: 442 Gender: Male Birth Date: For a treant, the concepts of birthdays seems mundane but the time of birth would be around the spring. Race: Treant Alignment: Neutral
Appearance
Hair Colour: N/A Eye Colour: Blue Face Shape: N/A Skin Tone: The color of his bark is a healthy brown. Mushroom sprouts can be seen along its right shoulder Height: 11 feet tall, 335.76 cm Weight: Over 2000 pounds but less than 3000 pounds (907 kg-1360 kg) Body Type: In his original form (see picture) he appears somewhat lithe to many observers. Considering the shapeshifting aspect of the treants, this can change at any time. Natural Markings: N/A Scar(s): This treant has earned many scars and burn marks but due to its vast life force, they tend to disappear as new bark continually replace the old. Tattoo(s): Recently, a drunk dwarf had the bright idea to scribble some "runes" on the sleeping treant. It did absolutely nothing and Gul'mos found the situation rather droll and let the dwarf go without harm. Remanants of the runes can be found on its lower back.
Personality
3 Words: Fearless, broad-minded, frank Like(s): Enjoys the great outdoors, friendly to all elves and fae unless something is seriously wrong. Dislike(s): The fire elementals are too fickle and temperamental for Gul'mos. They are quick to anger and the sensation of burning is not a pleasant one. However, so long as the bark was able to protect delicate tissues underneath, Gul'mos would recover just fine in nearly all cases. Gul'mos has seen that humani tend to overuse and abuse the land. Natural resources are to be used by all but there must be balance in things. Likewise, Gul'mos can tolerate non-elven magicians but is always wary of them for they can cause unparalleled destruction.
Want(s): Gul'mos seeks to find more of his kind believing that there will be a time when the treant's strength will be needed in the forseeable future. As an explorer, the treant wishes to catalog new flora and fauna in his journey. Fear(s): Gul’mos fears total war between the Nephilim and Revenant.
Favourite...
Colour(s): (Anything Verdant and cool) Time of Day: (Nighttime, the evening skies always had a calming and mediatative effect) Food: (Photosynthesis, can root to the ground to extract nutients from the soil, can also consume woodstuff) Animal: (Does not particularly have a favorite animal) Place in Terra: (Somewhere in Terra's Forest)
Skills and Attributes
Skills
Special ablilty/ies: (Tunneling through soil becomes easy with massive limbs that can be shaped at will. Rooting into the soil has a detoxifying element to it in addition to regenerative properties,) Good at...: (Engaging in conversation, communing with nature, rarely gets lost) Bad at...: (understanding the more nuanced social cues of other races (besides the elves and fae). Rudimentary understanding of humani written language, sneaking around)
Traits
Good Habit(s):(Amicable towards most, tries to be punctual) Bad Habit(s): (Comes off as brusque and insensitive at times because Gul'mos tends to be forward and blunt. Sometimes enjoys scaring the other races by pretending to be a tree.)
History
The Past
Gul'mos was born 58 years after the war. Although nearly 3 decades has past since the treant's birth, the world was still reeling from the aftermath of the war. Growing up during this era was tumultuous and violent. During this age, the treants were far more numerous and each "grove" of treants were fierce defenders of their respective part of the forest. Gul'mos was born near the edges of the forest. At the time, the young sapling did not understand why the sapient races, particularly the humani, were so desperate to clear away the forest. All that the sapling understood was that these races were greedy; taking so much from the land and giving so little back.
For three decades, the treants were steadfast in safeguarding their lands. Each time, they fended off the humans whether they had help from the Nephilim or Revenant. When Gul'mos was deemed of sufficient age, the treant was told by the Elder of who was responsible for the current state of things. As the Elder told Gul'mos who and what the Nephilim and Revenant did in the war, Gul'mos could only feel hate for the two factions that brought ruin to the natural order of things.
At a suitable age, the treant also partook in fighting against the humani. However, this endeavor would ultimately prove to be futile. The treants were few in number and reproduced far less quickly than the humani. In addition, a great number of them had already perished in the war itself. Vast swaths of land were burned by the humani in vengeance. In the face of such destruction, the surviving treants of his grove retreated deeper into the forest and went their separate ways.
The loss of home greatly angered Gul'mos and for some time, the lone treant conducted nightly raids on vulnerable human settlements. Though Gul'mos' anger was assuaged, in the end the treant felt hollow and purposeless. The lives the treant stomped out took its toll and Gul'mos retreated deep into the forest once more, falling into a deep sleep for a century until a band of traveling elves accidentally roused the treant from its slumber. The elves entreated the treant to accompany them on a journey and with nothing left to lose, Gul'mos decided to join them, hoping to find purpose.
Though in time, they parted ways, from those experiences (at an age of 267), Gul'mos decided to travel; to meet his old acquaintances again and to try to come to a better understanding of the other races. Additionally, Gul'mos wishes to gather the treants for a forum of sorts to ask a simple question. Should they partake in a more active role in the world or would it be best to let nature run its course as it always had?
The Present
Gul'mos no longer sees humani as enemies though his early experiences with them has means the treant at best is neutral towards them. As of now, the treant travels the forest, seeking to find more of his kind. He has also grown concerned (due to word of mouth) of the increasing Nephilim and Revenant activity as the treants still has vivid memories of the aftermath of the war.
Memories
The very first sensation of being on fire thanks to a moody fire elemental A botched raid resulting in the death of several friends caused by a Nephilim or a Revenant? The memories sometimes are hazy Finding his first "treasure", with the band of elves. Witnessing the marriage of his elf friend Rejecting the advances of a fae creature only for her to try to harm the treant through nature magic. It did not work too well. Fighting an insane treant near a pool of strange unidentifiable liquid
