"The species that inhabit these parts are.... intriguing. How do they balance on two legs?"
Name: Jannilius Zephry the Third
Alias/Titles: Dragoon of the Dorn Republic, Thirdson of Lord Jannilius the Second, Main Protection Branch Lieutenant
Age: 78
Gender: Male
Personality: Jannilius is a more silent character, seemingly contemplating past conquests and failures. He almost never talks outside the battlefield, his face looking resigned. If he does need to talk, he communicates in hand signals and grunts. It is unfit for a Dragoon to be so modest but many say that it is due to PTSD more than anything. In the past, his youthfulness bought made him boisterous and confident. Now, drained from fighting for years in the name of the Lords, the Dorn has become wise and withdrawn. In the battlefield however, it is a different story. He is renewed, charging into the mass of enemies with no fear. He shouts, howls, screams at them, using his unusual appearance to make them fear him. In battle, he is a Dragoon again, using fear as his weapon.
Biography:
Jannilius was born into the noble family of Zephry, Thirdson of Lord Jannilius the Second. Keeping with tradition, as the Thirdson of a noble family, he was immediately sent to the High Dragoonate for training to become a Dragoon. The parting between parent and child was brief, as they were prepared beforehand and expected the departure. When the two Dragoons took their baby away, there were no tears shed nor goodbyes. Lord Jannilius merely turned and walked back into the infirmary. The little baby grew in the hands of nuns and started to go to the school.
There he was educated like he would've been when he was still a noble, mathematics, science and language being the main subjects. He was taught how to fight and handle a sword, command men and learn strategies of war. That is where Jannilius excelled at, destroying straw dummies with brute strength and remembering strategies step by step. He was alone most days, only seeing his private tutors and guards. He was stuck in his room when he wasn't in class or the training yard and spent his days drawing or reading. It was a lonely life but it was the only life he knew.
One night, on his fifteenth birthday, Jannilius was woken by the sudden crashing of a door being broken into. He was quickly muffled, blinded and carried out of his rooms with army-like efficiency. The boy was scared, frightened of what was to come. He was thrown into a wagon and there he waited. It felt like days of just travelling, no food was given to him and water was scarcely given only because his kidnappers wanted him alive.
The wagon stopped one night and he was dropped off on the edge of a forest, blindfolded, muffled and bound. His kidnappers took them all off and left him there. Jannilius, now knowing what true loneliness felt, slept at the edge of the road. Fatigued by the endless travelling and lack of sleep, the boy closed his eyes and fell unconscious. He awoke to a new day and a new world, awoken in the middle of the forest. The first few days of survive was harsh and brutal. With only the basics of survival training covered, the 15 year old struggled with each step. The first night was the hardest as the calfling had to build his shelter and make fire. He had to fend off the creatures of the night, dark bipedal creatures with limited intelligence and sharp claws.
After a week in the forest, Jannilius quickly adapted to his situation and carved a section of the forest as a safe zone. His territory was marked with burning faeces and urine, observing how the creatures, "Nightlings" as he called them, marked territory. His shelter was a wooden hut with stone foundation, large leaves bound together with flax for the peaked roof. He learned very quickly that it rained here frequently and collected water using flax jars and filtered them using bits of cloth. Food was no longer a problem as he grew crops in a clearing found in his territory. Nightling attacks became rarer when several of them were killed using traps and the quadruped's carved spear and club. He had become the Bear Grylls and Tom Hanks hybrid survivalist.
It was unknown for how long Jannilius stayed in the forest, months or even years spent surviving on his own. He made several attempts on his life due to the sheer loneliness and fatigue but stopped just before stabbing his heart, slicing his wrists, jumping from the top of the highest tree. The forest seemed infinite and no matter how long the Dorn explored, he couldn't see the edge. The sheer loneliness was enough to kill but he stayed alive, but only just.
One night, Jannilius was woken by the sound of scurrying feet and he immediately leapt on his hooves, grabbing his wooden spear and club. The sight he saw made his heart sink. The forest was burning, Nightlings scurrying around with torches and burning everything in sight. Anger grew in him and his patience finally cracked. He roared, kicking up and going on his hind legs. He came down with a crash before charging at an unsuspecting Nightling, burning a field of crops next to his shelter. He trampled the creature under him, head bursting with a satisfying squelching sound. He continued his charge, mowing down Nightlings as they set fire to years of hard work. He clubbed, stabbed and trampled them to death until there were none left. He stood there, broken club in hand, breathing heavily over the corpse of the last enemy. He heard the sound of a trumpet and turned to see a sight for sore eyes. A battalion of Dragoons, led by the High Dragoonate himself, came out from the forest. With his dark baritone voice, the tall Dorn rumbled with a smile on his face “Good. You have passed.” He felt a slight prick on his neck and fell into unconsciousness, darkness enveloping him.
Jannilius awoke in the his room at the tower, clean and clothed, door sing and new. It was almost as if he wasn't captured at all. This revelation lasted only a few seconds before he denied it, looking down at the scars and bruises on his hands. They were cleaned and covered neatly but no one can hide what he gained in the days of the forest. Worry soon overcame him, searching for any clues as to why he was here. The young Dragoon then had flashBacks to the night before and anger soon replaced worry. “How dare they!?” He shouted, hooves cracking the stone slabs beneath him as he stomped in anger. The door soon opened, revealing a timid looking servant holding a scroll. Seeing his aggressive stance, she yelped, quickly dropping the scroll on the ground and ran from his sight, politely closing the door behind her.
Pausing in his bout of anger, Jannilius stared amused at the closed door and went to pick the scroll up. The message read as follows:
“Dear Jannilius Zephry the Third
You have been chosen by the I and the Lords themselves to become a loyal Dragoon. To be a Dragoon is one of the highest honours and it is to be the best of the best in the battlefield. Your initiation was unique, your batch was chosen for a harder test due to their natural talents. You have succeeded and have become a part of the Brotherhood. However, the other initiates were not so fortunate. Only you and four others have survived and have the title of Dragoon.
You are now Brother. Kind Regards, High Dragoonate Tarquinius Zayrabar”
The quadruped stared at the paper in silence, before crushing it in his large hands. ‘A Dragoon?!’ He thought furiously, throwing the parchment in the bin. ‘All that death and misery all to become a bloody Dragoon!’ He knew of course that being a Dragoon was a high point of honour and respect in Dorn society but the pissy, tired and angered Jannilius didn't care about that right now. He broke the door down and stepped into the hallway, looking for answers. The High Dragoonate, standing at the great height of 9 feet tall stared bemusedly at him, arms crossed over his burly chest. “You know, when I learned that all those years stuck in the deserts of Az’Kar was all because I was a Thirdson of some noble, I was angered. Hell, I smashed through a whole bloody table before they calmed me down.”
The 7 foot tall Jannilius looked almost silly standing next to the giant, he heaved heavily in anger but seemed to calm down. The Dragoonate sighed, hand placed on the shorter Dorn’s shoulder. “We had to put down an Initiate, you know? There were six of you, the first one that woke up was the one we had to kill. He was angrier than you, we found him lying in the corpses of those creatures. The messenger tried to explain but he couldn't take it. He pulled out a hidden knife from his arm, pulling it out. He stabbed the servant right in the gut and was about to stab the Dragoon next to him if I didn't intervene.” The Thirdson looked at the man with hateful eyes, the latter looking back with understanding. “Look, you need to calm down and prepare for the ceremony this afternoon. You can't miss your big day.” The man turned and walked away.
This marked the beginning of Jannilius’ life as a Dragoon. After the ceremony, this was the last encounter he had with the giant before he died a few days afterwards, dying from an intense heart attack. He was quickly replaced, the efficiency of the Republic governing body never to be held in doubt. Anyways, the Thirdson was quickly deployed to defend the dominion of House Zayrabar from the several Dark cults sprouting from seemingly nowhere within their territory. Throughout his years of being a Dragoon, he learned life lessons only taught on the battlefield and gained experience second to none. From the infamous Guild Wars to the bloody kidnapping of Princess Elisa, Jannilius soon became famous within the Dragoons.
It was then, one day, just after the Battle of Jarbarra against the rebels, he was given the message to leave his attachment and report immediately to the High Dragoonate. Swiftly, he silently galloped through the days, travelling straight to the Capital. Arriving at the front of the High Dragoonate’s quarters, he entered politely. The burly Dorn was nowhere near the size of the previous Dragoonate but still towered over him. He coughed, looking at Jannilius with curious eyes.
“I need you, Jannilius Zephry the Third, to escort the envoy we will be sending to the land Far Beyond. You will protect them in those strange lands and as a Dragoon, you shall be leading the warriors into battle. You will leave at dusk. I trust that you will not fail, honoured warrior. You will gain the Mark of Flight for your efforts.” When the Thirdson looked back at the golden city at dusk, shining in all it’s glory, it will be the last time he would see his homeland. He failed his orders.
The entire convoy was wiped out by Daemon rebels, seeking to overthrow the entire Dorn Republic. Jannilius was captured and was sent to the rebel base for public execution. As a hero, it would be a crushing morale blow to the Republic when they saw a Dragoon hung by the neck. As he was being transported to the camp, the Dragoon was covered in an ethereal blue glow before vanishing. Once he woke up, he was in a white room, facing his future leader. "Where am I?! Who are you?!" He reached for his sword only to find it wasn't there. He tried to activate his marks but found he had no power. "Calm, Jannilius. You are here for a reason."
This was when he learned of the world beyond his, the universe he was contained in and the multiverse that surrounded it. He learned of the Corporation's motives and that they were essentially a mercenary company. When the being suggested him joining, Jannilius was confused but accepted nonetheless. What choice did he had? At first, it seemed that all of the remaining Dragoons and the 45th Cavalry Division had been transported as well. He was curious and wanted to know more about the world beyond. He quickly rose through the ranks of the Corporation, visiting hundreds of worlds, fighting for whatever schmuck hired him. He was given the task to lead his Dorn as Lieutenant-Commander, leading them in battle.
Abilities: The Dorn enchantments for soldiers rely on tattoos that are marked across their body. The more body art they have, the more experienced and protected you are. You gain these tattoos as you climb through the ranks as a soldier, whether lowly infantryman to the highest Dragoon. They are hidden until the enchantment is used. The bigger and more intense the tattoo is, the more powerful the enchantment. The following are the marks Jannilius possesses:
The Mark of the Demon enables the user to go into a bloodthirsty frenzy, seemingly unaffected by any pain or suffering when they activate the Mark. It's power is drawn from the energies of the Daemons, rage overcoming the user's senses. It also temporarily blinds those who are of Lyte (not that that matters of course) for a few seconds, the anger that festers within is too much for those who follow the path of righteousness. The Mark of the Demon was enchanted on Jannilius' back after fighting in the Guild Wars, a brief but bloody revolution of Light forces who wanted to overtake the Dorn. After the Mark is done with its intended use, it drains the energy from the user and fatigues them. The Dragoon has never used it before.
The Mark of Flight enables the user the power of flight, sprouting feathered wings on the user's back. The process of growing the wings is quite quick and can be folded to hide it easily behind the user's back. Before use however, the user will need to clean themselves physically and have peace in mind. The wings will fold back into the mark after the user deems it unnecessary. Jannilius uses the Mark of Flight almost constantly and gained it when he accepted to be one of the envoys to the other land.
The Mark of Mutation enables the user to grow another limb, organ or otherwise but with the cost of fatigue and possible death. This mark cannot regrow limbs and organs nor fix them, they merely give you another. The effect is permanent and entirely irreversible. The Mark of Mutation makes the user's body evolve and adapt quickly, so the newly added limb or organ is not rejected by the body. But sometimes this safety mechanism does not function and the user dies within seconds, turning into some sort of mutated ghoul. The process is long and laborious, very painful to the user. Jannilius has used this Mark to grow another heart and was given to him after saving the High Lord Tarvitus. It appears on his chest.
Weapons(s):
Light Standard Issue Dragoon Sword This sword is 41 inches long with a 35 by 1 inch blade and weighs approximately 1.2 kilograms. It is the standard light sword used by the Dragoons, the elite fighting for ce of the Dorn and personal bodyguards of the Lords. It has a brass guard, leather wrapped grip and a steel scabbard. It is like the cavalry sword of the other races but instead of the clumsy, unintelligent horses, the Dorn have themselves. Jannilius wields it like a artist does a pen, with precision. During charges, the sweeping strikes and stabs are all calculated beforehand, getting the perfect angle and the perfect hit.
The sword was made by the finest forgers in the whole of the Dorn Republic, not a simple blade by any means. It is layered steel made from different compositions, the forger then layers this steel, making the sword incredibly light but very strong. Jannilius' sword has been made in the High Forges of Dernium, made of the highest quality steel. It took a year to forge the weapon, folding it over and over again to make it stronger and sharper. It is his favourite weapon in his arsenal, hanging on his hip ready to be drawn.
Two Standard Issue Kampilan Short Swords The Kampilan is approximately 27 inches long with a backward facing blade that is 25 by 1 inch and weighs approximately 0.8 kilograms. It is a far simpler blade, common within normal infantry ranks as well. But it serves it's purpose for being a close combat weapon. When the Dorn charge into battle, they try to sweep the enemy in a effortless rush. If the plan does not work however, they will need to fight with shorter blades, such as this one. This single bladed sword is very sharp but not very durable, most soldiers carry two-three into battle if they break. Some even dual-wield them but these are a select few. There is nothing strange about them, with a wooden hilt and a wooden scabbard, it is actually quite cheap to make.
Salvation more commonly known as the "KMG" and is the Dragoon's long range weapon. This is another new piece of technology from the long line of Karasniko LMG's. The mechanism is similar to the Death Ray except that it spits bullet like laser rounds with. Instead of a continuous stream of las, it fires spits of it. This means more control of where the las goes and if it's destructive power is used effectively. The KMG is much heavier than the rest of his Branch's arsenal. It can only be used by the Heavy Troops. The Dragoon has customised his with a chainsaw attachment and a holo sight scope. The words Salvation is written on the side of the gun, along with scratch marks marking all of his kills.
Organisation: Guarding Branch-Commander in Lyra Protection Corporation
Universe of Origin: Eternal War: Daemon vs Lyte
Other: Theme
And these are some WIP's (need to edit some):
"Those who oppress the innocent, beat the poor and rule by terror, fear me! For we shall strike as one and feed your carcass to the dogs!"
Name: His Serene Presidency The Most Honourable Supreme Commander Admiral of the Fleet Lord General of the Lyra Corporation Executor Grand Inquisitor Sir Ajaxion Orion Alphonsé Von Leroufe-DeCroy the Seventeenth Son of the Seventh Son Grand Marshal Jonathan George McFarley Leroufe-Decroy
Age: 34
Species: Second to come to sentience on the home world, Krieg evolved from the usual primate mammal. The Krieg are a sad race. They were evolved on the sorry piece of land under the main continent. This land was filled with highly dangerous diseases, poisonous gas and killer inhabitants. The Krieg now wear their suits permanently, out of remembrance of the strife and war of their home land.
They are a cold, vicious race with short lives. They usually live for only 20 years before dying of the overwhelming amount of poisons in their bodies, only the most foolhardy and wilful can go past 20. Attempts to fix this has failed tremendously as the poisons are now part of their genome. This makes them the most able to adapt and overcome out of all the races on the home world. They are humanoid in shape and the only real difference they have appearance wise to the human race is that their race has purple skin and their eyes are pure white.
Their language is literally hell. A conglomerate of words that really do not fit together, words that mean the same but are said in specific sentences, words that are supposed to be whole paragraphs worth of text, it is a translators nightmare.
Gender: Male
Appearance: Ajax is one of military descent, that being presented in the way that he dresses and looks. He is 6'7 and has a swimmers build, buff but more streamlined instead of being a muscle monster. He has sky blue hair, combed back of course, and has eyes as white as the clouds in the sky. He has a small goatee and his head is a little slim. His face is wrinkled and callous, because of his age and because of the horrors that he has seen. Ajax is one of the few Krieg that leave skin to be exposed to the outside. His face is left to the outside and is tattooed with the spread winged falcon, the insignia of the Democracies. Coupled with the usual Krieg suit, he is suited up with a heavy, bulletproof trench coat. It bears his insignias, medals and the words "PRESIDENT" in gothic writing on his back. He has a Storage Displacement Chamber, an experimental piece of technology, inserted into his right wrist. It is not visible to the naked eye but whenever he needs to equip himself with his weapons, his whole arm glows a bright blue.
Personality: The Baron is a wilful man, strong hearted and believes in the policies of the Democracies. He believes in freedom and life above all else. He is a down to earth man, believing in what he believes and sticking to it. When he is threatened or insulted however, Ajax is not one to hold back punches. Or bullets. He hates the corrupt and those who beat on the poor. He believes that all sentients are equal and doesn't like slavery. He is the ultimate example of Democracy. He is no doubt brave and respected by his fellow countrymen. To leave skin exposed is a sign of power in Krieg, and of course, Democracies society.
Willhelm is a sarcastic, crazy, fool headed man with a love of money and having women draped over him. He swears, he kills, he steals and he will do anything to win and be on top of his opponents. He is also a very happy man, cackling madly most of the time and seemingly eternal grin on his face. He is by definition, absolutely mental. And is Hidan's most infamous personality. Willhelm is a killer, a man of slaughter and lover of all base human desires.
Bio: Alphonsé was born on the industrial world of Jarraxus V in the Vir Traverse. He was born into the prestigious Leroufe-Decroy family. As the seventeenth son, the future President was subjected to constant belittlement from his older brothers and sisters. His father had no sympathy towards him as he was birthed by one of his secret, and very illegal, slaves. The Grand Marshal was a crude man, revelling in corruption and had several connections in the Black Market. Jarraxus V was a breeding ground for the poor, the worthless, the greedy and those who do not live in Democracies' light.
From his birth, he was told that was a lesser being by all. The servants ignored him, his siblings belittled him, his father hated him and the only one that even recognised his existence as an equal was his poor mother. His mother was a kind woman, born on an Agri-world on the other side of the Vir Traverse. She told tales of the Democracies, a free and trusting power. A nation so vast, it reached the rim of the galaxy and more. His mother entertained him with tales of wonders so amazing that compared to wizardry.
Whenever he asked how she got here though, she always broke down in tears. Alphonsé knew not to ask again. Years went past and at the age of five, considered a teenager in Kriegan years, he was given terrible news. His mother was struck down by his father the other night, killed with a swipe of his blade. The servant informed him "That bitch went too far, spilling that drink on Master." Apparently, his mother had dropped a drink onto the masters lap accidentally. She begged for mercy. His blade was covered in her blood.
Wild with rage, he struck the servant right in his arrogant, pompous jaw. He pummelled the servant's face over and over again, blood splattering against the floor. The skin on his knuckles tore, the skull of the servant caved in. The man was a heaving mess, his face ravaged by his fists. Alphonsé escaped that night but a new man has arisen in him. The infamous Willhelm the Murderer.
No one ever connected their current President to the Murderer. What kind of people wanted a killer for a president? They had the same appearance sure but they had completely different personalities. Those who doubted were quickly submerged by the yells of denial, how can their hero be a mass murderer? One who killed his victims with brutal beat downs?
Willhelm struck whenever he could, killing those important to the Grand Marshall. He raped and killed his First Wife during her daily visit to the gardens. He burned the daycare where John's children once resided, hanging the guts of their old caretaker. He repeatedly stabbed his Second Son in the heart, striking when he was out on one of those "visits" he went on so much. He murdered dozens of distant relatives, friends, staff, guard and family. He made sure to break the Marshall, torture him for what he did.
When John had lost almost anything, the killings stopped. He was left with a pocket full of money but a heart that was empty. The ones he loved and cared for were gone. He was an empty shell. He moped around the house with a gaunt expression on his face, looking for the happy cries of his children. The scolding looks of their caretakers. The laughs of the hearty servants. The warmth of his lovers. They were all gone.
When the Democracies came to take over Jarraxus V, they were surprised to see the honourable John Smith, Grand Dictator of the planet, hand them his treasuries and land. Giving the whole planet to them, all with a hollow look. On that very day, he had lost everything. On the next day, he took his life.
The Democracies soon took over the rest of Jarraxus V, using it as a beachhead for other attacks in the Vir Traverse. With it's people put under the fold of the Democracies, it's infamous "recruitment" squads were sent to work in the underground. They captured many of those able enough to fight, deadly armoured Tayt troopers escorting the prisoners, homeless, gangers and scum into special black cars to send them up to the nearest Dreadnought. Alphonsé was one of them, found sleeping on the streets, dirtied and bloodied beyond recognition.
They were abused, beaten and hurried into the trucks, some of the kidnappers spitting on them. Telling them that they were "less than trash" and were "supposed to serve until they died." No one shouted back. Screamed for help. Everyone knew of the infamous "recruitment" squads. There was no way out once you were caught.
Alphonsé was transported up into the Dreadnought Hope of the People, cleansed and checked for any illnesses or "imperfections". Those who were found with any were returned back to the underground. The others were taught how to shoot, clean their gun, survive in the battlefield and kill. No tactics. No specialisations. In the Penal Corps, you were given a nickname, Camo fatigues, the beret showing how long you've been in the Corps and your weapons.
Unless chosen for a heavy weapons or support role, you were either given a BPW or a 45. Calibre Rifle. As a secondary, they were given a simple mono-edged machete for battle. Two weeks. They had two weeks of training and then immediately set to drop on an enemy planet. The Penal Corps had a horrid 98% mortality rate. They were going to be accompanied by Rangers who would be ready to kill them with any sign of mutiny.
Officially named the 22nd Penal Corps by those who looked down on them
Abilities:
Equipment Slavery's Redemption more commonly known as the "45. Cal Rifle" is the standard Rifle of the Penal Corps and is the Barons most loved and personal weapon. With a standard magazine holding 20 rounds, each of which is lethal enough to kill a man with one shot. It only has one mode and that is semi-automatic. It is a compact, lightweight rifle that when given to the Heavy Troopers, can actually be duel wielded. It's compact design is for urban combat, where the fighting is thickest. The Baron customised his with a holographic scope with thermal imaging, a silencer, a bayonet and an underslung grenade launcher. The words Slavery's Redemption is etched into the rifle, along with scratch marks from the Vir Traverse Campaign and many others like it.
Fay'Ran Jik pattern Standard Disassembling Beam Pistol more commonly known as "Death Ray" is a new line of weapon of the Fay'Ran Jik pattern. Since the development of AI and the founding of "Smart Metal" in the Lin'Ar system, a new generation of weapons have been created. This pistol has a core in the back of the weapon that "disassembles" the weapon while firing, cooling the weapon at the same time. It is a very complicated mechanism and only scientists and engineers can understand it. It fires a continuous beam of laser, kind of accurate and is devastating in the battlefield. It also melts most metals, therefore effective against Tanks and such. The Baron has gotten a new one since he wrecked his old Death Ray. He has not named this one yet.
His Presidency's Mighty Blade more commonly known as the "Gladius" is the standard melee weapon of the Democracies Military and is as loved by Ajax as the Redemption. Rugged, reliable and the longevity of a Millenia, it has served the Democracies since the day of it's founding, almost 750 years ago. Made from the golden metal called Sigma which is commonly found in vast asteroid fields and ore planets. You sharpen a refined piece of this metal and it will become the sharpest, lightest and reliable blade in Democracies history. Mighty was given to him by his dying father, on the battlefield of Mo'Zaa. It shines with a golden shine and looks as new as a sword not one day old.
His Presidency's Powerful Scupythe more commonly known as the "Ta'Ur Kut Scythe", is the trophy weapon of every high ranking officer in the Democracies Military forces. Given to them when they reach Templar Officer or Flag Bearer, this weapon is not only ornamental. Made from the same metallurgy of a fighter's armour, this weapon is kept and treated as a trophy by most officers but still use it in battle. It kills most in one swipe and is dangerous in the melee that most Templars enjoy. The Scythe is duel wielded with Mighty if the situation is indeed dire.
Organisation: Lyra Corporation
Universe of Origin: From Stardust to Stardust: Tales of Andromeda
"We offer our services all over the multiverse, whether peasant or king. For the right price, of course."
Name: Lyra Protection Corporation
Universe of Origin: Multiversal, Point of Origin Unknown
Objectives: To protect the corporation and fulfil it's interests. The mercenary business is a face for something much more. The Core Interests are a list of objectives, locations and missions of utmost importance and only the Branch Commanders and Lyra herself know the full list. The most important of them (besides protection of the company and it's Core Interests) are to either destroy the Reign of Chaos or support the more capitalist Resistance. Here is a list of known Core Interests:
*Seize control of all Forerunner Rings *Enact protocol "Great Crusade" *Preserve and protect all species under the Corporation's care *Support the Resistance *Protect the corporation and it's Core Interests
Members: Multiple species make up the Corporation. Prominent species include:
The Dorn are a race quadrupeds originating north of the main continent. They are mammalian race, blood an oozing red and warm. The blood however, has an incredibly potent poison that is deadly for other races if entered into their bloodstream. The Dorn are known for their natural curiousness and martial prowess. They come in all shapes, every one of these beings have a certain uniqueness to them be that their skin colour, eyes, size, tail, etc. They speak through a mouth hidden under their tentacles, usually unseen until thoroughly looked for. Their strong legs makes them able to run incredibly fast and flexible tail can pierce any who anger them. The Dorn have thick hides that act like armour. They are a very tall race, averaging at about 6 feet.
Second to come to sentience on their Homeworld, Krieg evolved from the usual primate mammal. The Krieg are a sad race race. They were evolved on the sorry piece of land under the main continent. This land was filled with highly dangerous diseases, poisonous gas and killer inhabitants. The Krieg now wear their suits permanently, out of remembrance of the strife and war of their home land.
They are a cold, vicious race with short lives. They live for only 20 years before dying of the overwhelming amount of poisons in their bodies. Attempts to fix this has failed tremendously as the poisons are now part of their genome. This makes them the most able to adapt and overcome out of all the races on the home world. They are humanoid in shape and the only real difference they have appearance wise to the human race is that their race has purple skin and their eyes are pure white.
Their language is literally hell. A conglomerate of words that really do not fit together, words that mean the same but are said in specific sentences, words that are supposed to be whole paragraphs worth of text, it is a translators nightmare.
Highly esteemed in Orrors society, the Tarviant Order is made of natives from Tarvia, hence their name. Bold, willing and trustful, they were the founders of this great Order. Standing six foot tall, slim and agile, they are warriors in every right. The Tarviant lifespan is quite average for such a race, 100 years to be exact. They are quick to adapt and recruit at a very young age. They are Spartan like in concept, killing the weak to hold the strong. To discipline whenever possible, the slightest flinch or groan and they will get 10 strikes with a baton.
Their body structure is quite.... strange. They have very high bone density, especially in the ribs but they are also extremely light. If one was to pick up a Tarviant without his armour on, they would be surprised as they weigh like a feather. Their genders are also very strange. The way it works is that females will almost never see the outside worlds, protected in huge monasteries. The female is hold almost sacred in Tarviant society, so their protection is outmost important.
Unfortunately for the Tarviant Order, the male birth rates are declining, meaning less troops for the Orrors. The High Leaders still refuse to send women into battle, they are to be protected and defended, not used as soldiers in the front line. The Tarviant Templars have also noticed strange behaviour in the Tarviant females they are protecting. They have grown..... almost scheming. It is heresy to think of these thoughts but the Templars give a close eye.
These 7 foot Giants are the second race to come into the Orrors. They are natives of Ching V, of the Tarlinius system. Ching V was a very harsh planet, the thin air and the huge sand dunes that covered it did not make it of the most hospitable ones. Te Chi developed a very strange face mask because of this, their heads almost seeming like helmets. Their skin is hard, almost rubbery, and their supposed "exposed" insides did not help their look.
They are a silent race, almost never communicates with speech and when they do.... it is like music to the ears. A lyrical flow of words that appeals and makes you almost fall in love with it. Only their kin, trusted ones and male or female's Kei Ling have heard this beautiful speech. Other than that, Te Chi communicate through a series of hand signals and body movement to show their intent. They also have a weird bonding mechanism, called Kei Ling. When they their Kei Ling, they will protect, love and defend this lucky sentient until the end of one of their lives.
Te Chi live very long lives, 500 years is not something to laugh about. Most of their race are bold and trustworthy, if you become ones friend, they will defend you and be your silent guardian. Te Chi are also very cruel and quick to anger, one of the few negatives they got from such a cruel world. They try to hold it in though. Te Chi have ever since meshed into the Orrors, silent and worthy.
The third and final race to come into the Orrors, the Nar have proven themselves worthy of the Templar. They hail from Tak'Yo III, of the Jap system. Tak'Yo III is not barren but nor is it a paradise, it is an ore world. Filled with metal and riches beyond desire, this world is a miners dream. Gold, jewels, metal and other mysteries are hidden behind this rock. The local wildlife have adapted to this otherwise harsh environment. The Nar have developed a metal Exoskeleton that covers their whole body, tough and flexible. Due to their metal exoskeleton, they are very heavy and hard to carry.
The Nar had a very tribal society before joining the Orrors, warring over edible food and such. They are also very guilty for what they have done in the past. The Purge is an event that changed Nar society forever. A race before the Orrors came to Tak'Yo III and performed xenocide to the Nar. They killed in the millions, searching every home and every land to collect Nar body mass. They died to the heavy metal atmosphere, after killing 189 million Nar and mentally scarring the rest. This has made the Nar humble and very wary of others.
Other than that, the Nar have developed a kinship with the other two races in the Orrors, after they got over their xenophobic ways. They have since joined the Orrors and fought, bled and died in the name of the Templar. For the Great Crusade.
Figures of importance include:
"The species that inhabit these parts are.... intriguing. How do they balance on two legs?"
Name: Jannilius Zephry the Third
Alias/Titles: Dragoon of the Dorn Republic, Thirdson of Lord Jannilius the Second, Main Protection Branch Lieutenant
Age: 78
Gender: Male
Personality: Jannilius is a more silent character, seemingly contemplating past conquests and failures. He almost never talks outside the battlefield, his face looking resigned. If he does need to talk, he communicates in hand signals and grunts. It is unfit for a Dragoon to be so modest but many say that it is due to PTSD more than anything. In the past, his youthfulness bought made him boisterous and confident. Now, drained from fighting for years in the name of the Lords, the Dorn has become wise and withdrawn. In the battlefield however, it is a different story. He is renewed, charging into the mass of enemies with no fear. He shouts, howls, screams at them, using his unusual appearance to make them fear him. In battle, he is a Dragoon again, using fear as his weapon.
Biography:
Jannilius was born into the noble family of Zephry, Thirdson of Lord Jannilius the Second. Keeping with tradition, as the Thirdson of a noble family, he was immediately sent to the High Dragoonate for training to become a Dragoon. The parting between parent and child was brief, as they were prepared beforehand and expected the departure. When the two Dragoons took their baby away, there were no tears shed nor goodbyes. Lord Jannilius merely turned and walked back into the infirmary. The little baby grew in the hands of nuns and started to go to the school.
There he was educated like he would've been when he was still a noble, mathematics, science and language being the main subjects. He was taught how to fight and handle a sword, command men and learn strategies of war. That is where Jannilius excelled at, destroying straw dummies with brute strength and remembering strategies step by step. He was alone most days, only seeing his private tutors and guards. He was stuck in his room when he wasn't in class or the training yard and spent his days drawing or reading. It was a lonely life but it was the only life he knew.
One night, on his fifteenth birthday, Jannilius was woken by the sudden crashing of a door being broken into. He was quickly muffled, blinded and carried out of his rooms with army-like efficiency. The boy was scared, frightened of what was to come. He was thrown into a wagon and there he waited. It felt like days of just travelling, no food was given to him and water was scarcely given only because his kidnappers wanted him alive.
The wagon stopped one night and he was dropped off on the edge of a forest, blindfolded, muffled and bound. His kidnappers took them all off and left him there. Jannilius, now knowing what true loneliness felt, slept at the edge of the road. Fatigued by the endless travelling and lack of sleep, the boy closed his eyes and fell unconscious. He awoke to a new day and a new world, awoken in the middle of the forest. The first few days of survive was harsh and brutal. With only the basics of survival training covered, the 15 year old struggled with each step. The first night was the hardest as the calfling had to build his shelter and make fire. He had to fend off the creatures of the night, dark bipedal creatures with limited intelligence and sharp claws.
After a week in the forest, Jannilius quickly adapted to his situation and carved a section of the forest as a safe zone. His territory was marked with burning faeces and urine, observing how the creatures, "Nightlings" as he called them, marked territory. His shelter was a wooden hut with stone foundation, large leaves bound together with flax for the peaked roof. He learned very quickly that it rained here frequently and collected water using flax jars and filtered them using bits of cloth. Food was no longer a problem as he grew crops in a clearing found in his territory. Nightling attacks became rarer when several of them were killed using traps and the quadruped's carved spear and club. He had become the Bear Grylls and Tom Hanks hybrid survivalist.
It was unknown for how long Jannilius stayed in the forest, months or even years spent surviving on his own. He made several attempts on his life due to the sheer loneliness and fatigue but stopped just before stabbing his heart, slicing his wrists, jumping from the top of the highest tree. The forest seemed infinite and no matter how long the Dorn explored, he couldn't see the edge. The sheer loneliness was enough to kill but he stayed alive, but only just.
One night, Jannilius was woken by the sound of scurrying feet and he immediately leapt on his hooves, grabbing his wooden spear and club. The sight he saw made his heart sink. The forest was burning, Nightlings scurrying around with torches and burning everything in sight. Anger grew in him and his patience finally cracked. He roared, kicking up and going on his hind legs. He came down with a crash before charging at an unsuspecting Nightling, burning a field of crops next to his shelter. He trampled the creature under him, head bursting with a satisfying squelching sound. He continued his charge, mowing down Nightlings as they set fire to years of hard work. He clubbed, stabbed and trampled them to death until there were none left. He stood there, broken club in hand, breathing heavily over the corpse of the last enemy. He heard the sound of a trumpet and turned to see a sight for sore eyes. A battalion of Dragoons, led by the High Dragoonate himself, came out from the forest. With his dark baritone voice, the tall Dorn rumbled with a smile on his face “Good. You have passed.” He felt a slight prick on his neck and fell into unconsciousness, darkness enveloping him.
Jannilius awoke in the his room at the tower, clean and clothed, door sing and new. It was almost as if he wasn't captured at all. This revelation lasted only a few seconds before he denied it, looking down at the scars and bruises on his hands. They were cleaned and covered neatly but no one can hide what he gained in the days of the forest. Worry soon overcame him, searching for any clues as to why he was here. The young Dragoon then had flashBacks to the night before and anger soon replaced worry. “How dare they!?” He shouted, hooves cracking the stone slabs beneath him as he stomped in anger. The door soon opened, revealing a timid looking servant holding a scroll. Seeing his aggressive stance, she yelped, quickly dropping the scroll on the ground and ran from his sight, politely closing the door behind her.
Pausing in his bout of anger, Jannilius stared amused at the closed door and went to pick the scroll up. The message read as follows:
“Dear Jannilius Zephry the Third
You have been chosen by the I and the Lords themselves to become a loyal Dragoon. To be a Dragoon is one of the highest honours and it is to be the best of the best in the battlefield. Your initiation was unique, your batch was chosen for a harder test due to their natural talents. You have succeeded and have become a part of the Brotherhood. However, the other initiates were not so fortunate. Only you and four others have survived and have the title of Dragoon.
You are now Brother. Kind Regards, High Dragoonate Tarquinius Zayrabar”
The quadruped stared at the paper in silence, before crushing it in his large hands. ‘A Dragoon?!’ He thought furiously, throwing the parchment in the bin. ‘All that death and misery all to become a bloody Dragoon!’ He knew of course that being a Dragoon was a high point of honour and respect in Dorn society but the pissy, tired and angered Jannilius didn't care about that right now. He broke the door down and stepped into the hallway, looking for answers. The High Dragoonate, standing at the great height of 9 feet tall stared bemusedly at him, arms crossed over his burly chest. “You know, when I learned that all those years stuck in the deserts of Az’Kar was all because I was a Thirdson of some noble, I was angered. Hell, I smashed through a whole bloody table before they calmed me down.”
The 7 foot tall Jannilius looked almost silly standing next to the giant, he heaved heavily in anger but seemed to calm down. The Dragoonate sighed, hand placed on the shorter Dorn’s shoulder. “We had to put down an Initiate, you know? There were six of you, the first one that woke up was the one we had to kill. He was angrier than you, we found him lying in the corpses of those creatures. The messenger tried to explain but he couldn't take it. He pulled out a hidden knife from his arm, pulling it out. He stabbed the servant right in the gut and was about to stab the Dragoon next to him if I didn't intervene.” The Thirdson looked at the man with hateful eyes, the latter looking back with understanding. “Look, you need to calm down and prepare for the ceremony this afternoon. You can't miss your big day.” The man turned and walked away.
This marked the beginning of Jannilius’ life as a Dragoon. After the ceremony, this was the last encounter he had with the giant before he died a few days afterwards, dying from an intense heart attack. He was quickly replaced, the efficiency of the Republic governing body never to be held in doubt. Anyways, the Thirdson was quickly deployed to defend the dominion of House Zayrabar from the several Dark cults sprouting from seemingly nowhere within their territory. Throughout his years of being a Dragoon, he learned life lessons only taught on the battlefield and gained experience second to none. From the infamous Guild Wars to the bloody kidnapping of Princess Elisa, Jannilius soon became famous within the Dragoons.
It was then, one day, just after the Battle of Jarbarra against the rebels, he was given the message to leave his attachment and report immediately to the High Dragoonate. Swiftly, he silently galloped through the days, travelling straight to the Capital. Arriving at the front of the High Dragoonate’s quarters, he entered politely. The burly Dorn was nowhere near the size of the previous Dragoonate but still towered over him. He coughed, looking at Jannilius with curious eyes.
“I need you, Jannilius Zephry the Third, to escort the envoy we will be sending to the land Far Beyond. You will protect them in those strange lands and as a Dragoon, you shall be leading the warriors into battle. You will leave at dusk. I trust that you will not fail, honoured warrior. You will gain the Mark of Flight for your efforts.” When the Thirdson looked back at the golden city at dusk, shining in all it’s glory, it will be the last time he would see his homeland. He failed his orders.
The entire convoy was wiped out by Daemon rebels, seeking to overthrow the entire Dorn Republic. Jannilius was captured and was sent to the rebel base for public execution. As a hero, it would be a crushing morale blow to the Republic when they saw a Dragoon hung by the neck. As he was being transported to the camp, the Dragoon was covered in an ethereal blue glow before vanishing. Once he woke up, he was in a white room, facing his future leader. "Where am I?! Who are you?!" He reached for his sword only to find it wasn't there. He tried to activate his marks but found he had no power. "Calm, Jannilius. You are here for a reason."
This was when he learned of the world beyond his, the universe he was contained in and the multiverse that surrounded it. He learned of the Corporation's motives and that they were essentially a mercenary company. When the being suggested him joining, Jannilius was confused but accepted nonetheless. What choice did he had? At first, it seemed that all of the remaining Dragoons and the 45th Cavalry Division had been transported as well. He was curious and wanted to know more about the world beyond. He quickly rose through the ranks of the Corporation, visiting hundreds of worlds, fighting for whatever schmuck hired him. He was given the task to lead his Dorn as Lieutenant-Commander, leading them in battle.
Abilities: The Dorn enchantments for soldiers rely on tattoos that are marked across their body. The more body art they have, the more experienced and protected you are. You gain these tattoos as you climb through the ranks as a soldier, whether lowly infantryman to the highest Dragoon. They are hidden until the enchantment is used. The bigger and more intense the tattoo is, the more powerful the enchantment. The following are the marks Jannilius possesses:
The Mark of the Demon enables the user to go into a bloodthirsty frenzy, seemingly unaffected by any pain or suffering when they activate the Mark. It's power is drawn from the energies of the Daemons, rage overcoming the user's senses. It also temporarily blinds those who are of Lyte (not that that matters of course) for a few seconds, the anger that festers within is too much for those who follow the path of righteousness. The Mark of the Demon was enchanted on Jannilius' back after fighting in the Guild Wars, a brief but bloody revolution of Light forces who wanted to overtake the Dorn. After the Mark is done with its intended use, it drains the energy from the user and fatigues them. The Dragoon has never used it before.
The Mark of Flight enables the user the power of flight, sprouting feathered wings on the user's back. The process of growing the wings is quite quick and can be folded to hide it easily behind the user's back. Before use however, the user will need to clean themselves physically and have peace in mind. The wings will fold back into the mark after the user deems it unnecessary. Jannilius uses the Mark of Flight almost constantly and gained it when he accepted to be one of the envoys to the other land.
The Mark of Mutation enables the user to grow another limb, organ or otherwise but with the cost of fatigue and possible death. This mark cannot regrow limbs and organs nor fix them, they merely give you another. The effect is permanent and entirely irreversible. The Mark of Mutation makes the user's body evolve and adapt quickly, so the newly added limb or organ is not rejected by the body. But sometimes this safety mechanism does not function and the user dies within seconds, turning into some sort of mutated ghoul. The process is long and laborious, very painful to the user. Jannilius has used this Mark to grow another heart and was given to him after saving the High Lord Tarvitus. It appears on his chest.
Weapons(s):
Light Standard Issue Dragoon Sword This sword is 41 inches long with a 35 by 1 inch blade and weighs approximately 1.2 kilograms. It is the standard light sword used by the Dragoons, the elite fighting for ce of the Dorn and personal bodyguards of the Lords. It has a brass guard, leather wrapped grip and a steel scabbard. It is like the cavalry sword of the other races but instead of the clumsy, unintelligent horses, the Dorn have themselves. Jannilius wields it like a artist does a pen, with precision. During charges, the sweeping strikes and stabs are all calculated beforehand, getting the perfect angle and the perfect hit.
The sword was made by the finest forgers in the whole of the Dorn Republic, not a simple blade by any means. It is layered steel made from different compositions, the forger then layers this steel, making the sword incredibly light but very strong. Jannilius' sword has been made in the High Forges of Dernium, made of the highest quality steel. It took a year to forge the weapon, folding it over and over again to make it stronger and sharper. It is his favourite weapon in his arsenal, hanging on his hip ready to be drawn.
Two Standard Issue Kampilan Short Swords The Kampilan is approximately 27 inches long with a backward facing blade that is 25 by 1 inch and weighs approximately 0.8 kilograms. It is a far simpler blade, common within normal infantry ranks as well. But it serves it's purpose for being a close combat weapon. When the Dorn charge into battle, they try to sweep the enemy in a effortless rush. If the plan does not work however, they will need to fight with shorter blades, such as this one. This single bladed sword is very sharp but not very durable, most soldiers carry two-three into battle if they break. Some even dual-wield them but these are a select few. There is nothing strange about them, with a wooden hilt and a wooden scabbard, it is actually quite cheap to make.
Salvation more commonly known as the "KMG" and is the Dragoon's long range weapon. This is another new piece of technology from the long line of Karasniko LMG's. The mechanism is similar to the Death Ray except that it spits bullet like laser rounds with. Instead of a continuous stream of las, it fires spits of it. This means more control of where the las goes and if it's destructive power is used effectively. The KMG is much heavier than the rest of his Branch's arsenal. It can only be used by the Heavy Troops. The Dragoon has customised his with a chainsaw attachment and a holo sight scope. The words Salvation is written on the side of the gun, along with scratch marks marking all of his kills.
Organisation: Guarding Branch-Commander in Lyra Protection Corporation
Universe of Origin: Eternal War: Daemon vs Lyte
Other: Theme
Capabilities: (What resources do they have? Do they use magic, or technology? How and to what limits can and do they use these resources?) History: (How they have been active since their creation? How may they relate to the world(or multiverse) around them?)
Hmmm, @ChaoticFox did you set the post your post before or after the time skip? I presume before, right? D'you want to do a flashback, if you set it before?
Also, I'm waiting at the airport right now. Rumours that my thirteen hour flight don't have no television. Oh I am so screwed.
Does anyone want me to post? I've got an hour or so before the flight and I can squeeze a Jay post in.
Member
Altered Tundra
