[Hider=Character Application]

Name/s: Sir Helbronn, knight of the Lady

Race: Hard to define; sort of 'human', but really a walking fairytale figure, an 'amalgam'

Appearance: [img]https://i.imgur.com/oOSv2kE.jpg[/img]

An armored giant standing at seven feet, perpetually covered by steel-plates and speaking with a naturally cold, ugly voice regardless of subject-matter, coupled with a way of moving close to being doll-like for one moment, before rapidly switching to a strange, primal fluidity belying his sheer bulk, all combining to appear eerie at best, downright creepy at worst.

Not a single flash of clothing let alone flesh other than metal would be visible even from up close, the material apparently simple steel. No ornament, no decoration, no marks of any known smiths. A careful eye might have noticed a number of spots betraying the wear and tear of the elements, as well as traces where weapons had clearly penetrated, all covered up with careful maintenance and repair. Though conventional and featureless, the way the individual plates were each adjusted perfectly to the knight's form like a second skin did not allow for a derogatory term like 'simple' to fit, but rather matched the definition of efficient.

Characteristics: A bizarre being embodying several unfitting extremes. Voice cold and harsh, actions precise and calculated, while preaching of idealism and "goodness" that is far beyond what any sane being could realistically hope to achieve.

All in all, his mentality can appear as detached at best, delusional at worst, while also giving sight to a secondary, far darker set of beliefs that comes frighteningly close to outright nihilism, referring to himself as a tool for use, a ploy for the "tale" to continue and reach its ultimate conclusion, making it possible to assume that all his actions are constrained by a strange understanding of the "common" laws of fairytales. The one who he refers to as the "Lady" would be the primary focal point of his striving, believing her to be the only one capable of granting him his deepest desire.

Despite his usual conduct, he is not exempt from the simple emotion called "boredom", him citing it as the primary reason for why he took up playing the fiddle and tried himself at dancing, a measure to kill time while on the endless march.

[hider=Imagine]
Imagine you wander. You wander wide, you wander long, you never cease wandering.

You search, you always search, far and away. The ideal compels, the ideal demands.

Loneliness is on your mind, causing you to approach others.

You ask "Where?"

They shrug, point a way, and in thanks you fulfill their demands with a whole heart. They are happy to have you away.

You keep wandering.

Wandering.

Wandering.

Always wandering.

Simply setting one foot after another is insufficient. You take up a hobby, one that can be conducted while keeping up the march. You like the melody. It lightens your heart.

You wander with bliss in your heart. Your steps momentarily reminding of those of a dancer as you leave your tracks in the mud and snow, the passing of years flowing by with dim notice.

But then something goes wrong. Something goes horribly horribly wrong.

For the first time, a glimpse of luminosity. You look around yourself and you see only misery, a world upfilled with it and your own limited capacity to grasp the sheer amount of consequences, a surge of emotion resulting in enhanced perception of your surroundings.

The nasally tone of someone's voice as they whine for the sake of whining.

The hypocrisy of people hating themselves and doing absolutely nothing to change it.

Everything was so much more vivid than it once was. So with enhanced perceptions came realization: The realization of a simple universal constant.

Every single person in the world deserves death for some reason. The only variable was 'Over what?'

You resume wandering.

Wandering.

Wandering.

Always wandering.

Then, perhaps, you find something new. Something full of extremes, overwhelming sadness, polarizing joy, reverberating lust.

Wisdom is a terrible responsibility. Looking at this newness creates a demand, another realisation of the limitation. Wisdom demands for the only possible conclusion in realisation of the own limited state:

Terror. Fear.

[/hider]

Background: Several years ago he simply seemed to appear, devoid of fame and tales. The self-proclaimed knight would approach random travellers, villages, cities, anyone that appeared in need of aid and - no matter the triviality of the task, ranging from saving kittens on trees to launching attacks upon bands of brigands - the knight would serve, in return only asking if any of those he aided had seen his Lady.

When asked for a description of the one he sought, the knight would always be quick to praise his Lady's wit, beauty and compassion, but never would he actually give any sort of details. As a result, his inquiries were only ever met with puzzled shaking of heads, prompting his ever-unchanging continuation of the search for his Lady.

Truthfully enough, the Lady does not exist. The knight chases after an empty dream, a neverending task that will never find fulfillment, the delusion of success serving as a sole attempt at retaining his sanity. Perhaps he is aware of the impossibility of his task, or perhaps not.

[/Hider]

[Hider=Race Application]

Name/s: Walking Fairytale Figure, 'Amalgam'

[img]https://i.imgur.com/zaUG0D3.jpg[/img]

Appearance/Backstory: Not really a race perse, but rather a very broad assortment of phenomena occurring in a world so upfilled with magic, and increasing in frequency the farther one goes into the Cursed Forest. They are not natural, but not quite artificial either, ranging from being maddened and corrupted mixtures of beasts from legend fueled by stray thoughts and dreams of sentient beings all over the world to the souls of ancient things that faded from existence, but suddenly found themselves reinvigorated by strands of chaotic magic running wild in the darkest depths of the forest.

Fairytale Figures springing to apparent life are only one of the many subsets of these chaotic and nonsensical occurrences. To be clear, they aren't quite original beings that jumped out of a tale, but rather bases that had the messages, emotions and thoughts of a number of stories thrust upon them, thus earning them another name, 'amalgam'. Their origin-stories usually follow certain themes, such as hope, despair, apathy and bravery, whatever emotion and messages the tales are meant to convey. Most of these things are mixtures of many legends spanning the many different races, mortal souls robbed of identity, feeding off the many different sentient fantasies found in dreams in a mindless attempt to attain sanity, to fill the gaping void of their own existence.

Characteristics: Theirs is a horrid reputation, with the maddened sort often claiming many lives before they are put down, while the saner kind, often endowed with inhuman attributes, seek to shape reality more towards their fairytale-like perception of the world, usually ending with causing great devastation to cities and even cultures. The saner sort can be hard to spot, their mentality often betraying them only when it is too late.

Few become old after springing into existence, most die of infection and sickness following self-injury, being unused to having to struggle with the laws of physics. Common amongst them are sanity-defying capabilities, such as strength so overwhelming that it tears their own muscles apart, speed so blinding that it rips their sinews in full run, for often they are the kind that was made to battle dragons, keep armies at bay or even charm the coldest sort.

[/Hider]