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    1. DrowsyPangolin 12 yrs ago

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Ingrid chuckled at the man's explanation. "Probably not something you'd want to push away in the future then." Her eyes glanced down the road for a moment before returning to the conversation at hand. "I wouldn't worry too much about it hitting anybody, didn't seem to be goin' too fast." Even if it had been, she imagined the people in the camp had faced much worse than an unoccupied vehicle. When the young man introduced himself, Ingrid extended her free hand with a grin, a grin that showed a particularly sharp set of canines. "Pleasure to meet you Ryan. The name's Ingrid, Ingrid Venn." She giggled again at the nickname comment. "I dunno, I've had my share of nicknames, some tend to be longer than your real name... especially the unflattering ones." For what was supposed to be a cold-blooded killer, the girl was unusually chipper. After introducing herself, the young woman nodded. "Aye, I'm here for this meeting, and I suppose I am a hunter of sorts.

As she spoke to Ryan, the vampire noticed a rattling sound growing nearer and nearer to their location. Eventually, a figure came into sight. He was a tall man, somewhat intimidating even, but that had more to do with the axe in his hand than his height. A grin still on her face, Ingrid's hand fell to casually rest at her left hip as she turned toward the newcomer. As he called out to them, her smile only widened. So it was his 'establishment'. "Oi, hi there. I wouldn't say we're lost, I do believe we're actually heading to your establishment at the moment." She still sounded unusually cheery. "Ryan here met with a little... um... misfortune. I imagine that was his truck, unless some other driver-less car decided to head that direction." She laughed at her own joke. "So you're the one in charge of this whole operation then, right?"
It had been a long journey, especially considering its inception had been spawned by a rumor and a whim. Still, what point was there to life if one didn't indulge in whims once in a while? In Ingrid's case, 'once in a while' had translated to 'nearly every day for the past one-hundred-or-so years', but that was just how she was wired. She'd heard the rumors about an old Hunter gathering a rather... diverse set of allies through one of her many 'colleagues'. Working as a mercenary, she'd met plenty of people with access to a wide variety of information, and one such person had stumbled upon information regarding the village she was now approaching. She'd had to take a flight to reach her current destination, as she'd been in Europe at the time, but crossing the ocean seemed a small obstacle for a chance at real excitement. From there, a pair of friends had driven her most of the way. They knew what she was, and as friends, they trusted her. Even so, the thought of pulling into a colony of vampires and lycans had been a bit much, so they'd dropped her off a few miles away. Better safe than sorry. She'd laughed about that.

After being dropped off, Ingrid had set off down the road, happily trotting along and humming to herself. The red-haired girl held a large suitcase made of black leather in her right hand as she walked. It held a number of things she'd thought she might need: clothes, a laptop, her 'food', and a compact assault rifle with several magazines of ammunition. As she walked along, cheerfully humming and swinging her arms, she rounded a corner to see a very confused looking young man watching his truck roll away. Being that they were practically in the middle of nowhere, she assumed him to be someone else who had answered the call. With a new briskness, she skipped over to the redheaded fellow. "Hi there, that yours?" She pointed towards the empty road which the truck had just rolled down with her free hand as she turned to face the man.


@Spybuster Alright, awesome.
Hi, I'm definitely interested in this. I wrote up a character, lemme know if she's what you're looking for or if there's anything I need to change.


Yeah, hopefully we can get a few more people and get things rolling. The cast is looking pretty neat so far though.
Name: Oliver Rennalt

Age: 26

Gender:Male

Appearance: Oliver is a thin, lanky man of just above average height. He has very little bulk about his frame, but a fair amount of lean muscle clings tightly to his bones. Though he was likely always a thin man, his vagrant lifestyle and lack of nutrition probably have only served to further this almost sickly state. His skin is an extremely pale, almost chalky white. Because of his fair complexion, he often bears sunburns, typically situated across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. The man's features are not overly pronounced, and though they are not necessarily soft, they certainly provide no sense of charisma or confidence. Oliver's eyes are a deep shade of violet, the color of the horizon just before the sun fully sinks below it. An image of faint sadness and contemplation remains permanently engraved upon his visage like an invisible scar. Despite his nomadic lifestyle as of late, he keeps his physical appearance relatively controlled. His face is smooth-shaven, though he tends to grow little in the way of facial hair as it is. His hair is quite long, but neatly combed, reaching nearly to his shoulders and framing his face with a neat part slightly left of center. His hair also has the peculiarity of being nearly perfectly white. Though it is common for his countrymen to bear fair locks, snow white is often a shade reserved for the old, and a trait that often garnered (sometimes unwanted) attention in his younger years.

Oliver's clothing is simple and tidy. A pair of rectangular spectacles aid his poor eyesight and rest comfortably on his nose. The glasses have a thin rim fashioned from wire, with a charcoal grey finish. Around his neck he wears a delicate necklace made of fine silver attached to a carefully engraved locket of the same material. A single amethyst is inset in the center of the locket, and when opened it reveals a small portrait of a young woman. He wears a loose-fitting shirt made of white cotton, a comfortable fit for his frame. The shirt's sleeves are rolled up neatly to just below the elbow, and the garment fastens with a row of pearl button running up the center. Over the shirt, Oliver wears a vest made of a resilient fabric dyed a shade of deep blue. The article is fairly simple, fastening with a row of copper buttons and bearing no decoration other than a pocket at the left breast. For leggings, Oliver wears a pair of black trousers fastened with a black leather belt. The belt fastens with an undecorated copper buckle. His shirt is tucked into his waistline. On his feet, Oliver wears a pair of comfortable traveling boots with a slight heel and pointed toes.

The pale man's hands and forearms are nearly always wrapped in white bandages up to the elbow. These are not for any sort of injury, though they may give off that impression. Oliver wraps his hands to hide a series of tattooed symbols running up each arm. The symbols are imprinted on his arms in thick black ink. On the back of each hand is the symbol of a crescent moon, an important emblem to the people of his homeland. From there, the tattoos stretch down the backs of his forearms in ornate lettering. The symbols are written in Old Crethian, a language rarely used outside of religious ceremonies. Translated, the inscription reads as follows:

'Blessed is he who would defend the Faith. Unto him I shall grant hands of iron, so that he may bring forth judgment unto those who would defy me.'

Weapons: Oliver carries little in the way of physical weaponry. He was, however, trained thoroughly in the ways of martial arts. Though this would make him a capable combatant in hand-to-hand combat, a peculiar modification to his body makes him just as effective as an armed man, perhaps even more so. When he took his holy vow to serve the Church, he was given a power to defend the Faith. As a young man, he underwent a long and painful ritual to alter his physical being. The exact process used to change Oliver, and other soldier-priests of the Church of Rivers, is a well-kept secret, allegedly involving acts both scientific and arcane. The Church claims it is a miracle granted only to those worthy to defend the Faith, though they are quick to strip this honor away from any who have abandoned their path.

The ritual drew upon a literal interpretation of an ancient sacrament. It was said that the Goddess of Rivers would grant her followers 'hands of iron' to defend her laws and her people. In essence, this matches very closely with the actual result. Oliver's arms, from the elbow down, have been hardened to a point far beyond the boundaries of human flesh. Able to clash against steel blades with only the smallest of wear, the process made the former priest's hands formidable weapons in their own right.

In a sense, the miracle that was placed upon Oliver's hands is both a blessing and a curse. It gave him a weapon that he could not lose, but it also made him that weapon. He retained (or rather, relearned) full function of both limbs, even being able to perform precise work with his fingertips, but his sense of touch was almost completely removed. He can make out the basic shape of an object, and is physically capable of most tasks, but it was only through rigorous training that he regained basic human functions. Even a great pain in the effected area is felt as little more than the bite of an insect, and anything less is eclipsed by a constant numbness. Though damage to the hardened limbs is rare, injuries seem to heal as they normally would.

Belongings: As a wanderer, Oliver has learned to carry his home on his back. While traveling, he tends to carry a large pack slung across his back by means of a rope. The pack itself is little more than a large leather sack. Within the pack, Oliver carries various essential tools. These items include a small medical kit, a needle and thread, a razor for shaving, a small utility knife, matches, line and hook for fishing, and a simple cooking setup. In addition to these necessary items, he also carries a journal and a few utensils for writing.

Personality: A shadow of melancholia seems to follow Oliver wherever he goes. Though his words may not always convey it, a deep sadness always seems to lie just beneath the surface of his being, a hole left by a loss to great to be filled. Though he sees to way to fill this void, his life currently revolves around mending it as best he can, and thus he is typically fairly kindhearted to those around him, helping when he can. Though he carries a deep disillusionment and pessimism within him, he tries to hold these feelings to himself instead of projecting them onto others. He is usually a quiet and contemplative man, regularly getting lost within his own thoughts. He sleeps very little, often traveling through the night, and is thus quite comfortable with silence. He is fairly intelligent, and is not quick to escalate a situation. He tends to see violence as a last resort, viewing the taking of life as unnecessary and wasteful.

History: Oliver was born in Creth, a distant island city-state with only occasional contact with the outside world. The island, a theocracy, was governed by the Church of Rivers, an institution tracing its roots back to Creth's birth. Oliver, an orphan, was raised by the Church. Told the Goddess had a plan for him from a young age, the boy decided to become a priest. After a great deal of work, his dream was achieved. He was acknowledge by his peers as a pious and hardworking young man, dedicating the great majority of his time to religious affairs and charity. Having no standing military, the priests of the Church of Rivers often served as enforcers for the faith when the need arose. Oliver was deemed a perfect candidate for such a position and went through a rigorous, arguably torturous, training process spanning several years. Following the completion of his training, he served the Faith in new ways, dealing out the Goddess' justice upon criminals and heretics.

His time was almost entirely spent in his work, until, by chance, he met a young woman named Isabel. He quickly fell in love with her, and as soon as his duties would allow, they were wed. Though he was often busy, Oliver spent as much time with his beloved as he could. After some time, the couple had a child, a boy. Though he had found fulfillment in his work for the Church, with his wife and child Oliver found true happiness. With his family, Oliver came to know a joy he had never before experienced. He felt his humanity.

Oliver's joy, however, was doomed to be short-lived. While away on business for the Church, he heard that a devastating plague was spreading throughout Creth. Worried for his family, the priest made haste in returning home. When he arrived, however, he learned the true horror of the situation: the plague had killed hundreds, and Creth's capital had been quarantined to prevent the disease from spreading. Overcome with worry, Oliver discreetly entered the city despite the quarantine and rushed home. He found his wife on her death bed. He learned from her that their son had been taken by the sickness a few weeks before. Staying by his beloved's bedside through her final hours, Oliver felt the entire world he had built up around him come crashing down.

Broken by the loss of his family, Oliver left his home behind. He cursed the plague for taking his family, he cursed his Goddess for not protecting them, and he cursed fate for forcing him to go on living. His faith was shattered, and abandoned his beliefs along with his home. Returning to Creth was not an option, as the Church did not look kindly upon those who abandoned the Faith, not that he had any intention of coming back. He set off on a journey with no destination, searching for any sort of truth or explanation that might ease the pain of his loss. Aimlessly, he wandered from town to town, a man with no home and nothing to believe in.

I'm down for spooky island hijinks.
@Reflection Not necessarily. For instance, let's say that a servant with a strong resistance to magic were to kill Cain with some kind of magical attack. The opposing servant could theoretically survive the attack because their resistance to it would be leagues better than Cains. I suppose given his low luck stat someone could also survive through sheer luck. Obviously any NPs that alter fate or something of that nature would work as well. There are probably a few other ways to get around his NP, maybe really powerful healing or something, but typically Cain's weakness would lie in his opponent being more durable than he is.
Alright, I've got a Character Sheet for my Berserker. If anything in it seems sketchy let me know.



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