[hider=Old fav's][center][img]http://i40.tinypic.com/d4biv.jpg[/img][/center] Character sheet [b][i]Name:[/i][/b] Anora Divinio [b][i]Age[/i][/b]:22 [b][i]Gender:[/i][/b] F [b][i]Race[/i][/b]: Teryn [b][i]Appearance[/i][/b]: Anora stands at a height just shy of five foot six inches tall from foot to the top of her head. Her head is crowned by a short-kept, brown hairstyle. She keeps it short not out of respect nor custom, but because she would rather not keep the long hair of a lady. Her eyes shine a dark brown color, which show signs of hatred and guilt in almost equal measure, often forcing away potential conversations before they even start. Moving down from her eyes, you find a scar running diagonally from her middle left cheek up across her nose and resting just below her right eye. This came not from sword nor bow, but from the claw of her welcoming party in the Elven woods. But besides the scar her face is more or less clear, save for when she takes a mission she wears some face paint that she wears for a numerous reasons. The first is to prevent recognition from those who knew her family and secondly to intimidate those would want to attack those she guards. Her height of five foot six is combined with a build that has been strengthened not only by her time training in the woods but also by her constant traveling with caravans as well as personal quests. Starting with her legs, if one were to see them without her simple brown pants and dark grey armor over top, one would notice just how strong they are for a woman of her age and birth. While they posses no power for kicks or great leaps they posses a high stamina, able to to keep moving when many other guards would be sitting on a cart complaining that their shins hurt. This is further reinforced when one looks to the rest of her body. Here mid section, while slightly curvy, is one that suggests she has worked hard or walked long to keep herself in shape as the lean muscular frame packs itself in. Over top one might often find the same, red colored button up shirt underneath the same colored dark grey armor. The armor itself is not very durable, an arrow would pierce it without trouble, but the color combined with the spiked gauntlets provide an intimidating look to this young ranger turned caravan guard. [b][i][center]--[/center][/i][/b] [b][i]Personality[/i][/b]: Her history, as well as her experience with fate, has been a relatively short yet cruel experience. Anora. If one were to describe her mind in three words or less it would be an easy task for most. The first word would be guilty, for it is the one she keeps closest to the surface. She feels guilty at those who were lost when she was a child, for the one who gave her life trying to get her out of the city and for not being by her adoptive fathers side when he died. Even though she carries this close to the surface, she keeps it even deeper within her heart. Every time a member of a unit she's guarding dies from an outside force she places the blame on herself, arguing that after so much bad has already happened she should be doing everything possible to get it right every-time. Yet the second trait would be a harder guess, yet many know her full well by it. Vengeful is the word many would use, something she would like to keep buried deep within yet it always has a way of lashing out. Even to this day she wishes nothing more than to track down the man who destroyed her town and make him pay for what he did. And when someone dies when she is on guard she is often found tracking down the party guilty of the crime and enacting her vengeance. She likes to keep this side buried because of what her guardian had told her when she lived in the forest. Yet the third is a hard one for people to guess, but those that come to know her understand this one all two well. She is a very hopeful person, but not hoping for a better day nor for better pay. She accepts the hard reality of life as is and carries those burdens on her shoulder. No, she hopes for a day for when she will finally find herself at peace with not only her past but her uncertain future. Now one would wonder why she would keep this the most hidden part of her personality. Yet this is something she herself is not fully aware of, and likely will never accept this even if she were. But besides these three traits which people consider core traits, she has a very complex personality. Because of her history she has a hard time trusting those around her, but once they gain her trust she will open up, at least a little, to them. But if they cross her once, or give her any reason to feel they might cross her that trust is removed instantly and she will be even harder to gain the trust. She also finds she has a particular disdain for those who are nobles and or in a position of power, regardless of their intentions. She will often never fully trust those even if they prove time and time again that they deserve it. But on the flip side, Anora will place those who find themselves in servitude in higher regard than most. Often showing compassion and otherwise uncanny friendliness towards those. If you show her respect, she will show it in return yet if you disrespect her she will follow suit. This is a result of her exposure to the merchant world, where she has developed a habit of looking for the more respectable and skinny of merchants. This is not because she fancies them but because those who have a sizable gut are known among the caravans to cheat people with prices, thus able to afford the food needed to support the weight. Overall, even though she can best be described by those 3 traits of guilt, vengeance, and hope; it is not the only things that drive her. [b][u][center]--[/center][/u][/b] History: Anora's life started as many would suspect of those born of noble birth, inside the comfort of a warm manor belonging to a wealthy and influential family. The early years of her life are as much a blur to her as they are to everyone, but some images present themselves from the darkness are clear. She remembers playing with other small children one day and weeping in her mothers arm the next but never remembering what was going on or why her emotions were as they were. But if there is any shinning light in this darkness, it was the thought that she had an easy, carefree life. As time progress to a time where her memories are more concrete, she remembers learning all the skills of the trade that went along with being a noblewoman. How to keep herself looking beautiful in front of the noblemen, to walk with grace where ever she went and how to do more meaningless tasks of the sort. She remembers she was just six or so when she attended her first festival, the sites and sounds found within whatever grand hall they were intoxicated the little girl. She felt alive in this setting, feeling as if the musicians were playing an ode to her and her alone. And if history would have turned out any differently, she would have made a fine noblewoman wife to some fine nobleman husband and be having these kinds of experiences on a regular basis. But the strings of fate pulled her down a more cruel, and dark road. It was only a week after this ball when the reaper made his visit to her family's estate, though he chose a clever form. Contrary to how death stalked that area, he did not come in the form of a terrible disease nor a nasty cold snap in winter. Rather he came into town as a friend of her father, almost family. Named Floki Caratun this man was, he was a childhood friend of her family and he and his men came to town saying they needed rest on their march back from a battle against a bandit lord. Her father accepted his friend with open arms, while the reaper accepted her father with a blade through the heart. Few memories of what happen next survive with her to this time, either blocked because they were painful or not noticed because she did not understand what was happening at the time. She remembers fire in the town spreading like wildfire from house to house with the screams of those being cut down in the streets are always the first thing which flood her memory. This is always followed by an overwhelming feeling of fear, dread and yet strange reassurance that everything would be alright. Attributing that to her mother, standing right beside, ushering the two to quickly make it to the forest. But her mother never made it more than halfway to the exit when a small band of the enemy troops spotted them. The mother told one of the servant girls to take her to the forest no matter the cost while she led the troops in another direction. This was the last sight of her mother, running back up the hill towards the manor through tear ridden eyes. Though her memory of the servant woman is much more clear, for even as a young girl Anora knew that what she was doing sealed her fate. This young woman, not more than seventeen herself, was risking her life to save someone who's family treated her less than a person. She could have left her there, she could have given up trying to pull this resistant little girl but she did not. This servant girl managed to get her to the forest and a fair way in at that. And as fate pulled on yet another string, so did a shadow in the darkness draw his bow and fire a shot. One soldier had caught up with them, weather he thought the servant girl and Anora to be a soldier and his child or what, Anora will never know why she was shot. And as she lay there dying, a single word formed on her lips. “Run” which Anora tried. Anora was a small girl of around six, who has until now lived a pampered life, Anora was quickly caught by the soldier and was being dragged by the back of her dress to the town when another *twang from a bow rang out in the darkness. Anora fell from the soldiers arm as he reached for his throat, muffling the gargled sounds of his futile attempt to prolong his fleeting life, from a arrow wound which poked out the front. Screaming at the sight before her, she almost fainted when a pair of powerful hands clasped themselves. Kicking and screaming as he pulled her for many minutes until eventually she found herself on the floor of a dark house in a strange part of the woods. The man took only a few seconds to explain who he was and why she could trust him. Anorn was still caught up in the moment, and it took a full three months before she felt comfortable with the situation as it was. Though she still did weep for her family as well as the scars of that night still fresh in her mind, she began the process of moving on. The next ten years passed by without much hassle yet plenty of work and training were to be had. Either it be how to properly hold a bow, build the strength required to draw the string or how to track a deer was some of the early stuff she was taught. This was combined with Anora always asking information about who this guardian was. She learned he was a former ranger for her father, spending the best years of his life scouting and engaging targets that presented a threat to her father and his troops. And he retired to this forest in order to do the same to the creatures which reside within from those who wished them all for themselves. And as time went on she learned yo accept it just at that, it is obvious now he had his demons but to share them was something he never would. But what he did share was his trove of knowledge of the woods, how to use nature to aid you in your en-devour, whatever it may be, and how to defend oneself from those who would wish to bring harm. Indeed, Anorn considers theses years to be the best of her life, so much so she began to refer to this ranger as her father more so than a mentor and guardian. And on one fateful winter day, when she was in a nearby town selling some things which the forest offered, her Gordian found his end when he was tracking a deer. A trap ,set not by them, snagged his leg and claimed his life. When Anora found him a day later, half way back from the trap and dead. A sense of guilt, one which had lingered from her childhood, crept over her. Everyone who had ever cared for her, her family, the servant girl and now the ranger had all died around her and now she was alone. No family, no one she could call a friend and no idea on what to do next. It took her a couple days to decide this land was not one for her to decide to leave the area in search of a land far more kind than this. First she tried Eridis, following alongside a caravan for the first time ever as an escort archer, where she found the locals to be creatures to be of pure spite, at least to her. She found herself at home in their forest but they did not find it likely that this forest would be her home. From here she traveled back along the road and the rest as they say is history. She kept traveling, witnessing the many vices of life she had never seen in her forest, while always keeping an ear and a eye for a place where she could finally be at peace with her past. But people are talking, stories are being told about people being killed. Random people showing up dead with a strange amulet on their possession. Everyone knows what this suggests, what ever bad there is in the world pales in comparison by the evil that could be coming. So with a heavy heart and a reluctant attitude, she turns her attention towards this potential threat. [b][i][center]--[/center][/i][/b] [i][b]Equipment: [/b][/i][i]High quality Dvergar guard bow[/i] – Found after the slaying of a small bandit party which had attacked the caracan she worked for. Logic pointed towards this bandit party being involved on a raid she had heard about against the dwarves. Though she and a couple members of the caravan brought the entire stock with them and sold at the market, Anora kept this bow as it was better than her current one. The bow itself is remarkable, plated metal cover a small section of the front and provide a sort of small shield agianst meele attacks. The wood used in construction of the bow was that from the Red Bodi tree, a very durable tree found all over. But this durability comes with a draw back. While it's durability and stopping power are higher than most, its rate of fire is signifigantly lower as she is still not fully strong enough to take advantage of these strong bow. [i]The quiver[/i] for this bow rests off her right hip, her dominat hand is right so she places the arrows in reach of it. The quiver contains two types of arrows but not in equal measure. When she is on guard she carries in her quiver ten Broadhead tipped arrows and seven Bodkin points for armor penetration when needed. Where as when she is hunting she carries only seven broadhead and ten Judo tipped arrows. The Broadhead is used for larger game while the Judo for small rabbits and other game of the sort. In her bag she carries pre-fashioned shafts without the heads attached. These are carried in another part of her travel kit. [i]Lower quality Iron and leather armor combo[/i] – Though she has some gold and could afford with some ease some higher quality armor she sees no reason to. This has served her fine thus far, ever since she was given it as a reward for a completed contract, and she prides herself on keeping herself far enough away from sword strikes. The chest armor is a simple hard leather cuirass dyed to a dark grey color. A few notches from sword slashes can be seen but those were not from her time as wearer. On her arms she wears some more protective armor. Dark grey, spiked gauntlets, reached from the tips of her fingers up until her elbow both giver her moderate protection from sword strikes but also provide to the intimidation factor. If the situation calls for it, she can use this as a make shift weapon if anyone every gets close enough and she loses her sword. Her legs also contain the same style of iron [i]Medium quality Iron shortsword[/i] – Another reward that went along with the armor, this blade is the typical length of a normal shortswrod and is very much a typical shortsword. [i]Survival pack[/i] – Carried over her shoulder when alone or on a cart when traveling with a group, this contains everything and everything she owns besides what she wears. Inside contains the essentials, a small stash of food and a large one of water. She has three flasks inside which take up half the space alone, though the limited food is because she trusts her own ability to track and forrage than waste money on someone elses work. She has a moderate stash of gold with her, not because she never spends but as a just in case situation. [i]Cloak[/i] Anora wears a simple green wool cloak over top everything. While this may have been her first purchase she made with her money, she has not treated it all that well. Holes are common place all over the cloak itself, ranging in size from small arrow size holes to large sections where there is no more fabric. The bottom is flayed and completely discolored due to the constant walking she has done combined with the exposure to the elements. [b][u]Other[/u][/b]: - Very good hunter, tracker and marksman. -While not as quick on her feet as other rangers, she is able to hold her ground a little better than those. While not the most intelligent of women, she is smart. She has her skills and knows how to work them to perfection. -Knows little in the way of reading nor can she write. -Can craft her own arrows, but proper arrowheads she can not forge. -Because of her lack of knowledge, she can be gullible. -Rarely gives eye to eye contact when she first meets a person, as her history suggests she has had limited experience socializing with others. While she can talk freely with merchants and drunkards, she feels unconformable when she lets someone look at her eyes if they are not a merchant, drunkard or someone inclined to be like them. -Good friends with Ardur, has known him for around a year now. His history and his attitude has allowed Anora to place a lot of trust in him. Character sheet [center][img]http://i59.tinypic.com/2lbpeg2.jpg[/img][/center] [b][u]Name[/u][/b]: Ardur Sage [b][u]Age[/u][/b]: 25 [b][u]Gender[/u][/b]: Male [b][u]Race[/u][/b]: Teryn [b][u]Appearance[/u][/b]: Ardur is a rather tall individual,sprouting in at a height of five foot eleven inches tall. Though you can't tell exactly what type of person he is when you talk to but you can tell one of the things he enjoys simply by the clothing and armor he wears, and that happens to be he enjoys looking as good as he can. He spends a lot of money on his clothing and armor, both in terms of functionality and practicality. The hood he hears to shield his face from the sun on his travels is a off beige color, and falls from the top of his right shoulder down to just below his left nipple and raps around his back and does the same around the back. This lays over-top his scale-mail plate armor that has been freshly polished in the town a couple days prior to arriving here. He wears this both because it is lighter than full plate armor, and when combined with the almost complete chain-mail coat he wears underneath, provides almost equal protection. The scale-mail covers both his right shoulders and separate pair covers both upper thighs. On his legs he has chain mail down to the knee and his right arm covers down to his elbow. Though his left arm is devoid of almost all chain mail save for the very top. His fire magic never burns his skin, but that same is not applied to metal nor cloth that he finds placed over-top. His face is kept mostly clean shaven except for a thin of stubble that dots his chin line, and is the same color as his short, yet wild black hair. His eyes are a deep sapphire color, but turn the color of his fire when he uses that magic. [b][u]Personality[/u][/b]: Ardur is a man who takes to enjoying the finer things in life. Fine food, fine wine,fine clothes, fine weapons and armor but most importantly, fine women. As long as he has the money to do so, he will be out every chance he gets to enjoy the fruit of his labor working as a sell-sword. Though many people would be surprised to hear someone describe Ardur as the type of guy who would relish an opportunity to take part in the crazy debacles he often finds himself apart of. To them, when they meet him during the day, he is a well-mannered and down to earth man. One who is contempt with a proper lifestyle and the status quo. Yet these same people have never seen what happens when he enters a tavern. Once the atmosphere hits him, the smell of the food, the sounds of music and the merry groups of people inside he becomes a different man completely. This is in turn caused by the duality of his life, one which has trod the line between good and criminal one too many times for him to tell which side he truly stands on. He was exposed to the bad, tavern lifestyle as a kid before he was exposed to the proper lifestyle of the wealthy and affluent as a servant. Adding on the celebrations that went on after a major battle and win combined with the dedication and strict code of life inside the barracks and this duality is exposed even further. These two in turn created the split people see, and he knows this. He knows very well how to adapt to most types of crowds, and the reasons for him doing this are few yet known by even less. Only those he truly trusts will find out. [b][u]History[/u][/b]: Ardur began his life like many others, he was born and raised in one of the many small town which dot the landscape, a town called Aetrim. He was born to a blacksmith father as well as a innkeeper mother. Though they were not of noble lineage nor were they in the most crowded city, life was easy and his family survived thanks to their villages unique location. This village was located between two major trading cities on the common caravan route, and it was a often used by them as a sort of middle ground rest stop while on their week long trips between the cities. Here they would use his fathers skills to fix any sort of metal that broke in between their trips as well as some would partake in the tavern. Some would simply rent a room, some would indulge in the local food while others liked to partake in less legal activities. To say his parents were crooks would be giving the average crook a bad name. His father was born into the world of being a blacksmith as was his father before and his father before. Yet another trait was always passed down from father to son, the skill of cheating an honest person out of their money. Ardur would often watch him at work, as he often explained how the material he used for his work was far superior to anything in the cities. The customers usually bought it and an extra sum of money was paid for the service. His mother was a whole different kind of crook, a master at slight of hand and distraction, she could steal a coin purse and an expensive hat from a wealthy merchant while he was simply observing one of the few “girls” his mother had in line. It was in this constant exposure to the rouge element that Ardur began his first ten or eleven years of life, his parents lost track after year two. He observed their motions, watched their speech patterns and even became a small time pawn in their games. He was learning the skills and gaining the experience needed for him to take over this place after his parents had moved on, and he liked it. He liked the party. It wasn't until an angry merchant from one of the major came back, with the Guard Captain and twenty odd soldiers in tow, did things start to change in his life. He remembers being carried out after his parents by an armed guard, he resisted until he saw his parents in chains being loaded into a cart. It was the first time he truly felt what fear was and Ardur remembers this feeling all too well. The guard captain asked what the fate of young Ardur to be and the decision was made between the Capitain and the wealthy merchant that, while he was of no fault here, he still needed to be punished. His sentence was he was to become the servant of the wealthy merchant till he came of age, where he would then join the local lords army. Five years he was a servant, constantly in fear any wrong move by him would be a prison sentence, before his true talent was finally discovered. On his fifteen or sixteenth birthday, he was sent away to the small training camp outside the city of Trikall. Here he, and every other boy his age, or a year older, would be put through the basics of fighting in the lords army, things such as sword play and fighting in a unit were a daily routine for Ardur. Those with “special gifts”, or able to shoot a bow with precision or who proved to be exceptional sword fighters were pulled from the normal routine. Ardur proved from day one that he had a lot of talent with a sword compared to the others in his age group, often winning every single sparring duel set up to challenge and even finding equal grounds with those older than he was. The trainers all agreed his skills were rough, but held the most potential out of anyone within his class. It was with this in mind that Ardur, and the others who were deemed worthy, were taught the ways of the Ulfheonar, or as called by others, the wall breakers. It was here that each candidate received more focused training in his, or her, weapon of choice. For Ardur, it was training in dual wielding swords while a fellow son-of-convicts preferred a heavy two handed axe. For many months their skills were honed through constant practice and sparring matches, to the point that each and every member of this small unit-in-training was a proper warrior is their own right. But when he was either seventeen or eighteen, he learned the true meaning behind their wall breakers name. He had long thought this was literal, or to be the one that breaks the defenses on the wall allowing others to flood through the gap. But in truth it was much simpler yet intensely more dangerous than that. As their commander explained their lord cared not for other cities, but small clashes on the field where the shield wall reigned supreme. The job of the Ulfheonar were to, simply put, jump over the enemy's shield wall and wreck havoc from behind. To this his commander said, “Many of you will not jump enough, and fall belly first into a spear. Many will jump enough but get hit with an arrow or a throwing spear mid flight before falling back first into spears. And those who survive all of this, and manage to put your skills to use behind their lines will be paid by our lord a most hansom sum of coin.” And it was with these thoughts that the next year of training began, learning how to coordinate with those who were too slow to fight, but strong enough to aply a boost on your jump, on getting everything perfect. After this year was up, and all their training finished, the group were added into the small army as professional soldiers, and it was not long after that did Ardur taste battle for the first time. He forgets now what started the conflict between his lord and the lord of a smaller town. All Ardur knows is one morning they were ushered from the barracks, sent on a quick march to a nearby field and set into formations. It took only a few hours for the other lord and his forces to arrive. There was some tense dialogue between the lords before they retreated to their own forces and the calls for the walls to be formed. Arrows and spears rained in for a second before two separate calls, one from both lords, for their forces to charge, to which the soldiers all responded with a loud war cry before the sounds of shields and cry's filled the air. A few moments later the commander of the wall breakers instructed everyone to their positions, the breakers themselves many paces behind the wall and the pair of strong men who would boost them over the wall just a pace behind. Then the call for the jump and Ardur, and the rest of this group took off in a dead sprint. Timing was everything for these jumps, if you did not plant your feet in the waiting hands of the supports then you would run into the back of a wall and bloody your nose, as well if you did not run fast enough you would die. But these thoughts were fleeting as his plant foot found its place right in the waiting hands of the two supports and soon he was “flying high” above the wall heading straight behind the enemy's line. Arrows and spears littered the air around them,some finding home, some cutting it close like an arrow did to his right cheek, while the vast majority missed. Ardur landed hard on the ground behind the enemy line, rolling to avoid hurting his body before he found himself right side up and with swords drawn. The battle was chaos, attack an archer here before spinning and slashing the back of someone on the rear of their shield wall before engaging another person who broke off to try and kill him. It was not long before he found himself surrounded by three enemy soldiers. Ardur felt a rage grow inside him, a fire that was fueling him on. He did not know what caused this fire, nor why it drove him into a rage but all he knows is it unlocked his latent magical gifts. When he was charged by one of the men, he lost his left hands sword. Blocking another strike with his other sword, he grabbed the first man who charged him by the throat and was prepared to squeeze the life out of him when the rage inside of him came to a boiling point. Out of nowhere, his left hand erupted into flames and with it the mans neck did as well. The fur he was wearing caught fire immediately and the screams of pain filled the air just as fast. Ardur quickly released his grip and backed away from the two others. The man, now engulfed in flames, succumbed to the fires and soon passed. Yet the fire on his left hand did not, nor did it burn his skin. The two other enemys, both with a wild look of fear in their eyes charged in and both fell to fire and steel. The battle was soon over, and his commander upon hearing the stories was delighted to hear that one of his wall breakers was a battle mage. Ardur served for another four years in this army before striking it out on his own as a sell sword, jumping from caravan guard jobs to bands of mercenaries doing various tasks, some which linger in his mind more than others. It was here he met his friend Anora, whom he had worked with on three caravans now as well they had just finished a job together and now he is waiting for more work to come available as he waits in a tavern, enjoying the finer aspects of life. [b][u]Equipment[/u][/b]: -Two standard Steel Short swords. -Mail-plate and Chain Mail -Small stash of gold, not enough to last more than a pair of days. -Pack with food, water and his stash of gold. -Knicknacks, small trinkets given by his old wall-breakers. -Very good friends with Anora, given her distaste of those who abuse servants and his time as a servant made them friends quick about a year ago. [b][u]Other[/u][/b]: -Friends with Anora -Good liar -Still a decent pickpocket -Can sing very well. -Life of the party[/hider] [hider=even older]Name: Mon Skor Age: 21 Race: Human Role: Healer, blood mage Physical Description: Mon Skor, although he is a man with a bounty with a bounty for his head, carries himself like any former healer of the temple of life would. His lean 5 foot 6 inch frame stands tall out of pride , his once pale white skin color has recently tanned to a light brown hue, because of his recent series of events, long had he been kept indoors for study so he had rarely ventured out into the day while he was at the temple. His hair, once the pride of his appearance, has since fallen into a tangled, dirty mess since he has been on the run. His young face shows signs of his current plight, the bags that rest under his eyes hang low suggesting he rarely sleeps enough, his face is starting to show a thick shadow in the form of his beard and the various small cuts and bruises give sign that he has been on the run for quite some time now. The once bright blue eyes have grown dull and closer to Grey-blue color. His clothes fare no better shape than his face, his long black hooded cape has various cuts throughout with the bottom part torn to shreds from his constant running through the woods. His black shirt has various cuts ranging in all sizes from clashes from the men who are chasing him, neatly fitting over the scars created by the ones that managed to strike. The bottom of his once black trousers now stained to more of a dull brown color from dirt and mud, suggesting that neither he nor his clothes have seen a proper wash in many months. Sporting only light leather armor on his legs and arms, which also has various slashes across, he prefers to travel light and this includes his small brown bag he carries on his back, carrying only a couple days worth of food and water at a time, a kit of medical supplies and what few gold he has at the time. On his waist is perhaps the most intact and clean peace of clothing he has, his belt, seeing as it is also his newest one. It's nothing more than a simple brown belt, weighed down on the left side by his trusty knife. Wrapped around his right hand is a dirtied bandage covering the spot where he draws the blood for use in his blood magic, one that is often kept under a brown glove. The only exception to his light policy is his long, heavy metal staff he always carries with him. It runs almost the full length of his body with the bottom part containing a small steel bulge,which acts as a counter weight for the large gem on top. Mental: Mon was once one of the youngest and most brightest minds the temple of life had to offer, always passionate about his studies towards healing and later ancient history with a natural curious nature, and ever faithful to the godess of life. He was never found too far from the library during the day and early hours of the night. It is a result of this life long obsession with studying he has become a very competent healer and a somewhat educated scholar even though he is just 21 years of age. When the situation is normal, he is a well mannered, calm and quick thinking man, curious by nature and dedicated once he has found a subject he likes. He has no major fancy for drinks nor drugs, but never passes up a good drink when one is offered to him. Like all people, he has his problems and some are just a minor annoyance, others have been the cause for major concern. His first, and very easily noticed, problem is his social skills. Where a normal 5 year old boy would be playing outside with friends or helping his father in the fields of their village, he threw himself in his studies, it's not that he doesn’t know how to interact with others or hold a conversation, quite the opposite. Get him talking about something he is interested and he is often forced to shut up. His problem with his social skills is because of the fact he has trouble fitting in and relating to people who were raised outside the temple. The thing about him that has both crafted the way he is today and one that has caused the most trouble is his thirst for knowledge and his inability to completely fight off temptation. It is said in the temples, that “When a mage, who cannot fend off temptation by him or herself, will eventually succumb to the dark arts if it is ever exposed to them.” Once he discovered how to use blood magic as well as when the temple order excommunicated and chased him from their ranks, he became a shell of his former self. Paranoia has become a constant, and a unwelcoming companion for him on his recent travels, every twig snap in the forest is a call for alarm, every shout in a crowded market is a cause for concern and every armored knight is one to be feared. In the back of his mind, the presence of the powerful Demon whom he had called upon still lingers as if it never left, one whom he simply calls Temptation, who is hungering for admittance once more to our plane of existence. Mon was thrust out of the temple, where he had spent almost his entire life, and forced to flee from the order's knights into a life he had no idea how to live. It is a result of this that the temptation's dark call is resounding ever so sweet inside his head with every passing day and every close encounter with death he faces, his resolve to resist it is fading fast. Even though he has been excommunicated from the order, he still feels the power and presence of the godess of life within him, which is the only thing that has kept him from falling off the cliff into the blackness that is pure dark magic. History: Mon's life began in a place of no particular interest, to the east of the vast plains sat this small farming village where he was born. From what he was told, both his parent’s were poor farmers who could not take care of their only son, and this was the first reason the priests were to take him in, but once they felt the young boy, they realized he carried in his veins some innate magic ability. This roused the interest of the priests, magic was a rare quality in people from these parts, often they become very powerful healers if trained well, so the decision was made to bring young Mon, just age 3 at this time, to their temple and teach him from this young age. It was from this point on, the Mon we see of today began to take shape. At age 5, his first memories he can remember were of him inside the temple's library being taught the basic's of a simple healing spells, a simple fix for the everyday cut's and scrapes that one could suffer in a journey. It was a painful lesson, the magic felt like it was burning his skin as it closed the cuts he had sustained while running earlier that day. It was with this lesson, the priest teaching Mon told him a saying that would stick with him till now. “The godess of life has granted you the gift of healing.” he paused “To use this gift on wounds not serious, becomes a waste of your gift.” This was a quote from the Book of healing. Mon's next few years remained much the same, the temple monks would teach him only a couple of spells each year, each more difficult and required more of his energy to learn and use than the last. But his resolve to keep learning pushed the limits of his own energy, as well as pushing aside the expectations that the temple priests had of him. He, a young lad of 10 now, had learned over half the books of healing spells they had in their library and was using these spells on the sick and injured that visited the temple. The effects of this excessive use of magic from such a weak body were beginning to show , his limbs grew weaker and more tired with every passing week, simple tasks such as opening the books themselves became a chore to him. But this still did not stop him from pursuing this path, it was like a hunger like he had never faced before, one which no matter how much knowledge he fed the hunger it just never went away, he always wanted to know more. It was when he was near his own breaking point physically and mentally did the priests give him the only gift they gave, a healers staff. It was a big piece of equipment for the young boy to handle, at the time he was only around 4 foot 4 inches tall whereas the staff easily was 5 foot 5. But after he learned how to activate the conduit gem on top, he never stopped carrying it with him. The gem, instead of the bodies energy, gathers and stores energy from the surrounding area and allows the user to use magic and cast spells without draining their energy first. It was with this gift, Mon was able to finish learning the books of healing spells by the time he had just reached the age of 14, with his body still intact. For the next 4 years he remained at the temple, a devoted healer for the priests and the people who came, and he lived these years relatively care free. It wasn't until he reached the age 20 did his mind's hunger for knowledge began to quake once more. So once more did he throw himself into the books and studies that the library had to offer. The subject that caught his interest the most was the tales of the elves, their lore, beliefs and traditions. Mon was fascinated by the old tales of the titan, just unstoppable force they could wield, it was a subject that when free time presented himself he would always venture back into the library to study the many books on this lore. It was only after he had finished the last book on titans and was in the process of putting it back on the top shelf did he find a journal named “The last of my kind – The journal of Derik Freedman, the last of the blood mages in this area. Finding this in this particular library came as a complete shock to him. The temples of the land a long time ago had sought out and destroyed all books written about or for the use of blood magic, and he could not understand why this book still remained in the library. At first, he wanted to give the book to the priests to destroy, but his curious nature got the better of him once again, so when no one was around, he slipped the book into his bag and headed off to his room. As soon as the door closed with a thud before him and he had laid down in his bed did the reading of the journal begin. “I won't know who you are, and you will never meet me while I am alive. Even if this is so, I know we share some common traits. I, for one, know you are a healer as I was once upon a time at this temple. I also know the only reason you are reading this is because you cannot help yourself from doing so, temptation for knowledge is the gift and the curse we both are sharing and its with this temptation I started my study into the use of blood magic. Looking back on things, I can see that both blood magic and healing magic are nothing more than two brothers, one of which uses the essence of life, that of which is the blood our bodies all contain, to heal and the other uses it as a token to unlock great power tha..........” The journal was not long, only a mere 30 pages in length so it was not long before Mon had reached the last couple of pages “My secret is out, and I know they will come for me. I accept my fate. Escape is impossible, for I am the last of my kind. Instead I shall hide this journal in the place the priests shall never expect me to, in their own library in plain sight. It is my hope that you, whomever you may be, follow my map and instructions located on the next couple of pages and embark on the greatest journey of your life. Everything will make sense at the end” Closing the journal shut, Mon's mind was faced at a crossroad, one road was the life he was living now and what the future would bring while the other was an unknown path leading to an uncertain future, and Mon did not know which way he wanted to go. His entire life had been focused on the school of healing and helping others, and he was content with the way things were. But on the other hand, the man was right. Knowledge is one of the few things that he seeks in life, he always thought that it is better to know now and regret later than to not know now and regret not knowing later. He decided, after a long hard thought night, that the next day he would follow the map and follow the instructions laid out to him. He set out early the next morning, telling the priests that he had a desire to walk through the Forrest on this day, a habit unusual to him but it set off no obvious alarms, the priest thought it good that he not only exercise his mind but finally to exercise his body. Once he was out of the sight of the temple, he opened the journal and flipped to the map. A crudely drawn map it was, one he could tell was out of haste, but it was one he could read none the less. It took only a 2 hour walk through the forest till he came to the maps end, on the side of the mountain lay a doorway with an old wooden door, long since had it entered a state of disrepair hanging off its hinges in a crooked way. Pushing open the door in stride he entered the small, dimly lit cavern. It was here where he flipped to the last page of the book and began reading Deriks final instructions. “Once you have entered the cave, locate the alter on the far side opposite the door. Once there you will see a small indent in said alter, you need to drain your blood into their and recite the follow phrases, do not pause while speaking.” Mon quickly stumbled through the room over to the wall opposite where he entered and found the large alter at the edge. Reaching inside his bag, he quickly grabbed his knife and, after a moments pause cut his right hand and let the blood start pouring into the alter. “As a token for your readmission to our plane of existence, I offer you my blood,” echoed across the walls of the cavern, doubt began to fill his voice “my essence of life so that you, Derik Freedman, may return once more.” As he finished the last word, a strange silence fell over the area. No longer were the birds chirping outside nor the sound of the wind rushing through the trees had seemed to stop. Turing around he could see the wind was indeed still blowing still, but harder than it was before. As he turned back around his sight was greeted by the form of a man standing closely in front of him, pale and clear stood the figure in front of him. As anyone would, this sudden appearance shocked and spooked Mon, and as anyone would also do, he stumbled back away from the form. The only thing he could seem to speak were the words “Derik?” His voice spoke quietly. “Yes” Answered the form “My time here is short, so I must make this quick. I have but one gift to offer you for your token, and I must know do you wish to receive it?” “Wha..what sort of gift? Questioned Mon “Nothing more than the gift of the knowledge you seek, I only have a few moments more before I am forced back, now I need to know, do you wish to receive this knowledge” Without thinking Mon replied “Yes, yes I do.” As his answer finished, the form quickly moved towards Mon. The forms hand rose to Mon's head, and began chanting a spell, speaking so fast that Mon could not tell if he was speaking the same language anymore. But, the effects of this spell were clear in a moment. Flooding into his head like a wall of water down a stream were the knowledge and experiences of Derik himself. No longer able to hear or see, all he could feel was pain. Pain he did not suffer but the feeling still stinging his mind as if he experienced himself. Words and spells, one's that feel like he learned and mastered himself, and the ability to use suddenly made perfect sense in his head. It was with one last thought did the flood stop. “Use my knowledge well” It was with this thought, he was able to see again as did his thoughts. The knowledge that was given made Mon feel a sort of power he has never been able to feel before. Still standing by the alter, Mon might have stayed in that exact same spot for many hours reflecting over the new knowledge and spells had it not been for a booming voice he heard from behind “Mon Skor, you have been caught practicing and using the forbidden magic that is blood magic, you are henceforth excommunicated from the order and sentenced to an intimidate death.” Turning around once more Mon could see the form of one of the Holy knights that protect all the temples and root out any black magic user. “Do you have any final words?” He asked from behind his metal helmet. “I got a few” Mon said, with his hand still dripping blood he stretched it out in front of him and spoke. “I offer my blood as a token, forsaken souls of the blood mages, for you to exact your revenge on he who has ended your life. I call on you to torment his mind and make him remember the pain that his order has brought upon you” He finished. “Nothing can sav-” The knight started, but stopped suddenly. The knights eyes suddenly grew wide, fear could be easily read off his face and a scream bellowed from the knights lungs that echoed through the cave. The knight fell to the floor and rolled in a desperate attempt to make the torture stop. It was with this Mon made his escape. Looking back for a brief moment, he saw 3 other knights running to the aide of the stricken man, seeing Mon's face in the process. He knew that he could not return to the temple, instead he took off running to the village not more than a hour away, gathered some materials from a man who’s life he had saved recently , and set off on the run. Running from village to village, town to town using what money he earned through simple healing to buy food and supplies and staying for a night or two before he took off on the run again. No matter where he runs, it seems the knights are always on his tail. He has just arrived in a large town which he dose not know the name of, using what money he had left he rented a room in the local tavern to stay for a couple nights and gather some strength before setting off again. It was in this tavern, early in the morning of his last day staying in the town where he heard a group of people discussing hunting titan's over some breakfast. Even if he thought them to be crazy, remembering back to the stories of the unstoppable power they were said to have, if it paid he wanted in. “Titan's” he though “Wonder what they look like.” Fuel has been added to the fire that is his hunger for knowledge, a fuel long since missing since he has been on the run, makes Mon's curiosity run wild once more “I guess there is only one way to find out” he said under his breath as long since absent smile crept over his face. (OOC This is my first attempt ever at a magic based character, I am still not familiar with the way the magic in this setting works but I plan to learn as I go. Later history on the run was excluded, I plan for some flashbacks to take place during the RP at various stages, mostly during his sleep whenever the party decides to rest /end OOC) Arsenal/Possessions: His biggest item is his healers staff. Its a long dark Grey steel staff at around 5 and a half feet long, at the bottom rests a heavy steel bulge which acts as the counter wait for the conduit gem on top. Holding the gem in place are 3 triangular pieces of steel that the gem fits snugly into. When the gem is activated, if it has stored energy, shines a bright green color. But it's ability to hold energy is limited, and when it begins to run out the green light starts dulling and flickering out till it extinguishes itself and turns to a dull Grey. Can only be used as a source of energy for his healing spells. He also carries a knife,though it is not very useful in combat, more served to be the tool for his blood magic. It is about 6 inches long and curves back towards the top. Powers: Mon's healing ability was once his most prized possession, his ability to heal many different kinds of injuries ranging from something as simple as a cut or a sprained ankle to that as complex as a gash from a sword or a broken bone. However, as of late, his ability to heal has been corrupted by his use of blood magic. Before, where he would only feel the power of the magic flowing from him to the wound, a magic that would hurt those who needed the healing in return, now it takes the wound from the one needing healing and places it temporarily upon himself, feeling all the pain that the person was feeling before the magic had healed it. Mon tries to seldom use his power to heal as of late, partly of the pain and more so the fear of the magic not being able to heal the wound fast enough. But that won't stop him from using it when someone is in dire need of healing, or when there is some desperately needed money to be made His blood magic, though being fairly new to him the gift of knowledge he had received allows him to feel like he has studied this field for as long if not longer than his healing magic. His blood acts as a token to the souls and creatures from another plane of existence, a token that pays for it, an entrance to the plane we reside on. With this magic, he can do things as simple as torment the mind of a person with the dammed souls of his foes or as complex as allowing his body to play host to powerful demons which take control over it, and use their powers as his own. All of this magic, however, is dependent on the token he gives. Frankly put, the more blood he offers the more powerful the spells he can use. And here lays society’s big problem with blood magic, what is their to stop a mage from using all his own blood or that of another in search of greater power.[/hider]