Holy shit
a maximum ride fan
Here's what I would be interested in:
Max ride (with older characters)
Knight/Royalty
I fucking love superheroes
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Technically, Fikri isn't even in the movement
He profits more from the city being in the shitter
Unless, you know, the rebels wanted to hire him to, say, sneak weapons or something into the city for them
He profits more from the city being in the shitter
Unless, you know, the rebels wanted to hire him to, say, sneak weapons or something into the city for them
So I have an idea for a strange little magic man. I already passed the idea by Bing. Hopefully it turns out okay.
Name: Fikri Searoby
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Personality: Fikri is a slippery little serpent. He's tricky, cunning, and has a silver tongue. But does that mean he's a bad guy? Fikri may be selfish at times, but he's not completely incapable of caring for other people. He can be greedy, yes, but most people are. His loyalty flip-flops depending on his mood, and he likes to keep his options open, but he could be a good man if he wanted to be. Despite being the slimy thief that he is, Fikri can actually be a good friend to those he likes. The hard part is figuring out if he really likes you, or if he's just faking.
Skills: Fikri has a wide range of skills, some stranger than the typical set.
Thievery and cunning: Fikri almost can't help himself when he sees something he likes. He's an impulsive thief, and more often than not, it's the stealing he gets the thrill out of. Once he actually has whatever it is that he stole, it kind of loses it's fun. He often turns around it sells it. Fikri does this by sneaking in and out of the city to smuggle his stolen goods. The people inside the city, being completely cut off from the outside world, are willing to pay more than most. His knowledge of the city and wily ways allow him to slither in and out undetected.
Magic? Fikri is no good at "hocus pocus turn you into a frog" type magic, but he seems to have a strange little ability that follows him around. Fikri is empathic, meaning he is very attuned to other people's feelings. It's stronger when the person trusts him. Fikri often uses this ability to his advantage because, well, that's just the kind of guy he is. If he isn't careful, the people who trust him may start spilling their emotional baggage all over him. For whatever reason, his presence seems to bring comfort to others, whether they be strangers or friends. This often opens the floodgates to other people's emotions and feelings, which they feel impulsed to talk to him about, and then he as to sit there and listen to them. He's like an unwilling therapist.
Weapons:
This smancy dagger that he probably stole.
Appearance:
Fikri stands at 5'8" and has a lean build. His skin is a dark olive tone, and his eyes are brown. His hair is a light brown with a wavy texture, but is often covered by his headwear. Fikri loves loose fitting and comfortable clothes. He also has a thing for bracelets, anklets, and rings. Fikri doesn't own a single pair of shoes, and he doesn't particularly want to.
History:
Fikri was born in Quirek, the desert nation that took over Sudal. His father was a gypsy con artist, and his mother was some gullible woman dumb enough to sleep with him. She never really cared for Fikri, who was more or less a mistake. So, when Fikri deemed himself old enough, which was around the ripe ol' age of fifteen, he left home to find a more interesting life.
Funny enough, he found the gypsy caravan that his father traveled with. Fikri had never really known his father before then, but seeing as the man looked almost identical to him, he was able to figure it out. He thought that his father would want nothing to do with him, but he was surprised when the man approached him to ask about his mother. When the man found out that Fikri was indeed his son, he grinned, laughed, and asked Fikri what the hell he was doing there.
The two grew closer over time. Fikri's father taught him how to con, steal, and lie. Fikri's abilities made him very proficient at gaining people's trust. Once he'd learned enough to fend for himself, Fikri decided to leave the caravan. It was nice getting acquainted to his father and all, but Fikri had a sneaking suspicion that the man was using him for his abilities alone. When Fikri went solo, he remained in the Westbell area. He was around to see the city's capture, and, naturally, began to use it to his advantage.
Name: Fikri Searoby
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Personality: Fikri is a slippery little serpent. He's tricky, cunning, and has a silver tongue. But does that mean he's a bad guy? Fikri may be selfish at times, but he's not completely incapable of caring for other people. He can be greedy, yes, but most people are. His loyalty flip-flops depending on his mood, and he likes to keep his options open, but he could be a good man if he wanted to be. Despite being the slimy thief that he is, Fikri can actually be a good friend to those he likes. The hard part is figuring out if he really likes you, or if he's just faking.
Skills: Fikri has a wide range of skills, some stranger than the typical set.
Thievery and cunning: Fikri almost can't help himself when he sees something he likes. He's an impulsive thief, and more often than not, it's the stealing he gets the thrill out of. Once he actually has whatever it is that he stole, it kind of loses it's fun. He often turns around it sells it. Fikri does this by sneaking in and out of the city to smuggle his stolen goods. The people inside the city, being completely cut off from the outside world, are willing to pay more than most. His knowledge of the city and wily ways allow him to slither in and out undetected.
Magic? Fikri is no good at "hocus pocus turn you into a frog" type magic, but he seems to have a strange little ability that follows him around. Fikri is empathic, meaning he is very attuned to other people's feelings. It's stronger when the person trusts him. Fikri often uses this ability to his advantage because, well, that's just the kind of guy he is. If he isn't careful, the people who trust him may start spilling their emotional baggage all over him. For whatever reason, his presence seems to bring comfort to others, whether they be strangers or friends. This often opens the floodgates to other people's emotions and feelings, which they feel impulsed to talk to him about, and then he as to sit there and listen to them. He's like an unwilling therapist.
Weapons:
This smancy dagger that he probably stole.
Appearance:
Fikri stands at 5'8" and has a lean build. His skin is a dark olive tone, and his eyes are brown. His hair is a light brown with a wavy texture, but is often covered by his headwear. Fikri loves loose fitting and comfortable clothes. He also has a thing for bracelets, anklets, and rings. Fikri doesn't own a single pair of shoes, and he doesn't particularly want to.
History:
Fikri was born in Quirek, the desert nation that took over Sudal. His father was a gypsy con artist, and his mother was some gullible woman dumb enough to sleep with him. She never really cared for Fikri, who was more or less a mistake. So, when Fikri deemed himself old enough, which was around the ripe ol' age of fifteen, he left home to find a more interesting life.
Funny enough, he found the gypsy caravan that his father traveled with. Fikri had never really known his father before then, but seeing as the man looked almost identical to him, he was able to figure it out. He thought that his father would want nothing to do with him, but he was surprised when the man approached him to ask about his mother. When the man found out that Fikri was indeed his son, he grinned, laughed, and asked Fikri what the hell he was doing there.
The two grew closer over time. Fikri's father taught him how to con, steal, and lie. Fikri's abilities made him very proficient at gaining people's trust. Once he'd learned enough to fend for himself, Fikri decided to leave the caravan. It was nice getting acquainted to his father and all, but Fikri had a sneaking suspicion that the man was using him for his abilities alone. When Fikri went solo, he remained in the Westbell area. He was around to see the city's capture, and, naturally, began to use it to his advantage.
What's up with people not having last names?
Water comes out of the ground.
The top surface might still have radiation, but the spring where the water comes from would surely be safe after two hundred years.
And in any case, I'd like to think that in his wolf form, Fen is a bit more resistant to toxins and such =P Otherwise he would surely get sick from having corpse blood in his mouth.
The top surface might still have radiation, but the spring where the water comes from would surely be safe after two hundred years.
And in any case, I'd like to think that in his wolf form, Fen is a bit more resistant to toxins and such =P Otherwise he would surely get sick from having corpse blood in his mouth.
Fixed
no more woods :3
no more woods :3
Shrug
I saw someone else say clearing and I went with it
I'll change it =P
I saw someone else say clearing and I went with it
I'll change it =P
Name: Sir Isam Hajjar
Age: 41
Gender: Male
Personality: Isam was favored by the good king for his loyalty and determination. His body could be broken, but his spirit could not. Isam is a courageous man, more than willing to risk his own life in the name of his duty. He has a strong sense of commitment to those he trusts; Isam isn't one to leave a friend hanging. When needed be, Isam can be firm and maybe even harsh to his friends. The words 'tough love' come to mind. But he can also be soft and caring when he knows they need it most.
Skills:
Swordsmanship: Isam is proficient with several different kinds of blades. His custom broadsword is his personal favorite, with the old king's crest embedded in the brass coated handle.
Archery: While not the best at your typical bow and arrow, Isam is mean with a crossbow. He used it many times while in the king's army.
Horseback: Isam is a skilled rider, having won many jousting competitions, and the occasional challenge from his fellow knights. His shorter stature gives him an advantage on the back of a horse.
Weapons:
His sword
His crossbow
An ornate dagger. It was a gift.
Country of origin
Isam hails from the far land of Sudal, once known mostly for it's deserts and silk trades. Sudalians were once proud people, with a prosperous kingdom and technology that rivaled almost every other nation. The desert nation had a steel grip on the silk market. If a woman had a dress of Sudalian silk, then everyone knew she was very well to do. They exported other fabrics as well: their sheep were known for the softest wool, and their leather couldn't be beat.
Sudal was dependent, however, on the large river that ran through its country. The river, the Rihs, was their main water source, method of shipment, an energy source, and the lifeblood of the entire nation. So, naturally, when an outside nation wanted to take over, the river was the first target. Sudal got into a spat with a neighboring nation, Quirek. Quirek's efforts to take over the land were easily thwarted until they dumped poisons into the river. Thousands of Sudalians were poisoned, and almost all of them died. With the Sudalian's numbers dwindling, Quirek practically waltzed in and took the nation like candy from a child. The remaining Sudalians were forced to join them, or else be captured and sold into slavery. As Sudal fell, its success fell with it. With the great minds of the nation dead, the Quirekan king drove the nation straight into the ground.
Appearance:
Isam has dark, medium brown skin. His hair is almost shoulder length, is black, and has many curls. If brushed, his hair can take on a silky texture. But who has time for that? Isam's eyes are a dark brown. He sports facial hair most of the time, and even when he shaves it, it grows back quickly. He stands at 5'6" with a muscular build. When it comes to clothing, Isam used to enjoy soft and loose shirts and pants made of Sudalian wool. Most of his clothing were gifts from the king and his fellow knights, as he owned literally nothing when he first came to the castle. Now, he'll take just about anything he can get. Isam isn't a very picky man.
It doesn't really have to do with his appearance, but it's worth mentioning that Isam has a Sudalian accent. For a real world example, it's pretty much an Arabic accent.
History:
Isam was born and raised in Sudal. His father was one of the king's guardsmen, and his mother was a maid in the palace. So, naturally, when Isam grew up, he became a castle guardsmen as well. He only worked alongside his father for a couple years before the man retired. He had old and creaking bones, and he couldn't wear the heavy armor anymore. Isam quickly became one of the favorites, his skill and loyalty earning him the trust of the king.
When the nation fell under attack, Isam fought valiantly to defend his king and his people. But, like many of the other Sudalians, he finally fell when the river was poisoned. Isam only had a little of the water, but it made him very sick. He may have been too ill to stop his land from being ravaged, but he refused to give in to the Quireks. When Sudal was absorbed into the Quirekan king's power, and the king ordered the old palace guards to follow him, many refused. Some ran, some fought to the death, and some were captured. Isam, too sick and weak to fight, was captured.
Those who were captured were sold into slavery. By the time Isam got over his illness, he had been shipped halfway across the world. The slave traders were traveling across the nations, selling their slaves as they went. They knew that slavery was illegal in King Stardale's land, but they rather cut through it than go around it. Sure enough, they were caught by Stardale's men.
The slaves and their traders were taken back to Westbell to face the king. By this time, the traders only had three slaves left: Isam and a couple other men from Sudal. The king had the traders jailed, and told the slaves that they could go free. Isam, however, informed the king, rather sadly, that he had nowhere to go free to. He talked with the king for a while, and was impressed by the king's willingness to actually spend time talking to a slave. He told Stardale about his nation, how it had fallen and how he had refused to serve the man that took it. He informed the king that he had once been a palace guard, and that he had skills that could help the king's army, if the man would let him.
King Stardale accepted Isam's offer. Isam joined the king's army at the lowest rank, but quickly climbed the rungs. Unlike other new recruits, he had prior experience. He could already wield a sword and ride a horse into battle. And, just like with the old king of Sudal, Isam quickly grew in the Stardale's favor. After a few years, he became the king's most trusted knight. Isam never forgot how the king had saved him from a life in chains, and his loyalty to Stardale's family proved it. He was chosen to help train the king's son several times.
Isam lived a good life in the castle. He fell in love with one of the castle's maids, and eventually married her. While he rarely bought things for himself, Isam loved to spoil his wife with simple gifts. A new pair of shoes here, a bundle of colorful flowers there. He was a romantic at heart.
His happy life, however, was taken away when Dragonmaw's men moved into the kingdom. Isam fought tooth and nail defending his king, and was willing to die doing so. But the king had a plan for him. When it became clear that Stardale would die, he sent his son into hiding. The only man he trusted with prince's location was Isam, who was to go find the prince once the fury had died down and fight to return him to power. However, one of Dragonmaw's men heard the king telling Isam this plan.
Isam was captured before he could leave the castle. Dragonmaw's men drug him down into the dungeon to try and pry the prince's location out of him. His wife begged Dragonmaw for her husband's life, afraid that they would kill him. She was nine months pregnant, and could give birth to her child any day. She pleaded that the child wouldn't have to be raised without a father. But when Dragonmaw's men dismissed her, and she refused to leave, she was struck in the head with a club and killed.
Isam sat in that dungeon for two years, living through daily torture and hell. They had taken everything from him: his armor, his family, his joy, but they couldn't take his spirit. Isam would escape yet, and when he did, he would find the prince and do as the good king had last instructed: put him on the throne.
Fen's breath huffed loudly as he ran, not really sure where they were even going. How were they supposed to find Ravenia out here? He could try and get a scent, but it seemed that Ravenia and the doctor had left in a car, not leaving much for Fen to follow. Just when he was getting disheartened, a flare shot up into the sky. The wolf skidded to a stop and looked up at the smoke trail. His head quickly turned back to Shay, making sure she saw it to. He gave a couple raspy barks and lunched forward, towards the flare.
Within minutes, they reached the battle. Fen snarled and charged into battle. He wasted no time. The wolf's giant jaws wrapped around a living corpse and tore it apart as if it were a paper doll. Fen left a trail of rotting debris behind him as he made his way towards Ravenia. When he reached her, he gave her a brief tail wag, then lunged onto another corpse.
As the Dead in the clearing began to fall, Fen made his way further into the desert to take out the ones still coming. It was a massive herd, almost unusually so. He'd seen Dead hoards before, but this one was almost the population of their city, if not more. Fen was a fast worker, and the corpses weren't much of a challenge for his claws and teeth, so it didn't take the wolf long to mow through them. Before he realized it, he was a good mile and a half away from the others. Not that it would have worried him; Fen was more than capable of taking care of himself in the outside world.
By the time he caught a break in the herd, Fen was covered in gore. His fur was matted with old, dark blood, and his claws were caked with rotted flesh. He had the worst taste in his mouth. Luckily for him, he knew this area well enough to know that there was a water source nearby: a stream. A quick drink wouldn't hurt, and then he could go back and rejoin the others.
The wolf slunk along, his feet crunching on the dried sticks of the desert floor. He could feel the fight draining his energy; there were just so many of them! When Fen reached the stream, he bent his head over and lapped up some water. He let it wash the blood from his mouth, then spat it back out and gulped up more that was clean. He could easily drink several gallons in one sitting, and was halfway through the process of doing so when his ears caught a soft groan from somewhere to his left.
Fen's head raised quickly. His eyes searched his surroundings for the source. He expected to see a living corpse shambling towards him, but there was nothing there. The wolf gave a soft growl, his hackles raising as he went to check it out. His nose hovered off the ground as he sniffed. There was someone there, and they didn't smell dead. The wolf followed the scent until the caught sight of the source. It was a man laying near a sage bush. Fen paused, looked around, then cautiously crept towards him.
The man looked dead. He laid face down in the dirt, his clothes torn and bloody. Fen would have assumed that he was a victim of the herd, if he weren't still mostly intact. He was breathing, but just barely. The wolf approached him, and carefully used his nose to turn the man over onto his back. The man's eyes fluttered open, looked at him, and then shut again. He gave another groan as he tried to roll back over and get up. It occurred to Fen that a giant wolf probably wasn't what the man wanted to see. He gave a soft, short whine. Maybe one of the others could help him get the guy back to the city.
Fen tilted his head back and gave a loud, long howl. The sound was impossible to ignore; his howls could carry for miles. It may even be heard back at the city.
Within minutes, they reached the battle. Fen snarled and charged into battle. He wasted no time. The wolf's giant jaws wrapped around a living corpse and tore it apart as if it were a paper doll. Fen left a trail of rotting debris behind him as he made his way towards Ravenia. When he reached her, he gave her a brief tail wag, then lunged onto another corpse.
As the Dead in the clearing began to fall, Fen made his way further into the desert to take out the ones still coming. It was a massive herd, almost unusually so. He'd seen Dead hoards before, but this one was almost the population of their city, if not more. Fen was a fast worker, and the corpses weren't much of a challenge for his claws and teeth, so it didn't take the wolf long to mow through them. Before he realized it, he was a good mile and a half away from the others. Not that it would have worried him; Fen was more than capable of taking care of himself in the outside world.
By the time he caught a break in the herd, Fen was covered in gore. His fur was matted with old, dark blood, and his claws were caked with rotted flesh. He had the worst taste in his mouth. Luckily for him, he knew this area well enough to know that there was a water source nearby: a stream. A quick drink wouldn't hurt, and then he could go back and rejoin the others.
The wolf slunk along, his feet crunching on the dried sticks of the desert floor. He could feel the fight draining his energy; there were just so many of them! When Fen reached the stream, he bent his head over and lapped up some water. He let it wash the blood from his mouth, then spat it back out and gulped up more that was clean. He could easily drink several gallons in one sitting, and was halfway through the process of doing so when his ears caught a soft groan from somewhere to his left.
Fen's head raised quickly. His eyes searched his surroundings for the source. He expected to see a living corpse shambling towards him, but there was nothing there. The wolf gave a soft growl, his hackles raising as he went to check it out. His nose hovered off the ground as he sniffed. There was someone there, and they didn't smell dead. The wolf followed the scent until the caught sight of the source. It was a man laying near a sage bush. Fen paused, looked around, then cautiously crept towards him.
The man looked dead. He laid face down in the dirt, his clothes torn and bloody. Fen would have assumed that he was a victim of the herd, if he weren't still mostly intact. He was breathing, but just barely. The wolf approached him, and carefully used his nose to turn the man over onto his back. The man's eyes fluttered open, looked at him, and then shut again. He gave another groan as he tried to roll back over and get up. It occurred to Fen that a giant wolf probably wasn't what the man wanted to see. He gave a soft, short whine. Maybe one of the others could help him get the guy back to the city.
Fen tilted his head back and gave a loud, long howl. The sound was impossible to ignore; his howls could carry for miles. It may even be heard back at the city.
woo!
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