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- Old Guild Username: sartorous
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I'm still around. I've just been busy.
I pick 6 for Salas.
Arthur set the book he was reading down to look out of the window; it was day outside, which meant he had been reading through the night again. When you’re dead and have no need for sleep though, there’s not much you can do to pass time at night, other than haunting and terrorizing the living. The latter option was a bit stretched nowadays with the humans hunting down mythical beings because they were “abominations”. Sighing deeply, Arthur marked his place in the book he had been reading and left it on the small table next to the armchair he had been “sitting” in. He got up from the chair, floating a few inches off of the ground and looked around at his library, admiring his collection, most of which was provided by the Engineers; they had even gone so far as to locate and restore the collection of books he had had in life.
He left the library and came out on to a staircase that spiraled downward. Arthur made his way down to the entrance hall, passing bare stone walls, the only thing to break the monotony of the slate grey walls was the occasional alcove with a dusty and coppery candelabra with sputtering candles to provide small orbs of yellow light here and there on the staircase. The staircase ended in a small entrance hall with a heavy wooden door that led outside, but instead of drifting toward that door, Arthur drifted to a wall just under the staircase and phased right through it and came out over a large pit with a faint light at the bottom. Arthur drifted downward until he came to the bottom of the pit, which was actually a lab, for lack of better words. There were herbs, mortar and pestles, scrolls, and spellbooks of all sorts spread out over many tables. This hidden room was where he continued the practice of his dark arts. He kept it hidden no only out of habit, but out of the want of privacy as well. He didn’t want just anyone to barge into his work space.
He was grateful to the Engineers for building this hidden lab of his in the stone tower they filled with books for him as well in the city they built for others such as him. He appreciated it, but he hated feeling as if he was in their debt and didn’t know how to break this feeling of his; perhaps that’s why the Engineers built this city for the mythical beings, to have them be in their debt and use that debt to have the Voldoans do whatever they asked of them. This was why he delved as far as he could and tried to find out as much as possible about the Engineers. He wanted to know why they would just build an entire city for the mythical beings being hunted by the humans and just let them live there under the protection of their spells and the Flesh Golems, especially when the Engineers were human themselves.
Arthur drifted over to one of the many tables in the hidden lab and peered down at the work he left there; there were scrolls held open with heavy books and stones with strange writings on them. He hovered there and studied the scroll for a while before he grabbed a nearby pen and a piece of parchment that was already halfway filled with writing and went back to his work of translating this scroll that could hold some old truth of magic.
He left the library and came out on to a staircase that spiraled downward. Arthur made his way down to the entrance hall, passing bare stone walls, the only thing to break the monotony of the slate grey walls was the occasional alcove with a dusty and coppery candelabra with sputtering candles to provide small orbs of yellow light here and there on the staircase. The staircase ended in a small entrance hall with a heavy wooden door that led outside, but instead of drifting toward that door, Arthur drifted to a wall just under the staircase and phased right through it and came out over a large pit with a faint light at the bottom. Arthur drifted downward until he came to the bottom of the pit, which was actually a lab, for lack of better words. There were herbs, mortar and pestles, scrolls, and spellbooks of all sorts spread out over many tables. This hidden room was where he continued the practice of his dark arts. He kept it hidden no only out of habit, but out of the want of privacy as well. He didn’t want just anyone to barge into his work space.
He was grateful to the Engineers for building this hidden lab of his in the stone tower they filled with books for him as well in the city they built for others such as him. He appreciated it, but he hated feeling as if he was in their debt and didn’t know how to break this feeling of his; perhaps that’s why the Engineers built this city for the mythical beings, to have them be in their debt and use that debt to have the Voldoans do whatever they asked of them. This was why he delved as far as he could and tried to find out as much as possible about the Engineers. He wanted to know why they would just build an entire city for the mythical beings being hunted by the humans and just let them live there under the protection of their spells and the Flesh Golems, especially when the Engineers were human themselves.
Arthur drifted over to one of the many tables in the hidden lab and peered down at the work he left there; there were scrolls held open with heavy books and stones with strange writings on them. He hovered there and studied the scroll for a while before he grabbed a nearby pen and a piece of parchment that was already halfway filled with writing and went back to his work of translating this scroll that could hold some old truth of magic.
Alright. Do I need to out the cards in his sheet?
Would that count as another weapon? If so, Barnabas would exceed the three weapon limit.
Darkness was all that surrounded him, was all that he knew right now. He didn’t remember how he had gotten to such a strange place; all he could remember was the smell of smoke and pain. He felt as though he had been drifting in this space for an eternity before there was a sudden light and a voice. The voice spoke of Reina, Lady of Mercy and of healing a man, but who could this man be? Could it be him? Was this place limbo? The light grew brighter and brighter, until it overtook him and began to lift him up. Salas’s pale green eyes snapped open, and he jerked upward, his hand flying to hilt of his sword before he realized he was in no immediate danger. Then an ancient voice spoke above him.
"You should be fine now. This place is safe, and your wounds are no more. You are fortunate to have survived; none others shared that fate.”
Salas looked up to see that the voice belonged to an ancient-looking woman with wrinkles as deep as an ocean. Her gravelly voice definitely matched her appearance. She had a hunch to her that made her look small even when standing, but despite her appearance, this woman had a power about her. Salas looked himself up and down, too focused on examining his own body to catch the crone’s next words. He was completely fine, even his scars seemed fainter, like shadows of themselves. His armor was scorched and torn in places from his near escape from Anaxim Forest. He sat there on the ground for a moment, trying to remember what had happened to bring him to this place, all the while looking around the area; his confusion increased as he saw the warlock he had met just a short time ago in Anaxim and the witch who had been with him and next to the witch was a green dragon.
Salas stood before the hulk of a man known as Wyrmslayer, ready to at least slow him down. He had guarded himself against his ranged attacks by raising his shield up in front of himself. That only left the option of using his saber and a dagger in his offhand to try and get behind him in order to strike at any weak points he could find in the man’s armor. He was formulating his plan of attack when the man simply began to walk away from him; he had taken far too long in his formulations apparently. Salas made to follow the man, but was blocked by more of the crusaders, who were hellbent on destroying the Anaxim Forest. There two of them bearing down on him, swords drawn. Salas drew his saber in his left hand and his dagger in a reverse grip in his right. The crusaders surged forward at him; Salas parried the first crusader’s blade and managed to escape the second’s with a slash down his arm. A grunt of pain escaped him as his drove his dagger into the side of the crusader that cut him. He yanked the dagger free from the man’s side, causing a stream of blood to issue forth from the wound.
Salas swung his saber at the first crusader, who blocked it and kicked Salas in the stomach, forcing him away and onto his knees. The second crusader lay on the ground, clutching his side just as Salas clutched his stomach with his right hand. The first crusader came forward, swinging his sword in an arch from over his head down at Salas, who took a knife from his harness and threw it at the man’s hands in a clumsy fashion do to his disorientation from being kicked. The knife cut across the back of the man’s hand, causing him to release the grip he had on his sword partially. This allowed Salas to swing upward and knock the sword off course enough to strike the dirt next him by inches. Salas jumped upward in the crusader’s moment of confusion and slammed his head into the crusader’s nose, knocking him back away from his weapon. Salas found his dagger and resheathed it as he walked toward the crusader with a broken nose. Salas stood over the crusader with his blade poised to strike at the man’s neck, intending to finish him clean and fast. As he started to bring his blade down, though, a sudden heat washed over him a split second before a fire spell hit the ground a few feet from him and exploded in a wave of flames. He was knocked to the ground, burnt by magical fire. The last things he remembered were the thundering footsteps of an army and a shadow over him before he passed out from the pain of being burnt over most of his body.
The shadow he saw must have been the ancient woman who now stood over him and had told him he was healed now. She must have also been the one to heal him. He didn’t know where he was though; he just knew he was in the company of his savior, the warlock, his witch companion, and a great green dragon. At least he was no longer on a battlefield, but he didn’t know how safe he was in these people’s company, as he barely knew them at all. Salas closed his eyes and concentrated on the magical energy within him and then opened his eyes as a wind picked up around him. The wind began forming sound patterns and then spoke for Salas, sounding wispy and high pitched.
“Where are we exactly? What happened with the battle?”
"You should be fine now. This place is safe, and your wounds are no more. You are fortunate to have survived; none others shared that fate.”
Salas looked up to see that the voice belonged to an ancient-looking woman with wrinkles as deep as an ocean. Her gravelly voice definitely matched her appearance. She had a hunch to her that made her look small even when standing, but despite her appearance, this woman had a power about her. Salas looked himself up and down, too focused on examining his own body to catch the crone’s next words. He was completely fine, even his scars seemed fainter, like shadows of themselves. His armor was scorched and torn in places from his near escape from Anaxim Forest. He sat there on the ground for a moment, trying to remember what had happened to bring him to this place, all the while looking around the area; his confusion increased as he saw the warlock he had met just a short time ago in Anaxim and the witch who had been with him and next to the witch was a green dragon.
Salas stood before the hulk of a man known as Wyrmslayer, ready to at least slow him down. He had guarded himself against his ranged attacks by raising his shield up in front of himself. That only left the option of using his saber and a dagger in his offhand to try and get behind him in order to strike at any weak points he could find in the man’s armor. He was formulating his plan of attack when the man simply began to walk away from him; he had taken far too long in his formulations apparently. Salas made to follow the man, but was blocked by more of the crusaders, who were hellbent on destroying the Anaxim Forest. There two of them bearing down on him, swords drawn. Salas drew his saber in his left hand and his dagger in a reverse grip in his right. The crusaders surged forward at him; Salas parried the first crusader’s blade and managed to escape the second’s with a slash down his arm. A grunt of pain escaped him as his drove his dagger into the side of the crusader that cut him. He yanked the dagger free from the man’s side, causing a stream of blood to issue forth from the wound.
Salas swung his saber at the first crusader, who blocked it and kicked Salas in the stomach, forcing him away and onto his knees. The second crusader lay on the ground, clutching his side just as Salas clutched his stomach with his right hand. The first crusader came forward, swinging his sword in an arch from over his head down at Salas, who took a knife from his harness and threw it at the man’s hands in a clumsy fashion do to his disorientation from being kicked. The knife cut across the back of the man’s hand, causing him to release the grip he had on his sword partially. This allowed Salas to swing upward and knock the sword off course enough to strike the dirt next him by inches. Salas jumped upward in the crusader’s moment of confusion and slammed his head into the crusader’s nose, knocking him back away from his weapon. Salas found his dagger and resheathed it as he walked toward the crusader with a broken nose. Salas stood over the crusader with his blade poised to strike at the man’s neck, intending to finish him clean and fast. As he started to bring his blade down, though, a sudden heat washed over him a split second before a fire spell hit the ground a few feet from him and exploded in a wave of flames. He was knocked to the ground, burnt by magical fire. The last things he remembered were the thundering footsteps of an army and a shadow over him before he passed out from the pain of being burnt over most of his body.
The shadow he saw must have been the ancient woman who now stood over him and had told him he was healed now. She must have also been the one to heal him. He didn’t know where he was though; he just knew he was in the company of his savior, the warlock, his witch companion, and a great green dragon. At least he was no longer on a battlefield, but he didn’t know how safe he was in these people’s company, as he barely knew them at all. Salas closed his eyes and concentrated on the magical energy within him and then opened his eyes as a wind picked up around him. The wind began forming sound patterns and then spoke for Salas, sounding wispy and high pitched.
“Where are we exactly? What happened with the battle?”
Alright. I modified it.
Thank you, Max. Should I put a list of his magic powers in the other section? Other than that, I can't think of anything else to put there.
The history isn't the greatest, but here is my character sheet. If the history needs improving just let me know.
Name: Arthur Collingwood
Age: 542
Race: Wraith
Gender: Male
Appearance:
Personality: Arthur was a cold and calculating man, who would weigh the odds and try and predict the outcome of his probable course of action before actually going through with it. In death, Arthur’s personality has not changed much at all; he is still just as cold and calculating as ever. In death, though, Arthur is more brooding than he was in life. This is because of the circumstances of his death, so he is more vengeful as well. He kept these traits hidden in life, though, and presented himself as a friendly face and a productive member of society. In death, there was no need for this, until he came to Voldoa, so he has slipped into his old ways.
History: Arthur was born to a merchant and a housewife in 1303. He had a little sister in life, who he was extremely protective over while growing up. It was her death that drove him to seek the dark arts at the age of twenty. He used the guise of his father’s merchant company to travel around Europe to seek ancient secrets about the dark arts in an attempt to seek vengeance for his sister’s death; she had been lured in by a young noble, who then raped and murdered her. The noble was, of course, not even a suspect in her death, which was forgotten about as if she ever existed. In his travels, Arthur discovered much and gained power over the dark arts. He returned to his home after ten years of traveling and practicing his magics to seek vengeance upon the man who killed his sister. Being the calculating man he was, Arthur took his vengeance slow, killing the noble’s wife and children first through disease, and then haunting him with their ghosts until he was driven to kill himself from the grief. Arthur was driven mad by his quest for vengeance though and was left empty once the noble was dead, so he began using his dark arts on the townspeople subtly, driving a few mad here and there, torturing others, and even founding a cult after a while. When the Black Death struck Europe, Arthur kept himself from being infected through his magical arts, but he slipped up by doing this. The townspeople noticed he was the only one not even remotely infected or even afraid of the disease and turned on him, accusing him of causing the disease on the town, hearing from some of his less faithful cult members that he practice the dark arts. They captured him, burned his home, tortured him, stoned him, and finally burned him. He died in a rage of flames at the age of forty-six. His spirit lingered though, tainted by the dark arts he practice in life, turning him into a Wraith. In death, he haunted the townspeople that burned him and cursed his name, still being able to wield his dark arts. His hatred allowed him to remember who he was. He continued haunting areas in Europe, usually small villages, using his dark magic to bring back his targets’ dead loved ones back to life in the form of phantoms to drive them mad with grief. He has a few times caused terror in villages by actually raising their dead from their graves as fleshy zombies and dusty decrepit skeleton. He was hunted just like the rest of the monsters and was pushed to the edges of the map until the Engineers came and offered them sanctuary. Arthur was suspicious at first, but joined the community in the end to live alongside the other monsters. Occasionally he slips away from the town to cause terror in human cities.
Other: Arthur's magical abilities include: Summoning phantoms of one's dead loved ones, raising the dead, sapping life energy from the living (in small amounts), bringing disease, invading people's minds.
Name: Arthur Collingwood
Age: 542
Race: Wraith
Gender: Male
Appearance:
Personality: Arthur was a cold and calculating man, who would weigh the odds and try and predict the outcome of his probable course of action before actually going through with it. In death, Arthur’s personality has not changed much at all; he is still just as cold and calculating as ever. In death, though, Arthur is more brooding than he was in life. This is because of the circumstances of his death, so he is more vengeful as well. He kept these traits hidden in life, though, and presented himself as a friendly face and a productive member of society. In death, there was no need for this, until he came to Voldoa, so he has slipped into his old ways.
History: Arthur was born to a merchant and a housewife in 1303. He had a little sister in life, who he was extremely protective over while growing up. It was her death that drove him to seek the dark arts at the age of twenty. He used the guise of his father’s merchant company to travel around Europe to seek ancient secrets about the dark arts in an attempt to seek vengeance for his sister’s death; she had been lured in by a young noble, who then raped and murdered her. The noble was, of course, not even a suspect in her death, which was forgotten about as if she ever existed. In his travels, Arthur discovered much and gained power over the dark arts. He returned to his home after ten years of traveling and practicing his magics to seek vengeance upon the man who killed his sister. Being the calculating man he was, Arthur took his vengeance slow, killing the noble’s wife and children first through disease, and then haunting him with their ghosts until he was driven to kill himself from the grief. Arthur was driven mad by his quest for vengeance though and was left empty once the noble was dead, so he began using his dark arts on the townspeople subtly, driving a few mad here and there, torturing others, and even founding a cult after a while. When the Black Death struck Europe, Arthur kept himself from being infected through his magical arts, but he slipped up by doing this. The townspeople noticed he was the only one not even remotely infected or even afraid of the disease and turned on him, accusing him of causing the disease on the town, hearing from some of his less faithful cult members that he practice the dark arts. They captured him, burned his home, tortured him, stoned him, and finally burned him. He died in a rage of flames at the age of forty-six. His spirit lingered though, tainted by the dark arts he practice in life, turning him into a Wraith. In death, he haunted the townspeople that burned him and cursed his name, still being able to wield his dark arts. His hatred allowed him to remember who he was. He continued haunting areas in Europe, usually small villages, using his dark magic to bring back his targets’ dead loved ones back to life in the form of phantoms to drive them mad with grief. He has a few times caused terror in villages by actually raising their dead from their graves as fleshy zombies and dusty decrepit skeleton. He was hunted just like the rest of the monsters and was pushed to the edges of the map until the Engineers came and offered them sanctuary. Arthur was suspicious at first, but joined the community in the end to live alongside the other monsters. Occasionally he slips away from the town to cause terror in human cities.
Other: Arthur's magical abilities include: Summoning phantoms of one's dead loved ones, raising the dead, sapping life energy from the living (in small amounts), bringing disease, invading people's minds.
Ah. Ok. So if I have like throwing cards with sigils carved into them, would that be better?
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