Njohuri's Encyclopedia: A Character Reliquary

[Vaeltaja]

Though I don't have much experience with roleplaying beyond a couple of stints with tabletop games, I created what I feel, at least in time, could become compelling characters within someone's universe. Below are characters that I've designed. Artwork potentially included is not created by me, and serves simply as a reference point for the identities of characters included herein. All characters shown here are also subject to modification, so their lore may change in the future.

[Vaeltaja]

Akhaav, the Lord of Rot

^{Reference artwork created by Elisabeth Nagurnaya}

In a small village, there lived a boy with no name. Throughout his homeland, a miniscule property within the territory of Novala, he was known as an orphan, his family having long since abandoned him for new lands. He was mocked for having no parents most days and avoided at all other times. For the child, life was miserable and existence was a burden. Still, it was far from the worst that was to come.

Novalan soldiers would often ride through the village's muddy paths, looking down upon and chastising its denizens. Some would even take to apprehending what things of little worth the residents had, a show of either force or cruelty. Those who could not give were usually beaten, so as to set an example to those who would defy their power. Attempts were made to issue complaints and grievances with Novala's ruler. They would be labeled as dissidents and promptly imprisoned for daring to question the motives of "His Majesty's most noble knights."

As expected, the village people would start trying to gather support from nearby communities, in the hopes of showing His Eminence the consequences of and effects from the abysmal treatment they received. The king responded in kind by sending his forces to slaughter those in opposition. The boy would watch from the shadows as his home was set ablaze. Body after body would fall before him, and it would be the first time he'd become familiar with the empty gaze of the dead.

The soldiers who committed these atrocities would soon find and set upon on him with the intention of leaving no witnesses. They would pursue him into the snow-draped fields and to the edges of the nearby lake, where they would fire upon him with multiple arrows. One arrow would strike him in the back and send him face-down into the murky waters, where the sediment and blood would mix. To the Novalans, he was as dead as those in the village.

He washed ashore, miles away from his home, barely alive and breathing. A passing traveler happened upon him. Fearing the worst, they set to work on healing his wounds. Though the traveler was well-versed in the arcane, no amount of magic could remove an arrow without doing more damage than could be mended. The boy was brought to the traveler's home and, with the help of a nearby doctor, the arrow was extracted with minimal complications, and the traveler took care of the rest. The boy would wake days later, battling an awful fever. Luckily, the same traveler also dabbled in the art of potionmaking, and was able to concoct a vial of medicine that would nurse the boy back to health.

The boy would stay with the traveler for a time, learning that they were one of the High Mages of Novala, a collective of extremely talented and powerful sorcerers that served the kingdom at the behest of its ruler. The traveler would repine about their issues with how the kingdom and, at large, the territory was run, most of which the boy would fail to understand, at least at first. Over time, their bond would strengthen, and the traveler would come to trust the boy to such an extent that they would begin teaching him the basics of magic; how to manipulate the already-present energies of the world and harness the power necessary to conjure and control them.

It can be considered needless to say that he showed a natural aptitude for such things, and yet the traveler noticed a deeply-seeded anger within him. No student under their tutelage had ever practiced with such determination and intensity. The boy would regularly disregard sleep and food in favor of research and training. In just under a year, he could perform powers that even the most faithful students had trouble perfecting. To the traveler, it was a worrisome development, and so they would take to guiding them in the ways of the just. Such lessons were ineffective, and the boy would abandon their guardian, in search of strength.

He would find the source of such embedded deep in the heart of a forest where very few dared to tread, in an academy dedicated to the most primal of magics. He would be inducted into the newest body of pupils, each of which were there for some nefarious reason or another. For a little over seven years, he would study the deepest, darkest parts of the occult, dipping into the wisdom of the profane. At the end of the seventh year, he and his colleagues would be escorted to a remote area, even deeper into the woodland, to meet with the headmaster of the academy.

The headmaster was a multi-limbed creature, resembling a human. Though their features resembled that of a woman, their voice was dual-toned. Each of her limbs gestured in extravagant display as she divulged the purpose of the meeting. Before them was set a legendary runic circle, inscribed with the symbols and representations of powerful warlocks and academy alumni who had since passed on. The task was simple; one would step into the circle, offer a tribute of their life essence, and the spirits of the alumni would grant them a familiar that would accompany them for the remainder of their days.

Wolves, crows, imps - each student accepted the task and gave what was necessary. The boy would bring up the rear, entering the ring last. With a sacrificial blade, he would slice open his palm and give himself unto that which demanded it. What was granted to him was not a simple familiar, an animal or otherworldly lesser demon that would accompany and aid him in his quest for magic. The spirits sensed a great and terrible malice within him, and bestowed upon him an ephemeral fiend that matched his sheer propensity for hatred: the aspect of rot.

Swirling pools of black and dark red would bubble beneath him, overflowing the circle. From beneath the surface rose a countless number of hands, each rotted and decayed and hungrily searching. These hands would shackle the students and teachers and drag them under, into the deep. The only two that survived the onslaught of the damned and dead were the boy and the headmaster, who expressed such genuine jubilee at their pupil's potential. She would take to calling him a name derived from the ancient variations of her native language: Akhaav, meaning "world's shadow".

The headmaster would take Akhaav beneath her wing and begin teaching him the most profane of arts - necromancy. Though largely forbidden across the lands, few were still practitioners. He cultivated this newfound knowledge with such proficiency and speed, but at the same time, both his mind and body would begin to wither. Having been instilled with what was essentially the essence of extinction, the power of such a blight was too great for such a young psyche to contain. The headmaster knew this and offered a solution, if only temporary - she would sacrifice her body, letting her soul inhabit his physical form to keep it from withering.

The ritual was swift and its effects minute, prolonging Akhaav's personal destruction by only a few years. However, it was all the time he needed. Having perfected the talents needed to sustain virtually limitless capability, Akhaav would let his flesh waste away, passing on shortly after entering into adulthood. His body would not be abandoned for long; though his surface flesh and organs had failed him, his bones were still usable, and his capacity for power excelled to the point where he could compel the dead to move through sheer force of will, his sights focused on one destination in particular: the kingdom of Novala.

Akhaav would carve a bloody swath through the lands on the march back to his homeland. With every body that fell, a new servant would rise in its place, pledged to serve the newfound Lord of Rot. His power grew considerably, to the point where he could summon projections of himself that could move and act independently of being governed. The legions of the damned would swarm Novala en masse, slaughtering all within sight and turning them over to his cause. Novala's armies would resist at first, fighting tooth and nail to beat back the seemingly endless hordes, but to no avail.

The traveler would watch in horror from a distance as their former colleagues joined their strength together and weaved together a great firestorm, a last-ditch effort to eliminate the sea of undead. As this took place, the king would abandon the throne, fearing a fate worse than death. The firestorm would descend upon the kingdom and its territories and level it to the ground, turning all within it to ash. The High Mages, their mana depleted, would perish in the flames, the last of their vitality spent. In place of Novala, a massive expanse of ruin remained, the swirling remnants of powerful magic possessing the corpses of those who hadn't disintegrated for moments at a time before collapsing, only to be possessed again by some other existing fragment of befouled energy. For all intents and purposes, Akhaav was gone, his vengeance complete.

Except he wasn't.

Deep in a fetid swamp, there lies a throne. Upon this decomposing seat lay the remains of Akhaav, whose name traveled so far across the land that he was now legend, a nightmare tale told to children who misbehaved. His skeleton immobile, the lich sits, slack-jawed among the throngs of his aimlessly-wandering soldiers. Where his eyes once lived, there were now bright, ruby-tinged wisps that could pierce the stares of hardiest warriors. Though he could no longer move, his exerted power was all but absolute, and he would use such to complete two final tasks: find and eviscerate the king, so that he may set an example to all those who opposed him, and return to Novala, where he would cross the eternally-burning grounds upon the backs of those beneath him, take his place upon the throne that refused to fall, and proclaim himself as the new king.

[Vaeltaja]

_{P H A N T O M Z E A L O T}

S E N N A G U I L L A I N

^{Reference artwork created by Darren Bartley, also known as fightPUNCH}

_{B I O L O G I C A L / P H Y S I C A L I N F O R M A T I O N}

Age: 31

Gender: Male

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Sexuality: Straight

Height: 6'1"

Weight: 137 lbs

Blood Type: A-

Hair Color/Length: Black / Shoulder-length

Eye Color: Unknown

Facial Features: Unknown; cybernetic mask fused to skin

Body Type: Thin; malnourished

Scars/Tattoos: Multiple scars across upper body; ID tattoo across inside of left wrist

Piercings: None

Apparel: Black sneakers; black denim jeans, ripped; light blue sweatshirt; oversized hooded windbreaker (midnight blue); torn cloth draped over the head; cybernetic mask; multiple mechanical parts embedded into shoulders and head

_{S O C I A L I N F O R M A T I O N}

Full Name: Senna Griffon Guillain

Aliases: Sen; Shell

Sanction: Korven Outskirts

Occupation: Homeless; formerly subjected to medical experimentation

Assets: None

Criminal Affiliations: None

Family: Miriel Guillain (wife, deceased); Lochne Guillain(son, missing, presumed dead)

Relationships: Dr. Joseph Havadi, former therapist; "Lucid", HALO dealer

_{P S Y C H O L O G I C A L I N F O R M A T I O N / A N A L Y S I S}

Likes: HALOs, isolation, sleep

Dislikes: Questions, being sober

Hobbies: Using HALOs, dumpster diving

Interests: Seeking vengeance against those that ruined him

_{T R A I T A S S E S S M E N T}

Positive Traits: Dedicated, imaginative, patient

Neutral Traits: Casual, private, sarcastic

Negative Traits: Angry, cynical, escapist

Illnesses: Depression, PTSD

Subject exhibits a need to escape from reality; has expounded on a desire to "seek vengeance (against? Why?)". When sober and under questioning, subject exhibits traits closely related to frustration and anger. Behavioral therapy has proven ineffective, as he seems to rebuff all attempts to help. Little is known about his private life beyond the loss of his family some time back; I'm hard-pressed to wonder if it's because of the HALOs affecting his memory of its his tendency to isolate himself. Despite not opening up about personal details, he seems to display a rather unreal fantasy and often elaborates at length about an imaginary where he rules as king. Recommending chemical pacifiers and consistent surveillance to prevent him from becoming a danger to himself and others.

- Dr. Havadi

_{B I O G R A P H Y}

Senna's life before Baruel remains an elusive mystery. He found his way to the city with his wife, Miriel, and then infant son, Lochne. Immediately, he showed an aptitude for technology, working his way into the job sector through wiring work. Through effort, talent, and word-of-mouth, companies in the sanction of Eden would soon pick up on a new, yet experienced machinist. His family would be moved into the upper sectors, able to live a life of luxury as Senna worked tirelessly to craft a better future for those he cherished.

Detractors inside the company would uproot their lives in less than a year, framing Senna for a corporate mistake that resulted in the deaths of several people. Senna and his family would be exiled from Eden, plunging back down into the slums of Korven with no money to their names. Though he would protest and attempt to shutter the business for which he slaved away, his efforts amounted to nothing.

Life would become even more unbearable when several members of a local gang stormed into their living quarters and demanded everything they own. Senna refused to budge. As punishment, his attackers would brutalize and beat both he and Miriel. Miriel would perish in the attack, her body and child abducted. Helpless, he watched them disappear before his very eyes. He would never find them again, presuming his son dead after searching so long. In the hopes of escaping death, he fled to the outskirts of Korven, where he remains to this day, aimlessly wandering and without a home.

To cope with the trauma, he would turn to HALOs; small, flat techno-narcotic chips that, when inserted into a cybernetic implant, would induce hallucinations and feelings of euphoria in the user. It would prove to be an addiction to such an extent that he would often undergo medical experiments involving cybernetic augmentation, resulting in a mask being fused to his face and several mechanized canisters implanted into and wired through his shoulders and head. These trials would provide him money to afford HALOs from the local drug dealer, known only as "Lucid".

At one point, Senna tried therapy, and a doctor named Joseph Havadi was willing to see him, looking forward to alleviating the nightmares that plagued his psyche day and night. These sessions, while seldom revealing, were largely ineffective, with Senna demanding both vengeance against his enemies and more HALOs so that he could "return to the world where he was king". Little was learned beyond the realization that there was a deep rage boiling within him, and what form that rage would take has yet to be seen.

[Vaeltaja]

_{R E S I S T O R O F T H E E N D}

E L I J A H W A L S H

^{"Come on. No matter what, we're getting out of here."}

════ C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T ════ _______________________________________________ _______________________________________________ ════ C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y ════ 🇺🇸 Elijah Walsh _______________________________________________ 28 | Male | Caucasian | Blood Type: O+ _______________________________________________ Musician ▼ O T H E R I N F O ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Build - Lean, Fairly Fit ► Eye Color - Blue ▼ S K I L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Resilience ► Ingenuity ► Compassion ► Aggression ► Endurance ► Coordination ▼ W E A K N E S S E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Prone to Anger ► Stubborn ► Impulsive ► Reckless ▼ L I K E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Music (most genres) ► Writing (usually lyrics) ► Hanging with Friends ► Exploring ▼ D I S L I K E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Isolation ► Deception ► The Smell of Blood ► Those Who Refuse to Help

══════ A P P E A R A N C E ══════ At a height of five feet and eleven inches, with long golden locks to match his well-trimmed beard, Elijah is your typical, run-of-the-mill coffee shop musician, coming in at a lean 148 pounds. He's usually found wearing a raglan tee shirt in any one of several colors, with a pair of black capri pants to match. At times, he can be seen sporting a red flannel shirt over his outfit that's seen some wear over the years, often with the sleeves tucked. Along his arms, coupled with what can be seen along his neck, are an array of various tattoos, each one a conscious decision that carries some personal meaning. His knuckles have also been subject to scarring, a result of his days spent defending himself in the orphanage when he was younger. ═══════ P E R S O N A L I T Y ══════ Elijah considers himself pretty easygoing nowadays, having developed a sense of patience and calm over the years. Though he tends to be friendly to most people he comes across, he stays guarded and keeps to himself so as not to appear vulnerable; all this as a result of trust issues during his formative years. However, when involved in topics of conversation he enjoys, namely things about music, he tends to let down his guard a little. When confronted in a negative situation, Elijah turns to his fighter's instinct to find a quick end to a bad situation, especially when people he cares about are affected. He's willing to lay down his life to defend those who have no problem doing the same, making him a remarkable team player. However, when faced with obstacles he can't overcome, he often gets frustrated, adopting a defeatist attitude, especially under extreme stress, but don't let that confuse you; in times of pressure, he's quick both in thought and action. ═══════ B I O G R A P H Y ══════ As a kid, Elijah Walsh (formerly Caskell) was always a dreamer, often imagining a better life for himself outside the dingy walls of Mary's Love Orphanage. Growing up, he turned to music as a means of distraction from the various woes of his life, cultivating a passion for the guitar and spending as much time as he could in the music room on the top floor. When he wasn't there, he isolated himself away from the other kids, though it didn't stop the constant bullying he received on a daily basis. Things would grow increasingly violent, forcing Elijah to defend himself against the vicious attacks by the other children, some of which were older than him. Because of this, he learned to fight dirty and opportunistically, doing whatever it takes to win. Eventually, he would be adopted by the Walsh family, consisting of himself and his new parents, Leopold and Marie. Life was stressful for a while, and Elijah would sometimes resort to throwing things around when under considerable stress. This didn't stop Leo and Marie from doing their best to raise him, eventually entering him into therapy in the hopes that he would get better. Though the sessions worked out for the most part, Elijah still found himself prone to anger, but was now able to channel it into a more productive and focused outlet, namely through his interest in music. When not in school or in one of a few engineering jobs, he practiced each and every day, honing his craft with the support of his parents behind him. Feeling comfortable with his artistry, he started entering talent contests hosted by the various radio stations in Florida. With a bit of luck and to his parents' surprise, he won a very special contest that allowed him to travel to Los Angeles, California, and record an album to put out to the masses, all at the age of 22. Bidding goodbye to his parents, he packed his bags and headed west, touching down in the Golden State. He met up with a well-known rock producer, recorded his debut solo album, and released it to the public. Within the first month alone, the album sold 7,000 copies, which seemed like a success. He would eventually go on to release a second album which would sell even more than his previous endeavor, allowing him to go on a west coast tour with a special opportunity to perform a concert at the Royal Palms Casino and Resort, on a small island just north of Australia. Traveling from the center of Washington and hitting almost every state on the west coast, Elijah would arrive back in Los Angeles in time to catch a flight out to the last stop in the tour, arriving a day later. With time to kill until the concert, the up-and-coming musician has been spending his time chilling by the pool, occasionally drinking, and soaking in the sun, unaware of the impending doom whose shadow will soon stretch across all of Banoi.