Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by Frettzo
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Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by Frettzo
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Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by Konan375
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UserName: Konan375

Character name: Darius Jura

Age: 32

Mageblood type: Clima

Favoured Magic Aeromancy

Previous Magic training: Has no clue he has mageblood.

Race: Yarosmerian


Short Bio: Darius was born in Porti, the Market centre of Shanna. He had a normal childhood, playing with friends in the streets. When he was old enough, he joined the army. He started out as a grunt, which he loathed to no extent. Being told what to do was something that Darius did not like at all, and it had caused some fights when he didn’t like what he was being told to do. Quickly, though, his fights were quickly quelled by his superiors. The Shannian army had some rather harsh punishments for violent behaviour against other fellow soldiers. While it did stop Darius from fighting, it didn't stop him from hating being told what to do in the way his superiors did.

Years passed, and Darius moved up in the ranks, despite his earlier fights against the people that told him what to do. He earned some extra money in some pit fights when times were slow. Had had won some battles, and lost some, and he had gained a multitude of scars from his battles. He had made friends and enemies. One day, he was picked as part of the group that would go up to a mage college that he had never heard of and protect the people that represented Shanna.

Good Attributes: Strong, proficient sword fighter and hand-to-hand combatant. If anything, Darius is a good soldier, and he works well with others if he has to, and if he needs to, he can lead people quite well. He's patient when teaching others about sword fighting and hand-to-hand fighting.

Bad Attributes: Arrogant, bigoted, and loud. He has a short temper, and he hates being talked down to. If he doesn't have to work with someone out of necessity, he won't. Respect is a hard thing to get from Darius, and very few people have earned it.

Secret Word: Rebirth
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Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by WitchChild


Member Offline since relaunch

Name: Zhuandii

Average Lifespan: 130-150 years

Physical Description: The average male Zhaundii reaches up to 5'8" in height with anything above 6 feet being rather rare while the average female is usually 5'6". Most Zhuandii are slender in build with flexible webbing that reaches to their last finger joint to allow fast swimming. On their necks they possess gills which make them capable of breathing underwater though they are also capable of breathing surface air. Their skin come in various colors though mostly in shades of blue, grey and green. Their almond shaped eyes are somewhat larger than that of humans and come in various colors as well such as green, blue, purple and a rare shade of orange. They decorate their skins with swirling tattoos similar to vortexes or pictures of magnificent serpents of the sea or even dragons. On their forearms and calf are very short fins similar to that of a shark and a rare breed of Zhuandii possess two of them on their backs that can be folded and allow them to glide when they launch themselves from the water at high speeds. Their hair is often straight and brushed back or to either side but decorated with shells or even very colorful feathers and coins as the Zhuandii are very fond of bright colors and shiny objects.
Despite their slender appearance, Zhuandii are deceptively tough and strong, possibly the fastest swimmers of humanoids in existence without magical aid, capable of launching themselves up into the air from the water and onto a ship.
Zhuandii are probably the only race with the highest number of natural born hermaphrodites (Not due to genetical error) in the world and those are very are to distinct to either gender.
The facial features are often smooth with a small nose and a tight lipped mouth. The skin on their scalp is often darker than that of the rest of their skin and it sometimes trails off down the neck and back along the spine or the entire upper body. Their ears are pointed and fin like and very acute when underwater. Their eyes are better in the darkness as they swim in deep waters and dark caves and can be rather sensitive to bright flashes.
Zhuandii language is often a high frequency speech that passes easily through water so when they learn other languages, they are extremely accented and sometimes don't say what they actually mean. This however makes their voice very melodic and often times even soothing to the ear.
Zhuandii often cannot tolerate hot and dry atmospheres so they avoid those at all cost. Their biology demands more moisture as dry skin is of great annoyance to a Zhuandii and when dry for long enough time will cause sores.

Culture Description: The culture of the Zhuandii is based on that of a council with five heads. Due to the fact that the Zhuandii and the Naga don't see eye to eye, the Zhuandii are a united people and rarely go to war with each other.
They are however very fascinated with the surface world. When they first migrated into other cultures of people, they first fell in love with the fabrics, the food and the shinies though no one can say which order it was in. They adore cooked food as they used to eat fish raw underneath the waves. They picked up cooking and music-making very quickly and some even desire to apprentice as a jeweler though it is hard for a Zhuandii as they are often unconsciously kleptomanic for shiny object. Many a fisherman have been a victim to the theft of their shiny fish bait by Zhuandii children.
Most Zhuandii settlements are in underwater caves and grottos where the people can easily defend and feel safe.
Often a favored weapon among the Zhuandii are the bow, a hook and the spear. Since they often hunt dangerous and fast prey underneath the sea, they use hooks to latch onto their prey that retaliate such as sharks that charge at them. Their weapons are often noticeable as they are made by fine crafted whale bones. It wasn't until they migrated to other cultures did they wield iron forged weapons. It's not uncommon to find a Zhuandii with a whale bone hook at their hip, a particularly wealthy Zhuandii wielding a hook of bloodsea iron.
The main export that the Zhuandii contribute to the overall world is a certain kind of paste made from deep sea herbs which they make to maintain dental and oral hygiene. Because of this, toothaches are very rare among the Zhuandii. Other exports include fish and sea creature hides/Scales and rather recent in history, jewels and pearls.
The currency that the Zhuandii use in trade is mostly pearls and gems, mostly aquamarine.
Due to their light sensitivity, the Zhuandii usually wear tinted spectacles.

Average Good Traits: Low-Light Vision = They are very capable in dark environments but they can't seen in absolute darkness.
Underwater Breathing
Deceptively Strong = Although they look slender, The average Zhuandii have enough leg power to launch themselves out of the water and high enough to land onto a schooner. They are not however going to punch through stone or break bones with a single arm until the bone juts out of the skin
Amazing swimmers
Melodic Voice

Average Bad Traits: Sensitivity to light : Bright flashes will cause temporary blindness and even average lighting causes squinting.
May be overly inquisitive to the point of annoyance
More need for moisture and hydration than human.
Occasionally hard to understand in speech or they might find hard to understand others' speech.
Clumsy in a cluttered terrain

Hrollf Whales

Hrollf whales are dangerous hunters of the waves with no natural predator, making it an apex predator of the sea that hunts mostly alone but there have been cases of a team of Hrollf whales actually working together against larger whales or even land seals or such animals before sliding onto the shore to devour them. The average size of a male Hrollf is 9 to 11 meters in length and 7 tons in weight while the average female is that of 6-9 meters and weighing 6 tons or even 5.5 tons, both of them have a dorsal fin that reaches up to 2 meters.

The appearance of the Hrollf whale has been described as non-threatening similar to a dolphin. Their hide usually comes in black with rare cases of deep blue, both having a white underbelly. A very distinct feature however of the Hrollf Whale is a white star on their foreheads. Although not every star is the same, most of them possess this star shaped mark on their heads, giving the nick name "Star Whales". Their snouts is similar to that of a dolphin but stouter filled with sharp teeth.

Hrollf Whale bones

Bones of the Hrollf whale are very durable and flexible which is the reason why they are mostly used for weapons among the Zhuandii. Although not as tough as steel or even iron, they share qualities to that of bronze. It's also used to make gorgeous and durable ivory.

Bloodsea Iron

A peculiar mineral found on certain seabeds of the world. The mineral is forged into ingots of either iron like quality or steel depending on the forger. It's much harder to gain steel like quality but when it happens, the mineral takes on a beautiful sheen of red similar to that of blood and the pattern in makes is reminiscent to that of sea waves. Although not much more durable than steel, this metal is however much more resistant to rusting than most other common metals. It's however no more resistant to decay magic than any other. Might take longer but the difference is minuscule.
However, this mineral is very hard to obtain due to the lack mine building in the sea and there for is rare.

Rovo goo

Rovo goo is what the Zhuandii call the paste which they make to tend their oral hygiene. It has a distinct pink color and a peculiar texture which most do not quite like. The taste of it is extremely sweet which may put people off but is incredibly delicious to the Zhuandii people.

Zhuandii Rovo makers and healers instruct people to use Rovo goo at least every other day and let it dissolve in their mouths which should take about 10 minutes and not eat or drink anything for an hour afterwards. This will cause tooth aches and oral infections to lessen as well as make teeth seem more pearly white.

The zhuandii people also tried to instruct people to let a certain seabed slug in their mouths to eat up any food remnants which would further enhance oral cleanliness but it has mostly been unsuccessful due to the "ickyness" of it and the fact that swallowing the slug would cause it to eat through the stomach and cause very serious health issues.
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Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by yoshua171
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yoshua171 The Loremaster

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Alternate Names: Reven or Revenants.

Average Lifespan: Due to them living largely in the shadows of society, most Rheven'ari survive for at least 100 or 200 years. However, they are capable of living for immense lengths of time. The oldest Revenant lived so long that they were unable to remember her age, which was at least in the thousands by then.

Brief description: Bearing a humanoid guise, but inhuman minds, the Rheven-ari have legs with two joints—a knee and a joint like the leg of a dog which reverses in direction and leads to their ankle. Standing anywhere between 5'9 and 6'8 they are roughly human sized in height, though their frame is decidedly thinner than that of a human. They are lithe like elves, and possess a cunning rivaled by few and surpassed by even fewer. A notable fault is the muscular strength of the Rheven-ari, which tends to start either the same as a human's strength or somewhere below such.

Beyond this the Rheven-ari are fairly neglible in their traits unless one looks to their classes, the Shayahn and Vridurhi Reven, each of which have their own specific flaws and abilities. Nonetheless, the Rheven-ari are a fairly reclusive people, with a small population in comparison to the other races. They almost solely inhabit the isolated Midnight Island where they stay, only sending members of their kind into the world here and there for the sake of trade and to keep themselves up to date with the ever changing Tiien.

Likely the most common place to see them is at Twilight Academy where they often frequent for new magical knowledge, or even to learn from the masters of other races. They possess only two holdings, known as Shayl Kharath and Vria'dur Kharath. Foreigners, while not shunned from their land, are welcomed tremulously and with well placed wariness as the bacteria, and thus sickness or disease, that they could bring might devastate their population.

They are a cautious lot, but also an adventurous one. Oddly contradictory ideals held within a largely individual focused culture. Such is simply the way of the strange and enigmatic Rheven-ari, and it will continue to be as long as they exist.

Location: Almost solely found on Midnight Island off the coast of Naerse.

Mage blood rate: 90% Though their birthrates are hardly as high.

Status- Player created- yoshua171

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Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by MusesFallFirst


Member Offline since relaunch

UserName: MusesFallFirst

Character name: Aeripthyx "Pyx" Felisa

Age: 25

Mageblood type: Clima

Favoured Magic Class: Aeromancy

Previous Magic training: Few simple tricks, "hopping" by manipulating air to launch herself. Pushing small objects, using her air magic to force the occasional lock open.

Race: Snow Elf

Appearance: A short elf, even by her people's standards. She has her hair tied back in two rather funny bulbous pink pigtails.

Short Bio: Aeripthyx "Pyx" Felisa, was born to Snow Elf nobles. Which for most meant a life of luxury, privilege and all her desires would be met without question. This idea lasted up to the point where “Pyx” (Her name of choice when not dealing with her family or when it would get her out of an arrest!) decided it was much more fun to see what world existed beyond her family’s ancestral home. She found the world outside to be much different than what luxury’s found inside.

Of course her noble blood decreed she must be calm, and refined, and blah blah blah. That got boring fast! Her curiosity of the world overtook her family name. This resulted in Pyx creating her own “adventures,” often ending in property damage and the royal guards bringing a rather excited snow elf back home again. When her Clima blood awoke, her family kept the newfound magic quiet, their child being a mage was bad enough, but to have a Aeromancy mageblood was shameful.

Pyx felt otherwise, the ability to “hop”, by launching small pockets of air gave her the ability to explore and adventure even farther then before! She became more interested in the outside world, often leaving for weeks at a time. Returning with various “trophies” of her adventures.

It was after a rather unfortunate incident as a Noble gathering to impress another family that Pyx learned she was to be married off, and her adventuring days would be over. “That will never do!” Pyx decreed as she decided it was time to go on her next great adventure. This resulted in Pyx attempting to sneak out of a skylight, and ending in a truffle cake, upsetting the family she was to be married off to and a new rather unfortunate political incident.

This resulted in her family deciding she was to gain a better use of her mageblood. The healer mentioned a Twilight College, where Pyx could get a better grasp of her powers. Deciding that she should maybe take the offer of learning more of her mageblood, alongside being chained in the carriage that took her to Twilight, Pyx found herself being taken to her new home.

She wasn’t that upset to be honest, she was finally free of that stuffy hole in the middle of nowhere! She could adventure, find new things to make trophies, and have fun!

Pyx comes off as a bit of a prankster, due to her family's previous habits of bailing her out when she gets into trouble. She rarely has had to face the consequences of her actions.

Deeper down, her actions are to prove that she isn't like them. She wants to be her own elf, to prove she will leave a footprint on the world. Instead of just sitting on a fancy chair while people needed help! Or sometimes things needed to be "borrowed" often these items find themselves into the hands of people who honestly need them. When Pyx first started to adventure, she realized not everyone lived as easily as she did. People struggled with food, money, homes, why her family didn't just help confused the poor elf. So this began her habit of leaving stray items for those people, she couldn't change lives, but a good meal! That was nothing for the "super sneaky" elf!

Pyx just makes sure that nobody knows it was her! She had a reputation as a royal pain in the butt to keep up!

Good Attributes: Quick, able to appraise any situation to cause the most mischief in the shortest period of time. Talented pickpocket. Loyal, if someone can tolerate her long enough to make friends with the tiny elf.

Pyx believes she's fearless, not to be a hero, or to prove anything. She simply believes being afraid means she can't experience everything the world has to offer!

Bad Attributes: Her complete and utter lack of seeing the after-effects of her pranks. Greedy, if she can take it as a trophy, she may try to. Short attention span to her studies.

Secret Word: Rebirth
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Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by MusesFallFirst


Member Offline since relaunch

UserName: MusesFallFirst

Character name: Pylia Keltafer

Age: 32

Mageblood type: Lux

Favoured Magic Class: (Vitalimancy

Previous Magic training: Simple healing spells taught by the temple

Race: Human


Short Bio: Pylia grew up in the Hope’s Temple, a rather quaint temple found in the middle of nowhere. She didn’t know much about her past before Hope, the priests found her while tending to the wounded of a neighboring town. She was a small child, crying in the house of a razed house around the bodies of several bandits that were torn to shreds by an unknown mage. The first Sister of Hope's Temple to connect to the child was Mother Hynas. An elderly woman, no children of her own offered to raise the child as a sister of their order. If they knew what was housed inside the child, and the bandits were part of a ritual involving the young girl. They would have slain the child, or left her back in the razed home.

The priests taught her the ways of Hope, to be patient, kind, to forgive and embrace all. Pylia grew up with these ideas. Often offering to help before the other children, taking to the chores simply to be helpful. When new children arrived at the temple, Pylia was always there to help greet and get them used to the ways of the temple. Mother Hynas noted Pylia was sometimes a little too helpful, taking on responsibilities of the other children. The elders noted Pylia's warmth was something remarkable considering the child's bloody past.

When her mageblood awoke for the first time as a Lux. The priests embraced this as a sign, that Pylia could tend to the wounded. That they could use magic to tend to the wounded that bandages and medicine couldn’t cure. She was taught a few simple healing spells, giving her a chance to adventure out with the group known as Hope’s Light. The fact that Hope now possessed a Lux healer, gave them additional resources. Including expansions to the Temple, allowing them to take in more affected by the arrival of the demons.

Pylia, eager to please her family took to this role with determination. The Priestess and company began to move from town to town, healing those in need. For the first time, Pylia had seen the world outside her temple. It was dark, miserable, desolate, and she was healing one person at a time.

This made a difference, right?

Pylia felt something inside her that was different, a dislike for those who injured innocent lives, an emotion Pylia was always careful to never show to the others. The more she tried to bottle her emotions up, the more they seemed to corrupt her view of the others. Soldiers, villiagers, even the priests she befriended, she felt herself drawing away from those she cared deeply for. When news passed of Mother Hynas passing, Pylia felt her connection to the temple beginning to fade. For the first time in Pylia's life, she considered leaving the Temple.

Months passed, and Pylia withdrew from the others on their journey. Often confining herself to study while the others prayed. Late at night, while pouring through her books. Pylia began to hear something whispering from the dark, spidery words that seemed to just scratch at the corners of her mind. Was she sick? Was this part of her mageblood?

Pylia began to research more into her mageblood, effects of her pushing her magics too hard. Yet nothing spoke of this curse. Her studies were eventually cut short, a holy order to tend to a plague in a distant town came from the elders. While travelling to this town, bandits heard news a woman who’s value outweighed the lives of some stuffy priests that carted her like some holy relic. An unguarded, vitalimancer, a woman who could keep their ranks tended to. In more ways then considered noble. Resulting in an attack by several members of the bandit'swho proceeded to slaughter Pylia’s family.

As they approached Pylia, she felt the venom and hatred reach out from the shadows. That these bandits saw her as property, to use for their needs, but what about the priests of Hope. Were they no better?

“Do you want to die here?”

Pylia was frightened, that was her voice. But it was darker, angry, sharp. She spoke to the darkness.

“I want to live, I need to help people…”

The voice laughed, with that, the darkness surrounded Pylia. A woman stood before her, It was a reflection of Pylia, but it’s like she came back wrong. A woman with clawed hands, her face was not her’s, it was sharp, unnaturally sharp. She reached a clawed hand to the healer.

“Then take my hand, you will live to see the morning, this I promise…” Nervously, Pylia took the womans hand, her entire world faded away to blade. The last image she saw was this woman’s smiling face.

Pylia awoke the next day, the bodies of the bandits surrounding her. Pylia’s snow white robes were bloodied. Her hands caked with dried blood, the bodies of the closest bandit’s were slashed by what could only be claws. Images of the woman’s hands flashed through her mind.

In a panic, Pylia quickly left. She withdrew from the world. Afraid of what she could do, afraid of the woman with the cold eyes and sharp edges. Still, the rumors of a healer lead the desperate for her aid. They found Pylia still doing what she could, as if she was trying to atone for her past misdeeds.

While tending to a sick child, the news of a Snow Elf who was being shipped to a Twilight College reached her ears.

Could they help her? If she gained a better grasp of her mageblood, could she keep the other half buried in shadows?

With that, the last Priestess of Hope’s light began her journey…

Good Attributes: Patient, understanding, kind to a fault. Believes in the goodness of everyone, regardless of their attributes, past, or misdeeds. Has a strong knowledge of medicine. Always concerned with the well-being both mentally and physical of those about her.

Bad Attributes: Afraid of her own power, aware of the darkness inside and refuses to acknowledge or embrace it. Naive to less then honorable intentions of the world around her. Trusting all who come to her at their word.

Secret Word: Rebith
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Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by louie221
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louie221 Ravenclaw

Member Seen 1 yr ago

Username: louie221

Name: Louie "Pitch" Black

Age: Twenty One

Mageblood Type: Obiligatio

Magic Class: Necromancy

Magic Training: Novice

Race: Human

Where Was He Born/Lives: Born in Hysteria, Djarkel.

Beliefs: Common Sense, Intelligence, Hope, Respect to those who deserve it, and Caution.

Does Not Believe In: Stupidity, Mistakes, Faith (For now anyway), Arrogance.

Weapon Besides Magic(IF this is applicable): Throwing Daggers.

Looking For in a Good Friend: Loyalty, Helpfulness, Intelligence.


Born in Djarkel, he grew up a dreary child. He grew up in Hysteria, which is fairly self explanatory. The town was an interesting place to live, always some odd news going about, always being changed a bit from person to person. But there were times when it was just too much, either too much exaggeration or too much craziness all packed into a single story. There were, indeed, some lighter stories told, in which his parents told him when he was just a small child. They were of magical powers, heroes saving the day, or the world for that matter. Louie's favorite story was about an evil wizard who had harnessed the power of Necromancy and saved a small village from evil. The wizard's name was Maekul Pitch. Being so obsessed with the story, he was then nicknamed after Maekul. From that point on, most people called him Pitch instead of his real name.

As he grew older, he became smarter, his quick mind picking up smaller details that often led to interesting surprises. Curiosity built up in him, creating little bubbles that popped into life as he became more educated. Slowly, he began to build his knowledge through the local gossip and stories. They taught him a lot about Life, how it was a great thing. Yes, a great thing it was, and so was it's brother - Death. Stories of Death grew popular during Pitch's childhood, giving him a rather dark sense of curiosity and imagination. When he was thirteen years of age, he had learned to build traps, in which he set around the city, tripping, slightly injuring, or angering the locals. Pitch laughed and laughed, the name of the city growing inside of him like a disease.

Later, he had disturbing thoughts of death upon the locals, giving him the opportunity to practice the magic he had heard years ago. Necromancy, just the thought of it, gave him the chills. It thrilled him, the idea of bringing the dead to life. He had eventually gotten the attention of a local and lured him just outside the city. Being as cunning as he was, he got him to an open, quiet spot. He cornered him, revealing a small piece of metal he stole from the blacksmith's shop. He pierce's the local's heart, laughing at the blood that he had just spilled. Moments after he'd done it, he beat himself up for doing it. Killing a man is not right, he thought. But the thought soon escaped him. He practiced on the body, trying to bring it to life, or move it at the very least.

After years of practice, filled with dementia, he had successfully done something, which may seem boring to those who do not enjoy the dead. He had moved the body. Well, moved the arms a bit. They had twitched for a while, and then he had moved them around as if it were a living thing. He needed to find a place to harness this power. To breath in Life and exhale Death. To be the one to decide whether a man lives or dies. Now, as I said, Pitch is a very crazy man, but he has his soft side.

At age eighteen, he met the woman he loved. They got along well in the city, though she was very sane, very sane indeed. Even so, she loved Pitch with all her heart. As did Pitch, he loved her with all of his cold, withered, black heart. They dated for four years before she died. A horrible accident with an experiment of Pitch's. He was experimenting on possession, when it went downhill. He told the spirit to entertain him, something that he'd remember. The spirit possessed a large rock, very sharp on the edges. The rock cut Pitch's love far too deeply to be healed, and died of blood loss. This left Pitch distraught, even to this day.

He swore his life on mastering Necromancy to bring her back, he promised her that as he buried her. With a withered rose sitting atop her grave, he left in search of a place of magic. After less than a year of searching, he found a building filled with mages of different magic areas of study. This was the place, the place of which he could bring his love back. His dementia still flooding his mind, he made his way inside..........

Good Attributes: Good with Knife Throwing, Brutally Honest, Catches Small Things, Smart

Bad Attributes: Demented, Brutally Honest (Yes it's meant to be in here twice...), Slow Physically.

Secret Word: Rebirth
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Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by yoshua171
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yoshua171 The Loremaster

Member Seen 3 hrs ago

Arkaeis Zraimat
Username: yoshua171

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Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Sep
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Sep Admiral EvilScottishGuy

Member Seen 2 hrs ago

UserName: Sep, cause Fallen is boring.

Character name: Arcadius

Age: Unknown

Mageblood type: Lues

Favoured Magic Class: Runework

Previous Magic training: Studied at the college of Aerta,

Race: Originally? Human. Now, he’s missing everything that makes a human human. He’s just a Skeleton.


Short Bio: Arcadius, who cannot remember his family crest. He fought in the Dark Wars, however he can’t remember what side he fought for completely. He only recalls how he fought and used runic objects to bring death to other people under orders. Before the war broke out he had been a detective and he remembered more of that than he did off anything else, he remembers being trusted with information and secrets and trying to find solutions to things, and he remembers the fight and losing.

He doesn’t remember how he lost he just remembers the pain. Something stabbing through his chest, held by someone he knew and that was the annoying thing. He didn’t even know who this person was let alone how he knew them. They had been important, and he had trusted them. That was all he remembered. The next thing he had woken up in a coffin hearing the sound of dirt being piled on top of him. Above him were strange runes which he had cursed himself for not knowing them even though they were his art. Despite this the coffin must have been bound, meaning that no magic could be used on it or inside of it which was bad for him. He tried shouting, the person on the outside either did not hear him or did not care.

Searching his surroundings he found a cane, touching it had been the biggest mistake he had ever made. The power of the cane infused him with Arcanite and infused his bones with everlasting life, however sadly the power of Duuri didn’t mention the life including his flesh and blood. It was excruciatingly painful for him as his flesh and organs began to burn away from him, like being dipped in acid or being burned slowly. When it passed he could see as if it was light, it was one of the bonuses of not being flesh and bone and not having actual eyes.

Then began his torture, years passed. Or days, or eons. He didn’t know. He just lay there. Occasionally testing out his body. He appeared to always retain his strength despite his lack of muscle or lack of activity for years at a time. What did pain him though was the fact his bones broke easily. Something he had to keep in mind with all the times he became frustrated and tried to assault the coffin, fruitlessly of course. As it was bound it could only be opened from the outside. All he had was the cane. He held it for years at a time, tapping it off the coffin as if pretending to walk, not even weathering the cane down. Though the top decoration began to form a groove in it till it have a grove that perfectly fit his right hand.

Eventually, he didn’t know when he was dug up. Of course no point in shouting if they even spoke the same language as him. He was moved around a lot, he didn’t know why and he got quite cross at none of them for being curious enough to open the lid of the Coffin. It would have been a simple task that enslaved him.

This went on, and on, and on. He merely resided himself to his torture for eternity spent in this box with himself.

Good Attributes:
- Keen detectives eyes.
- Has no muscles - so doesn’t get tired from running etc.
- No lungs so does not run out of breathe from physical activities/being underwater.
- Versed in Martial Arts.
- Good historical knowledge.
- Light does not affect his sight, he can see just as well in the dark as he can in the light.
- Due to nothing present to cushion the impact even though he can’t hit too hard without breaking himself he also does not need to hit as hard to cause pain.

Bad Attributes: - Wise Crack, likes to talk and crack jokes that can seem an annoyance to people.
- Despite his condition he still feels pain as if he had flesh. Set on fire? It'll burn etc.
- Due to his extended… isolation it is likely he will have issues getting to grips with interaction again.
- He can be quick to anger, and if he becomes truly angry he will enter a state where he cannot use magic and has to resort to physical violence.
- He can’t die by normal means(Which is a curse believe it or not).
- He is hard to hide in a crowd.
- He isn’t very stealthy…
- He isn’t up to date on current history since before the war that lead to his death.
- His bones are slightly weakened meaning they can be broken easier than normal.
- In cold weather his bones become more brittle, meaning they break easier.
- Dislocating a bone is just the equivalent of taking it off. Causing extreme pain in the process.

Secret Word: Rebirth, ironic, huh?

The Curse/Blessing:

Basically what it did was preserve his mind and his body, however it didn’t preserve his body properly. Part of the cane that resurrected him was missing, the decorative end had been replaced with something new. Whoever killed him basically didn't like him very much. Wanting to kill him but also wanting to make him suffer, binding the coffin he placed the cane inside knowing at some point he would touch it. The canes decorative jewel on the top which gave it additional power (It had enough residual power for one use after it was removed) was replaced with a new decorative top. This top had runes engraved on it(That he couldn't see and didn't have the ability to read anyway) these runes were designed to rot flesh.

So at the same time the cane tried to revive him it also decayed all off his flesh. The magic bounded him together so it was as if his muscles, voice box and everything else still existed. It is why he can still feel pain. However the fact it does not exist is what gives him the whole "undead" and "dead" aspect. If you stab his heart it will hurt, however it won't actually kill him. Breaking bones are the most damaging you can go, break all of them and he’ll die as he will be nothing.

While the Cane was designed to bring everlasting natural life however for him it brought him back, it was also designed to make a more powerful mage by infusing the mages bone with arcanite. Naturally for Arcadius all it did was allow him to retain some magical control, rather than making him more powerful. He is a living Paradox, the more powerful magic of Duuri kept his soul alive infused within his very bones (technically) while the runes by his enemy rotted everything else away.

He retains magic through the field that holds him together and also through the Arcanite in himself. If he uses to much magic he begins drawing it from the field that holds him together and is the very reason he exists and the bonds that hold everything he is starts to fall apart, and he begins to turn to dust. This dust turning into cannot be reversed, he very slowlyregrows as the magic field has to re-expand to do so. Broken bones heal at a normal rate however. If someone somehow has a way to regrow their own bones it occurs slightly faster at whatever rate they can do it but then his magic tolerance is lower as the field holding him together has to hold everything together but with less available until it manages to replenish itself through him. Of course during this time he cannot cast any magic without risking losing more of himself.

He keeps the cane as a link to his former self however without the power source it cannot be used again to revive anybody and as it was the only object he had he has worn the runes from the top of the cane into a hand groove that fits his skeletal hand perfectly.
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Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Asura
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Asura Ominous

Member Seen 11 hrs ago

UserName: Asura
Character Name: Warwick Blight
Age: 20
Mageblood Type: Obiligatio
Favored Magic Class: Demonomancy
Previous Magic Training: No official training, although he's experimented enough to know the very basics
Race: Human Carsaeus (Werewolf)
Warwick is a rather imposing male, standing at just over six feet in height and weighing in at roughly two hundred pounds. His physique is one of power, one expected of a predator. Every inch of his body is plated in lean, chiseled muscle giving him the strength and speed one would expect of a feral beast. Covering his muscular body is a layer of fair white skin marked with a variety of scars and marks to define it's owners reckless life style. While appearing more human than many of his kin, it is very obvious to the common bystander that Warwick is far from human. This face is one of the more noticeable indicators of this. While they're quite 'rugged' and what many would call 'handsome', the inhumanity in them is obvious. His face is angular and sharp. Predatory in nature and dangerous in design. His teeth are unlike any human's, entirely pointed and suited to ripping meat from prey rather than grinding food down normally.

His eyes are a sharp, piercing yellow color and seem to glower on their own with an unsettling energy akin to that of the Inferno. His ears, while in the place one would expect human ears, are pointed much like those of an elf and covered in a thin layer of fuzz. His hair seems to be a cross between the long locks one would find on a human's head and the thick fur one would find on a wolf. It's soft and warm, yet wild and untamed and kept in a shaggy mop that only adds to his disheveled appearance.
More features become apparently as you move down his body. Patches of 'fur' like those found on his ears and fairly common along his form, particularly around his limbs. His appendages are just another indication of his heritage. Unlike human fingers or toes, each of them ends in a sharp hooked claw rather than a rounded nail confined to the top portion of the digit. His palms are calloused in a manner that also seems to resemble the 'pads' found on a dog or its more wild siblings, allowing him superior grip. The last obvious indication lies along his back. Particularly, the tail that hangs from his back at the point where his spine fuses into his sacrum. It's rather thick and covered in a form of hair similar to that on his head.

Short Bio: To truly understand Warwick's story, you must first understand who his parents were. His mother, a kind young woman by the name of Marianna descended from a poor family. For all her life, she grew within a healthily sized village within Eania's countryside as the daughter of a shepherd. Living outside the feeble walls of her village and assisting her family in raising their livestock, as one of the only children of her parents to have made it past childhood, Marianna exposed herself to a variety of dangers. One of those dangers just so happened to be the one to conceive Warwick with her. Attacks on their cows from creatures of prey were not an uncommon occurrence. Many predators would wander onto their farm looking for an easy meal and occasionally make off with one of their cows or sheep. What was uncommon, however, was a string of these attacks night after night. Such an event plagued their farm one balmy summer.

Her father, an aging man at that point, did what he could with the little help he could afford to patch up their fences and ensure nothing could get into the farm. But nothing he could do truly stopped the beast, who returned every night and tore apart animal after animal. With their village having no true militia to call for help with such a terrifying turn of events and their coffers running low on coin to replace the animals with, Marianna took it upon herself as the eldest of their children to try and foolishly put an end to the attacks. Camping out one knight with her father's bow, she intended to wedge an arrow in the beast when it came for her livelihood and return a hero to her assorted siblings. What she found was no mortal beast.

Having lived reasonably close to the border of Djarkel, a land of darkness where foul beasts ran amok, it was a shock the peasants hadn't expected what Marianna found that night. Instead of a mountain lion or some coyote, what descended upon the cows that night was a massive, bipedal creature that smelt of fire and brimstone of thirsted for blood. It stared down upon the peasant girl with curiosity. An emotion which quickly turned to amusement as she drew an arrow from her quiver and shot it uselessly into it's dark fur in an attempt to strike it down. Her fiery attitude impressed the demon, who decided that rather than feeding on her for nourishment, he'd feed another hunger of his. The demon forced himself upon the unsuspecting farm girl before disappearing into the night, leaving her family to discover her in the morning, bloodied and broken.

Recovery from the various traumas inflicted upon her that night was quick, or as quick as being raped by a demon could possibly be. She was always a determined girl, a stalwart one. It was something she could overcome. Indeed, the demon had intended just that. For only the bravest mortal women could undertake the horrors that would befall her in life. Horrors which revealed themselves several months after the event, when a bump formed its way in her belly. A bump that would one day become Warwick.

Try as they might, her family couldn't convince Marianna to rid herself of the... thing that grew within her. Spawn on a demon or not, she insisted that it was her child and that depriving it of life would be more wrong than birthing a half breed. Nine months after the tragic event Warwick came into the world, kicking and screaming like a bat out of hell, as one would expect of his kind. He was an exceedingly healthy baby, as much as it pained his family to admit. It was certain he would make it through the earliest years of his life.

For the most part, his early years were the easiest. His family kept him locked away from the world, hoping to avoid the shame and mockery that would come of his existence. From the moment he could walk, talk and even remember he was shunned by those meant to be closest to him. All aside from his mother, whom did her best to nurture and care for him. To shield him from the coldness of the world. But she couldn't be around forever. He would eventually need to forge his own way into the world. His grandfather knew as much. Perhaps in a form of tough love or spite for the little 'beast' that had come of his kin, the old farmer sent Warwick, a mere boy off into town by himself on an errand. His first real glimpse into the world outside of his family's farm was amazing... until the people of town noticed him. They shouted names at him, threw things. The abuse eventually culminated in them chasing him out of town, calling him a monster and nearly doing worse than simply shooing him off. It was a prelude of things to come.

All throughout his childhood he was subject to it all. The bullying, the harsh whispers behind his back, the cold glares from all those around him. He was shunned for what he was, for something he had no control over. The fear and prejudice caused the fine folk of his village to torment the poor wolf as he developed. For all the damage it did though, it hardened him. For every wound they caused he grew stronger for it, colder, but stronger. But his existence didn't just harm himself. His family were right in hiding him away. They were subject to nearly the same amount of abuse, his mother in particular. Called a whore for birthing a demon, a heretic and even a demonmancer. As much as she tried to protect him from the world, he could see the barrage wearing down upon the one person who had been there for him through it all.
So, rather than continue to bring his own parent and the others of his kin down, he decided to run away. No matter where he went, he'd always be the target of some form of mockery. But maybe if he left to be on his own, he could take some of the suffering away from them. A boy, no more than thirteen years old at the time, Warwick scribbled a note with what little knowledge of writing he had been given and made off into the night with nothing more than a knapsack at his side.

As hard as the journey was, he trekked on, day after day, town after town. Surviving was difficult but for once in his life, his demonic heritage came in handy. He was fast and strong. His senses keen. He could survive out in the wilderness where a softer lad could not. It was three long years of this, sticking to the woodlands and escaping into towns now and again to stir up some trouble and grab some supplies before the populace chased him away. He'd often get attacked, the more ignorant assaulting him and forcing him to fight back. He mauled many a man during his occasional town visits, forced to run before the authorities were called in and inevitably blamed him for the altercations.

A miserable existence it was, but he managed. Day after day he survived, alone in the world and wandering aimlessly for a place of acceptance. Something, much to his surprise, he would soon find. He had heard stories of his kind, half demons, or werewolves as the common folk tended to label his particular breed, banding together to form groups. Clans of the unwanted who helped each other survive in the world that wanted nothing to do with them. It was by luck alone that one day, Warwick stumbled upon such a group. Or rather, they stumbled upon him. While searching for a place to rest for the night, he had inadvertantly stumbled into the territory of one of these clans. They tracked him, as those of their particular blood tended to do, to the cavern he managed to claim for himself. Had he been a mere mortal, he likely wouldn't have escaped the handful of scraggly looking half breeds that stormed the cave. But he wasn't. He was one of them.

The small clan, consisting only of a dozen or two their breed, happily accepted Warwick into their ranks after a mildly violent run in within the cavern. For the first time, with these other 'monsters', he found peace and acceptance. They helped each other with tasks, looked out for one another and functioned like a little family unit of their own. Like a pack of the animals their corrupted fathers took the form of, they carved out a niche just large enough to live comfortable in the wilds, far from where harm could be done. It was a good time in Warwick's life.

As such, he should've expected it to all come crumbling down. For the deities of the world seemed to have it out for the young wolf. Having lived among the ever growing clan for several long years, Warwick had done well for himself. He had moved up the 'hierearchy' thanks to an unnatural charisma with his fellow half-demons. Made some friends, conquered a few of the clan's women for his own. It was all going well. But the leader of their little 'pack', their 'alpha' had grander plans. Having lived on the fringes of society for so long, having been outcasts all their lives, they had finally grown to the point where they could make a difference. Where they could strike back against those who would oppress them. Consisting of roughly fifty five individuals, their group of mangy mutts had turned into a small army of Carsaeus. Enough to challenge some of the weaker villages that surrounded their home. Despite strong protest, some even from Warwick himself, their leader decided to lead a crusade against the humans who had wronged them all.

It was the beginning of the end for their clan. Leading ten of his fellow wolves into a farming village much like the one Warwick was born into, they slaughtered the unsuspecting inhabitants in the night and took the backwater town for their own. Livestock to feed them, houses to shelter them and a healthy dose of revenge against people who had never done them any wrong empowered the wolves of their clan. With numbers on their side, the humans could do little to stop them. In a land of holy crusades, hubris was the last thing those tainted by demon blood needed. Unbeknownst to the foolish wolves, not every man, woman and child in that village had fallen to their warriors. Some had managed to escape in the night while the werewolves snorted and celebrated their victory. They sent word to the other villages and soon, their find homeland responded with the force one would expect at such a grievous infestation.

Soldiers, hardened of battle and possessing powerful magics assailed the village one day. The arrogance of the wolves leader prevented him from calling a retreat. Instead of running for the hills as they should have, many of Warwick's comrades made a stand against the troops that came marching to retake the village. They were slaughtered like the animals they had always been. One by one, Warwick watched as his 'family' were cut down by blessed swords and holy silver. He himself had been attacked by the soldiers in his attempt to flee the losing battle.Cornered by several of Eania's best, it was then that for the first time, Warwick tapped into his mageblood.

He had always held the ability, an affinity for controlling the more vile creatures of the world. It was perhaps his latent abilities in demonomancy that had helped propel him through the ranks of his clan. But this was the first real use. The first obvious use of his abilities. Cornered like a beast, in fear and rage, sorrow and hatred that came a rift in the very space of their plane. It wasn't a large one, but that day Warwick tore himself a portal to the realm of Inferno in sheer desperation.
From the rift poured forth imp after imp, minor demons who slipped through the fabric of the tear and scattered through the battlefield, free of control thanks to Warwick's inexperience and allowed passage into the mortal realm. It distracted the soldiers long enough for him to turn tail and rush, self preservation prevailing as he ran into the wilderness once more, shocked, terrified and amazed all at the same time. By the time he had stopped running, he was far from the scene of the terrible massacre. So far he could no longer smell their scents, or hear their cries. He was alone once more.

Stripped of all he had known, the mourning wolf aimlessly wandered once more, with no where left to go and no where to rest in the fear those soldiers who came to claim his companions would too hunt him. Left an emotional wreak, he had merely one thing to compose himself. One thing to focus on. That godforsaken rift he caused. He knew very little of it, but he was certain what he caused that terrible day was magic. It wasn't entirely unheard of for mages to summon forth demons from what he had heard. Perhaps he was one of them.. no, he had to be one of them. In the tragedy of his loss, he had found something of value in himself. Something that could provide him with a future.

It was near impossible to live within Eania and not hear of the Twilight College, even with his limited contact with civilized people. A place where mages were accepted and trained. If he managed to make it there, he could start anew, in a place where he wouldn't be hated and more importantly, hunted by the natives of his land. So he set forth for it. To the college and to a new life, one he could only hope wouldn't be stripped away again.

Good Attributes:

Werewolf Physiology; As a Carsaeus, Warwick has inherited attributes from his father's corrupted blood. His half demon heritage has blessed him with an enhanced set of physical attributes. Of his particularly heightened attributes his strength reigns supreme however, allowing him to keep up with and even overpower the most physically oriented races of the world. He has also inherited many physical features to show his ancestry as well. His teeth are nothing like an average human's, with every single one pointed and naturally crafted to tear meat from bone with his incisors even longer than normal. His fingers and toes also end in hooked claw like nails rather than only covering the top portion of his digits and growing to rounded points. His senses are enhanced to the superhuman as well, with eyes more than capable of seeing in the darkness of night, ears capable of picking up the most minute of sounds and most powerful of all, a sense of smell that dwarfs what more civilized races can dream to have. His regenerative capabilities are also heightened, allowing him to recover from wounds at an increased rate although no where close to instantaneous.

Transformation; In times of great emotional strife or physical danger, Warwick is prone to succumbing to his instincts as a self defense mechanism. Should he ever give in, his physical form morphs to that of a massive bipedal wolf demon roughly eight and a half feet from head to toe and several hundred pounds. In this form, he gains a thick layer of thick black hide, rife with the smell of brimstone and incredibly resilient to damage. Additionally, his physical attributes are further boosted.

Loyal; Perhaps owning to his species, Warwick is an incredibly loyal companion. While his very abrasive behavior can turn away any who wish to call him a friend those who do find a place close in his heart. Having never had anyone look past what he was to get close with him, he cherishes any friends he manages to make and will defend those who earn his trust violently much like an alpha protecting his pack.

Combat Ready; Having to fend for himself in a world that holds, at best, a disdain for his kind, Warwick was forced to verse himself in the ways of combat to defend himself. Using his bestial features and unnatural physical attributes, he's managed to mold himself into a fearsome warrior who favors unarmed, close quarters combat above all else. While he lacks more traditional technique, he makes up for it with feral unpredictability and tenacity.

Bad Attributes:

Werewolf Physiology; As a half demon, Warwick also boasts the weaknesses of his tainted family line. Holy artifacts that would fend off demons also effect him much as they would a full blooded Inferno walker. Like demons, he is also susceptible to demonology spells and while he cannot fully be banished to the Infernal Realm, those who practice that particular school will find him to be manipulable should their skill surpass his own. Additionally, a weakness that belongs to his wolf lineage alone and not to all demons is his vulnerability to silver. While its effect vary widely on how pure the metal is, coming into contact with such a substance can cause him anything from a moderate rash to burns akin to touching a hot iron.

Transformation; While transforming gives Warwick great strength to defend himself with, it comes at the loss of his humanity. In this form he becomes a feral monster akin to what many would assume of the Inferno, rampaging against all those he comes into contact with, friend or foe. In such a rampage he'll happily murder his closest companions and either must be physically restrained or worst, killed to put a stop to it prematurely. In this form he is far more susceptible to other demonologists and his weakness to many demon banes grows even stronger.

Socially Challenged; Warwick's social skills are very lacking. Not only was he an outcast for most of his young life, but being judged and looked down upon by so many people has ruined his outlook on many. He is rude, aggressive and more often than not violent to those around him, partially out of spite and partially to protect himself. It's difficult for him to rely upon others, let alone trust them and he finds himself at odds with many of those he comes into contact with simply because of his behavior, let alone his demonic traits.

Secret Word: Rebirth
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Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by cqbexpt
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cqbexpt Warden Eternal

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Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Kangutso
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Kangutso The High Dracomancer

Member Seen 18 days ago

Name: Weredrake
Curse/Virus/Etc: Cursed Blood
Average Lifespan: Infected life span increases to 400-500 years of age. In place of aging, they get substantially weaker in the last 50 years of life.

-Races Effected: Humans, elves, and half-breeds in which the human/elf side is dominant
+The first method is via transfer of the weredrake's blood into the infectee, likely via a cut on the palm, but other wounds or methods that allow entry to the body are acceptable. Now the last part of this, both parties must be willing for any effect, otherwise the infectee, instead of changing, will fall ill instead of going through their first change.
+The second method does not require either party's acceptance or willingness to be infected, which will lead to unintentional infection. Similar to the first method in that it requires transfer of blood from a weredrake, though it is a lot more potent so that only a little blood is all it would take to be infected.
+The third method is via intercourse, sex. The weredrake must be male and the infectee to be female for this to occur, and is oddly enough the most likely way to become a weredrake, with no way of telling such until, well, the first change.
+The fourth and final method is procreation, in which there is a 50/50 chance of the child being born a weredrake. If the child is to be a weredrake, there are likely going to be complications during birth that may lead to death of parent, child, or both. Recomend having a medical professional on hand or nearby.

-Appearance: The dragon form of a weredrake is what would be the stereotypical fantasy European dragon. Four legs, two wings, a medium to long neck, with the addition of plumage in place of hair on the head. The scales on their spine are thicker and wider, yet more flexible, going from the base of the back of the head to near the end of the tail. They tend to have two short, straight horns growing out of the back of the head in a V shape. The largest they get is enough to carry at least one, at most two, people of their shoulders.

-Transformation: First thing to note, freshly turned weredrakes cannot control themselves, nor do they remember being human, during the first several transformations. They are in a state of confusion and rage that gets better with each change, as the memories in their dragon form build up. The transformations are influenced by certain lunar phases, which forces them into dragon form until the night following the end of such, this occurs during solstices as well. Early on, weredrakes can change upon losing consciousness, whether it be caused by a fight or even simply going to sleep. Note: There are no signs of having become a weredrake until one goes through the change, and the first transformation will only occur during the next time of forced change, and even then only if they are unconscious. One must be at least a certain age before the first change, usually a few years after maturity.

+Growth- The first dragon form of a weredrake has little more mass then their normal form, making them easier to deal with, being equivalent to the normal form on all fours with about 2-3 inches added. As of the first forced transformation growth starts, every 2-3 months their size grows gradually until the dragon form reaches its max size at right around 2 years. Once fully grown they are about 6 foot in height from foot to shoulder, neck at about 3 feet in length with the horns being an additional foot. The tail makes up half the length of the body, which is around 20 feet total. The wingspan can, and usually will, reach up to 20-25 feet in diameter, adjust based on the dragon form, as these measurements can vary with each individual.

-Breaths: While a weredrake in dragon form cannot use magic, its mageblood has an effect on its breath. Which results in a variety of them. If one does not have mageblood, they have no breath. All breaths start off weak and get stronger over time. A weredrake's breath is determined by their mageblood, and their primary school. The breaths are as listed:
+Vitamancy: Breath that does specifically heals at first, can at the start speed ones recovery from pysical injury.
+Pyromancy: The basic fire breath. Fire is still fire, but this breath like all others gets more powerful over time, eventually being able to start melting metal after a few bursts.
+Hydromancy: This breath is more unique as it isn't exactly a breath, those weredrakes with Hydromancy become capable of breathing underwater. At first only a few minutes.
+Cryomancy: Frost breathe, while not strong enough to be overly effective at first, it can become powerful enough in the future to freeze enemies/things solid in a few bursts.
+Aeromancy: Spits out a small, violent but short lived tornado out. As one grow's stronger the tornado grows in size and intensity.
+Electromancy: Static breath, at first only strong enough to to stun parts of someone, but with the potential to eventually shoot small bolts of electricity out of one's mouth.
+Geomancy: A deep bellow capable of splitting stone, and at high levels, even metal.
+Herbamancy: This breath revives, grows, restores, and can change plants in different ways.
+Necromancy: Temporary animation of, you guessed it, inanimate objects. At first only capable of animating smaller objects such as toys, twigs and the like.
+Demonomancy: Soul corruption, while it doesn't physically damage an individual, slowly coorupts a being with demonic energy. In other words, it makes them curl and howl in pain as their soul is seared with demonic energy. This, however, makes the weredrake suseptable to control of demons or demonomacers while in use.
+Noxomancy: Causes slow decay of flesh or materials, flesh decays as one would expect, while armor and such rust and fall apart. One cannot use this on mortal flesh unless said mortal is already dead or dying, however.
+Psychomancy: Throw's forth a gas that causes those that inhale it to go into as confused or hallucinogenic state. At later stages, the effects can be changed.

Origin: N/A (Currently Unknown, to be discovered)


-Sight, hearing, and smell are all heightened above the norm while in their dragon form. Their sight is equivilent to, if not better than that of an eagles, able to spot and recognize objects or people with flying at low altitude, in addition to night vision that is capable of working in near pitch darkness. They could, with some training and practice, ascertain where someone has been by there smell, guess as to their prior activities, perhaps even figure out what they ate the day before, given they haven't washed, as well as being capable of differentiating scents. Their hearing is sharp, yet resilient, as they can pick up what people are saying through a thick brick wall, but can handle most loud noises such as explosions or banshee screams.
-The scales on dragon form act as a form of natural armor. At first they are little more effective than leather, growing harder with each forced change. At their strongest point, cutting and piercing weapons have little chance of getting through unless it is a direct hit. Blunt weapons such as hammers, however, are most effective as they can not only break the scales and create weak points, but also cause damage under them.
-Physical abilities are, as expected, quite a bit stronger in dragon form. Once fully grown they're strength is equivalent to that of an elephant's, capable of lifting tree or hauling two people. They're capable of running at speeds equal to a cheetah's for 10 minutes at a time at a flat out run, carrying weight with it won't slow them down much either.

-Weredrakes cannot use magic or spells while in dragon form, it is instead replaced by their breath ability.
-A weredrake's first transformation has little more mass than it did in human/elf form. So it is not too much stronger either. In fact, they might as well be as strong as they were before.
-They can only use their breaths in short bursts, at first not at all, and when they start the bursts aren't even half a second long. The longest one burst can last is 2 seconds long, and at least as many seconds must pass before the next one.
-Newly turned weredrakes are incapable of regular speech at first and will usually fly into a rage from the pain of changing.
-At first incapable of flight, they have to learn how.
Other: N/A
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by Fallenreaper
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Fallenreaper ღ~Lil' Emotional Cocktail~ღ

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Name: Ridge Hounds/ Ravine Hounds
Class: Medium 4 foot high
Species type: Ravine/Surface
Image/Appearance Description:

Main body is a dune hue yellow and hairless, wrinkled skin and no eyes. Merely oversized nostrils and large sensory glands upon its shoulders that show off vibrate colors in contrast to its bland appearance. Males have two large red lines reaching over the main body, ending at the tail base.

Ones that have found themselves in the Ravine have been altered only in color, instead of the light dune yellow their skin is pale white and have a slight illumination from the large portion of its diet, glowing magma shrimp. Males have a black, single stripe from neck to tail base.

Brief on Behavior:
There 2 types of behavior from Ridge Hounds to be noted: Pack and loner.


The large number of Ridges, limited area, and consistent hunger has made these creatures aggressive and ill tempered. Females usually snapping at the tails of others merely brushing by and start in-fight that usually end in blood and death. Reasons are that scent of blood, the pack turns on the injured in a few, quick seconds until there’s little left. The same practices are common in hunting. Instead of relying on tactics and hunting patterns like wolves, Ridge Hounds assaults are uncoordinated and reckless trying to take the prey down with numbers. These number are easily replenished over time when the next spanning happens. Competition for food is always present since they seem to have a high metabolism causing their thin, wiry appearance.


Unlike pack Ridges, loners aren’t driven by competition for food. They are forced to use different tactics then masses to overwhelm the prey, allowing most to reach older ages. Tactics vary from chasing prey off sheer drop offs, slicing venerable vessels, waiting until the creature collapses from weakness or eating the carcass of long dead animals. Often they avoid head to head confrontation, their intelligence built up over the choice of living alone. In tune with the pack habits, a female loner isn’t picky about cannibalism and will gorge on an unattended clutch just to make space for a few of her own. These are the ones every traveler should be wary about since due to high quality of their diet, loner’s built are far stronger and can take a bit more damage than one from the pack.


Heighten Senses: Blind and without eyesight, they can only hear thanks to the shoulder ‘ears’ fanning out to absorb vibrations in the air and through its thick callous pad on its claws like oversize ear drums. Able to shut them off and on when needed. It also aids in gathering and storing heat in the body, allowing Ridge Hounds to spend or expel it whenever needed.

Strong Claws and Jaws: Strength enough to grind rock into sand within its large mantis like claws and its elongated jaws, they are made to feed off the calcium and meat of their prey storing lean layer of fat and water between the muscle and in the wrinkled skin.

Sulkus Gland: Unable to detect poison though taste, the Ridge Hounds are able to detect sour odors of most poisons even if they are overwhelmed by other messes of smells. A specialized gland in the brain is created for the pure sorting of smells alone and works rather quickly, independent of the other brain functions. Excellent poison detectors, the organ can be harvested and cut into pieces. Each piece when touching a poisonous material will illuminate a vivid purple and rotten smell used to get the creature’s attention.

Poison Tolerance (only Ravine Ridge Hounds): Due to their diet, these creatures’ sense of taste has been lost over time and years of evolution leaving even the worse tasting creatures to become a victim to a Ridge Hound’s huge hunger. Resistant to the poisonous creatures through consumption only, it’s not odd to see very little of any Ravine animal remains afterwards if any and areas littered with thousands of bones, corpses, or herds literally picked clean in little less than a week’s time from a passing pack.

Location: Isolated oasis where jungle and sand clash in the region of Yarsomere.

Throughout the Ravine, the deeper one goes the less likely they are to encounter one/many as the environment becomes too hot for most Ravine Ridges to handle or adapt to. They enjoy large pre made tunnels which are dug and large enough to carry them, often killing and devouring any creature to cross their path.


Packs of Ridge hounds, usually more common in the Ravine, consist of 80-100/ or more members at any giving time. Their large number balances out the fact the individual pack members can’t take extreme damage without dying soon after, the skull light weight and made from fragile bone that a well-placed kick could end up a killing blow. This is only consistent with pack Ridge Hound however. Some theorize that the reason is due to malnutrition, the gluttonous behavior and vast number of infighting has taken its tolls which changes upon drifting into loner hunters, lacking such problems. Another is the Pack’s diet, the plants eaten by herbivores and passing onto the carnivores that eat them weaken the bone frames.

Ridges in the Ravines are born female but with both sets of reproductive anatomy (males are sucked into their bodies when not in use), unlike their topside brethren where the genders are separated at birth. Females that don’t lay eggs will change their gender. Becoming males to fertilize the eggs and unable to change their gender again, staying males and losing the ability to produce eggs for the rest of their lives. Several males can fertilize, in a way like salmon does, the same leathery egg clutch which are able to found anywhere from high ledges to stuck to wall thanks to the sticky substance secreted from the shell upon lying.

Both species have the same breeding habits, just the amount differs. Female Ridge Hounds layup to 20 eggs every half a year, keeping their numbers easily manageable and allowing the body to recoup needed minerals over time for egg health. Ravine Ridges however breed 50-100 eggs per female every month, about only 2/3 of these eggs will live long after being fertilizing by scatters of males. Less would make it into adulthood and none into ripe old age, no knowledge of any Ridge dying of old age.

The Ridge Hound parts are used for many potions and uses, the Sulkus for example can be used as poison detectors. Their meat is sinewy but extremely juicy with flavor from the topside breed. On the other hand, those found in the Ravine’s has a delicate vein at the skull back just under the lip that requires a skilled hand and steady attention to remove, a key ingredient in most Ravine anti-venoms. A wrong slice would make the vein explode and the clear fluid turned black becoming useless.
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Fallenreaper
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Name: Ironx

Class: Large (rhino sized)

Species type: Metal Rhino

Image/Appearance Description:

Females have shorter, blunt tipped horns then males. The dominate males hold the larger horns due to increase testosterone levels from its high ranks.

Brief on Behavior:

An Ironx is a social, docile creature that consumes variety type of metal, ores and rock as its main diet. Often seen and heard bashing its large curved head into ground, the hardened parts from its long horn to the ‘bearded’ chin is reinforced for breaking up the topside layers to reach the taster mineral beneath. These large mammals can eat as little as few tons of metal to the weight of a small hill on average, depending on the quality of the minerals consumed. Running in herds consistent of 15-20 members, there is a close kinship with most of the members of the group displayed in gentle rubbing of hides and close proximity like most herd animals. It also for protection for their eyesight is based on movement, making it hard for a predator to sneak up on an Ironx herd thanks to the many eyes constantly peering about.

Leading and general protection falls to the dominate male, called a Ram, usually covered in trophies of his duty and most aggressive of the bunch. In maintain his rank he is usually the Ironx with the toughest hide and he alone is allowed to breed with the females. Other males in the group tend to be passive but quickly turn aggressive when danger arrives and will aid the dominate male in defending the herd from predators or rarely challenging him to leadership. The Ram often chases young male offspring away from the herd at the time they reach adulthood, the positive in this is that male keeps his standings while passing his genes and creating new herds. Sometimes during these events a female or two will end up following the banished male. The young male will end up confronting other herds, attempting stealing a female or two into his own herd before the current dominate male can realize it. This reason is enough for a dominate Ironx to be always be alert. When a dominate male loses a challenge the creature is forced into the back of the herd, usually ending up being picked off by carnivores though the herd will leap to the creature’s defense, usually a short confrontation, before backing off the moment they realize the creature is dead.

Females are passive and gentle, cows and yearlings making up the majority of the herd, tending to stick close. The common defense is to go into an all-out stampede of panicked beasts’ hell bent for the horizon. During this behavior, common and placid habits of the Ironx are tossed out the window with only one thing on their mind: Just run, leaving everything, living or dead, in their path trampled underfoot.


Hard outer shell: From eating hard rock, ores and metals, their stomach digests it thanks to the harsh acids. Then turning it into a liquid, it is then secreted from its pores to create an outer casting. The only places spared from this process are the joints, a thin layer of skin allowing mobility. Nutrients from fossilized animals and plants embedded in the digested rocks are separated, used as absorbed substance for the shell which is comprised of the ores’ material itself. Every year just in the season between spring and summer, the creatures shed their outside skin leaving behind a moist soften layer underneath that must take months to dry. Currently the most dangerous time for Ironx, it makes them vulnerable to attack by larger predators and even clever smaller ones thinning out their numbers.

Flat, grinding teeth: Their teeth are among one of the hardest substances in Tiien, they have to be to crack and grind the materials they feed upon. Many had considered using Ironx teeth for weaponry and armory, yet to harvest enough would require the slaughtering over thousands Ironx just to create a single, human size armor, leaving much raw material behind. In the end the effort isn’t worth the production and far too wasteful.

Razor sharp horn (males only): Strong to stand large amounts of pressure and easily slice human flesh, the Ironx’s horn can’t cut completely though the hide of other challenging Ironx most the time or armor strength objects. Merely causing cracks or large chucks to fall off the Ironx’s hide, leading an exposed area that isn’t protected for a few months as if they had only shed their skin in that section, leaving it wet and soft. Though rare since the Ironx tends to allow his foe to back away from the fight, a horn can end up killing a challenger if plunged into any soft plated armor from time to time.

Motion and excellent hearing sense: Ironx have excellent hearing, able to detect very faint sounds from a pin dropping to the cracking of stone under foot. However their sense of sight is based on motion alone, as long as predator or creature continues to move the Ironx’s brain picks up the tiny vibrations in the air thanks to the specialized organ in the back of its head. The long horn in back stretches its sense of motion to a vast area in its surroundings.

Location: Djarkel


In tamed herds, hide thick and hardness can be influence by the irons, ores or minerals fed to the beasts, creating large qualities of strengths from Copper, Bronze and few other lesser metals. Platinum, Titanium, and higher strength metals may be produced as well but rarely at any quality near the original because of the high density is too difficult for their body to break and reform it. It also explains why wild herds’ shells are considered less ‘pure’ due to the lack of controlled ingredients in their diet, their casted off outer layer is a mixture of the metals in unpredictable strengths. Using the Ironx’s hide is a cheaper alternative to mining large quantities; the quality is sacrificed somewhat by the metal lasting only half as long making the mining of such ores still required. An Ironx’s hide strength is best depicted by the metal’s color in the hide’s shine and appearance, often determining their rank within the herd with the strongest taking the highest rank.

Ironx meat is thick, and grey in color with a slight gravelly texture and sparkle like some minerals when left uncooked. When inflamed by extremely hot temperatures the meat has a smoky, hearty flavor like prime rib that flakes off in one’s mouth. A native dish called Shigha is to cut out the Ironx brain, coat it in heavy seasoning and sea salt, wrapped in a heavy board leaf before burying under low burning embers, covering it over with a pile of rocks for a day. The dish looks like a greyish pink version of homemade cheese and curled milk cross, the wrinkles crumbling and thick before it’s put into soup. The hint of sweet, smoky flavor surpasses its unappetizing appearance. Ironx blood is black often used for clothing dye and rock jewelry. Grinded up bones are used in variety of fertilizers, ideal from the soil’s nutrients stored in the marrow fit for growing potted plants or crops in other lands.
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Leon5431
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Yay Wintercrest! It's honestly a wonder I still had this, but hey I'm not complaining.


Settlement name: Wintercrest

Type: Large city

Description: Wintercrest was founded by an Eanian family by the name of Fellrien twenty years ago. Before Fellrien came to the city, it went by another name, Dilanol and was ruled by a Sovereign King, Frendril. Built at the base of the Mithril rich mountain on the border of Eania and Djarkel, Dilanol made its beginning as a mining town but quickly grew to a city. Under Frendril's rule Dilanol barely managed to maintain its sovereignty, many times nearly falling to either Eania or Djarkel only being saved with the King offered a substantial amount of gold to keep his cities sovereignty. But by doing so he sowed the seeds of his own downfall. By the end of it the city owed both Eania and Djarkel a substantial amount of gold and was only able to pay it off by forcing its people into the Mithril mines that ran deep into the mountain or into military service. Every citizen either enlisted for a military life, which was more of filling the role of slave drivers, or were forced to work in the mine to pay off the massive debt that crippled the city. Yet still, the city survived if not barely, only having just enough to stay afloat. This is how the city remained, for many a year until house Fellrien came.

In Eania house Fellrien was the the reigning house in the south easternmost region of Eania. Another house, house Levaran who had sworn fealty to house Fellrien coveted their lands and their power. Seeking anyway they could to undermine their claim house Levaran stumbled across a secret. House Fellrien had a line of gifted Lues blood mages in their midst. The second this was discovered Levaran went about setting to work sparking Fellrien’s downfall. Twisting the image of the noble rulers to make them seem to be corrupt Djarkel mind controllers. Unrest spread like a disease, house Fellrien tried to fight it but their downfall was almost assured. Soon other houses sworn to fealty rose up against their Liege Lords. Very few of the houses remained loyal to Fellrien and those that did were prosecuted to the same extent. A bloody civil war erupted between the houses, split by those loyal to Fellrien and those who rose up against them.

For nearly two years the small civil war raged. Until finally the High King stepped in to end it. The King joined on the side of house Levaran, having fallen sway to the lies spread about Fellrien being mind controllers and Djarkel sympathizers. Against both the rebelling lords and the High King himself, house Fellrien and their allies fought a losing battle. Until finally, house Fellrien's home city, the capital of the region, Rayheaven was razed to the ground. Every house and every building burned to the ground, every man, woman and child even the livestock were slaughtered in droves, including half of house Fellrien's family. Battered, half destroyed and officially beaten, house Fellrien and what was left of her allies retreated, into Djarkel territory. Hoping to fare better there than against their own people.

In the time between their defeat and the capture of Dilanol, or as it will come to be called Wintercrest, the few other houses that fled with them were incorporated into house Fellrien. Either by adoption or marriage. The now one unified house, brought what was left of their armies together under one banner. Unable to survive as nomadic outcasts their gaze fell upon the Sovereign cities separating Eania and Djarkel. Desperate to find a place to survive, and unable to retake the lands lost to Eania and unwilling to risk anything with Djarkel the people of house Fellrien found themselves with little other options. Their desperate gaze settled upon the city of Dilanol. With proper leadership and no small manner of hard work this could be made the seat of an empire and so House Fellrien went to war.

The city held for days, its defenses built to last, supported by the natural defense of the mountain. But eventually the poor unequipped armies of Frendril fell to the battle hardened veterans of house Fellrien. With the conquest of Dilanol and the freeing ofcitizens from the near slave like lifestyle, House Fellrien's survival was assured. The noble house made a home out of the mountain city. Changing the name from Dilanol to Wintercrest. In time and with no small amount of hard effort the city saw a change from the desperate state it had been in under King Fendril. A new aged seemed to be dawning for the sovereign city. Thanks to it’s lucrative mithril mines Wintercrest received a large amount of trade from the other sovereign cities and even eventually the surrounding empires. The people who had remained loyal to and had followed house Fellrien had changed, they were no longer the outcasts from Eania. They were now the proud people of Wintercrest.

Djarkel was the first to accept the sovereignty of the new city, seeing it as a lucrative trade partner their relationship can generally be seen as much more positive than the city's relationship with Eania. When word reached house Levaran of House Fellrien’s survival they were swift to gather an army and march to city and demand the heads of House Fellrien’s members seeing them still as enemies of the state. As the much larger Eanian army starved out the city until their demands were met they were surprised when an army from Djarkel arrived demanding they lift the siege. Fearing a fight on two fronts the Eanian army lifted their siege and pulled their forces out. After the Eanian army had retreated the Djarkel general met with House Fellrien’s leader, the Lord of Wintercrest, Daegon Fellrien. The Djarkel general explain that they arrived to ensure that Wintercrest’s sovereignty remained untouched. Though many speculated that their intentions were much more selfish than they had presented them to be.

But so Wintercrest’s survival was assured ever so barely. With time Eania began openly trading with the sovereign city and relations improved ever so slightly. Still, those who live in the city of Wintercrest that followed with House Fellrien harbor strong grudges against the people of Eania and there is still many of those who stick to the old Eanian ways of resenting Djarkel.

The city has become a melting pot for cultural influence from the surrounding empires and is seen as something of a safe haven from both Eania and Djarkel where no one can be prosecuted for their blood or their race and people may forge their own beginnings.

Alignment: Neutral, they are distrustful and at times hateful to both Eania and Djarkel, though their relationship is easily much better with Djarkel then it is with Eania if not for their mutual need for one another.

Some ways North of the Twilight college, on the opposite side of the mountain built near its base, right along the border of Eania and Djarkel.
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