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21 hrs ago
Lol did Ralt just yeet themselves cos someone asked them to stop being horny on main?


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Greetings friends, partners, enemies, acquaintances, and strangers. I am Kassarock, or just Kass if you prefer, welcome to my profile. Anyway, I am a 20 something male roleplayer from the UK and a long time user of the site, although I have come and gone a fair bit over my time here. I used to be more active on the old site, and I still am relatively active in the off topic sections today, as well as in the guild's discord. So you might see me around.

I generally consider myself to be an advanced writer, I pretty much always write multiple paragraphs, and will drop walls of text if the mood takes me. My grammar is okay, but not formally perfect, so I do not expect that from my partners either. I normally like quite dark and dramatic themes in terms of content in my roleplays, regardless of genre. Unless I have got an interest check up, or have messaged you, I am not usually looking for new partners to write with.

I think that covers just about everything. Message me if you want to know more.
Original Join Date: 07/04/2009

Advanced, Casual, 1x1, Nation, Tabletop

Historical, Fantasy, Sci-fi, Romance, Drama

Writer, Archaeologist, Cymro


Current Roleplays

Forgotten Realms: Tales of Deadsnows | ACTIVE | CASUAL | High Fantasy adventure set in the world of the Forgotten Realms.

The Arrangement | HIATUS | 1x1 | Low fantasy romance about an arranged marriage to secure peace between two warring Kingdoms.

Other Things

Current Avatar & Signature | Abbadon | Kill Six Billion Demons

Check out my Character Archive for other/old character sheets.

Most Recent Posts

Hashinau-I, Mistress of Blades


The Mistress of Blades, Sword Sage, Thousand Army Killer, Mountain-Cutter, Swordsman’s Doom.

120 Great Years of the Old Tri-Lunar Cycle.

Rakunen, a feudalistic world of towering mountain ranges, verdant river valleys, and dense bamboo forests. For as long as anyone can remember Rakunen has been a world divided by many warring Empires and Kingdoms.

Hanin, a race of slight tanned humanoids with dark hair and almond shaped eyes.

Hashinau-I is a withered old crone of diminutive stature. Her famous blood stained hair has faded to almost complete white, only streaked by crimson here and there. She wears ragged roughspun robes and goes unadorned save for a pair of copper disks that stretch out her earlobes. Her lips and teeth are stained blue for her near continuous smoking of Oolachi leaves.

There’s a hard edge to the old woman and her mind and tongue are still extremely sharp despite her age. Her scarred arms are still coiled with lean ropey muscle and she stands straight and unbent.

No one truly knows where she came from, or who trained her in the deadly Sword Arts that she evidently possessed. But the Legend of Hashinau-I was born on the battlefield, the travelling mercenary who could not be defeated, who slew every man put before her, who could singlehandedly fight off a hundred men.

She held the esteem and terror of every Sovereign, controlled the fate of empires and nations with her whims, became richer than any lord or merchant prince. And she gave it all up to live as a hermit on a mountain.

After she split the mountain, Hashinau-I returned to the world below, but never again did she take up her blade in the service of another. She sought out all the great Sword Masters of the world, to find one that could do but a fraction as she had done. She found only disappointment.

Finally, after many years, she gave up her travels and lived in a barrel in the market of the Great Yellow City. Never taking a single pupil, never raising her sword again. She lived in absolute debasement and squalor, lower even than the stray dogs. Occasionally great men, emperors and sages, would seek her out for her wisdom and try to rouse her to action, to take part in their affairs once more. They all left with the same answer:

“Be gone, worms. I am trying to think like nothing.”

Hashinau-I comes from a violent world, constantly at war with itself. She has seen thousands upon thousands die by her hand for nothing more than the petty squabbles of children. Hashinau-I is the ultimate practitioner of violence that her universe has ever produced. And she has learnt to abhor it.

She seeks to face the Gods and ask them why the cycle of violence must be so. And if their answer does not satisfy her? Then she will cut them down.

The greatest swordsman to have ever lived on Rakunen cowers before the might of Hashinau-I, there is no equal when it comes to her ability to turn men into corpses. In particular, she is highly skilled in the Art of the Cut, the act of cutting something, anything, everything.

Even without a sword, it is said that Hashinau-I is still more deadly than any other Sword Sage. To quote the Mistress of Blades herself: ‘A Sword is just a tool to cut with, the actual cutting is done by your Will, given sufficient Will, anything can be a sword.”

It is said that on the last day of Hashinau-I’s earthly existence, she had been sat in her barrel, smoking from her nikishi pipe as she did most days. By this time she was an old woman, ancient by the standards of most of the Hanin. Men who were old enough to remember when Hashinau-I had split the mountain were all grandfathers or great-grandfathers themselves by this time. Many only knew her as the crazy old woman who lived in a barrel.

None-the-less, it is said that all gathered stopped what they were doing when the ancient crone’s pipe suddenly dropped from her mouth and she began to laugh hysterically. From beneath her tattered robes she had pulled out a tiny stump of blade, barely extending past the sword hilt, that few in the market had ever even seen.

“Everything is nothing. And nothing is everything.” Hashinau-I had exclaimed as she had climbed atop her barrel. “I do not exist, you do not exist. This sword does not exist… This world does not exist.”

As she spoke, a halo of divine fire spread its way around around her head, until it crowned her in the light of the stars themselves. It dripped down her arm and onto her sword hand, until the blade glowed as bright as her did. Those who witnessed it said that they suddenly realised that the stumpy broken sword blade was not small at all, in fact it stretched longer than any there could see, it stretch wider than the universe itself, it stretched to infinity.

Hashinau-I made her final cut – and disappeared in a flash of light.

It is said that you will know Hashinau-I by her two Icons. First, the Infinite Blade, the broken stump of a straight bladed Jian that is actually longer than the universe. Second, a bronze and rosewood nikishi pipe, said by Hashinau-I to be far more valuable than any ugly hunk of metal.

@Kassarock Flawless, accepted. I'm glad we're going the Asura's Wrath route with this.

Ty, will give it a final polish and move it over to the CHAR tab.
>Ashley Smith
Many New Characters.
@Dead Cruiser Finished a sheet, tried to keep it relatively brief. Let me know if want more/edits.

The origin of the mighty Pryda Snare.
Gavas 'Gav' Oren

'Lock up yer' daughters and lock up yer' gold, but it shan't stop the fingers of the thief who is bold!' - Tavern Song of the Imperial City Waterfront


Known as
Gav o' the Gutter

5' 10"





The Tower



Agility (Major)
Personality (Minor)

Sneak (Expert)
Speechcraft (Adept)
Security (Adept)
Acrobatics (Apprentice)
Blade (Apprentice)
Mercantile (Novice)
Light Armour (Novice)
Hand to Hand (Novice)


Weapons and tools
Steel stiletto dagger.
Set of lockpicks.
Rope and Grapple.

Leather armour, tanned to near black.
Black hooded woollen cloak.
Black bandana, can be pulled up over the lower face.
Fingerless gloves.

Potion of Nightmask.
Bottle of cheap wine.
A vial of unrefined moonsugar.

Several hundred septims.
Pair of ornate silver candle sticks.
Several gold finger and ear rings.
Gold tooth.

Two pairs of dice, one loaded.



The overall impression that Gav' gives, is one of sharpness. From his thin, blade like face, to the pointed tips of his ears, he is a mer made up of hard and dangerous edges.

His dark hair is pulled back to reveal an angular face, the cheekbones high, the nose narrow and long. A perpetual smirk slashes across his ashen complexion, that widens when he laughs to show sharp white teeth and a flash of half hidden gold. His eyes are same, half hooded crimson orbs that flicker between amusement, hunger, and bored cruelty. A jagged scar runs down through the right right brow from forehead to cheek, evidence of a time someone tried to cut one of those arrogant eyes out.

He's handsome in an unkempt and careless sort of way. Gav's hair often untidy and greasy, his jaw most commonly unshaven. His clothes are serviceable, not presentable, and he seems to put little effort into how he dresses. Excepting, that is, the gaudy adornments of golden finger rings and ear piercings, that look chosen more their weight and value as opposed to their artistic or aesthetic merit.

Gav's height is a little below average for a Dunmer, but his build is lithe, yet surprisingly muscular. This is especially true for his upper body and the muscles that are commonly used to climb and scale buildings. Beneath his leather armour, there are markings all over his chiselled body. To most they would be meaningless, but to one of the Right Honourable Folk of the Thieves Guild of Tamriel, they tell a story. A story of scores made and scores lost, of hearts broken and men killed, of triumph and defeat.


The beginnings of a thief comes from want, the desire to possess things that one does not possess. Its those thoughts that give birth to a thief, the actual stealing is just following through. And if want is the hallmark of a thief, then Gav' is a thief down to the bottom of his soul. He wants. Not just riches, but power, women, fame... happiness... love... He wants everything.

And he'll do just about anything to get it. Lie, cheat, steal... kill. There's a thorough amoral streak in Gav' that runs deep. He's not a sociopath or sadist, he understands the difference between right and wrong, and he takes little enjoyment in the suffering of others. But what Gav' wants comes first, always.

He's not just ruthless and naked ambition, Gav' can be quite charming in his own roguish sort of way. He has a quick mind, a wicked sense of humour, and a fondness for women, wine, and song that often makes him entertaining (if not entirely pleasant) company.


The Dunmer hail from Morrowind, the exotic star-wounded east, a land of barren ash plains and glowing mushroom forests inhabited by living Gods. Gav' knows nothing of this, to him its all stories and tall-tales. A make-believe paradise passed down in the delirious whispers he heard from his mother's lips.

Gavas Oren was born in the Imperial City, his mother was Nalasa Oren. Gav' never knew how his mother came to the great cesspit of a city that squats in the centre of Empire. He always presumed she came from Morrowind, but now he wonders if that was ever the case at all. Perhaps she also just clung on a grand fictitious past that she had handed down to him. His father on the other hand, could have been just about anyone.

Nalasa Oren had been a whore. The kind that you could find working the docks in any large port city that filled periodically with sailors bored of the sea and flush with fresh wages. The cheap kind. The kind that die from easily treatable diseases that they catch from then men who pay to fuck them.

Those were his earliest memories, squalor and sickness. The delirious ramblings of a dying woman trapped in her sick bed, slowly rotting away from the inside out. They aren't pleasant to revisit. Perhaps that's why Gav' has no interest in his past, who his parents or his family are. There is only the future, there is no going back.

It wasn't a long way from that dark fetid room to the gutter, and that's where Gav' ended up when his mother finally returned to her ancestors. On the street he had run amok with a gang of half starved ragged urchins and orphans. Taking work where they could, running errands in the docks for a septim, and stealing bread from the baker's stalls when there was none to be had.

That was the first thing he had ever stole, bread. It would not be the last.

His career as a criminal started innocently enough. At first he only stole to cover those bare essentials required to live, food, water, clothing. But if stealing a sweetroll is just as easy as stealing bread, why settle for just bread? And for Gav’ it was easy, it had always been easy. From a young age he had been blessed with a small frame, fast legs, and nimble fingers.

He and the other street kids of the Docks started out snatching from market stalls and street vendors. As they got older and smarter they turned to picking pockets, working in teams to spot and distract targets while their fellows pilfered the mark’s gold. It wasn’t a huge leap for the more violently persuaded of them to mugging. But that had never been Gav’s speciality, no, he had always fancied himself a burglar. Before long he was robbing houses most nights.

After one such successful score, Gav’ was celebrating with a couple of other young ruffians when several unexpected visitors came calling on them. For they had come to the attention of a higher power in the Tamerialic criminal underworld, the Thieves Guild.

The Guild have always taken their role as a ‘crime regulator’ rather seriously. Too many thieves stealing too many things put too many noses out of joint and brought the law down on all of them, the Guild included. That and having thieves running around not paying dues might give their own members unhelpful and unproductive ideas about the possibility of free enterprise. Examples had to be made.

Generally speaking, the Guild does not like to kill on the job if it could help it. It had less scruples when it came to dealing with the competition. But allowances could be made for foolish and impetuous youth, after all, the next generation of Guildsmen had come from somewhere. Hence, a choice was given to all those involved. Join the Guild, or never steal again.

The first youth they put their question to, a lad named Ulfr, thinking himself a sly and clever fellow, promptly swore (lying through his teeth) that he would never steal again. After all how could the Guild enforce such a policy? Even they could not watch and know every crime that happened in the Imperial City. He figured he would lay low a while and then be back to his old tricks in no time. He was wrong of course.

The Guild did have a way to make sure you never steal again. It involved pinning you down to the floor and taking a hammer to each of your fingers until they bent and snapped like brittle twigs. Only sticks didn’t bleed, and trees couldn’t scream.

Once they were finished, they turned to Gav’ and asked him if he would Join the Guild or never steal again. He remembered standing there, unable to tear his eyes away from the bleeding weeping mess that had once been his friend and brother-in-arms. Everything taken away from him in an instant, now helpless, powerless, broken. Gav’ decided that he would never let that happen to him.

Gav’ joined the Guild, along with everyone else that night.

It wasn't difficult for him to rise quickly in the organisation. He was a talented mer, who had already been running his own crew before joining up with the Guild. His determination to get ahead didn't make him too many friends, but his amoral nature and ambition was put to good use by the Doyens and their lieutenants. It didn't take long for him to be one of the breaking fingers instead of living in fear of it being done to him.

Being with the Guild also meant steady money, and status in rough taverns of the Imperial City Waterfront. Gav' put that status and money to good use as a mer about town, getting a reputation as something of a rake, with a different girl on his arm every week. Things had been going well, until that blasted job in Kvatch.

It had been a spur of the moment thing, during a stopover from a some business he had to take care of in Anvil. Chapel door had been wide open, Gav' had only meant to take a quick look around. But the place had been empty, the collection plate full, and the altar set with silver candlesticks. He had felt the itch, the compulsion, the want. A minute later he walked out with a full satchel and an arrogant smile playing across his lips.

It was only then that the nightmares started.


Gav' has many friends, but he would consider few of them to be particularly close. The exception to this are the two remaining Guild members who were inducted that same night as him, Helvius Saccas, an Imperial forger, and Lushak Shug, an orcish enforcer. They are the members of his first real gang, and together they are bonded in the blood and disgrace of their former fellow. A fate that nearly befell them all.

The others are all gone, either hung, in prison, or broken shells of who they once were... like Ulfr.
Aye, will get started on a post ASAP!
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