Festive

⇜ Deicide ⇝ [Dark Fantasy Isekai]

@Festive I never asked, so I hope you don't mind me stealing borrowing that code :P

@SilverPaw

You're all good LOLL

Dark Fantasy Isekai

Hey there I have to say that Im interested in the concept, is the game still accepting cause I can have a character up fairly quickly

@Archangel89

The OOC link should be on the first page, I know there are a couple slots still open

⇜ Deicide ⇝ [Dark Fantasy Isekai]

All My Rage.

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_______________________________ N A M E : N A M E : "He can't seem to conjure up what it was..." A G E O F D E A T H : A G E O F D E A T H : "His age pushes over 1000, yet he can't place an exact number." R A C E : R A C E : "He is a human, that's known for sure." G E N D E R : G E N D E R : "There is no doubt that he is a male." P S Y C H O L O G Y : P S Y C H O L O G Y : "Despite the smog that covers his brain the brashness and impetuousness shine through. He stands stubborn as he forces himself to try to play blocked memories of the past. Confusion, loss, anger, course through his mind as he stands in a land on the brink." Memories of the past find themselves locked away... _______________________________

_______________________________________________________________________________ W H A T Y O U C A N R E M E M B E R : W H A T Y O U C A N R E M E M B E R : {M A N Y L I V E S L I V E D B Y O N E :} {M A N Y L I V E S L I V E D B Y O N E :} For a mind so full of memories of years past, not but one stands evident as full. Fragments of glipese upon different lives in different ages flood his mindscape as he can only catch but fleeting looks at once full experiences. Distorted calls and singing within a language of old but to his mind a warmth spread when it crossed his concious. Memories meld and mix in a hazey convocation as sights of spears made of crude iron and wood turn to blades of tempered steel, turn to the wood of a smoothbore. Different memories, different times, different lives. Although he had not but a clue of who he was, he could tell he was a man who has lived a long, long time. [1] When he awoke, the dirt and grime that surrounded him was naught but sparse. The armor he wore, ruined by a glimpse he couldn't see through the fog, sat roughly upon his body while within his hand he grips but an almost pristine iron dagger. His mind draws upon blanks on its origin, it his body seems to know it inside and out. The blade still as sharp as the day it was forged as he ran a thumb across it. For some reason, it was an item so familiar his body kept track of the movements for it that for him was hidden behind the fog of his mind. [2] He doesn't know what he feels, but he can feel it. A burn. A scorch mark upon his soul. A fire that rages with the screaming shouts of but hundreds of voices with an anger that fuels it further. Red tendrils light up his veins as the ire consumes him. Sparks of power glow from his body as it taps into a power so familiar he can call it, yet for distant it refuses to follow his call, refuses to spark its energy any further. It stands as a mystery for as when the red tendrils fade from view, he can feel the power slowly being ripped from him. [3?] [VYKI•] H̸̖̭̗͊͌́̾̉̓I̷̡͐̒̿́̂ͅS̸͉̝͗̊́̆̾̂͜ͅ ̶̛̯͖̥̉́̾̆͜H̶̯̘̒̉̕Ë̸̻̫̯̝̙́̈́̎̏͋́͜Ȃ̶͕͎̳̝̜͋̓Ḏ̶̙̈́͆̽̕͠ ̸͔͑̈́̃̓̉͑B̵͖̝̑͆̿͝Ṷ̶͖̫̀R̴̜̦̦͋̋̍Ñ̶̢͉̺̠͖̆̊̑͝S̵̙͘ ̷̬̭̠͉̫̓͗̽́͘͜A̶̝̻͗̃́̆̓S̶̳̰̟̒ ̶̡̟̯̎Ţ̶̘̓͊̌̄Ḩ̴̮͓̆̃Ẽ̶̘̥̤̖͉̍͛́̂͊ ̸̗̦͋̽͝T̶̖̟̹̬̫̘͊̓R̴͇͍̙̒̎̀͐̇Ḯ̶̧̫͍̦̫̾̓̒̚Ė̵̖̹̀͝ͅS̶̚ͅ ̶͙̃̅͑T̵̢̺̥̣̗̚O̶̦̱̪̗̞̞̔͆͑̒ ̸̡̖̾̊̐͝F̵̼̬͗Ö̴̭̯̹͉̌Ŗ̶̩͍̦͍̹̋̓̓C̴̤̟̜̄̈́̕E̷͕̜͒ ̴͚̤̮̟̺͈̽̌̅̐͌͝Ţ̷̡͙͍̟̒͝H̵̰̙̽̏̎̾̋̕E̶̼̲̠̯̝͖̒̍̈́̀ ̷̮͒͝T̴̨͙̱̝̼͓̀̌͌͑̿̒Ḧ̸̜͕̫̟́̉̓̀O̶͖͉͋̾̒̏̆Ů̷̠͓̗͎̬̌̄͝G̶̡̦̀̽̐̾͝H̸̥̣͎̱̗͉̎͘͘T̵̪͈͕͇͊͐̀̊̌͠ ̸͖̘̽͑͑͠A̷̜̳͇̟̜̩̓͘C̵̢̲̲̩͕̊R̶͇͆O̶̹̺͕̫͐S̵̻̏̏͋̈́S̵͉̫̟̝͉̾̏͑̀͜ ̵̧͔͖͎͋̈̽̑̓͜H̶̫͈͖̪̾̈̀̍͝I̸̱̗̱̿̒̀S̷̗̤͚̎͋͛̉̈͝ͅ ̴̞̑̀̓̓̔Ḿ̵̧͉̟̬ͅI̷͍͕̱̋͌̚Ñ̵͙̣̖̳̰D̵̡̛̥̫́̃͂͠ͅ.̵̡̭͇̩̤̄̿ ̷̩͖͆̏͆͗͘À̸̡̢̼̙̑̎̑̔ ̶͚͋F̷̛̛͔̗͆͛̔͠I̷̗̱͈̱̖̞͌̑̉̓͠R̸͕̗͉͑̔͒E̷̫̓ ̷͎͍͎͇͑́̓͊̌A̷̡͙̻̳̥̽ͅN̵͎̹̥̓̏̔̆ͅD̷̝̣̞̤͓͗͠ ̵̰͍͝F̸͖͈͎͑̄͋͝Û̸̹̥̓̔R̵̦͕̅̑͠Y̶̦̊̽̒͊̓̚ ̵̫̞̻̟̗̝̃́͋̍̏̚Ś̴̨̨̬̫͍͙́̈Ḛ̸̊̎Ą̴̯͓̭͉̘̆̔̎͝͝R̶̡̤̹̹͂̎̓͠S̵̳͈̬͆͌̽̏̚ ̵̻̐̈̿H̵̡̻̬͛̀Í̶̼̣͒͆͑͂Ş̸̲͖̼̇̐ ̵͈̃̑L̶̥̖̤̯̯̑̒̔͐O̴̢̗͖͓̖̔̊́̇B̵̜̦͉̉͂̽̇E̷̮̫̲̗̹̋̒͐͘S̸͙̯͔͍̄̉̈́̌̚ ̴̡̭͉̬̚W̶͈̲̼̭̃͗I̶͍̪̜̭̜̯͆̽T̶̡̤̙̺̦̍̈̐̔͘H̶̳͔̗̻̫͋̂̀̐͠ͅ ̶̨̮̟͍̜̿́̂̈́͑A̵̬͂̀ ̶̯̝̔P̴̦̈͒̓̓͜͝Ȃ̵̤͈̗̏͑̓Ì̴̠͕̟̕ͅͅͅN̶̑͂̿͗ͅ ̵̡͓̖͖̖̗̅̃͐͑Ų̶͓͐̿̌̂̕N̷̘̪͇̿͛͜ͅŜ̸̨̫̩̺͔̻̀̋̓̾͝E̴͓̬͉̽̊̂̍Ḛ̵̝͗̓̓̍Ň̷̛̮̬̖͗̈́͒.̵̤͇̒̂̋̈ ̷̮̝̙͓̬̍N̵̜̖̮̊͛̕Ō̵̱̈́̇ ̴͙̫̤͂̎͂T̸̝̪̝̰̈́̎H̷̠̀O̸̡̱͐̀́̅̕U̶͇̜̔̈G̷̮̗̙̲̈́̓̓̓̑͘͜H̶͔͎̠̜͐̒̿͝ͅṪ̸̠͉̹̼̐̕͠ ̸͈͔͈̹̃͑̔Ş̴͖̙͚̦̣̑̀H̷̡̛̞̀̀͛̈́A̵̙͕̼͛͜͝L̴̡̍͘L̵̮̙̣̞̖͍̋ ̸̢̬̤̼̣̺́̽͋̾̈́͝P̶͕͋̈́̇̊̂Ą̶̜̯̯̖̽͋̂̈́͝S̸͉̩̠̭͓͚̊͋̑̑S̴̨̪͓̩͌̏͝ͅ.̷̡̺̊̃ ̵̠̻̙͑Ṅ̵̟͖͖̦̩̆͌͐͗̚Ǫ̸̙̱̦̖̳̎ ̶̣̻͕̬̓̓̈́̕T̵͓̝̫̍̑̊̿H̷̻͙̖̩̘͒͊́͜O̴͖̤̙͎̥͔̓̓Ǘ̵̯̓͐͒G̵̡̿H̶͖̼̅T̷̠̻̪̥̺͒̈́̋͠ ̵̺̊Ṣ̴͖̲͓̟̃͊̆H̵̛̱̺̺͉̎A̴̮̪͇̠̒̓̏͗ͅL̵͇̈͘L̸̛̘̞̾ ̵̲̓̓͝P̶̬͔̙̯̳̈́A̸̞̠̒͑͊́͘S̷̞̃̒̎̕S̸̱̫̞̀̅̓̅.̸̭͕͎̲̜̀ ̴̱́͑̄N̸̥̲̥̼̈̎́͐͆͜Ŏ̴̞̭͇ ̷̹̀̕͝T̸̛̟͍̒̔̐̚H̷͇͈́̌̾̅̽̽Ǫ̷̟̞̈́̃͌̕͝ͅU̵̱̪͙̘̽͝G̵͍̠̫̓̈́H̷̯͋͒́̑Ť̶̥͕ ̴̙͉̤͇̖̃͒͘S̵͙̠̉̔̔̕͜Ḥ̵̤͛A̴͍͈͖̚L̴̨͉̀̈́̌L̶͓͚̤̝̈́̚ ̷̤̱͂́͛͠ͅP̴͇̺̀̆A̶̰̍̉̈S̵̗̭̉̽́̇́ͅS̶̲͉̳͔̬̈͊̉̔͐̕.̴͚̣̰̒ ̷̨̮̎̽̕N̸̝̩̝̝͝O̷̝͇̥̘̒̅̕͝ͅ ̵̧̙̔Ṯ̸̻̑̎̈́̀H̸̤̣͂̐́͗͊̎Ọ̶̠͈͍̌͠ͅU̸̡̔̀G̵̭̓̿͠H̷̤̏́̔̏T̸͙͔̫̰̠͙͒͂̃̔̀ ̶̪̹͔̎̿̊̈́̽S̶̟̫̾H̸̹͇̙̲̉̂̌͘Ḁ̵͚̊͐̐̋̕͘L̸̖̺͋̀L̷̢̉͑ ̶̘̳̪̀̆̚͜P̸̢̡̆̍͌̈́̐̕Ą̸͈̯̱̾̅̿͠Ș̴̹͒̕S̸̢̠͒̕.̶̨̜̠̲͇̻̄̀̅͒̽ ̴̜̳̰̙̈́̀̾Ǹ̶̪͒́̅͝Ò̶̡̬̭̻͚̓͌͒ ̵̩̓T̸̨̢̧̛͓͒̈́͂͜H̷̛̲͎͖͖̀̈̽͝ͅO̴̢͉͖̔Ų̶̨̹̙̻̑͗̚͜͝G̸̜̳͈̈́̿͜H̷̫̗͇͎͕̍͊̄ͅṮ̶̦͙̞̟̣̈ ̵̰͉͑̀͑̊̚S̵̭͖͌̈́́̓͘͠H̶͍͚͚̼͉̄͂̇̀̾͜Å̵̜̞͎̳̋L̷̨̈́̾̎̚L̶̨̡͈͋͌ ̶͉̩̓͜͝P̶̨̆̀A̵̜̿̉̐Š̴̤̓̈́̈́̈̓S̴̛͙̖͓̀́̽́̂.̵̼͓̜͇̺͑̏̉̚͜ ̸̛̱̲̥̜͈̽̃͗̍̉N̶͙͔̹̼̆́͜͜͝Ȍ̴̩̬̺́̿̿́͌ ̴͕̃̔́T̶̟͗̐H̷͉̮̠͎̀̿Ǫ̵̺̥̺͕̣̿Ṷ̶̢̊͂̏̔̕̕G̵̭͛̆Ḩ̸̱̠͕̻̹̏̾̉̚͝T̸̡̬̲̲̏͜ ̷͙̭̞͓͉̃Ṡ̵̱̖̤̟̙̇H̷̜́́͝Ǎ̶̙̱̿͗͜͠Ḽ̶̜̯̍͑̚͝ͅL̶̮̟̦̦͑͊͜ ̵̛̖̤̾̑P̷̛͖̩̻͗̎͒̾̓Ä̴̤̩͒͜S̸̼̲̤͉͓̓S̸̪̬͍̟̲͙͗̏̊͝.̸͈̹͉̤͎̔͛͌̈́̍͂N̶̡̰͒Ô̶͇͇̭͍͌̃̀ ̵̩͓͑T̵̠̲̼̉̇͐͑̀̋ͅḦ̴̭̥̖̝̺́͜Ó̸̩̬͌͒̓̅Ų̷̣͉͛̿́G̷̙̱̮̒Ȟ̸̡̙͉̺̊̂̓͐̚͜ͅT̷̞͗̇̇͝ ̷̡̅̓̓͂̍S̸̲̘̥̭̰̙̽͊Ȟ̵͔̩̥͐À̸̩̙͊̌͊̕̚Ļ̷͚̺͑͜L̷͈̬̟͉̿̽̐̌͘ ̴̫͑͌Ṕ̴̨̝̭̯̗̎̅̊̌̕Ą̴͔̜͕͛̿͌̈́͜S̴͕͉͇̬̜̥͐̽͘Ṣ̷͕̺̭̫̍.̵͎̟͖͗ ̸̡͚̩̇͠͝N̸̢̑͊͝Ǫ̷͖͕̻̰̝́͊͑̾ ̶̳̀̾̒̌T̸̼̫̻͔̺͌̂H̷͈̀͂̇́̆Ò̷̢̩͋͑͛́̕Ṵ̶̕G̶̢̦͈͕̳̺̐́̌̕H̶̪͊̍̅̚T̴̟̯͂́̇͂̉̔ ̷̡̱̜̦̞͊̔̐̽̇͜͝S̸͔̖̳̈́͊͗͗̚͝H̷̺̲̼̬̥̆À̷͔̤̆L̶̢̻̗̗̍̒͊L̴͉̰̙̅̈́̾͘̚͠ ̴̥̦̦̂͆̆̚̚͜P̶̡̞̟̋̀̂̋͜Ä̷̢̝̼͕̠̿͊S̶͖̀͋̈́S̴͓̅̽̀.̷͕̹̩͗̂ͅͅ ̶̧̞̪̙͕̓͗̿͝ͅŅ̴̡̛̜̱̥̦̄́̈́O̶̦̝̥͔̻̿͝ͅ ̴̙͖̓̇̈́͠T̸̲͙̰̭͑́̈́͋͜ͅH̶̯̠͘Ö̷̳́̅́̾͋̽Ù̸̜̭̍̍͛̒̑G̴̱͂͒͠͝H̵͈͚̖͐̐̆͌̆̍T̷̨̺̝̘̭̗͛̒ ̵̤͓͎̐͐͘S̵̰̍͑͊̾̓͜H̶̺́̀A̸̡̭̭̓̎̌͜L̶̥̂L̸̖͙̲͎̤̜̏͋̈́ ̸͈̟͒Ṕ̸̛͙̱̏̓̊̕A̷͓̣͝Ś̷̢̼̮̯̰̥͋̆́̕͝S̶̛̰̥̘̲̃̀̿.̶̡̯̠͕͉̀͂̄̎̄ͅ ̴̝̲͠Ń̴͓̳̟̻͝͠Ó̶̼̖͎̗̒ ̸̳͕̣͇͛͝T̷͔̫̗̹̋͂̐̏͐H̷͖̯̼̼͉̉̌̋̚͠O̵͔̺̦̗͊͋̿̀̈́͝U̷̘͆̒̀G̵̤̣̈́̄H̶̙̼̅̓̕͘Ţ̶̧͔͚̹̼͛͛̂̀ ̵̫͇̃͠ͅS̵̩̼̰̾̽̉̀H̷̠̤͙̏́́̚͝ͅĄ̶̭͙̠͝L̵̢̛͔̮̺͈̐̆̀̓͘ͅL̴̡̮̟̔̑͑̑ ̸̦͌̔P̴̠̺̜̝̬̃̑̎̊͌A̵͚͖̲͙̔̽̎̕͝Ŝ̷͇̠͚̊̈́Ṩ̶̞̜̝͉͛͜.̵̨̯͍͓͒͑͂̂͗̆ ̷̨̦̞̞̭̘̾̔̒̕N̶̞̏͝Ó̷̱̎̋͠ ̴̨̣̲͔͓̞̿Ț̵̨̱̹̼͠Ȟ̴͍̬̖̪̟͝Ȯ̶̪̞̌̽͝͝U̵̮͕̻̗̘͎͌G̵̠͉͓̻̉̇̓H̵̛͉̳͊̓̓́̚T̷͚̯́̃̿͆̀̔ ̶̢̧͉̞̇̎͂S̸̡͉̪̖̟͑Ȟ̵͎̹̗͜Ã̴̗͕̫͇͎͌̓͜L̸͕̆̇͋̓L̷̠͋͌̍̃̌ ̶̜̞̩̎̊̍̐͒͠P̸̨͔͎̥̭̰̈́̆͝Ā̷̰̾̕S̴̯̱̝̜͌̈́͑̅̌̎͜S̴̯̟̺͚̼͝.̶̣̽ ̵͉̮̂͊̑́̕N̴̢̛̺̺̪̑͜Ö̴̩̬́ ̸͖̺̼̮͇̟͗͛̎̅T̷̟͌̄̈́̅̾H̸͖͌̽̏͜Ȍ̴̡̗͎̬̥U̷̡͈̦̐͐̇́̇͊G̶̺̘̻̀͆̕H̵̪̹͓́̂̾̎͑͠T̵̙͎̄ ̷̝͔͙̙͕̏̾͑̈́S̸͉̦̗͗̏Ḧ̷̱͑͆̏͝Ä̸̫̜̃̿̽̊L̸̢͙̟͇̜͕͌L̴̗̠͈͐͝ ̴̪́̾P̶͇̯͍̞̬̕͠A̸̧͚̬̓̉S̴̛̺̙͕̃̑S̵͖̄̿̉.̸̩̽̎Ň̵͖͋͠Ŏ̷̢̟̘̙͓͑̃̌̋̋ͅ ̷̡̯̭̝̺̪͂̆̇͛͝T̶̹̩͎̔͋́̅H̴̹̼̓O̸͕̙̬̰̤͇͐͛͐̚Ư̵͔̝̈͗̽̀G̶͔͖̍͜H̴̭͚̫̙̼̠̄̊̃T̵̼͓̅ ̵͔̯͖͚̟̌S̷̛̟̈H̴͓͈̍̂A̷̜̒̇͂͐̇̕Ĺ̶̦͑͜L̸͚͛͋͑̀̕ ̸͓͕̠͒P̴̢͉̳̠͓͆͘Ḁ̸̤̝̹̃̌̂̈͝Ş̷̢͖̠̺̃̊S̶̠̲̣̰͂.̸̧͖̱̗͗̉̈́̔ͅ ̵̢̈̈́̃̌N̸̡̢͙̗̔̅͘͜Ơ̵̘͉̿̈́̄̍ ̴̱͓̿̎͝T̶̘̠̀̀͊͝͝Ḩ̷̧͍̬͔͉͆͐̇Ǫ̵̼̖͓͉͑̅̏U̶̧͍̺̹̙̤̽͐̚͝͝G̵̮͕͉̥̈̇̌͝H̴̺̳̑̇̈́̍̃̕T̶͉̐̈́̚ ̴̜̮̋̓̈́́̾͜S̵̪̉̒̋͆̊̊H̴̥͈͚͙͕̲͆̋Ä̷͍̔̐̚L̵̝͍̓̋̆L̷̹̋̔̀ ̴͉͇͒̂̿̄̓͒P̷̗̍̈́̈́̕Ȧ̸̛̻S̸̖͉̹̈́͌͛̍̀͜͝S̶̡͎̞̩͈͗͜.̴͔͉͛̎̉ ̷̮̮̓̽͋̾̅N̴̨̢̻̥̙̊̃̿̔́̑Ớ̶̭̼̻͋́͆̚ ̵͇̟̞͆͘T̶̰͚̅́͑̄͘ͅḤ̵̤̈́͘͠Ơ̷̖̖͕̜͙̾̒̀U̵͔̹̙̇͛͘G̶̢̩̜̜̠̀̒̑H̷̳̱͙̟̋̂͋T̸̳̦̀̈́̔̈ ̵̹̗̈́S̵͔͍͓̜͆̃ͅH̷̨̲̙͐̂̋͋̽͜A̴̡͇̯̽̿̎̎̆̈͜L̸̘̓̒̄L̸͕͌́̆̈̇͠ ̸̢̛̳ͅP̷͖͖̈͜Ä̶͕͘S̸̡̗͓̰̝̽̐͐̄̑̕Ş̸̝̭͖̖͉̿̀̽̔͗͠.̸̮͋ ̶̝̼͍̞͙͊N̴̬͚͕͙̝͖̔̔̌O̴̳͙̱͖͆ ̷̛̛͇̙͊̃̃͜͠T̸̥̖̯̻̜̥̄̌̅H̷̙̭͎̭̰̖̔O̸̤̭̼͒͊̚Ủ̴͈̞̯̮̎Ǧ̸̥͔̣̩̀H̴͓̩̓̋͠ͅT̸̼͈͛̂͌̄̒͠ ̷͚̾͝S̷̛̠̪̄̾̄͝H̴̲̙̀Ǎ̶̯L̶̡̓̒͜L̴͙̙̘̗̰̺͗̚ ̶̢̺̟͇̔̃͜͠P̷͓͈̈̌́͆ͅA̴̤͙͈͎̙͘S̷̡̤̣̞͇͌̔̐͐͌͜S̶̟̪̬̰̗͂͆̀.̷̢̨̤̻̝̫̑̏͋̈́́̊ ̶̛͍̰̋͐̃̾͗N̵̡̩͍͉̥̈͜Ṓ̵̡̜͉͇͜͝ ̴̰͘͘T̵̥͐͌̍̒̎H̷̲̳͙̤̽͜O̸͓̟̹̰̱̒U̴̥͓̔̇̇G̴̞̪͂́̅͑̅͊H̸̱͚̼̤͓̥̿͗̚̕T̶̟̆́͌͝ ̶̬͓͐̎Ŝ̷͈̓̆̓Ḩ̴̨͇̠̟̻̅A̶̫͕͈̱͗Ḷ̸̫͉̹̎̾̀̓̽̂ͅL̶̝̱̹͕̏͜ ̸̯̘̄̈́̿̒P̵̡̣͙̩̗͖̔A̸̛͉̞͔͋̈͝S̷͈͉̗͊̽̿͝S̸̹͚̙͚̥̬̀.̸͚͙́̆͝ ̸̝͈̺̐̈́̿N̵͍̣̟͓͕͚̊͆̅̽Ó̷̪̭̰̳̩̺ ̶̧̦̈̇T̷̢̰͉̠͝H̸̨̯̝̲͔̒̀͒̑͘Ō̷͎̞̖̏̈̇U̸͈̞̙̲͓̼̐̓̈́́́͐G̴̳̫̋͌̀̂͆͝H̷̗̀͂̀̇̄̌T̶͔̠̆̀͗̊ ̷̘̱͙̑͂S̵̨͉̲̾͌́͂H̶̳̠͐͂͛͘Ą̶̠̝̰͉̀͗̏L̸͕̃̐̎L̸͇͊̃ ̴̨̥͈̞͒͂̕͜͠P̷̳̤͋̊̆̑̔A̵̟̯̋͑̆̔͋Ṡ̶͖͕̈́̓͒͗͘ͅS̴̡̢͖̞̣͐̄͌͝ͅ.̸̘̘̬̲̬̗̋́̊̑̐͘N̷̛̜͖̩̺̿̓ͅͅƠ̸̜̦̠̞͉̾͂ ̴̥̝͋̑̐T̶̛̩̳̻̔̃͜H̴̢̱̬̱͇̑͋̿̽͊̀Ö̷̼͔͒̈̃̄Ủ̷̮͘G̵̣͐̑̐H̴̨̙̍̃͌̏T̴̤̪̦̪̼̅̍͛ ̶̩̭̙̩̦̬̊́͑̍S̵̤͗͆H̶̱̜̥͇̑̾͑ͅͅȂ̷̡͖̺̣͈̀ͅĻ̵͓̜̤̙̺̃̓͂̿͛͠L̵̡͕̠̩̞̓́͂̄̈́ ̷̲̈͐͜P̸̘͘A̴̼̺̋̽̏̿S̸͔̯͉̖̒͑̌̌̕̚S̶̹͚̜͔̫̥̉̐̿͝.̷̨̖̾̈ ̶͚͓̾͋͘Ņ̸͍̤̜̠̩̎̅O̷̡̤̗͉̼͙͛ ̴̖̆T̷̝͙͍͉̯͚̉̈́̊̌̕H̶̨̟̐̐O̶̬̝͚͉͎̽U̵͚͉̹͋̆̅̾G̷̡̹̎̓̿͊̌̚H̴̜̐̓T̸̳́̋̔͊ ̴͕̦̩͚͍̳́͛͑͆̃̈́S̸͈͍͊͊H̸̢͔̔̋Ȁ̸̹̖̬͒͐̀̈́͘͜L̷̳̓L̷͇͆̈́́ ̵͖̖͉̝̼̘͠P̸͚͉̾Á̸̭̩̪̤̪͚S̴̖̤̼̭͖̃̉́͋̌S̸̡͇̗͔̏.̵̢̜̠̌̂̑̀̔͘ ̷͖̤͝N̴̗̣͑͜Ǒ̵͍̺̳͈͎̿̿͜͠ ̵̢͈̠̐̽̾͠Ṭ̸̦̾̈͘͜H̸̡̧̫̮̪̳̔́̉̓̏͐Ớ̸̧̗̳̹̺̪U̴̖̗̭̎̑͑̄̆̇G̴͙͍͔̱̔͑̂͝͝H̶͈̓͌̀̀͒̚T̶̹̺̑ ̵̻̭̍̊͛̈́͝S̸̲̤̽͐̌͊̕͝H̷̭̉̅͋͗̎A̴̲̖͓͙͙̚͝L̴̛̠̽͛̑L̵͙̬̣͓̬̊̾̆ ̵̠͈̬̹͓̀P̵̘̘͓̠̩̈́͝A̵̲̻̤̺͊̊̍S̴͚̘̦̐̒͝Ş̶͖̥̓.̷̨̗͙̪̻͙͐̑̏̔ ̸̻͙̜̩̙͒̉ͅN̵̨̙͍͚̱̫̽͑͠Ō̵̞̻͎̟͗̈̽́ ̴̧͓̣̺͖̯͒̍̚̚Ţ̸̖̩͇̝̮̊Ḩ̵̠͎͓̎̆́̃̚Ò̷͔̯̹͔̓̍Ŭ̷̫̙͌̋͛͠Ģ̴̹̻̗̈́̿̇͠H̴̛̖̻̭̓̈̓͊̍Ţ̵̏ ̸̧̛̥͍͓̝̣͌S̸̢̛̝̜̫͎̄̃̎͘͝H̵̛ͅA̷̱̪̝͖͙͛͝L̷̛̟̉͌͌L̸͈̩̼͊́͂̽̚ ̶̡̱̣̒̌̂̂̀̏P̶̡̩͙̟͖͑̋̔̓A̶̧͔̮̫̘̅̊͛S̷͙̻̲̱͍̪̃̏͆͑S̵̨̝̝̦̆̈́̊̈.̶͇̮͒̓ ̴̹͚͊̋̈́N̷͓̮̅̍͐͐͠Ǒ̴̻͚̝͙͔͆ ̵̢̟̫̫̮͑̏̋͝T̴̪͎͉̤̾̓̚͝H̵̜̖̯̼̠͚͐̏Ȯ̸̡̨͕̱͊̐͝͝Ů̶̺̗͍͉̺̯͒̈G̷̡̦͔͕̻̞̑́̏̍͠H̵̨͍͙̩̼͇̉̇̽͂͋T̸̗̯̥͎͈͋̓̈́̉ ̷̩̭͙̜̱̎̊̍̈́͐͠ͅS̴̨̝̦̏̓̉̓̈H̶̹͓͖̬͑̉́Á̶̢͓̲̖͋̊͛̄̀͜L̵̡̈́̅̽̔͝L̴̛̬̽ ̵̻̲̙͍̻͒P̴̨̺̹͕̳̆Ȃ̵͉͊͗S̶̨̧̞̮̅́S̶̨̻̀̀̀.̸̨͇̼̅͑̾̕͠ ̸̨̆̄̽͠͝N̴̡̠̮͖͚͍͋Ő̷̥̖̮̉̉̔͝ ̴̬̞̬̆̅̃̑̌̚T̴̹̣͇͈̈́̌̓H̷̳͉̯̣̹̩̆̆́̅Ǫ̶̺̾͆̋U̴̟̹̺̘̱͑͒̄͝Ģ̸̮̯͍͈̀͜H̴̹̓́͒͝͝T̶̫̩̔̅͛͌̈̾ ̷͔̮͕͎̗̏̀̀̇̍S̶̢͠H̷̹̼͎̮̥͒̓̚A̵̧͖̍̔L̵̫̍̃L̶͎͚̳͐̃̈́̊ ̵̠̂̽P̴̛͎̳̏A̶͚̜͎̦͛͐͛͊ͅS̴̢̺̠͗S̵͙̥̅̃̍̋̄.̵̲̣̘̑́̈́̈́̃́͜ W H A T Y O U C A N ' T R E M E M B E R : W H A T Y O U C A N ' T R E M E M B E R : {F O R A S I H O L D T H E H A T E O F M Y T R I B E , {F O R A S I H O L D T H E H A T E O F M Y T R I B E , I S H A L L M A K E T H E G O D S F E E L I T S R E C K O N I N G :} I S H A L L M A K E T H E G O D S F E E L I T S R E C K O N I N G :} Many say the Gods are not such beings one should cross; however, for man who has but naught to lose, no such regard is held. For as his God, Comjir, had been forsaken to die upon the holy fields, he was the only surviving worshiper left to enact but only pain on these Gods who had wronged his own and had wronged himself. And so began his journey, to slay those who stood as idols for Gods who but turn their back on their godly brother in the persuit of power. Idol after idol had been felled by his hands. Temples for these wicked God burned and demolished at his word. Yet, in his journey, there was but one idol who escaped his grasp. One idol who got away. One idol who had managed to best him. It is but always the cowards who use cheap tricks. He was caught in a trap, surrounded by idols of wicked gods, once good men trapped in the talons of evil. And but for him? The man who defied the Gods? By their might, he was left on that field alone. Torn. Broke. Shattered. As blood spewed forth from his lips, one last thought crossed his mind: "One day they shall cower." He can't seem to remember the tricks he once knew... _______________________________________________________________________________

⇜ Deicide ⇝ [Dark Fantasy Isekai]

All My Rage.

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_______________________________ N A M E : N A M E : "He can't seem to conjure up what it was..." A G E O F D E A T H : A G E O F D E A T H : "His age pushes over 1000, yet he can't place an exact number." R A C E : R A C E : "He is a human, that's known for sure." G E N D E R : G E N D E R : "There is no doubt that he is a male." P S Y C H O L O G Y : P S Y C H O L O G Y : "Despite the smog that covers his brain the brashness and impetuousness shine through. He stands stubborn as he forces himself to try to play blocked memories of the past. Confusion, loss, anger, course through his mind as he stands in a land on the brink." Memories of the past find themselves locked away... _______________________________

_______________________________________________________________________________ W H A T Y O U C A N R E M E M B E R : W H A T Y O U C A N R E M E M B E R : {M A N Y L I V E S L I V E D B Y O N E :} {M A N Y L I V E S L I V E D B Y O N E :} For a mind so full of memories of years past, not but one stands evident as full. Fragments of glipese upon different lives in different ages flood his mindscape as he can only catch but fleeting looks at once full experiences. Distorted calls and singing within a language of old but to his mind a warmth spread when it crossed his concious. Memories meld and mix in a hazey convocation as sights of spears made of crude iron and wood turn to blades of tempered steel, turn to the wood of a smoothbore. Different memories, different times, different lives. Although he had not but a clue of who he was, he could tell he was a man who has lived a long, long time. [1] When he awoke, the dirt and grime that surrounded him was naught but sparse. The armor he wore, ruined by a glimpse he couldn't see through the fog, sat roughly upon his body while within his hand he grips but an almost pristine iron dagger. His mind draws upon blanks on its origin, it his body seems to know it inside and out. The blade still as sharp as the day it was forged as he ran a thumb across it. For some reason, it was an item so familiar his body kept track of the movements for it that for him was hidden behind the fog of his mind. [2] He doesn't know what he feels, but he can feel it. A burn. A scorch mark upon his soul. A fire that rages with the screaming shouts of but hundreds of voices with an anger that fuels it further. Red tendrils light up his veins as the ire consumes him. Sparks of power glow from his body as it taps into a power so familiar he can call it, yet for distant it refuses to follow his call, refuses to spark its energy any further. It stands as a mystery for as when the red tendrils fade from view, he can feel the power slowly being ripped from him. W H A T Y O U C A N ' T R E M E M B E R : W H A T Y O U C A N ' T R E M E M B E R : {F O R A S I H O L D T H E H A T E O F M Y T R I B E , {F O R A S I H O L D T H E H A T E O F M Y T R I B E , I S H A L L M A K E T H E G O D S F E E L I T S R E C K O N I N G :} I S H A L L M A K E T H E G O D S F E E L I T S R E C K O N I N G :} Many say the Gods are not such beings one should cross; however, for man who has but naught to lose, no such regard is held. For as his God, Comjir, had been forsaken to die upon the holy fields, he was the only surviving worshiper left to enact but only pain on these Gods who had wronged his own and had wronged himself. And so began his journey, to slay those who stood as idols for Gods who but turn their back on their godly brother in the persuit of power. Idol after idol had been felled by his hands. Temples for these wicked God burned and demolished at his word. Yet, in his journey, there was but one idol who escaped his grasp. One idol who got away. One idol who had managed to best him. It is but always the cowards who use cheap tricks. He was caught in a trap, surrounded by idols of wicked gods, once good men trapped in the talons of evil. And but for him? The man who defied the Gods? By their might, he was left on that field alone. Torn. Broke. Shattered. As blood spewed forth from his lips, one last thought crossed his mind: "One day they shall cower." He can't seem to remember the tricks he once knew... _______________________________________________________________________________

Corsair Adventures (Invite Only)

Vincent Yates

_{(FC: Reilly Dolman; Dialogue: #694A71)}

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_______________________________ _______________________________ N A M E N A M E ________ Vincent "Vince" Yates A G E A N D B I R T H D A T E A G E A N D B I R T H D A T E ________ 24 Y.O. ┃ Dec., 13, 2000 P O S I T I O N ? P O S I T I O N ? ________ Bartender ┃ Nightlife Guide N A T I O N A L I T Y ? N A T I O N A L I T Y ? ________ American H O M E ? H O M E ? ________ Olympia, Washington E D U C A T I O N ? E D U C A T I O N ? ________ Bachelors of Fine Art (Photography), University of Miami R E T U R N I N G ? R E T U R N I N G ? ________ Yay (ThirdTour) E X T R A S ? E X T R A S ? ________ Nil

_____________________________________________________________________________ _____________________________________________________________________________ E X P E R I E N C E E X P E R I E N C E ________ While newly christened in the sector of tourism, he is but a man who knows his way around the jobs that he has undertaken while working with the company. Since he had received his first bartending gig at the age of nineteen as a freshly minted student and resident in the city of Miami he had been called to the expanse that was the city night scene. His time serving at bars throughout Miami and other parts of Florida across his summers form university provided him with a long list of contacts across the state. Whether it's mixing up a drink he has never heard of before or finding the best spots in a city he has never been to, Vincent can get it done. P E R S O N A L S T A T E M E N T P E R S O N A L S T A T E M E N T ________ "I'm your guy if you need to know the ins and outs of a city within a day. Best spots to eat? Shop? Get down to activities to which my business does not belong in? Just ask. Plus it's always nice to have someone around to mix up that special little drink you've been for a while. I put my all into my craft, each drink a bit of my heart and each city explored with passion. Y'know this place has always been able to scratch that little itch of adventure that traveling around Florida solely couldn't. I love it here, and I'd love to make the last of my one last voyage.

Smoke and Steel

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__________________________________________________________________________ __________________________________________________________________________ → A Quite Night in Grendell Some day, some hour, somewhere, a long, long time ago. The day had never matched the night. Not even on the brightest days in which light had illuminated all that one's eye could see upon the battlefield. A light which cast a heat upon rolling fields and showed the slightest movement in the grass as the wind swept it with a hand of grace likened to a mother upon a child’s head. A light that gleamed off the polish of his blade and reflected off the surface of his arrow laden in the quiver upon his waist, one which almost blinded his eyes when shone upon that of the armor worn lowly as they fought for a land that wasn’t theirs anymore. Yet, even on the most beautiful days in which the sun brightened the color of the flowers often found on the fields and smiles on his men’s faces when a battle won, an Inburian dealt with, Rhistel couldn’t help but relinquish to the beckoning call of night’s voice with an allure akin to those sirens, whose voices could carry but any man astray, herald in his sister’s silly tales of young. He couldn’t help but resist the ever-grasping hands of the land of dreams as they clawed at the back of his head to just get a glimpse of all that the night contained. It was such a far outcry from the life he lived, a reprieve, almost, from the days he faced upon that sun that most would consider their saving grace. Rhistel tightened his gloved hand a bit more upon the reigns of his horse, as they rode softly upon the darkened field in which only hours ago his hands had participated in the waste that had been laid to it. Although with eyes as old as his they had been marred by sights much worse than the current one that sat to the side of him, a deeper part could bring his body to fully bring his head to face the full field as Rhistel continued down the random path the wind had carved for him. The two continued at a light, steady, pace that was almost silent save for breath against the chill that had cursed the lands, and the clanking of the metal which served his saving grace for life but too many times against that of his horse’s armor. His eyes glanced back to the encampment he had departed but minutes ago as the light of flames that roared behind him ever so slowly dimmed from view. The moon had called him away, it always had on nights similar to the one he was enduring. Since but a wee Elgan he had always felt this sense, a temptation to see the night, the sky, all those little marks which dotted the vast expanse whose light always shone with a ferocity but was snuffed by the likes of the sun. Within those marks, within those streaks of colored lights he had likened to the ‘night’s clouds’ he found something. It was a place he was alone. A place where but in his mind only himself and the heavenly bodies existed. One free of war, free of commitment, free of obligations. One where Rhistel could embrace himself again, not simply the Captain Rhistel who stood responsible for the life of his men, for assisting Voron in building their great land, but as a Rhistel the shepherd, with the sky as his sheep. Where he could run his thoughts among their brilliance as he did with his hands through the fluff of his herd. The hairs that stood on the back of his nose were singed as he trekked through the depth of the field. The pungent force of the miasma that rose from the body of the dead permeated the surroundings as a smell that his nose would never lose the memory of. While the sun can cast upon these lands beautiful sights, its power is one that brings forth but reality as well, as it bakes those whose lives have faded from this plane. While these lands were mostly flat, they were laden sparsely with small hills among the dulled greenery. As the best vantage point had come into his view, Rhistel turned his head back slightly. While further away from the camp than he had foretold to his comrades he would be, he needed this time for the days that were destined for them grew closer as the hours passed. His stomach lowered deeper into his chest, his heart felt a small pang as the thought of losing the young men he had come to take under his wing was like he had been crossed into his mind. Such are the days his fight continues to prevent from being brought into the realm of reality. His speed fell slightly as the point came closer and closer. As his horse continued his slow trek across the dirt and up the slight incline, he brought him to a stop as they reached the highest point upon this whole plain, a quaint little hill one which was dwarfed by the mountains he lived among, the mountains he grew into the man he was now upon that hill. Yet he took it in with but the same respect as he held for the mountains. Rhistel’s hands came close as he pulled the leather from his fingers to free them into the chill then repeated the same action upon his other hand. His fingers, long in their grasp, laid down upon the rough iron laden with a nip of frost which constructed his helmet and lifted the leather that lined the inside up from his bleached locked beneath. His hair, now long from the days of seemingly endless battle and movement, fell and splayed upon his shoulders. Rhistel placed the helmet on his lap, and with but a wave of his hand swished the hair from out of his face and shook his head slightly to bring the locks into a collective behind him. A sigh fell from his lips as the heat turned the air foggy, it was a lone, almost solemn sigh as he let all the air from his system before bringing it back with a deep breath. It was in these times the world almost felt empty. The blue of his eyes, scanned his surroundings for a last time before gazing them into the expanse he could but never touch. His eyes feasted upon the sight in silence as he looked above. It was as if the world had never stood so still. That expanse, one larger than even a battlefield on the flattest of plains could stretch. Despite the darkness that took most light within its maw, the fragments still shone through with persistence as it graced him with its light. The specks of brilliance almost made him forget the peril that faced them each day. Though their numbers were strong, and their horses were stronger, the threat before them continued with their trek further, and further away from the west. And as his eyes continued to train upon the vastness, the centerpiece of it all drew in his mind more than the stars could wish. The moon,as it stood in a rare state as it had been freshly healed by the Gods, shone its heavenly light with its full glory. Not a piece of it was gone as it stood the brightest among the stars. He gazed into its brightness as cured the never-ending emptiness of the sky, its beauty was one that could be captured by the eye, unlike the sun’s glory. It was this brightness that always called for him. Whether he stood among his sheep with his father’s staff as they grazed the fields, or whether he held his sword in hand cleaning it after a battle, it had always been that same moon. For decades, for centuries, always that same moon, beckoning for his embrace. His eyes closed as he took deeply the cold air through his lungs. Rhistel held that moment close, he held it tight in silence, it was very rare that in the midst of this war, he had truly felt but an ounce of peace, yet at that moment he grasped it like a lifeline. His flame in this cold With a final exhale, the air left his lungs, and an opening of his pearly blues, the peace faded with it. While these moments were but a short blip in time, they had always felt to Rhistel like he sat there for much, much longer. He couldn’t indulge in these moments as long as he wanted, he had men to lead, land the conquer, he was but a pulley in a system much larger than himself. Rhistel's hands reached back to the mess of hair behind his head as he pulled it up before using his other hand to lower the helmet back to its spot. His hands slipped the gloves back onto his digits as he prepared to return to camp. His hands had gripped the reins as a soft smile formed on his lips beneath the dark of the helmet, his eyes glanced up to the sky once more. No sky had ever looked this grand. ________________________________________________ The present day The grit laden across what appeared to be a smooth surface of stone rubbed against the callouses that lay upon his palms. His grip had loosened only a bit as a breath fell from his lips out into the open air beyond. Rhistel’s eyelids rose from his blues as the vast speckled dark came fully into his mind once again. It was a sight that never got old to the man whose life stretched far beyond all that should be possible in this realm. As he stood there upon the balcony a soft touch of the summer's warmth slid across the surface of the cream of his waistcoat with the wind’s rolling. Like days of old, he stood as all he is and has been beneath the stripping eye of the moon, a body in the sky which saw him candidly, beneath the prim of a merchant, beneath the grit of a soldier. As but the same moon his ancestors looked upon his mind pondered if any had felt but this same connection he had with the body. While within the sky he had found his peace, his eyes fell down upon the sprawling city of Grendell under his feet. Such was a city in which peace had vacated, which it had been slain in the square with little remorse despite the outcry of the citizenry. The Blight had made it so peace shall never touch the city, the pretenders had made it into an even further goal to reach. His blues watched as the imperial army patrolled the streets below, he had known that in present days regiments trained even long beyond the fall dusk. His ears had been greeted by the hearsay of words spouting off regarding the loss of Voron II at Lysfelt against his own brother. The great land he had fought to forge was a fractured curse of division that grew with the passing days. Even lowly peasants could see the cracks in the once-thought-impenetrable stone that was the empire. His hands released the stone that supported his body with a step back away from the railing, and the light humid breeze rolled through once more as he stepped into the office he had held for decades. ”I never understood that, you know.” Rhistel’s hands softly closed the double doors to the balcony with a turn of a head as the voice spoke out to him. ”It’s not very hard to understand, Flin.” A small smile graced his lips as he gazed upon the slightly younger man who sat with his ancient spirit upon the sofa. A small yet ornate glass sat betwixt his fingers filled with a crimson liquid which swished with a soft, rosy aroma as he moved to fix his posture. ”Yeah, I know, I know, internal peace, something along those lines.” ”See, you get it.”Rhistel moved to the area in which Flinar sat, his hand gripping the bottle of wine that sat upon the side table, filling his own glass before taking a seat opposite of the man. ”But why?” ”Why what?” Rhistel uttered, bringing the glass to his lips. ”Why do you keep doing it? The last time you rode into battle was centuries ago. Rhistel, we are at peace.” ”You know, sometimes I think I have never truly left that field. Left my horse. Why do I keep doing it? My friend, a lifelong habit never leaves you.” A soft chuckle fell from Rhistel’s lips before continuing. ”Why do we really do anything, right? Like you, centuries upon these seas yet now is when you decide to anchor?” A small sigh came from Flinar’s mouth, ”I do love it, Rhistel. The stakes, the seas, and by God, even the drag that is the board meetings. Yet, one child takes precedence over the other, this one still has you, Orist… Well, he only has me.” ”I.. I’m sorry, Flin. Mael, she was truly a wonder.” A somber, soft smile creeped onto Flinar’s lips as he looked over and out the window. ”Don’t be, Rhistel. No Elgan lives forever. She was a strong woman, never a day without a fight with her hard head. She died as she lived. All we can do is honor her life.” ”That is true.” Only the scraping of the breeze against the office’s windows was heard, and silence permeated throughout the room. The last sound fell from Rhistel’s lips. He raised his glass, now low in contents, up slightly as Flinar followed suit. The silence lingered with only the swish of the liquid sounding off as Flinar refiled his glass. ”But, hey, look at it this way, you’ll always have a piece of me telling you no.” Flinar broke the silence with a smile and a soft laugh. ”Ah yes, the other child you have left me with.” ”We both know she deserved that seat. For as young as she stands, she is naught but qualified. And lighten up a bit, Rhistel, don’t you forget the days her words even tricked you. Practically my spitting image!” ”Oh that girl is a copy of you alright. Almost too similar, it’s like she took both you and Mael’s most frustrating traits.” The two men both gave a laugh as Rhistel finished speaking. ”I love the girl like she is my own kin, yet I don’t think the board has taken too kindly.” ”They’ll come around, just give her time.” ”I hope so, Flin.” A knock sounded off from the door as the words flowed from Rhistel, his eyes panned over from his friend with a solitary phrase a lanky servant slipped into the room slowly but with a touch of grace to his movements as he shut the door behind his entrance and carried within his hands a platter with but a single envelope upon its surface. “My lord, a carrier has just arrived upon the premise with this delivery for you” ”Who is it from, Lanster” Rhistel uttered, his hand lifting the cream-colored letter from off the silver-made surface. ”General Krawiec, my lord.” His eyes lingered upon the red wax seal plastered with the indent of the Empire as it hovered before his face. Rhistel took the opener that sat beside the letter and used the blade to retrieve the white paper from within before discarding the remnants back onto the platter and sending the boy away. ”Thank you, Lanster, you may go.” His hands slid under the creases of the folded parchment, straightening it back into its standard form before reading the contents. “Is the empire looking to discuss their contracts again?” Flinar asked as he leaned back into the sofa. ”No, dinner. With one General Oskar Krawiec.” ”I know him, the Jedgorsy, correct?” ”I believe so.” ”Are you going to go?” Rhistel sat his wine glass upon the side table along with the letter and leaned slightly forward in his chair. ”I don’t see why not. The empire has been a loyal patron for centuries now, it’s only courtesy. I shall talk to the rest of the board about it tomorrow. But tonight is your night, my friend. Let’s drink like the night we did after our first finished contract!” ”You don’t have to tell me twice!” Flinar laughed, raising his glass towards Rhistel for him to follow suit picking back up his own glass and clanking it against his friend’s. For Rhistel, the night was his grace. And the moon cured but all his worries. __________________________________________________________________________

______________________________ ______________________________ ______________________________ Location Grendell, Haltian Empire ______________________________ Interactions Nil ______________________________ Previous Post Nil ______________________________ ______________________________

Smoke and Steel

A M R A L I A W R A E K
A M R A L I A W R A E K

^{"In with the new, out with the old. The Empire needs reform, and the older caste of Elgafolk won't be the ones to bring it."}

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_______________________________ _______________________________ N A M E ? N A M E ? ________ Amra Liawraek R A C E | S P E C I E S ? R A C E | S P E C I E S ? ________ Elgafolk S E X ? S E X ? ________ Female A G E ? A G E ? ________ 174 C O U R T A L I G N M E N T ? C O U R T A L I G N M E N T ? ________ Eastern Empire R O L E ? R O L E ? ________ New Addition to The Elnorin-Liawraek Group Board of Directors

_____________________________________________________________________________ _____________________________________________________________________________ B A C K G R O U N D ? B A C K G R O U N D ? ________ The wave of the Circle Sea are more famous for the lives they have taken beneath the surface of the glossy blue waters, however, in those rare moments, life has been brought forth upon roughness. Amra Liawraek is an example of that rare spawn of life, a daughter of but a temperate and rather chaste parentage, she is but one of only two children of the Liawraek House. Born of a house known for its maritime attachments, she spent her life upon the decks of Galleons with her father Flinar, and godfather Rhistel Elnorin. While born into a family with vast amounts of wealth stored within its coffers, Amra was not subjected to that of a life of simple leisure with every whim catered to. By a young age, her hands had already been dipped in the family trade. Serving the ship alongside both her father and godfather at times while other times among the general populace they employed. Through her times among the lower workers and slaves who toiled, she had gained an understanding of those beyond that of the small Elgafolk. Amra had always had a big heart, and that didn't stop for those of a different race of her own. A calloused hand and tired back were expected of every child Liawraek family, and their princess was no exception. After her quaint coming-of-age ceremony, her father stepped back further into the role of administration and gifted his dear daughter full control of the ship she was born upon, the same ship that began the business her family was built upon. Her days as a captain were that of very little sleep and hours that extended longer than the day allowed. Through the trials she faced at sea Amra built her own reputation. One separate from the shadow of her father, as a captain of compassion yet discipline. Her merits eventually ended in her being appointed control of several other ships owned by the company, which she managed for several decades. In recent times, however, with her father falling out of the limelight and retiring to the family estate, he had propped her up to serve as his replacement on the board. With speedy confirmation from the other members, she quickly relinquished her control of ships and was appointed to the 8th board spot. Amra is a woman with lofty goals, however, with most of the board stacked against their passage is looking grim.

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______________________________________________________ ______________________________________________________ S K I L L S ? S K I L L S ? ________ ★ Bright Eyed and Bushy Tailed: Amra is often toted as overly energetic. A young upstart woman with an ambition matched by those around her, a shining light upon the board when compared to the rather dull Elgafolk late into their 400s. A woman excited to work for a better company, to work for a better Empire one for all not just the upper caste she finds herself a member of. ★ A Certain Way With Words: A silver-tongued sneaky orator is exactly the title bestowed upon Amra. With the skills absorbed from her father, shes a woman who can talk circles around a skilled arguer and present her ideals in a way that makes it hard for anyone to not pay attention to. ★ Born Upon The Seas: The turbulent waves of the North Sea was the place where she was blessed with life upon. And for the majority of her life, Amra has spent her waking days on the seas. From her days of helping her father and Rhistel in their early expeditions to her adult expeditions as a captain for the group, she had learned her way around a ship. The seas are her domain, although, in recent times, she has been on the shore.

______________________________________________________ ______________________________________________________ W E A K N E S S E S ? W E A K N E S S E S ? ________ ★ A Small Web of Connections: Amra has always been a captain. Out on sea for months, sometimes years with the only contact being that of her crew. The connections she holds tend to not reach further than those of other seafarers from within and without her company and the rare merchant, as well as holding little political and military links to count. ★ Stubborn to a Fault: Amra is hardly one to take no for an answer, she will fight for what she desires with an undying passion. Although in most cases, this passion is often misplaced, harmful even. Amra can be stubborn on even the smallest of things only to that of her own detriment. ★ A Green Administrator: The change of scenery for Amra was a grand on. She had traded her sight of the brilliant blue of the ocean for a view of an ornately designed wall from that of a desk. She had but little experience in administrator but she was quick to take the open seat on the board with the recommendation of her father. However, Amra is often discounted for her few years of life and even fewer in her current role.

Smoke and Steel

A M R A L I A W R A E K
A M R A L I A W R A E K

^{"In with the new, out with the old. The Empire needs reform, and the older caste of Elgafolk won't be the ones to bring it."}

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_______________________________ _______________________________ N A M E ? N A M E ? ________ Amra Liawraek R A C E | S P E C I E S ? R A C E | S P E C I E S ? ________ Elgafolk S E X ? S E X ? ________ Female A G E ? A G E ? ________ 174 C O U R T A L I G N M E N T ? C O U R T A L I G N M E N T ? ________ Eastern Empire R O L E ? R O L E ? ________ New Addition to The Elnorin-Liawraek Group Board of Directors

_____________________________________________________________________________ _____________________________________________________________________________ B A C K G R O U N D ? B A C K G R O U N D ? ________ The wave of the Circle Sea are more famous for the lives they have taken beneath the surface of the glossy blue waters, however, in those rare moments, life has been brought forth upon roughness. Amra Liawraek is an example of that rare spawn of life, a daughter of but a temperate and rather chaste parentage, she is but one of only two children of the Liawraek House. Born of a house known for its maritime attachments, she spent her life upon the decks of Galleons with her father Flinar, and godfather Rhistel Elnorin. While born into a family with vast amounts of wealth stored within its coffers, Amra was not subjected to that of a life of simple leisure with every whim catered to. By a young age, her hands had already been dipped in the family trade. Serving the ship alongside both her father and godfather at times while other times among the general populace they employed. Through her times among the lower workers and slaves who toiled, she had gained an understanding of those beyond that of the small Elgafolk. Amra had always had a big heart, and that didn't stop for those of a different race of her own. A calloused hand and tired back were expected of every child Liawraek family, and their princess was no exception. After her quaint coming-of-age ceremony, her father stepped back further into the role of administration and gifted his dear daughter full control of the ship she was born upon, the same ship that began the business her family was built upon. Her days as a captain were that of very little sleep and hours that extended longer than the day allowed. Through the trials she faced at sea Amra built her own reputation. One separate from the shadow of her father, as a captain of compassion yet discipline. Her merits eventually ended in her being appointed control of several other ships owned by the company, which she managed for several decades. In recent times, however, with her father falling out of the limelight and retiring to the family estate, he had propped her up to serve as his replacement on the board. With speedy confirmation from the other members, she quickly relinquished her control of ships and was appointed to the 8th board spot. Amra is a woman with lofty goals, however, with most of the board stacked against their passage is looking grim.

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______________________________________________________ ______________________________________________________ S K I L L S ? S K I L L S ? ________ ★ Bright Eyed and Bushy Tailed: Amra is often toted as overly energetic. A young upstart woman with an ambition matched by those around her, a shining light upon the board when compared to the rather dull Elgafolk late into their 400s. A woman excited to work for a better company, to work for a better Empire one for all not just the upper caste she finds herself a member of. ★ A Certain Way With Words: A silver-tongued sneaky orator is exactly the title bestowed upon Amra. With the skills absorbed from her father, shes a woman who can talk circles around a skilled arguer and present her ideals in a way that makes it hard for anyone to not pay attention to. ★ Born Upon The Seas: The turbulent waves of the North Sea was the place where she was blessed with life upon. And for the majority of her life, Amra has spent her waking days on the seas. From her days of helping her father and Rhistel in their early expeditions to her adult expeditions as a captain for the group, she had learned her way around a ship. The seas are her domain, although, in recent times, she has been on the shore.

______________________________________________________ ______________________________________________________ W E A K N E S S E S ? W E A K N E S S E S ? ________ ★ A Small Web of Connections: Amra has always been a captain. Out on sea for months, sometimes years with the only contact being that of her crew. The connections she holds tend to not reach further than those of other seafarers from within and without her company and the rare merchant, as well as holding little political and military links to count. ★ Stubborn to a Fault: Amra is hardly one to take no for an answer, she will fight for what she desires with an undying passion. Although in most cases, this passion is often misplaced, harmful even. Amra can be stubborn on even the smallest of things only to that of her own detriment. ★ A Green Administrator: The change of scenery for Amra was a grand on. She had traded her sight of the brilliant blue of the ocean for a view of an ornately designed wall from that of a desk. She had but little experience in administrator but she was quick to take the open seat on the board with the recommendation of her father. However, Amra is often discounted for her few years of life and even fewer in her current role.

Smoke and Steel

R H I S T E L E L N O R I N
R H I S T E L E L N O R I N

^{"I believe what we are is more than simply a sum of our environment, but a reflection of our experiences."}

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_______________________________ _______________________________ N A M E ? N A M E ? ________ Rhistel Elnorin R A C E | S P E C I E S ? R A C E | S P E C I E S ? ________ Elgafolk S E X ? S E X ? ________ Male A G E ? A G E ? ________ 549 C O U R T A L I G N M E N T ? C O U R T A L I G N M E N T ? ________ Eastern Empire R O L E ? R O L E ? ________ Chair-Director of Elnorin-Liawraek Group

_____________________________________________________________________________ _____________________________________________________________________________ B A C K G R O U N D ? B A C K G R O U N D ? ________ Frankly, as a little over energetic younger Elgafolk, Rhistel sought for more beyond simply that of the clan life. Born as the eldest child to a smaller family by Elgafolk standard, Rhistel spent most of his younger days on grasslands with his father tending the herd which kept their family afloat. Shepard stick in hand, the boy would spend his free hours swinging the tool around as he likened it to a sword in his mind. He lived this life of solitude with but his mother and father for decades, until a raid upon the lands the called home took the life of the two older Elgafolk from his life. Alone, without those who had given him life and destitute with no way of survival, Rhistel had joined up with the gathering horde after hearing of the news of the captain's call. His years within the ranks of the horde were but all Rhistel would describe as abject survival. A land where although upon the backs of horses they slaughtered, the strength of the human ingenuity still managed to take a couple of the men he would call his friends to the world beyond. The bonds he formed with the men who in the horde were ones that wouldn't be broken in the coming century as they conquest came to an end with the founding of the empire. Although the war had ended, it had left a mark on his soul which would never leave his side. Rhistel floated around odd jobs in the Empire for decades with appointments from his former captain, now emperor, before settling upon the Empire's almost non-existent navy. Working with one established Officer Flinar Liawraek to build up the branch from practically the ground. The two men worked tirelessly upon enhancing the Navy in which they had made strides, but it was soon that Liawraek would suggest the two create their own shipping company, one separate from that of the empire's government. Thus was the day the Elnorin-Liawraek group was born with pooled together coin of the two to purchase but a single ship to begin their business. In only but the span of a 100 years the company had grown into the size it is at present. A shipping company that deals in trade between several countries around the Circle Sea with a fleet of ships that challenges some navies. A company Rhistel now fully runs after Liawraek stepped down years prior, one who hands that of the Empire's contracts with deep connections within the state. Elnorin-Liawraek group follows where the money flows, yet as the days pass it seems more and more like the Empire's coffers are lowering with every year.

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______________________________________________________ ______________________________________________________ S K I L L S ? S K I L L S ? ________ ★ Once a Soldier, Always a Soldier: A fact seldom known by those outside the reaches of his inner circle, Rhistel was one of the many Elgafolk who rode under the command of the man he once considered a friend, Voron Corfina. Under the grand leadership of Voron, Rhistel served as but one of the many people who carved out the empire into what it stands as today. Although in modern times he has taken to the sea rather than the horse, his ability upon a stallion's back with a sword and blunderbuss has yet to diminish over the centuries since. ★ There is Wealth in Knowledge: To be educated is to be but only at an advantage over those among you. This was a reason learned by even the juvenile Rhistel in his 50s. While within his nomadic community, he sought every drop of knowledge that could be afforded to him, and with the advent of the empire this thirst for knowledge only grew. Rhistel is a learned man, not only in the field of academics but in the secrets that float in the background. ★ A Pair of Well-faring Sea Legs: Rhistel is but a captain by trade, back in his early 100s the Elnorin-Liawraek group was but only a single ship managed by him and his co-captain. Some say the man spends more hours upon the seas than he does upon land, Rhistel knows the water around the empire like the back of his hand.

______________________________________________________ ______________________________________________________ W E A K N E S S E S ? W E A K N E S S E S ? ________ ★ A Man of His Years: Despite the shine of outward appearance Rhistel is but a soul older than the empire itself. His mind is often stuck on the norms of days past and resistant to change that disrupts the known flow. ★ The Sight Never Leaves You: Rhistel rarely mentions his days upon horseback for a reason. Although the war was a success, he'd rather not talk about those days at all. His hands have played a role and his eyes have bore witness to scenes none be inclined to see or act within. ★ Lost in Time: Rhistel frequently loses track of the time within a day, often staring out into space for hours believing only minutes have passed. Being late to events and meetings has become the norm for him because of his age. It seems to Rhistel that the day rarely seems to feel like it's 24 hours.

Smoke and Steel

Character Description
Name: Rhistel Elnorin
Species/Race: Elgafolk
Sex: Male
Age: 549
Court Alignment: Eastern Empire
Role: Chair-Director of Elnorin-Liawraek group
Appearance:


Strengths and Weaknesses
Skills:

- Once a Soldier, Always a Soldier: A fact seldom known by those outside the reaches of his inner circle, Rhistel was one of the many Elgafolk who rode under the command of the man he once considered a friend, Voron Corfina. Under the grand leadership of Voron, Rhistel served as but one of the many people who carved out the empire into what it stands as today. Although in modern times he has taken to the sea rather than the horse, his ability upon a stallion's back with a sword and blunderbuss has yet to diminish over the centuries since.
- There is Wealth in Knowledge: To be educated is to be but only at an advantage over those among you. This was a reason learned by even the juvenile Rhistel in his 50s. While within his nomadic community, he sought every drop of knowledge that could be afforded to him, and with the advent of the empire this thirst for knowledge only grew. Rhistel is a learned man, not only in the field of academics but in the secrets that float in the background.
- A Pair of Well-faring Sea Legs: Rhistel is but a captain by trade, back in his early 100s the Elnorin-Liawraek group was but only a single ship managed by him and his co-captain. Some say the man spends more hours upon the seas than he does upon land, Rhistel knows the water around the empire like the back of his hand.

Weaknesses:

- A Man of His Years: Despite the shine of outward appearance Rhistel is but a soul older than the empire itself. His mind is often stuck on the norms of days past and resistant to change that disrupts the known flow.
- The Sight Never Leaves You: Rhistel rarely mentions his days upon horseback for a reason. Although the war was a success, he'd rather not talk about those days at all. His hands have played a role and his eyes have bore witness to scenes none be inclined to see or act within.
- Lost in Time: Rhistel frequently loses track of the time within a day, often staring out into space for hours believing only minutes have passed. Being late to events and meetings has become the norm for him because of his age. It seems to Rhistel that the day rarely seems to feel like it's 24 hours.

Background:

Backstory: Frankly, as a little over energetic younger Elgafolk, Rhistel sought for more beyond simply that of the clan life. Born as the eldest child to a smaller family by Elgafolk standard, Rhistel spent most of his younger days on grasslands with his father tending the herd which kept their family afloat. Shepard stick in hand, the boy would spend his free hours swinging the tool around as he likened it to a sword in his mind. He lived this life of solitude with but his mother and father for decades, until a raid upon the lands the called home took the life of the two older Elgafolk from his life. Alone, without those who had given him life and destitute with no way of survival, Rhistel had joined up with the gathering horde after hearing of the news of the captain's call.

His years within the ranks of the horde were but all Rhistel would describe as abject survival. A land where although upon the backs of horses they slaughtered, the strength of the human ingenuity still managed to take a couple of the men he would call his friends to the world beyond. The bonds he formed with the men who in the horde were ones that wouldn't be broken in the coming century as they conquest came to an end with the founding of the empire.

Although the war had ended, it had left a mark on his soul which would never leave his side. Rhistel floated around odd jobs in the Empire for decades with appointments from his former captain, now emperor, before settling upon the Empire's almost non-existent navy. Working with one established Officer Flinar Liawraek to build up the branch from practically the ground. The two men worked tirelessly upon enhancing the Navy in which they had made strides, but it was soon that Liawraek would suggest the two create their own shipping company, one separate from that of the empire's government. Thus was the day the Elnorin-Liawraek group was born with pooled together coin of the two to purchase but a single ship to begin their business.

In only but the span of a 100 years the company had grown into the size it is at present. A shipping company that deals in trade between several countries around the Circle Sea with a fleet of ships that challenges some navies. A company Rhistel now fully runs after Liawraek stepped down years prior, one who hands that of the Empire's contracts with deep connections within the state. Elnorin-Liawraek group follows where the money flows, yet as the days pass it seems more and more like the Empire's coffers are lowering with every year.