Kho

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay (Rebooted)

@ActRaiserTheReturned And Act...you had 21 Might in the beginning, but you used that all up, so you're currently running negative. The Might you just used will be taken away from next turn's Might, and the Holy Site boost will not be counted until you get back into positive on your current, level 5 Might-per-turn.

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay (Rebooted)

Hey, can Holy Sites be upgraded? Say, I put eight might toward making the Astral Home a 10-M holy site, combining with the two already had, that gives me five per turn.

@Lugubrious

Nope, the only way you can upgrade an existing holy site is if it was destroyed/damaged in some way. Whatever Might is put into repairing it becomes the new figure. The previous Might used to create it is not counted. See Orabil as an example, 6 Might was used to create it (providing 3 Might per turn), then it was destroyed and repaired with 12 Might. That means that 12 Might is the new figure (6 Might per turn) rather than 18 Might (original 6 Might plus 12 Might for repair)

@Hael Black magic? I wouldn't know anyone who could've done that...

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay (Rebooted)

<Snipped quote by Kho>

@Rtron

Yeah, pretty low blow insulting the Teletubbies like that...
Here, why don't I make it up to you with a Teletubbies all-nighter marathon. It'll be great!

Kho's Storage of All Things

Work in Progress

New CS

Character's Full Name:

Al'Homam bin Nimr Al Wah'Shey
(Meaning: Al'Homam Son of Nimr the Savage/Wild/Brutal/Cruel/Feral/Vicious//Fierce/Bloodthirsty/Diabolic/Diabolical)
(Note that "Al'Wahshey" is his fathers title and DOES mean all those things...)

Character's Date of Birth:

The First Day of the Sixth Month

Character's Age:

Three and a Half Decades

Character's Gender:

Male

Character's Nationality:

Saeron

Character's Skin Colour:

Golden Bronze

Eye Colour:

Hazel

Hair Colour:

Light Brown/Dark Red/Auburn

Hair Length:

Shoulder Length. Tucked Away in Head Dress

Body Markings:

Scars...Everywhere

Occupation:

Head Vizier to the Sultan

Interests:

Style of Dress:

Prefers to wear long flowing clothes. He wears the traditional sirwal, preferring one which is black in colour, and a light black shirt made of the same material. Over it he wears the traditional thawb, tied at the waist with a few thick pieces of cloth which also act as the holster to tuck away the scimitar and sheath. Over the thawb and "belt" he wears the heavy reddish brown cloak, it's colour is a sign of his high rank in the Sultans court, and the white head dress also speaks of his importance, as only high ranked officers and elite soldiers in the army ever wear it. This speaks of his military background.

Likes:

Dislikes:

Fears:

Prominent weaknesses:

Personality:

Appearance

Brief History:

My Hider

'He who has a thousand friends has not a friend to spare/
And he who has one enemy will find him everywhere.'

On casual occasions, Al'Homam tends to wear the traditional light clothes of a desert dweller, a turban with a tail, protecting from the desert sands, as well as a sirwal, over which is long, light tunic-like robe. On his feet, he wears a good pair of riding boots. (see picture above for turban, tunic-like robe and boots.

In battle, or more appropriately, when on campaign, he wears a eteel helm with a nose-guard and aventail.
A turban with a tail is wrapped around the helmet. The tail is generally wrapped around face and neck which, along with the aventail, acts as protection from winds carrying sand.
Over his casual attire, he wears a chain mail hauberk (pictured), over which is a simple cuirass consisting of a single, square metal piece over his torso area, attached by leather straps to another, similar one at the back (see picture).
He also wields a round shield made of a tight weave of wicker covered in animal hide with leather strips woven into the wickerwork so that, when dried, it makes for a tough shield overall - soldiers of the ibn Wahad Sultanate generally do not have metal shields at all, preferring these lighter wickerwork ones.
Into battle, he wields his prized wootz steel shamshir and dagger which hang from a baldric around his torso. These wootz shamshirs, otherwise known as Fairozan steel blades (after the small city of Fairozan , are famous all over the known world for their strange pattern and extraordinary toughness and sharpness.

【Full Name】

Al'Homam bin Nimr Al Wah'Shey of the Banu Harith

【Aliases】

'The Vizier', 'The Emir', 'Abul'Harb' (Father of War)

【Age】

35 Years

【Sex】

Male

【Sexuality】

Heterosexual

【Religion】

Sawarim

【Family】

Nimr Al Wah'Shey bin Abd'Manaf of the Banu Harith [Father - deceased]
Zainab bint Zubair of the Banu Zufair [Mother - deceased]
Abd'Manaf bin Zaid of the Banu Harith [Grandfather - alive]

Many uncles, aunts and cousins, and all members of the Banu Harith Tribe. Has relations to the Banu Zufair Tribe too, through his mother.

【Birthplace】

The Ibn-Wahad Sultanate, Banu Harith castle of Al'Jabal, near the town of Qardara

【Societal standing】

Highborn

【Former employment】

N/A

【Rank and role】

Sayyid (Chief) of the Banu Harith, Vizier to the Sultan, Emir of Al'Jabal Castle and the town of Qardara
His position as Sayyid makes him the highest figure within his tribe as well as respected and influential among the nomadic desert tribes. As one of many Viziers to the Sultan, he advises the Sultan and is a close ally to him. As an Emir he is expected to run his estate on behalf of the sultan, raise up zealous recruit to go wage religious warfare, and personally lead armies on campaign should the need arise (which also goes hand-in-hand with his duties as a Vizier and leading authority on all matters related to war.)

【Personality】

An intelligent and ambitious man, Al'Homam knows his way about the Sultan's court and understands its politics, his shrewd mind unravelling all the affairs happening behind the scenes (though the many courtiers whose loyalty he has help in that regard too). His strategic and tactical mind approaches the court in much the same way he approaches the battlefield - with readiness and a calculation of how to react to the actions of rivals or potential rivals. In his years, he saw very well the fate of those who were not ready - even the most senior and influential courtiers - and thus he is a man always on the ready.
His tendrils spread far and wide within the royal court and the people in his pockets are everywhere. He has, it would seem, sizable pockets.

His ambition has carried him to the top, and his wit and intelligence plans on ensuring he stay there. However, Al'Homam is not merely a very skilled courtier and tactician, he is a man very concerned with the condition of the nation. Certainly, recent years have seen some well-earned victories against the southerners, but the nation is still weak and the sultan does not seem to care too much for the condition of the normal tribesman or peasant. Al'Homam saw the condition of his tribe when he returned to Al'Jabal, and he saw the condition of the villagers and slaves of Qardara. Something must be done about the horrendous conditions which are far worse in the capital and just as bade elsewhere Al'Homam has been. Al'Homam, as one of the most influential Viziers and senior courtiers, thinks he is just the man to do something about all this.

However, nothing he can do within the existing system will create a permanent change. That will require far more radical action...

As a man, Al'Homam is a man fond of poetry and reading, usually spending his free moments reading an interesting tome or translated piece, or writing up a poem which had come to him. While there are many women who would jump at the opportunity to win his affections, he has refrained from all sexual relations and remains a virgin to this day. Some wonder if he has taken a pledge of celibacy, while still others wonder if there is not a darker side to the Vizier's seemingly modest private life.

A skilled rider and lover of horses, Al'Homam jumps at the opportunity to journey somewhere, just for the thrill and joy of the ride. Indeed, many find the journey somewhere the dullest part (what is there to see but sand?) but for Al'Homam, it is by far the most thrilling.

【History】

Born in the castle of Al'Jabal, Al'Homam's birth killed his sickly mother. Even the advanced (relative to Broacien) medicines of the Sultanate could not save her, and his father despised him for it. She had been a woman he loved and who eased his burdens, and this impudent child had taken her away from him. Indeed, Nimr of the Banu Harith, known as 'Al Wah'Shey' (meaning the 'Wild' or 'Savage'), had many burdens which required easing. He was a warrior renown all over the Sultanate, and his feats probably reached beyond its borders, but it was his unnerving, diabolic nature which won him his title. As the Sultan's right hand man and destroyer of his foes, it did well for him to have such a fearsome reputation. He had earned this reputation mainly due to his many victories against the Sultanate's southern foes and the cruelty with which he treated them.

Al'Homam was born into the world the son of this man, heir to the Banu Harith tribe. He had very little contact with his father and spent most of his youth with his elderly grandfather, cousins and a group of tribals, herding sheep across the Sultanate's deserts. His grandfather, heavily religious and a skilled poet, taught Al'Homam the faith and poetry, while his older cousins instilled within him the love for horses and riding which any desert dweller ought to have. He would often duel with them too, but it was horse riding that he gave his efforts to, and his swordsmanship suffered as a result.

At the age of eleven, his father summoned him back to the family estate where he set about civilising the little brute. He was his only son after all, and whether he liked him or not, he would inherit his positions and titles one day. He had to be capable and he had to be worthy. His father focused his Al'Homam's education around tactics and strategy. He initially had tutors teach him how to read and write, and once he was capable enough, he personally took up the boy's education. Nimr was a tough teacher and his methods were unorthodox at best. Once Al'Homam would finish studying a particular battle or strategic concept, he would have him apply it to various hypothetical situations before having the villagers ready themselves in the fields and carry out mock battles.

Of course, Nimr was also cruel and any lack of cooperation from Al'Homam saw him fly into furious fits. He was often found bruised and beaten. In later years, when his body had grown more accustomed to his father's beatings, he was often found whipped, and his back is marred with whip marks even to this day.

At the age of nineteen, Nimr had his son join one of the latest campaigns against the enemy in the south and he spent a good three years as a soldier. He was a rather average soldier and received no great acknowledgement - his skill with a sword was nothing noteworthy and he was not particularly charismatic. His only skill, as far as his superiors could see, was horse-riding, and he did a good job following commands and charging into the enemy's flanks when ordered - he certainly did not seem to fear death too much.

When he returned, his father could see that his son had become a man on the battlefield. It was where children grew, after all. It was why the desert dwellers had survived. They honed their skill in battle and they ensured that one generation after the other did not grow soft and weak. When they grew weak, then they would be conquered, but so long as they passed on the lust and desire for battle, they would remain eternally free.

For the next five years, Al'Homam served at the royal court where his intelligence and wit and knack for strategic thinking and tactics drew him to the Sultan's eye very quickly. He rose in the ranks and did his fair bit of traveling all over the country carrying out the Sultan's wishes. In 121 P.B., with the Sultanate reeling from a defeat in the north against the Broacienian enemy, a few senior Viziers were executed for the humiliating defeat and the twenty seven year old Al'Homam rose to the rank of Vizier. His advice came in vital with war stirring in the south once more.

The Sultan sent Al'Homam to personally lead the war effort, commanding him to make the southern rats pay dearly for breaching the peace. And Al'Homam did just that, inflicting devastating defeat after devastating defeat upon the southerners. It was a shame to be killing those who were also desert dwellers and brothers of the Sawarim faith, but they were a cowardly and oath-breaking nation and deserved the divine punishment they now earned.

Peace was reached within the year and the Sultanate gained a good amount of disputed territory from the southerners. Al'Homam returned victorious and with his reputation sealed, and continued to serve the Sultan as a Vizier for another four years, which was when Al'Homam's father passed away. Now an Emir and a Sayyid, as well as an influential Vizier, Al'Homam found himself approached by many for alliances, favours and requests. Still unmarried, many jumped at the opportunity of giving their daughters to this powerful man. But Al'Homam was not interested and went about dealing with the last of his father's debts and the affairs of the estate.

The town of Qardar was built upon, the church there expanded and the market invested in - it was, after all, in a rather strategic position in the southern Sultanate, very close to the recently conquered lands and thus a definite way station for any travelers and merchants. The town grew larger and revenues from it increased. The castle of Al'Jabal, with approval from the Sultan, was also heavily modified and fortified. As the main fortress standing against the southerners, it was important that it was kept in good order. The last thing the Sultanate needed was to lose more land to their foes, as they had lost Jawai al-Qasar to the Broacienians not five years before. He oversaw the estate for three years before his services as Vizier were required once more.

Now thirty-five and one of the most important figures in the Sultanate, Al'Homam cannot help but find that the way the Sultanate is run is terribly inefficient. The Sultan has grown complacent and spend most his days in the harem while the royal family are among the most decadent and ignorant people in existence. Surely if the likes of the heir were to become Sultan the nation would go to the dogs!
Something must be done...

【Dreams, short term goals, and fears.】

Al'Homam hopes to wake up one day to find that the Sultanate has taken its rightful place at the top of the civilised world having subjugated the southerners completely and taken vengeance upon the Broacienian foe. He wishes to see the Sultanate grow more powerful, its people prosper and the religion of Sawarim supreme over all other false and deviant beliefs. For this, the Sultanate's ailing military must be rejuvenated and soldiers must be much better trained - something which should have been easy with the already militant nature of the desert dwellers. But incompetent leadership, it would seem, creates difficulty in even the most simple of tasks.

In the short term, Al'Homam wishes to gather around him an ardently loyal group of comrades who are skilled and capable people with influence. As a man of great influence, it will be very difficult to find those who truly wish to follow him towards a greater Sultanate, or simply want to hang on to him for their own gain.

Al'Homam fears being out-witted in court and on the battlefield. He takes great pride in his capabilities and defeat would injure his self-esteem and confidence greatly. Moreover, Al'Homam fears leading an unfulfilled life, leaving the world just as miserable a place as it was when he entered it. He is a man with purpose and a man of destiny. For better or worse, he must leave his print.

【Skills】

As would be expected of man of his standing, Al'Homam is a masterful horse-rider and knows his way around a shamshir and bow, though his skill with sword and bow are rather lacking.
Al'Homam's forte is in strategy and tactics. He may not be the most inspiring or charismatic of leaders, but he certainly has a knack for leading men to victory with his understanding of these things.
In the tradition of any proud tribesman, Al'Homam is a capable poet, able to regale guests with poems he has memorised and with those of his own creation.
Al'Homam is a capable reader, his training in strategy and tactics saw him read many books by desert dweller scholars of the past, as well as translated works. His writing was initially rather adequate and he preferred to employ a scribe for any official documents or letters. However, years as a Vizier have ensured that he has had a great amount of time to write many documents and letters better left unknown to any scribe, and along with his habit of writing poetry, his writing has naturally improved.

【Martial prowess】

Al'Homam has very limited martial prowess. Certainly, he knows how to lift a shield and swing a sword and has pretty good strength and speed, but he has very little training and cannot take on anyone with an ounce of training and skill in a one-to-one duel for any extended period of time. Luckily, battles are generally a mess of stabbing anyone in your way, and more recently, he has not needed to get into battle at all - he leads from the back, for he is an Emir!

【Combat style】

Stay behind your shield, swing your sword and keep swinging it, and eventually it will hit somewhere critical. Probably.

【Weaponry】

See appearance description.

【Armor】

See appearance description.

Kho's Storage of All Things

Character's Full Name: Horath Evren Al'Montsar

Character's Date of Birth: The Third day of the Eighth Month

Character's Age: Two Decades

Character's Gender: Male

Character's Nationality: Vinngealos

Character's Skin Colour: Golden Beige

Eye Colour: Night Black

Hair Colour: Light Black/ Dark Grey

Hair Length: Medium Length/ Neck Length (As Pictured)

Body Markings

Plenty of minor scars on his chest and hands, a few on his arm. The most prominent one though is one long scar from his right shoulder down to beneath his left arm pit, where he was seriously injured by a band of brigands once while out on patrol with one of his comrades. (More detail in history)

Occupation

Conscript in the Army, at the Rank of Polemarchos

Interests

Art of War, Strategy, Tactics, History, Reading, Swordsmanship, Music- especially the flute, Horseback Riding (may add more later)

Style of Dress

Before going on his first mission, Horath preferred to wear flowing robe-like clothes (as pictured) or baggy clothes which allow a lot of space for movement, he rarely wore armour, as he saw it as a hindrance. However, after being seriously injured, and having a near death experience, he came to realise the value of armour, now he never goes anywhere without having chain mail under his robes, he also has a leather breast plate, which he removes only when he is certain that he would not be attacked. His trousers are black and made of cotton, while his boots are mid-calf length dark brown ones, designed to be light and easy to move around in. Beneath his chainmail, Horath has a special gambeson which he bought especially for himself, unlike normal gambesons it has four layers of quilted wool rather than two, and the normal two layers of cotton. Beneath the gambeson, Horath wears a tunic he inherited from his father, which also happens to be the best tunic he has.

Likes

Those who are Strong-Willed and have a well developed Sense of Morality. Victory. Strength and Intelligence. Music- Especially the Flute. Sparring with both the Sword and Tongue. Hearing Tales of Past Heroes, and of Valor shown in Battle by those he Leads and those he is Led by. Discipline. A Worthy Rival. Seeing to it that even the poorest is living in Relative Prosperity. Fairness and Justice in all things, from the tiniest matter, to the largest.

Dislikes

The Grip which Corruption has on the Rulers of his Home Land. Cowardice. Lack of Morality. Defeat. Weakness. Treachery by those he Leads and those he is Led by, and even those he Battles against. Seeing that even though he would like for the poorest person among his people to be living in Relative Prosperity, this is not the case. Injustice.

Fears

The Destruction of his People. That the Old Empire shall never rise once more. Death before he has lifted his people out of the weakness they are in. That he may not be as good or benevolent a leader as he would like to think he is should true responsibility fall upon his shoulders.

Prominent Weaknesses

He expects too much, he thinks that everyone should stand up for justice no matter what, he expects everyone to have a strong moral code, he expects those who lead him to be the finest of men, and those he leads to be the bravest of souls. Sometimes his fears and doubts can overcome him, and he can become uncertain of how to act and what to do.
As much as he has tried, he has never been good at archery, or any type of ranged form of combat, even though he is better with rocks and javelins, it is not by much.

Personality

Horath Evren Al'Montsar is a relic of a lost age - an age which may have only ever existed in legend. He is an extremely idealistic man, and a perfectionist to an extent. He believes that all people - his people in particular - must strive to create, or recreate the Old Empire. However, he also believes they should strive to change the way things worked, that the class systems should not be a cause for anyone - rich or poor - to suffer, and now after meeting a former slave, his strong feelings against slavery have grown greater. He strongly believes that what his nation needs is a good leader, one who knows what must be done, how to do it and why to do it. He also happens to think he's the right man for the job.
Horath has some strongly held beliefs on why his nation is collapsing, and one of those is the lack of love people have for their nation. People do not care for the well being of Vinngealos to the extent that its army is too small to even defend it properly, he believes that not forcing people to join the army would be a step forward for Vinngealos, and that once it was a choice rather than a command which could not be refused, more people would be willing to join, for the glory of the Old Empire, and its coming rise.
Horath’s idealistic perception of how society should be - and how he should be - adds to his ability to draw people to him, and many of his soldiers are usually in awe of the things he does, even if he is blind to their admiration of him. Every little thing he does, every act of kindness or angry speech of disapproval for not acting correctly only increases respect for him, for to most of these people, such things have become foreign and unheard of, but they are instinctively drawn to them and cannot help but be enamored by such ideologies.
Horath’s ambitions do not stop at rising to lead his people and returning the Old Empire, no, he plans to do much more, to unite his people - ALL his people, and bring them under one banner, to unite all the clans and sects and countries of Kanorth, create one nation, create one people.

Appearance

Brief History

Note: the word "brief" is deceiving you

Horath did not grow up in a rich family, he didn't grow up in a poor family either, his was a family rich enough not to be poor and poor enough not to be rich, one of those which hung on the brink of poverty, holding on only because of that one person who knew what to do. In Horath’s case it was his father, Evren Trejik Al'Montsar. Evren worked as a weapon-smith in one of the poorer areas of Vinnegeal, one of the great cities of Vinngealos. Had he not had six sons and three daughters to care for, the amount he earned would have been more than enough to feed him, his wife and another four children, but fate had not been kind to the youngest son of one of the lower noble families. After his father died, his three older brothers began fighting over who would inherit which piece of land, and in the struggle between the three, Evren found that he had no power or authority to claim his right. So he left his ruined family and set out to search for his own destiny.
After being apprenticed to a weapon-smith (he refused to use any skills he'd learnt as a noble) and becoming quite proficient in the trade, he had his own smithy built in the poorer area of Vinnegeal, where there were no other smiths who could challenge him. And so he prospered, and even when he met the women he would go on to marry, life continued as normal. It was only after they'd had six children and age was beginning to catch up with him that Evren began to suffer financially. When his two older sons requested he teach them, for the betterment of the family and so they can learn a good trade, he refused, telling them that no son of his would be a smith, that they must - each one of them - find a trade greater than his was, and grow in the land, so that each and every one of his sons may help each other, and not fall prey to quarrels between siblings, and never let each other suffer poverty.
As for Evren’s three daughters, they were raised by their mother who had more influence over them than their father, but nevertheless, Evren made each of his sons pledge to always help, care for, and protect their sisters from anyone, whether a thug on the street, or their own husbands when things finally got to that.

Horath was the youngest child, and even though both his father and mother loved him greatly, they never allowed their love for him to affect him too much, Evren had sworn that not a single one of his children would ever grow as a spoilt brat, no matter how much he wanted to dote on them and give them all they wanted. Instead, Evren taught Horath to read and write, and was more strict with him than he was with any of Horath’s siblings. He made him read great tomes from a young age on history, politics, philosophy, war, swordsmanship, leadership, anything which could benefit him become high in this world. Even now, all the books and tomes which Evren had - which were the only items he took with him after leaving his family - are with Horath, handed down to him by Evren in his will.
Under his father’s strict upbringing, Horath developed a good mind, showing he was more than capable of understanding complex ideas, but his father also made sure that Horath grew up with a strong body, allowing him alone - out of all his children - to help in the smithy. For Horath’s sake, Evren even broke the pledge he had made when he left his family: never to use any skill (other than reading and writing) he had learnt with his as a noble, for he taught Horath how to fight with a sword, and how to ride a horse, going that extra bit more to take him to one of the stables in the city, and renting a horse for training.
However, as well as Evren tried to bring his son up, he may have gone a bit too far in instilling in him idealism and perfectionism, for now he always expects from people what they may not be able to do, and can be a bit close-minded when it comes to dealing with people who have done wrong, forgiveness, even though his father tried to show him its importance, never did become one of his strong points.
By the age of eighteen, Horath was a fine young man; strong, intelligent, and with skills that called out for the army. Had he not been conscripted; he would probably have joined anyway. Evren showed neither approval nor disapproval for Horath’s choice to stay on in the army and not bribe his way out, even though inside he was proud that his son had chosen this route, for it was indeed a route of power, a route - for those who were brave enough - which could lead to endless possibilities.
Horath was a toughened young man who could endure much - he had to be to keep up with his father’s pace in the smithy, but even so, the training of the army always left him completely exhausted, with no thought more prevalent than to rest. He was however, one of the luckier men, for he broke no bones and received no serious wounds, compared to others who lost their lives or became forever crippled, Horath could not help the sense of pride and accomplishment he felt.
At two decades less a year, he was sent out on patrol with Gardeel - one of the people he had become quite close friends with.
It was on this first patrol that he received the lethal blow, which cut him from right shoulder to just beneath his left arm pit. Gardeel and he were ambushed by a group of ten brigands, out to steal the armour and weapons of any soldiers passing by. Both Horath and Gardeel fought bravely, striking down three of the ten, Horath killing two and Gardeel killing one. But they were far outnumbered, even if there had been another two of them it would have been a lost battle. Horath’s comrade fell dead to a blow from one of the bigger brigands, his throat ripped out by a savagely jagged blade. Horath charged the huge man, only to be struck the deadly blow by the longer sword.
As Horath had no armour at the time, and his sword was not worthy of stealing, the brigands left him for dead, not even bothering to check if he was still breathing. They stripped Gardeel of his armour and took off with Horath and Gardeel’s horses. Had he not been used to pain and enduring no matter what, and having a will to survive like none other, Horath would have died that day, but he managed to crawl and limp his way back to the fort he was stationed at. There he received medical attention and survived. It took a few months for them to allow him to go back to his duties, but when he did, he had a new coldness about him, he was a man who had come back from the dead, he had felt death’s icy fingers around his heart, he was not going to let it happen again, there was too much he needed to do, too much his father expected from him.
Evren Trejik Al'Montsar had died while Horath was recovering, leaving in his will for Horath all his books and tomes - which had been delivered to Horath’s quarters. It was after this saddening blow to his morale that Horath discovered the flute. The first time he heard it, he had been wallowing in misery, standing on the walls of Fort Romgard, contemplating life, death and the reason behind all this misery. That was when the soft sounds reached his ears, and touched his grieving heart. Outside, sitting beneath a tree, a figure - with nothing distinguishable but its long red hair - sat playing the flute.
Without sparing a thought for whether this was a trap or not, Horath ran down, opening the gates a crack and running out, he was afraid that maybe if he didn't run fast enough the apparition might disappear. When he arrived, she was still there - for it was a woman, the most beautiful he had ever seen. He stared at her for a long time, listening to the heartfelt melody, and drinking in the beauty of this creature.
When she finally stopped, and opened her eyes, Horath was sat before her, a dreamy look in his eyes.
"That was beautiful" was the first thing he told her "just like you" was the second. This caused the woman’s fair skin tone to turn a slight pink.
"T-thank you" she stuttered, and her voice sent his heart flying.
"What is your name" he asked gingerly, at which she frowned slightly, then shook her head.
"I can't tell you" she whispered softly.
"Will you not tell a foolish boy the name of this beauty, this angel?" he asked, reaching out to hold her hands, at which she got up and scurried away giggling.
"Don't say that! Even if I did tell you my name, I can never be yours, I am promised to another" she walked away slowly, turning around when she reached a tree, to see Horath’s expression of uncertainty, which was quickly replaced by one of determination.
"I care not what man you are promised to, you will be mine. THAT is a promise." he said it with fire in his eyes, and a truthfulness she could almost taste.
"Hmm" she walked towards him, a slight smile on her face "it is a promise then" she looked at the flute in her hand, then held it out to him.
"Your..." he looked at it for a while "what is it?" he asked, realising that he didn't know what it was.
"It's a flute silly" she giggled "an instrument which plays the most beautiful music." Horath looked at it.
"You're giving it to me?" he questioned, uncertainty back in his eyes.
"No silly, I'm letting you borrow it" she smiled sweetly as he took it "you have to give it back to me when you fulfill your promise, okay?" with that she turned around and ran back to the tree, turning to look at him one last time.
"Yes! I'll give it back to you when I've fulfilled my promise...and that's a promise!" with that she gave him one last heart stopping smile, and she disappeared. He looked down at the flute, and upon it, carved into the wood in intricate writing, was Relnora Jarod Farosa.
"Relnora Jarod Farosa" he murmured to himself.
It's been a few months since then, Horath hasn't seen Relnora since then, she stalks his every waking moment and haunts his dreams in every moment of sleep, he sometimes wonders if she was indeed nothing but an apparition, but the flute leaves no doubt that she was as real as the air he breathed.
He has been in many more patrols since then, and one major battle where Horath’s Company charged the hideout of the same bandits who had scarred him. The Polemarchos of Horath’s Company was killed by that same huge man who had killed Gardeel. Horath rose up to fill the gap left by the Polemarchos without realising, leading the charge which crippled the bandits, and killing the razor-sword wielding man by himself. With their leader down, the rest of the bandits soon surrendered, and both Horath and the company returned victorious to the fort. After hearing of his heroic victory, word came down from above that Horath would now be the new Polemarchos of the Company.
Since then he's had a few more skirmishes with bandits and rebels, and a little battle over a border dispute with a rogue captain from Cavenin.

Edit:

Events Since the RP started;

Horath has had an additional two missions, in the first he was stationed at a rebellious town, where he not only managed to stop all rebellious activity, but also managed to destroy a bandit group and win the love of the people. He was rewarded with a great black stallion called Shade for his efforts.
However, Horath’s Company could only rest a day before they were sent on a new assignment; they had to go deal with two Companies which had defected from the Vinngealian army. On their way, the Company came across a ransacked town and many others which were starving to death. Horath could do nothing but offer them protection until they got to a safe town.
When they finally found a safe town, Horath made it his base and sent out scouts to look for the defectors. In the meanwhile, many townspeople joined with him and trained with weapons. When the defector camp was finally found, Horath devised a plan which won them the battle. Even though many died, the victory would offer the townspeople a lot of money and resources which they would need to survive and grow. Horath left this town having won the peoples’ love, just as he had in his previous mission.
When he returned to Fort Romgard he learnt that Aedan Arianiti had become Strategos, the supreme commander over all of the Vinngealian army.
After having a huge argument with Polemarchos Maxima Verad - the man assigned to govern over Fort Romgard - about how he had sent Horath’s Company on a fools errand, and that they would've died had the townspeople not helped him, Horath demanded that Verad increase the size of his Company to five hundred men. Verad could not argue.
Horath then went back to the tree he had first met Relnora at and slept beneath it, while he slept he had a dream of a person fighting for their life on the beach. Horath awoke and knew that he had to go to the beach.
Upon arriving he saw two people fighting, and as he ran towards them, one tumbled over the edge of the cliff, dragging the other with him.
Saddened that he had failed, Horath was about to leave when he spots a movement and sees a hand coming over the cliffs edge. He leaps forward and mistakes the cloaked Clarissa for a man, when he realises it's a woman he is very surprised.
After talking with her and learning of why she was here on top of a cliff face, Horath makes a pledge to himself that he would help this lady so long as he lived.

Horath Evren Al'Montsar

In Full Battle Regalia

'Come, I know you are tired, but this is the way.'

Horath is of average height, coming at 5'10", or 180 centimetres. He weighs at 75 kilograms.
He has some minor scars on his arms and chest, earned honourably in the line of duty. The most prominent is a long scar from his right shoulder down to beneath his left arm pit, where he was seriously injured by a band of raiders from the Sultanate while out patrolling Redsand with a comrade. His physique is ectomorphic, and his muscles are small and built for speed and power rather than brute strength. He is rather flexible, though not unnaturally so. His hair is shoulder-length and light brown in colour, though in the sunlight it develops a red sheen. His beard is large enough to cover his face completely, but not quite long enough to be gripped.
His eyes are hazel, leaning more towards brown and which shine almost yellow in sunlight. His skin tone is unusually dark for a man from Broacien, betraying his southern blood, coming at a light olive though transitions to darker or lighter shades depending on exposure to sunlight.

Before going on his first patrol, Horath preferred to wear very light leather armour which allows for greater freedom of movement. He rarely wore heavier armour, as he saw it as a hindrance. However, after being seriously injured, and having a near death experience, he came to realise the value of armour.

He is now rarely found on duty without his full-plate armour, under which can be found a long shirt of chain mail. Beneath his chainmail, Horath has a special gambeson which he bought especially for himself, unlike normal gambesons it has four layers of quilted wool rather than two, and the normal two layers of cotton. While plate armour is surprisingly light, this gambeson does add to his weight slightly. The extra defence, he believes, is worth it. Beneath the gambeson, Horath wears a tunic he inherited from his father, which also happens to be the finest tunic he has.

He also has a leather breast plate, which he dons on less formal occasions, particularly when going about his life off duty.
On other occasions, he can be found wearing his tunic, black cotton trousers, and mid-calf length dark brown boots, light and easy to move around in.

【Full Name】

Horath Evren Al'Montsar

【Aliases】

He has been called; 'The Prude', 'That Prick', 'Sawarim Filth', 'Ketter', 'The One Touched by the Monarch', 'The Purger', 'The Inquisitor'

【Age】

27 Years

【Sex】

Male

【Sexuality】

Heterosexual - strongly against any form of pre-marital sexual activity

【Religion】

Monarchist

【Family】

Evren Trejik Al'Montsar [Father - deceased - Monarchist]
Arya Qutuz Al'Montsar, Arya bint Qutuz [Mother - alive - Sawarim]
Relnora Jarod Al'Montsar, Relnora Jarod Farosa [Wife - deceased - Monarchist]
Arya Horath Al'Montsar [Daughter - deceased - Monarchist]
Rejys Evren Al'Montsar [Brother - alive - Monarchist]
Tarflin Evren Al'Montsar [Brother - alive - Monarchist]
Aemon (aka Ayman) Evren Al'Montsar [Brother - alive - Sawarim]
Argus Evren Al'Montsar [Brother - alive - Monarchist]
Eckard Evren Al'Montsar [Brother - alive - Monarchist]
Gwanvr Evren Al'Montsar [Sister - alive - Sawarim]
Awfiyaa Evren Al'Montsar [Sister - alive - Sawarim]
Ruqayya Evren Al'Montsar [Sister - alive - Sawarim]

【Birthplace】

Coedwin

【Societal standing】

Lowborn; has blood relations to nobility; son of an infidel, foreign mother

【Former employment】

Knight of the Most Holy Order of the Servants

【Rank and role】

Lieutenant to the Most Honourable Lord-Captain Nikolas Medved

***

【Personality】

Horath Evren Al'Montsar is a relic of a lost age - an age which may have only ever existed in legend. He is an extremely idealistic man, and a perfectionist to an extent. He believes that all people must strive to create worthy nations which serve the people and the faith - nations which do not judge one upon the blood which runs through their veins or their religion and background, but on their merits.

He also believes that all should strive to change the way things work, that the class system should not be a cause for anyone - rich or poor - to suffer. His encounters with slave and former-slave have only caused his strong feelings against slavery and the rigidity of the class to increase. He strongly believes that what his nation needs is a far more proactive king; one who would not fear the seemingly powerful class of nobles and would dare to bring about change - was it not the peasant who created Broacien? Should it not be the case, then, that the peasant be just as honoured as those who do not toil and live in tall and lofty castles just because their blood is blue?

Horath has some strongly held beliefs, and he honestly thinks his nation is on the brink of collapsing, he grew up among the poor, and he saw the great detachment the normal citizen had from the nation - their patriotism is slowly, but surely, being sucked away, kept in place only by fear of those beyond their borders.

Horath’s idealistic perception of how society should be - and how he should be - adds to his ability to draw people to him, and many of his comrades are usually in awe of the things he does, even if he does not notice. The things he does, his unusual acts of kindness, his angry speeches in the odd village he passes through, sometimes in disapproval for not acting as the Monarch would wish, other times promoting fairness and justness in the way they should deal with each other among others, only increases respect for him. For to most of these people, such things have become foreign and unheard of, but they are instinctively drawn to them and cannot help but be enamored by such ideologies. After all, the priests have grown lazy and corrupt, many of his fellow Servants hated him for his suffocating 'purity' (surely he was simply hiding his true darkness beneath all that!) and all in all, the very concept of justice and fairness appears to be one only tossed around by bards in taverns when others are too drunk to be listening.

As a child of a noble who abandoned nobility and a Sawarim woman, it is not surprising that his personality would be far different from that of others, and his worldview is certainly unusual. He was always drawn to his mother's talk of equality and how all believers, no matter their rank, were brothers. The slave and the king were not better or worse than each other, it was faith and piety which truly dictated ones ranks and status with the divine.

Between his mother's attempts to keep him on the faith of her people and his father's attempts at countering her attempts, Horath naturally grew up into a very religious young man, finding in both faiths more similarities than either his parents did - his personal morality, even when compared to that of his siblings, is on a level completely of its own. Strong-willed and moralistic, he likes those who are also strong-willed and with a well developed sense of morality.

However, this can mean that he tends to expect too much, thinking that everyone should stand up for justice no matter what. He expects everyone to have a strong moral code and expects those who lead him to be the finest of men, and those he leads to be the bravest of souls. While many people who have come across him have taken him for a prim and proper prude, he is not as inflexible as he may appear at first, and his years with the Servants have certainly revealed to him just how depraved people can become.

Horath loves victory well-earned and respects those who display both strength and intelligence, and it is not unusual for him to challenge one he deems worthy to a sparring session with both sword and tongue ('My old man did always tell me I would have been off a librarian...')
Strangely, Horath also likes listening to bawdy tales of heroes past and present, and of valor shown in battle, especially by those he leads and those he is led by, though he has been given strange looks on the few occasions he has let slip an utterance of something almost respectful about a tale of valor shown by enemies in far off lands and battlefields.

A strong believer in discipline, Horath expects it from himself and from his comrades - nothing irks him more than seeing a disorganised force of peasants being marched off to certain doom. More so than that, nothing irks him quite like a trained soldier, knight or captain of the kingdom acting in such a manner. The peasant cannot be blamed, but what of those who have received training and years of experience?

【History】

Horath did not grow up in a rich family, he did not grow up in a poor family either. His was a family rich enough not to be poor and poor enough not to be rich, one of those hanging on the brink of poverty, managing to hold on only due to parents who knew their duties and a father who knew what to do. In Horath’s case, his father, Evren Trejik Al'Montsar, was an intelligent and quick-witted man. Evren worked as a weapon-smith in one of the poorer neighbourhoods of Coedwin - one of the larger settlements in Broacien and worthy of being called a city. Had Evren not had six sons and three daughters to care for, the amount he earned would have been more than enough to feed him, his wife and another four children. But fate had not been kind to the youngest son of the Lord Trejik Sjordin Montsar, lord of the medium sized fortress of Romgard and the nearby town of Romnir, located in southern Grosswick.

After his father died, having not declared a heir, his three older brothers began fighting over who would inherit the land, and in the struggle between the three, Evren found that he had no power, authority or support to attempt a claim. So the nineteen year old Evren gathered up what books and tomes he could (raiding his father's sizeable library) and left his family to their infighting, setting out in search of his own destiny. He did not need to live on the blood of his father, he would carve out his life and live as he wished, on his own sweat and toil.

After being apprenticed to a weapon-smith (he refused to use any skills he had gained as a noble) and becoming quite proficient in the trade, he had his own smithy built in one of the poorer neibourhoods of Coedwin, where there were no other smiths who could compete with him. And so he prospered providing the poor of the settlement with cheaper metal-working services than those further off. Even when he met the woman he would go on to marry, life continued as normal. It was only after they had six children and age was beginning to catch up with him that Evren began to suffer financially.

When his two eldest sons requested he apprentice them, for the betterment of the family and so they could learn a worthy trade, he refused. No son of his would be a smith, they must - each one of them - find a trade greater than his. They had to grow in the land, so that each and every one of his sons may help the other and not fall prey to quarrels between siblings, and never let family members to suffer poverty. The family was above all, loyalty to it and the advancement of ones own was a duty and goal in life.
Evren’s three daughters were raised largely by their mother who had more influence over them than their father, resulting in all three turning to the Sawarim faith once they were old enough to decide. Nevertheless, Evren made each of his sons pledge to always help, care for, and protect their sisters always (They are our this family's pride and dignity. If they are brought low and mistreated, then the family has most certainly been slighted and dishonoured greatly.)

Horath was the youngest child, and even though both his mother and father loved him most of all, they went to great lengths to ensure their love for him did not affect him negatively. Evren had sworn that not a single one of his children would grow a a spoilt brat, no matter how much he wanted to dote on them and give them all they wanted. Instead, Evren taught Horath to read and write, and was more strict with him than he was with any of Horath’s siblings. His mother doubled her efforts to bring him into the fold of Sawarim, and his father taught him all he could of Monarchism. Further, he made him read the many books and tomes he had taken with him long ago. From a young age, Horath read on history, philosophy and war. His father was adamant to pass on all he could to at least one of his sons, he would do anything which could benefit him become high in this world and thus lift the family up as a whole. All the books and tomes which Evren had are now Horath's property, handed down to Horath in Evren's will.

Under his mother and father’s strict upbringing, Horath developed a good mind, showing he was more than capable of understanding complex ideas and capable of taking in and adapting the sometimes contradictory beliefs of his parents. However his father also ensured that Horath grew up strong of body as well as mind. He allowed Horath alone - out of all his children - to help in the smithy. For Horath’s sake, Evren even broke the pledge he had made when he left his family and taught Horath how to use a sword, and how to ride a horse, going that extra bit more to take him to one of the stables in the city and renting a horse for training. While his father's skills with horse and sword had become rusty, Horath was a quick learner and benefited greatly.

As well as Evren tried to bring his son up, he may have gone a bit too far in instilling in him idealism and perfectionism, creating in Horath expectation from people which are simply beyond a normal person's capabilities. Further, his strong sense of morality has made it so that when he believes one has done wrong he would go to no end to punish them somehow - the Monarch does not like those who are wrongdoers! Forgiveness, even though both his mother and father tried to show him its importance, never did quite sink in. Those who do wrong, who cause suffering and chaos in the land and delight in such, who commit crimes against the divine, must be punished severely and without mercy (Let there be no mercy for the merciless.)

By the age of eighteen, Horath was a fine young man; strong, intelligent, and with skills that called out for a military life in the service of the divine. He could not have been in a better place, his birthplace was host to the barracks of the Servants. Evren showed neither approval nor disapproval for Horath’s choice to join the Servants, even though inside he was proud that his son had chosen this route, for it was indeed a route of power, a route - for those who were brave enough - which could lead to endless possibilities. Taking the oath of Diligence, the oath of Virtue and the oath of Honour, Horath joined the ranks of the Monarch's faithful

Horath was a toughened young man who could endure much - he had to be to keep up with his father’s pace in the smithy, but even so, the two years of training he underwent with the Servants (due to having no previous military experience) always left him exhausted, with no thought more prevalent than to rest. He was however, one of the luckier men, for he broke no bones and received no serious wounds, compared to others who lost their lives or became forever crippled, Horath could not help the sense of pride and accomplishment he felt.

At twenty-one, he was sent out on patrol with Gardeel - an older man who had earned Horath's respect and was considered the closest of friends. It was on this first patrol that he received the lethal blow which cut him from right shoulder to just beneath his left arm pit. Gardeel and he were ambushed by a group of ten Sawarim raiders, out to steal the armour and weapons of any soldiers passing by, and perhaps taking some able-bodied slaves back home. Both Horath and Gardeel fought bravely, striking down three of the ten, Horath killing two and Gardeel killing one and possibly crippling another. But they were far outnumbered, even if there had been another two of them it would have been a lost battle. Gardeel fell dead to a blow from one of the bigger raiders, his throat ripped out by a savagely jagged scimitar. Horath charged the huge man, only to be struck the deadly blow by the longer sword, which easily ripped through his light leather armour.

As Horath's armour was destroyed, and his sword was not worthy of stealing, and he appeared dead, the raiders left him for dead, not even bothering to check if he was still breathing. They stripped Gardeel of his armour and took off with Horath and Gardeel’s horses. Had he not been used to pain and enduring no matter what, and having a will to survive like none other, Horath would have died that day, but he managed to crawl and limp his way back to Coedwin. There he received medical attention, and despite the terrible medical advancement in Broacien, a combination of medicinal knowledge from the Sultanat and Horath's own will, he managed to survive.

It took a few months for them to allow him to go back to his duties, but when he did, he had a new coldness about him. He was a man who had come back from the dead, he had felt death’s icy fingers around his heart, he was not going to let it happen again, there was too much he needed to do, too much his father expected from him and too much he expected from himself. He loved the Monarch much, but it was not yet time for Horath to be reunited with the divine.

Evren Trejik Al'Montsar had died while Horath was recovering, leaving in his will for Horath all his books and tomes - which had been delivered to Horath’s quarters in the barracks. It was after this saddening blow to his morale that Horath discovered the flute. The first time he heard it, he had been wallowing in misery, standing on the walls of Coedwin, contemplating life, death and the reason behind all this misery. That was when the soft sounds reached his ears, touching his grieving heart. Outside, sitting by a boulder, a figure - with nothing distinguishable but its long red hair - sat playing the flute.

Without sparing a thought for whether this was a trap or not, Horath ran down. He was afraid that maybe if he did not run fast enough the apparition might disappear. When he arrived, she was still there - for it was a woman, the most beautiful he had ever seen. He stared at her for a long time, listening to the heartfelt melody, and drinking in the beauty of this creature.

When she finally stopped, and opened her eyes, Horath was sat before her, a dreamy look in his eyes.
'That was beautiful,' was the first thing he told her, 'just like you' was the second. This caused the woman’s fair skin tone to turn a slight pink.
"T-thank you" she stuttered, and her voice sent his heart flying.
"What is your name" he asked gingerly, at which she frowned slightly, then shook her head.
'I cannot say,' she whispered softly, lowering her gaze, 'it is inappropriate.'

'Will you not tell a foolish boy the name of this most honoured and beautiful lady?' he asked, wishing he could reach out and caress her face. Seeing the intent in his eyes, she shook her head and stood up. Horath understood. Walking away slowly, she turned around when she reached a leaning palm tree, seeing Horath’s expression of determination.
'I care not what man you are promised to, you will be mine. That is a promise.' he said it with fire in his eyes, and a truthfulness she could almost taste.
'Hmm,' she murmured, a slight smile on her face, this was certainly a intriguing young man, 'it is a promise then,' she looked at the flute in her hand, then held it out to him.
'Your...' he looked at it for a while, 'what is it?' he asked, realising that he didn't know what it was.

'It's a flute,' she laughed (that was certainly different from the annoying giggles other young women seemed to let off,) and walked towards him, 'an instrument which plays the most beautiful music,' Horath looked at it.
'You're giving it to me?' he questioned, uncertainty back in his eyes.
'No,' she said conspiratorially, 'I'm letting you borrow it,' she smiled, and to Horath there could not have been a more beautiful sight.
He took it from her and she continued.
'I expect it back when you fulfill your promise,' with that she walked past him and up the the path towards the city.
He looked down at the flute, and upon it, carved into the wood in intricate writing, were the words Relnora Jarod Farosa.
'Relnora Jarod Farosa,' he murmured to himself.

A few weeks passed, and Horath did not see Relnora. She stalked his every waking moment and haunted his dreams in every moment of sleep. He sometimes wondered if she was indeed nothing but an apparition, but the flute left no doubt that she was as real as the air he breathed. However, he did not have much time to pursue the strange woman who had stolen his heart and given him the flute.

He was sent out on many more patrols. It was soon discovered that the same raiders who had killed Gardeel had a base within Broacien territory and a force of Servants was sent to destroy the infidel threat. A major battle ensued, where Horath's company of Servants charged the hideout of the raiders. The Head Brother, the Servant leading the company, was killed by that same huge man who had killed Gardeel. Horath rose up to fill the gap left by the Head Brother without realising, leading the charge which crippled the bandits, and killing the razor-sword wielding man by himself. With their leader down, the rest of the raiders soon surrendered, and both Horath and the company returned victorious to the Coedwin, returning with the imprisoned survivors and much loot which the raiders had been hoarding. After hearing of his heroic victory, word came down from above to promote the still twenty-one year old Horath to a Head Brother.

Not a week after that, the Sultanate-Broacien War of 121 P.B. began, and Horath found himself on the march once more, this time along with a mighty army of Broacien to stop the sultan's horde. While Horath had no doubts about his own faith (as much as others liked to cast doubts), he did not enjoy killing those whose blood ran through his veins, those who were on the religion of his mother and some of his siblings. He found the joy with which some of the Servants marched to kill their 'foes' rather disturbing. He only marched to protect the land he called home, he felt no joy at killing those who lived across the border, in a place he could quite possibly call home too.

Victory was swift and brutal. A few skirmishes took place between Broacienen and Sultanate forces before the main army of the Sultanate was led into the Gulley of Caprin where the infantry took on the invaders. Horath, on the command of higher-ups, led his company into the unprotected behind of the enemy, while two other companies attacked the left and right flanks. Disgusted by the slaughter the battle quickly degenerated into, Horath ordered his company to withdraw, thus allowing the defeated enemy a route for retreat. When questioned by his fellow Head Brothers on why he did as he did, Horath managed to explain himself by quoting the divine book. It did not endear him to those higher up, however, and he is certain it stalled any promotions coming his way.

'And who is better than he who watches his foe fall/
And with greatest honour he extends forth a hand of help/
Such are the believers, with dignity great as the mountain tall.'

After that, Horath was given some time off duty and decided to find Relnora. He soon discovered that there were among his fellow servants some who were very...adept...at finding those of the fairer sex. Relnora's father could not be any more shocked when Horath showed up at his door, flanked by his mother and two older brothers, asking for his daughter's hand in marriage. It turned out that Relnora was in fact promised to a son of one of Coedwin's lower noble families. It took much convincing, but eventually it was agreed that Horath, a Head Brother of the Servants, was a worthy addition to the Farosa family. A duel took place between Horath and his rival for Relnora's hand, and Horath emerged victorious. While both the Al'Montsars and the Farosas incurred the wrath of the Sjarfins, there was little a family of the lower nobility could do against the the Farosas and Al'Montsars (which had become quite the force, just as Evren always wished.)

The marriage took place, and for five years Horath lived a blissful life, his wife was intelligent and delightful, he doted on her on the occasions he returned from duties abroad, and loved her more than could be imagined. As a Knight of the Servants, he became very well traveled. Though he was mainly sent to the Sultanate, he did venture to Cherwin on one occasion.

However, in 126 P.B. a huge plot was set into motion to bring down the now rather influential Horath, who had risen high in a relatively short time within the ranks of the Servants, and his strange ideas were beginning to raise some eyes.

A group of assassins infiltrated Coedwin and targeted a few figures in the city, some little-known nobles, a few merchants, and Horath who was off-duty. Sleeping with his wife, their two year old daughter between them (she had been named Arwa after Horath's mother), the sleeping family had no reason to suspect anything. It was simply another night. When their door was kicked down and the glass windows of their small home were shattered, Horath immediately awoke. It was not until the bedroom door was kicked down that Relnora and Arwa awoke, Horath having jumped out of bed and reached for the huge Monarchist Cross hanging on their wall. It was unwieldy, but his weapons were not in the room.

When the door crashed down, the first assassin found himself bashed in the stomach with the rounded end of the cross, its spikes tearing into him slightly. Horath could see there were three figures outside. Managing to kick his first victim between the thighs, sending him to his knees, Horath threw the cross at the second, which hit him straight in the face.
'By the Monarch! I will have you all!' Horath roared before leaping upon the third and they wrestled each other to the floor. As Horath and the assassin punched, bit and scratched at each other, a piercing scream rose up.

'Not my daughter, no!' it was Relnora's voice. Seeing red, Horath roared and headbutted his opponent before getting up and stamping on the assassin's face twice. Even barefooted, the result was horrific. Turning back to the bedroom, he found that the other two had recovered and were upon his family. One was bleeding profusely from his face and grinned madly Horath as he held Relnora before him, one of his hands groping her while the other held a wicked blade to her throat. The other was holding a sobbing Arwa by her hair. Feeling helpless, Horath took a step forward.

'You might want to stay where you are, unless you want your precious family to be dead,' even in his state of rage and fear, Horath could not help but note that despite the man's style of dress suggesting he was from the Sultanate, he spoke the language of Broacien oddly proficiently, and without the accent his mother always had.

'Who are you, who sent you, you fiends?' Horath spat angrily.
'You have made some powerful enemies, my friend,' the one holding Arwa said. With that, he slashed the little girls throat and charged Horath.
'Such a shame, would've been nice to spend some time with you...' the other said as he delivered a savage slash to Relnora's throat and joining his comrade's throat. Roaring with anguish and rage, Horath rushed forward to meet the charge. His opponents were ready, however. While one was sent flying by Horath's right fist, leaving a trail of blood and teeth in the air before landing on the bed, completely unconscious, the other managed to deliver a shallow cut to Horath's side. Before Horath could turn on him, he was past him and out the door. Horath did not watch him run off and ran to his wife and child instead.

'Oh my Lord, no no no,' he wept as he brought his wife into his arms, placing his hand on her neck to stop the flow blood as though that would prevent death from taking her. She looked at him, pain and tears in her eyes.
'I love you,' he sobbed, though it felt hollow and worthless. She smiled slightly and nodded, and he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, his tears landing on her fair skin. Her arms wrapped around him and his arms tightened around her and their living lips met for the final time. And her's slowly lost life and her chest was still.

Placing her down gently on the bed, he looked down upon Arwa, she was taking quick, shallow breaths, tears in her eyes. She looked at him and reached out.
'Papa,' she managed, 'ma-mama,' he brought her to him, picking her up and hugging her to his chest, his lips caressing her forehead and cheeks, her blood gushing over his tunic.
'I'm here my little sweetheart. You are going home, don't cry. Come, lets see a smile, you will be sitting before the Monarch soon,' he looked down at his daughter and she looked back, a sad, tearful smile spreading across her face.

'Daddy,' she gasped, a last wave of tears leaving her eyes, and then she was still. Laying down beside the still form of Relnora, his child on his chest, Horath wept for a very long time, and he was found like that by his neighbours when they came to investigate a few minutes later. A dead assassin outside his bedroom, an unconscious one crumpled at the foot of the bed, and Horath lying beside his dead wife with Arwa on his chest.

Leaving the corpses of his family there, in the care of his neighbours, Horath had dragged the unconscious assassin through the streets of Coedwin and to the smithy his father had once worked day and night. Chaining his victim, he lit up the fire and prepared himself for a lengthy session of vengeance and questioning. By the end of the night, this man would wish he had died along with his other comrade, and his misery began with a searing pain in his stomach which woke him up.

It took some time, but Horath soon had the assassin speaking. His suspicions proved correct, these men were not from the Sultanate. They had in fact been hired by some noblemen and a few high-ranking members of the Servants. The Sjarfins were among the schemers. After Relnora and Arwa were buried, Horath set out on a vendetta to purge Coedwin of all those corrupt schemers and plotters. It took time, but using the influence of the Al'Montsars and Farosas, as well as his own clout within the Servants, he set into motion a purge of the Servants which brought low some very senior figures, as well as a few medium ranked Knights of the Order. His wrath was great, and with the support of the Lord of Coedwin, upon the confession of the assassin directly to him, Horath was able to set upon the scheming nobility. The Lord of Coedwin did not appreciate scheming underlings, this was an opportunity for him to remove those he did not trust completely while also creating of them an example. Many 'Ketters', 'heathens' and traitors were brought low during what came to be known as the Horathian Purges.

With his vengeance done, Horath requested to be released from his vows, and after due consideration, it was decided that given his actions and influence, it was for the good of the Order that he be released. Upon departure from the Servants, he spent a month or so with his family. However, he found that Coedwin was full of painful memories and decided to go elsewhere. At twenty-seven years of age, he journeyed to the capital and joined the Black Shields, where he was immediately appointed as a Lieutenant given his previous service.

【Dreams, short term goals, and fears.】

Horath dreams of a day when he can look upon a nation complete, one where the old hatreds are gone, a time when the false understanding of Sawarim and Monarchism which leads to more hatred, is gone. He dreams of a day when the King will take a stand against the prolific corruption among the nobility and religious classes, and the damning poverty of those further down the ladder. He truly believes that the people of the Sultanate are not truly as evil as some portray them to be, there were many similarities between them and those of Broacien. But far away is that day, and Horath knows this. He is a relic of a long-gone time, and he is a man born centuries too early.

In the short-term, Horath wishes to serve the Monarch, the nation and the King as well as he can. Wherever he goes, he plans to plant the seeds of his ideas, he will inspire the people to see the world differently and to become a force powerful enough that the king can rely on them should there come a day when he wishes to rip away the yoke of the nobility.

Horath does not fear death as such (why would one fear returning to the divine?) but he does fear death before he has lifted his people out of the miserable state they are in or at least planting the seeds. He also lives in constant paranoia that he may not be as good or benevolent a man and leader as he would like to think he is, or that he would not be should true responsibility fall upon his shoulders - and thinking back of the vengeance he wreaked in Coedwin does not help reassure him. This can keep him up at night and eat at his thoughts during the day, affecting his focus.

***

【Skills】

Naturally, given his upbringing and years with the Servants, Horath is an extremely skilled swordsman and a good rider. His strength and two years of martial training also means he is a decent brawler, though he is far more comfortable with sword in hand.
Horath, unlike many lowborns, can read and write proficiently.
Horath is also a decent flute player.
As a leader, Horath can be extremely charismatic and his moral and upright character, as well as his strange ideas and worldview, makes him a rather effective leader capable of gaining the loyalty of other lowborns fairly quickly. Just as quickly he can gain the jealousy and hatred of highborns, in fact - no highborn likes to see a lowborn out-stepping his mark after all.
Though be no means a smith, Horath knows his way around a smithy and is able to aid a more experienced smith if the need arises.
Horath has no skill with ranged weaponry, and though his strength may aid him with things like javelins, his aim is not ideal.

【Martial prowess】

Strong, young, rather well-trained and with a good six years of experience with the Servants, Horath is a match for most men. However, those with more experience will doubtlessly be able to fool and bring down the young man.

【Combat style】

With sword and shield, Horath employs a somewhat aggressive combat style, relying on his armour and shield to protect him from anything his foe can throw at him. He bashes forward with his shield, destabilising the enemy, before slashing in with his sword. When on the defensive, he raises his shield and takes advantage of his opponent's strikes to quickly rush forward just as their weapon makes contact and deliver a quick blow, whether fatal or shallow. One must control the flow the duel, and anything to disrupt the enemy's focus is good.
Generally, Horath is very honourable in combat and sticks to his morals without swaying. He does not finish off foes who are fallen, permitting them to stand up and take up their position once more, preferring to finish them off while standing. If his foe proves to be a coward and turns away in an attempt to escape, Horath does not see it as befitting his honour and dignity to spill the blood of one so pitifully degenerate and craven. His blade only spills the blood of the worthy...when he cane help it.

【Weaponry】

With his shield in left and his sword in his right (see appearance in full battle regalia), Horath is a Knight of the Servants through and through, even if he is now no longer.

【Armor】

See appearance and appearance in full battle regalia and description.

Naruto: Continuum

Daichi Saduzow – He of the Wings

Theme: Heart of Courage

Face

Hair is White

Appearance

Kanzo just managed to sway out of the way of the slash, rolling to the right. The other three shinobi in the room were immediately upon Daichi, attempting to restrain him. He turned upon them, batting one in the face with the hilt of his sword and causing him to back off, giving a pained groan. They were just guards, most likely chunins.
'No!' it was Kanzo who spoke, 'stay out of this, I will deal with him,' he signaled for the guards to move away. Daichi had nothing against them - they may have shackled him earlier, but they made reaching his target easier. With reluctance, they moved away and Kanzo leapt upon Daichi. He managed to half turn but the other man was upon him and he felt himself lifted through the air and thrown with speed.

The window shattered as Daichi was flung out, the glass shards cutting his unprotected face slightly. He closed his eyes to protect them and immediately felt the air knocked out of him as his opponent took advantage of his momentary vulnerability to deliver a mighty kick to his stomach. Landing on a roof, Daichi rolled and leapt to his feet, a hail of small glass shards raining all around. Gripping his sword, he took a wary stance as his opponent flew downwards, forming hand seals as he did.

'Wind Release: Violent Whirlwind!' he shouted, before releasing a powerful stream of wind towards Daichi. The Saduzow leapt backwards as the roof he was standing on received the blow, a part of it collapsing onto the floor below. Without waiting for Kanzo to attempt soothing new, Daichi regained his footing and leapt forward, slashing downwards. A kunai was suddenly in Kanzo's hand and he blocked the blow. Daichi smiled as Sunaarashi suddenly started vibrating with a life of its own and an aura of wind emerged around it. The kunai was cut clean through and Kanzo only just managed to fall backwards, avoiding a cut which would have devastated his chest - as it were, his kimono was cut slightly, and the wetness suggested that he had received a minor cut.
'I would much prefer to not have to do this the hard way. Just come with me and it will be easier for us both,' Daichi knew that it would not be long before others got involved, he really did want to be out of here with his target as soon as possible.

'No, I will defeat you, and then you will join the village,' Kanzo spat before rising to his feet once more and throwing away the useless handle of the kunai, it would be best to keep his distance where the sword could not reach him. Daichi raised an eyebrow, the idiot still thought he could convince him to join? He certainly was optimistic.
'Very well,' he muttered, stepping forward to deal a more serious blow. Kanzo stepped back, his hands blurring as he prepared another jutsu. Daichi rushed forward in order to prevent him, but he was not quite able to react in time.

'Wind Release: Great Breakthrough!' and from Kanzo's palms came a huge blast of wind which sent Daichi flying several roofs away and into the cliff-face surrounding Sunagakure. Scowling, he fell off and landed on another roof, only to find a hail of shurikens and kunai flying towards him. Kanzo came up behind them and clapped his hands.
'Wind Release: Gale Palm,' the wave of compressed wind took up the shurikens and kunai knives, bringing down a rain of projectiles upon Daichi. His scowl growing, he raised his sword, once more vibrating with wind and slashed outwards, tearing through the compressed wind and sending the projectiles flying in different directions. Not letting up, he leapt at the still airborne Kanzo and made to slash at him. The other ninja quickly formed a shadow who pushed him down towards the roof, avoiding the incoming slash.

Smiling, Daichi released the sword, allowing it to whip the clone's head off while forming hand seals. He then pushed his left arm forward and released blast of bandages towards the still descending Kanzo. Upon landing, the other ninja looked up only come into contact with the strange bandages, which immediately took hold of his face and began wrapping around the rest of his upper body. Daichi was careful to restrain the bandages from tightening too much, he wanted his target alive if possible. Maybe there would be a way to convince the old crone to let him go after she was done with him - he did not need to call upon himself the wrath of Sunagakure after all.

Landing, Daichi quickly picked up his sword and sheathed it. He needed to get out of here, and quickly. He could already see other ninjas leaping over rooftops, making their way to their location. Picking the paralysed Kanzo up, he looked around himself for a route out.

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay (Rebooted)

The Horde of Evil is coming for you, Kho...

XD

@Cyclone

Watch how this RP eventually settles down and we create an evil horde of our own to make a mess of things xD
(Seriously though...I don't want an evil horde in this RP, I want MANY MANY evil hordes. C'mon @Rtron, the god of knowledge is beating you when it comes to efficient evil hordes!)

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay (Rebooted)

<Snipped quote by Kho>

WAIT!

How did you know about the goblin gods? I never talked about that or stuck it in my signature.
Have...have you been stalking my feed?

@Hael

Calm down, I'm just omniscient. I also get bored waiting around for anyone to do something in all the RPs I'm in so I stalk the Casual/Advanced OOCs. It's quite easy to come across those particular RPs since you lot are always trolling them instead of trolling this thread -.-

<Snipped quote by Kho>

How dare you insult yugioh. >:(

@Scarifar

<Snipped quote by Scarifar>

How dare you not capitalize it.

Clearly you are not a true fan

@Hael

Meh, never understood what yugioh was about. For me, it was that Saturday morning show you wished would end quickly so you can watch whatever comes after it (probably teletubbies back in those days)

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay (Rebooted)

At the top, in its rightful place above all those inferior RPs >.> evil hordes, statistics based NRPs, crystal gems, goblin gods, wizard towers, world essences, mass effect, asylums, yugioh, fairy tail, emblems, heroes. They ain't got nothin' on Divinus B|

*And no one posted in that thread ever again*

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay (Rebooted)

<Snipped quote by Kho>

Hey! At least I told you, I could have just said nothing and you might never have known!

@Hael

You could have done that, but I would have known. You may claim that I am many things (arrogant, cruel, barbaric, savage, evil, tyrannical, demanding, omniscient, over-powered etc.) but lazy is not one of them ;P