Strange Rodent

The Army of Rodents (DISCLAIMER: Most of them aren't actually Rodents.)

SADLY OUT OF ACTION. TOO MANY DEAD RPs

Glenn Strivelyn

Glenn Strivelyn

(So I know the picture is an android... Just pretend he isn't?)

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Name: Glenn Strivelyn
Gender: Male
Age: 23
Appearance: As image. Usually has paint/clay stains all over him.
Beat Heard As:Sludge Metal/Alt-Rock/Whatever this is
Beathearer Type: Beatsmith.

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Personality:
Usually rather laid-back, but has anger issues. Most of the stuff he does he does on an impulse, but will commit to doing those things. Has a nigh unmatched passion for the things he cares about, and is strangely open to new ideas.

History:

Hider

Born and raised by a fairly well off, but manipulative family. He never wanted for much, except his own freedom. Due to this, he cultivated a rage inside of him as a teenager, which he channeled into his studies. As he left school he had no direction, so he enrolled in the only university that would take him, and picked a course at random. That course was in sculpture, and while he was skeptical at first it provided him with everything he wanted: A creative outlet, consistent medium, and a way to calm down.

After he got his masters in Visual Arts, specifically sculpture, he was lost again. In between sculpting projects, he got a job as a drug mule, which paid well but caused him quite a lot of stress. This was until he started hearing it. The Beat. It manifested as highly aggressive and distorted music, constantly rolling over in his head. He had heard of others gaining special powers from it, but he didn't seem to get anything. Well, until recently, that is. It started while he was sculpting. Little visible noises dancing around. Each emitted their own sounds, usually broadcasting the Beat he was hearing to his small room. They took very inconsistent forms at first, as they followed Glenn's beat. It took him a while, but he eventually cultivated the ability to zero in on a certain Beat. This developed a somewhat more physical and consistent construct, which he could somewhat control. He has far from perfected this, though. He often breaks concentration, or loses control of his construct, causing it to violently seize into a space of distortion.

Employment:
Um... he's working on that. Currently just inconsistent drug-dealing. He makes very odd sculptures which don't have much of a mainstream appeal, but some are willing to pay money for them.

Accommodations:
Shitty little studio apartment near a pub and a garden. The apartment has three rooms: A kitchen, a bedroom, and a toilet/shower room. It doesn't have a bath, so bathroom just doesn't feel right to him. Rent of $263 a week.

Transport:
Public or legs. Eventually he may be able to create controllable platforms of Sound to ride on, but he's far from there yet.

Anything Else:

Sound Constructs

The What: Sound Constructs are objects made of solid sound. Ever experience a wall of sound? Like that, but wayyy more intense. Intense enough to essentially be solid. They usually have a specific sound playing around them. This is their signature. They have the appearance of coloured static.

The How: He attempts to zero in on a certain tempo, melody, bassline, etc of the Beat. Different focuses, he calls them signatures, have different effects.

The Limitations: It always must be a solid. No gasses, liquids, or plasmas, (except, of course, BFlat vodka). It cannot be too complicated, or have too many parts. Generally speaking, up to 3 moving parts if he's feeling particularly focused. The constructs cannot currently go further than 6-8 meters away from him, and can have a volume of up to 10-12 liters (at the moment...).

At the moment, he's very limited by his inexperience. He only knows a few signatures, and making up new ones on the fly is very much guesswork.

Known Signatures

• Orb: Simply that. An orb, nothing more. He can control it.
• Razor: A shaving razor. He learned this one to save on buying razors.
• Mouldable Shape: A somewhat clay-like signature. He can control the shape of it through direct contact, but it cannot go further away than 1 meter, and it cannot move unless he moves it.

Interests:
Creation, Destruction, Punk Music, Chemistry, Wine (although he can't afford it), and The Arts

Outlook/philosophy:
A huge cynic. He has very few fucks to give. Especially if someone is overly optimistic or faithful. This doesn't stop him enjoying what he enjoys or hanging around the people he hands around, though. He believes that life is for the living. His pessimistic attitude is a result of many disappointments, and is mainly there so that he's either right or pleasantly surprised.

He's a strong misanthropist, and believes that the solution to all problems is to eradicate humans. His reasoning for this is that humans are the ones that define what a problem is. There are no problems if there is nothing to define what a problem is. He also believes this because he has seen civilisation as a massive failure. There were many chances to rise above, or truly become better, but we fucked it all up. As we get richer we get more stuff, more respect, and more advanced. We also just get more hopeless, more lonely, more hedonistic.

The Army of Rodents (DISCLAIMER: Most of them aren't actually Rodents.)

SADLY, OUT OF ACTION. THIS RP WAS FUN WHILE IT LASTED.

Ceiran Strivelyn

• Appearance:

Yeah, I know it's Levi. It's the only decent image I could find, though.

• Name: Ceiran Strivelyn (KEER-awn STRIV-lin)

• Age: 17

• Sex: Male

• Species: Human host with a Twitch demon parasite

• Abilities:

• Twitch: Ceiran and the Demon inside him make a temporary trade: The Demon is able to mess with some of Ceiran's memories, thought patterns, and knowledge, and Ceiran is able to access some of the Demon's resources, such as Raw Magic, better control over Raw Magic, High Intelligence, Selfishness, and Persuasion. This trade inflicts a lot of pain on Ceiran, which causes him to twitch uncontrollably. Hence the name. The longer they have access to each-other, the more extreme it becomes (Ceiran gains more demon-like abilities, and the Demon can fuck around with Ceiran's body more). The powers linger for a few minutes after, though at about half the potency.
• Magic Manipulation: Ceiran is absolutely incapable of casting spells as we see them now. In lieu of this power, he began learning how to use his Raw Mana reserves as a medium for creating, rather than a resource for trading. I'd describe it as the difference between using wood to build a house; and selling the wood for money and then paying someone to build a house for you. It allows you to be more creative at the cost of potency and/or quality. This ability allows him to manipulate his Raw Mana into constructs, which he has full control over, including while airborne. Constructs act like objects, and can take any shape, gaining the appropriate functions. The larger, denser, or more complicated it is, the more energy it requires to sustain. The size and power is limited to the amount of Raw Magic available to him. This is usually only what is within him, but special circumstances may allow for him to draw on extra Raw Magic, (Ex. People giving it to him, using a capacitor, or using the Twitch). He can recharge this Raw Magic by using one of three methods: Meditating, eating, and/or sleeping. Meditation provides a fairly large amount within 20 minutes, eating provides an amount proportionate to how much was eaten over time, and sleeping will fully recharge, unless he's healing from a wound or other similar situations.

• Skills:

• Poetry: More of an interest than a skill, but he's become somewhat decent at it.
• High pain tolerance: Due to the Twitch causing pain when it's called on, he has become somewhat desensitised to lesser pain.
• Coffee! Advanced Coffee, though. In-depth knowledge of roasting, blending, brewing, grinding, and other shit like that.
• Lying: His parents were quite strict, which didn't mix well with Ceiran's impulsive nature. He learned to lie well.
• Sluicing: Ceiran is able to understand a good chunk of depth by skimming. Of course, he understands things better if he reads them
  properly.
• Improvisation: Due to previous experience in acting and public speaking (he thought he liked them at first. Turns out he didn't really), he has a strong out-of-the-box thinking style.

• Inventory:

• Wand: A Steel & wood energy directing focus, made for manipulation. Allows him to channel his will to his Raw Magic more easily, lessening the concentration needed.
• Enchanted Coat: An ankle length coat that Ceiran has imbued with his own energy as a kind of capacitor. This can be charged through ritual, and once charged, Ceiran can access the Raw Magic it was charged with.
• Grimoire: An ancient book detailing the how of Magic Manipulation. Ceiran has learned most of what he knows from this.

• Sample Post:

Hider

He was sitting at his cluttered desk, face rigid with concentration. A small grey-blue ball was orbiting him. The world seemed to be as quiet as a rock. Or, at least, this section of it. The ball paused in front of his face, and he reached out to grab it. His hand contacted the silky smooth, but strangely hot ball. He held it for a while, before throwing it at a wall. It sailed through the air like a glass ball might, and crumpled like paper when it hit the wall.

He looked out the window, and was rather frightened to see it was dark so suddenly. He decided that sleeping was probably a good idea. He had noticed his control start to slip as he used more energy. He stood up and left, coat trailing behind him.

His bedroom was adorned with the basics: A bed, a wardrobe, and a dirty clothes pile. Naturally, all his clothes were thrown in the dirty washing pile; apart from his coat, which was lovingly hung in the wardrobe. He crawled into bed after turning the oil lamp off, and slid into a sleep. He dreamed of the Sad Prince, who lived in The Sigh, and had his betrothed commit suicide. Apparently The Sigh was a breach upon the Earth, but he knew nothing else about it.

He woke with a poem ringing in his head. He forgot this as soon as he knew it was there. He glanced about the dark room. Something felt wrong. He wasn't still sleeping, but he wasn't entirely awake, either. The wrongness grew like a tumor. Slowly, but with many malignant intentions. The wrongness was surely feeling for him... scouring the room. As it grew nearer, he became more terrified. It was out to kill him. He was going to die. No... It was out to destroy everything he cared about! He was to be left a wretched, paralysed mess.

An ivory mask on a terribly tendrily pitch body. It depicted a face that was somehow both a smile and a frown at the same time. It gazed into his brain, and these words were heard; "I would like to play a game for the rest of your life. I will become part of you, and we will wrestle for control of your body. I will access you, and you will access me."

I don't want to. This sounds delightful! I have no control. I'll always have company! This will cause immeasurable suffering for those around me... Bonus after bonus! Who'll be able to resist me? I won't. What fun! Okay.

• Other:
Twitch Demon

The Twitch demon only has its name because of how Ceiran twitches while he's trading with it. It wants to cause as much pain to Ceiran as possible, as that's its job in their game. It does this by changing happy memories to painful ones, the pleasure of eating good food to the terror of eating loved ones (get your mind out of the gutter. This is pure cannibalism I'm talking about), and the comfort of company to the infinity of loneliness. In some ways, it's quite similar to depression.

When Ceiran draws on it's Raw Energy, he will gain a pool twice as big as his own, and become twice as efficient at controlling it. This pool grows as Ceiran's own pool does; He's able to access more of the Demon's energy as he can access more of his own.

Aside from the effects described throughout the whole post, it can absorb unclaimed* Raw Magic, speak directly into peoples minds (but not read them), and can access all kinds of demonic knowledge. Ceiran can claim these abilities if he spends more than 15 minutes twitching. This will also cause severe memory loss, heavy internal bleeding, and an insatiable murderous desire.

*unclaimed Raw Magic is Raw Magic that is not attached to a living being.

Personality.

Ceiran has difficulty with his personality. It changes so often due to the Demon. He finds it hard to latch onto one thing that describes him. So far, all he has is this: "A constant crisis".

Usually he has polar opinions; either all for, or totally against. He rarely accepts grey areas and ideas. He's usually rather blunt about this as well, forgoing nuance in an attempt to just get the point across. Although he does have a weakness for poetry. He's passionate about his interests, but doesn't really delve far into other things. One thing is for sure, though. You would never call Ceiran mild.

His style is impulsive. He won't plan ahead too often, preferring to adapt to situations as they rise. He will almost always act off gut instinct. He says he doesn't fail unless he doesn't learn something, so that helps with this way of solving problems.

Miscellaneous info:

He attends Hikari academy in the hopes of finding someone who can help him with his demon. Although he doesn't want word to get out about it, so that could be a problem. And he may as well learn something while he's there. No harm in that, right?

The Army of Rodents (DISCLAIMER: Most of them aren't actually Rodents.)

IN ACTION:

3

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3

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Character Summary

Character Number: 3
Actual Name: Thom Kobyla
Age: 17
Birthday: 5/3/2317
Gender: Male
Powers: Control Water
Specialty:Survivalist

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Appearance

Height: 5' 7'
Weight: 120
Build: Lanky around the limbs, and rectangular around the torso.
Eyes: Blue flecked with yellow
Hair: Black
Skin Tone: A pale pallor
Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: A tattoo of The Darksign on his right pec. Also the largish 3 on his right wrist.
Personal Style: Dark clothing. Sturdy boots. He prefers to wear loose fitting trousers, with a shirt that fits properly. If it's cold he'll don a large bolt of woolen fabric, held with a pentacular brooch.

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Psychology

Curious * Zealous * Logical * Cruel * Loyal * Disillusioned

Sexuality: Straight
Relationship Status: Very single
Personality: 3 is a logophile. If there ever was a knowledge hoarder, it is 3. This is one of the reasons he learned survival techniques. There was so much to learn, and he loved it. He will go out of his way to learn new things. He might even kill some people for it. They don't care when they're dead. He has a bit of a cruel streak, finding pleasure in watching those he hates suffer.

On the flip side, if he's close to you he will do almost anything to make you happy. Within reason, of course. Sometimes this borders on scary. He's also rather disillusioned. He knows there is no space for optimism. He reckons you have to be realistic. As a terrible compliment to this, he's zealous. He will try to force you to do something his way if he cares about you, and thinks it will benefit. He has a bit of a competitive streak in him, and will always try harder if there is someone doing better than he is.

Habits: Rubbing eyes, scratching sides, overthinking
Hobbies: Camping, Photography, Poetry, and Parkour (did it in a gym)
Fears:

• Loneliness
• Lack of Control
• Feebleness

Likes:

• Music (Raw stuff)
• A nice, hot meal
• Knowledge
• Walking
• Thinking/Discussing thoughts
• Knives
• Competition/Games

Dislikes:

• Irrationality
• Dishonesty
• Naivety
• Self-Righteousness
• Spite
• Bad smells (he has a particularly sensitive nose)
• Being bored

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Cards On The Table

General Skills:

• Problem solving
• Parkour
• Survivalism
• Torture (yes, torture)
• Perception (from photography. He's used to finding good shots with his eyes first)
• Bow-making and fletching (From survival, but he spent a larger amount of time on this)
• Hunting

Combat Skills:

• Basic water manipulation
• Fast (from Parkour)
• Marksmanship (bow)

Possessions:

• Survival Knife
• Empty notebook
• Pen
• Set of steel dice
• A survival handbook
• Water bottle
• Bow
• 12 arrows
• Rope
• A bolt of heavy wool, and a pentacular brooch to bind it.
• The legendary backpack
• Towel

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Extras

Character Quote: "You don't fail if you learn something" "You're doing it wrong."
Theme Song: Parting of the Sensory by Modest Mouse.
Anything Else: Ender's Game. I'm more of a fantasy guy, to be honest. Didn't know where to find photogenic GIFs.

_{*By submitting this CS in its completion I am stating I have read all the rules for this Rp and am agreeing to follow them to the fullest with respect and courtesy. I acknowledge that I can and will be removed from the RP without warning if I break a rule or cause problems with my fellow Rpers or the GM.}

The Army of Rodents (DISCLAIMER: Most of them aren't actually Rodents.)

UGH... DON'T ASK ABOUT ACTION

Simon Corkill

Name: Simon Corkill
Age: 26
Sex: Male
Height: 6'
Build: Tall and lanky. Deceptively strong, but mainly due to him looking weak than him being strong.
Style: Whatever is least restrictive. Usually this means loose fitting clothes. He has a thing for baggy tracksuit pants, and you don't often see him without a beanie.
Hair, face, markings: He has black hair, and grey-blue eyes. No noticeable scars, but he has cuts and bruises all over his shins (if you ever see them).

Concept: One of three leaders of the resistance. He lives to keep having fun, and keep the Resistance going.
Disposition: He's usually friendly, but is prone to bouts of annoyance.
Fears: Redundancy, Routine, and Betrayal
Morals: "Anything is allowed if it's for the cause". Of course, the cause is whatever he believes.
History:

History!!

Simon was born to an Irish family in Utopia well before the laws came through. He always had an affinity for dangerous activities. The one that stuck with him was the one that he had the most difficulty in learning: Parkour. He had to learn from his limited internet, stuntmen in movies, and trying things out for himself. It paid off, however. He's currently one of the best Traceurs in England.

He went on to earn a living by teaching it professionally, and did quite well for himself. He was hit hard by the new laws, though. It was deemed to be endangering the populace by teaching them to disobey authority and engage in acts that could kill them. Of course, Simon took issue with this. Enough to ignore the laws and just move his teaching 'underground'. He taught in small classes of 2 at a time. He formed a bond with one class in particular based on their shared distaste for the new levels of security. When he felt they were ready, he went exploring the 'locked' parts of the city with them.

They found an abandoned underground train station, which lay on an abandoned train line. Judging from the state of it, it was built a considerable time ago and just forgotten about. They met up there on the regular, making it their hideout. This was the catalysing event for the formation of the Resistance, and ever since it has just grown.

Sample Post:

Simon's Sample

The old canal had been dammed up, and served as a foot highway from the north to the west of Utopia. Well, for him at least. Not many others liked to use it. He had a package to deliver, which wasn't new but it was a bit strange. He'd been running for half an hour, but he wasn't tired quite yet. Cardio is a beautiful thing to train. That and legs. He never skipped leg day, because leg day was every day. He was letting his thoughts wander when he felt his old, indestructible Nokia buzzing. He'd left his dummy on a ledge near a cafe, making it appear that he's eating there.

When he answered the phone he heard Rose's voice come over the line. "Simon? You're in the field now, yeah?", She asked.

"Yeah, man. What do you want?"

"I had a runner leave a cash drop near Canterbury Avenue. He had to ditch the money quickly. It's under the bin outside of number... 20. In an old drink bottle.

"You want me to grab it, yeah?"

"I thought that was fairly obvious"

"I'm on my way. Gotta make good time though, see ya round." Simon said, his tone indicating the end of the conversation. He hung up, and continued to run.

It almost took too fucking long, but he made it there. The package was small, jar shaped. Why a jar was so important beat him, and he couldn't deny how curious he was. It was wrapped in paper though, so any attempt to spy the contents would lose him business in the future. The person who took it just reached through the ajar door and took it. No words or anything. Fine. He began to make my way to the money drop.

He was four blocks away from the drop when he almost ran into a police patrol. They knew him by sight, and while they wouldn't have grounds to arrest him, they would surely perform every check they could legally perform, of which were a lot. He ducked down an alley, and up a wall. He followed the wall around to the roof above the drop, and went down onto his belly, commando crawling up the slanted tile roof. Thank fuck it wasn't raining.

The patrol's dog must've smelled the cash or something, because it went mad as it passed the bin. Obviously, this caused the officers to check under it, and find the goddamn money. It looked like they found something else, but Simon was too far away to see what it was.

He slid his hand into his pocket for his phone to consult Rose on their next move...

Skills:

• Parkour: 3 (Speed)
• Teaching: 1 (Will)
• City Layout Knowledge: 2 (Perception)

Stats:

• Reflexes: 1
• Speed: 2
• Strength: 0
• Endurance: 1
• Perception: 0
• Will: 0

Resources:No current formal job, but still 'earns' money through the Resistance. He has two phones, one old Nokia which he actually uses, and then the smartphone he only uses for a dummy. He lives at the abandoned train station HQ, and needs no transport other than his legs
Connections:

• Rosalin Pasos. Another founder of the Rebellion, and typically does the 'financial' work. Meaning she steals the money.
• Alexander Wun. Another founder of the Rebellion. He typically does the brunt of the organisational work
• Fiona Corkill. Simon's sister. She works at a record label.

Theme Song: Doused by DIIV
Misc. Info: (favourite book? What kind of food do they like? How is their pet doing?)

The Army of Rodents (DISCLAIMER: Most of them aren't actually Rodents.)

OF DEBATABLE ACTION:

August 'Augie' Clevenger

(Heavily stylised anime drawing. Yuck. Largely looks similar to this, but longer hair, tied up. Also gives off a less 'I'm so fucking edgy' air.)

Name:
Augie Clevenger

Sex:
Male

Age:
19

Skills:

• Musical composition: Music theory, reading & writing BASS & treble clef, Lyrical & poetic writing, Audio Technology (Distortion control, Live Synth triggers, etc.).
• HEMA: Historical European martial arts. Trained mostly in George Silver broadsword.
• Survival: Augie is a hardcore camping nut. Once spent a month camping with his friends.
• Menial Work: More of a good work ethic from doing shitty jobs while waiting for hi music career to take off.
• Learning: Is usually fast to grasp concepts & ideas, then apply them for himself.

Interests:

• Technology
• Fantasy literature
• Music (Art, Noise, Punk, Drone, Blues, Jazzz, and Rock.)
• Experimentation

Personality:
Usually pretty laid back, but strongly dislikes inauthenticity. Also tends to overthink things that are important to him, which momentarily shatters his laid-back attitude. Doesn't shy from new people, but won't go out of his way to meet them too often.

Bio:
He was raised in London, by his two parents who were 'famous' artists of their field (Painting, & Poetry). They encouraged a strong sense of creativity in Augie from a young age, believing it to be one of the most important attributes one can have. He showed an interest in learning music rather early, so his parents paid for tuition. He attempted to learn Guitar, Drums, BASS, Cello, Keyboard, and Harmonica. He never excelled at the playing of instruments, but easily grasped music theory, and began composing. He entered his first band when he was 14, as a keyboardist & songwriter. The other members played Drums & percussion, BASS, & Harp. They play Art-Electro. They only rose to popularity recently, with their album "Dive Into the Pile of Bullshit, My Friend.", which made it onto the charts, averaging #20. Their musical influences include Sungazer, Darren Korb's Transistor Soundtrack, King Gizzard and The Lizard Wizard, and Lost Animal.

He played a few shows in LA, and went camping in the mountains afterwards. He bailed on camping early because he wanted to go to a concert back in London. He was going back to LA to catch a plane back to England.

Alchemical Skills so far:

The Army of Rodents (DISCLAIMER: Most of them aren't actually Rodents.)

OUT OF ACTION:

Gareth Sigsby

Name: Gareth Sigsby

Age: 17

Time in Shibuya: 5 months

Nationality: Australian

Appearance (The image works, but use the description here for details.): Wears whatever's comfortable/utilitarian, ie. Cargo pants, cheap tshirt, and a 60 liter backpack. Has a lower than average face, which is marred further by the grime constantly covering it. Well-muscled, and can probably win some money arm-wrestling. Short brown hair, to avoid it catching in machines.

Personality: Curious, Intelligent, and generally uninterested in people. He's socially underdeveloped, due to spending all his free time around broken cars & shit like that, as opposed to people. An existentialist. Also a bit of a slob. He doesn't wash often, and his clothes are usually 'clean enough'.

Hobbies & Interests (besides engineering): Violin, Dark Souls, Cooking, Chemistry, Poetry and Lyricism, and Philosophy.

Bio: Gareth was raised by a small time mechanic living in Melbourne. When he was young he discovered an interest and a natural talent with machines. By 10 he had made several air rifles, a hydraulic arm for heavy lifting, and a mouse bot he hoped to enter Robot Wars with. At 12 he had started apprenticing under his father for a modest wage, and at 16 he entered TAFE to study engineering even further. His studies naturally led him to Japan as an exchange student. He'd already become quite accomplished at basic engineering, so he was to study robotic engineering there. AI and shit. He honestly expected to be placed into a more prodigious school, but he'll make do. He'll also have to make a trip to From Software's office soon.

The Army of Rodents (DISCLAIMER: Most of them aren't actually Rodents.)

Seen a few others do this thing where they put all their characters in one thing. I'm jumping on that bandwagon.

Enjoy. Or don't. Or something.

The World of Telduria [Always open for applications]

@sly13

Maybe he could... Uh... Teach you a bit about pyromancy. Yeah, let's go with that >:)

Nah, but really. Nar wouldn't have much of an issue with Aldon. What Aldon does is his issue, not Nar's.

Breaking Point (Mecha RPG)

I'm RP hunting, and this looks... very interesting to me. Put my name down, please!

The World of Telduria [Always open for applications]

Hey, just letting you all know that I'm here. I've got a sheet waiting for acceptance from the GM right now, so it shouldn't be long before I post up.

Actually, you know what? I'll chuck my sheet here, too. Pass it by you guys as well.

Nar Zalaam

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Nar Zalaam, Pyromancer Maestro

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Titles: Some call him "The Wandering Pyromancer", though this isn't formal.
Age: He stopped counting at 28, as he had better things to do. He looks mid to late forties.
Species: Human

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Equipment:

The Book of Ishamel

A book which details the life of a legendary pyromancer named Ishamel. Through study and understanding, one may distill spells from its pages. The longer the passage, the more powerful the spell.

It is bound in fairly plain looking leather, with vellum pages. It's not written in one singular hand, or using one pen. Rather, it's many different styles, languages, inks, and content. The only similarity they bear is how poetic they are. Even the non-poem writings possess a certain unmistakable fluency and descriptiveness.

Some passages relate to Ishamel's relationship with the deep, however. Nar has developed some theories around this. He's named it "Low Fire", and he thinks it will burn far below 0C, and it will come from despair. The first is obvious, but generally pyromancy feeds off the stronger emotions like anger or love. Despair is strong, but in all the wrong ways, and could potentially fuel a freezing flame from deep within one's soul.

Wandering Kit A backpack full of things Nar could use on a long trek. It's a rather extensive list, due to just how long he's spent developing it.
Quarterstaff A cheap, durable, and deadly weapon for when pyromancy is impractical. It's ~9' long, 1" wide, and 1 1/2" thick piece of oak. He has been trained in it by peasants in exchange for money while he traveled, and is quite handy with it. Of course, he will prefer to use pyromancy where possible. The weapon itself is easily capable of shattering bones, so long as there isn't steel in the way. Because of this, he uses it mainly in defense from wild animals.
Robes These robes are more of an amalgamation of different fashions from around the world than one particular piece of clothing. They're relatively short, only going to knee height. Of course, he has some very sturdy boots and pants under it. It's mostly optimised for practicality.

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Spell skills:

Pyromancy: This shouldn't come as a surprise. While his life has been a cluster of different events, pyromancy has been the singular constant. After his duel with the knight, there has never been a moment in his life where pyromancy hasn't been there for him. Strangely, he hasn't become consumed by the power it offers, as so many are.

His pyromancy comes in two main varieties, which he has named Ishamel and Nar. Very creative.
Ishamel tends to be very focused and efficient. At times it almost feels like it's holding back. The fire burns intensely hot, and is conjured by speaking words from the Book of Ishamel while contemplating your understanding of them.
On the other hand, Nar tends to be much more wild, but still far more focused than most pyromancy. It always feels like it's being held back, and can easily be identified and separated from most pyromancy. It tends to blow things up a bit.

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Other skills:
Study: If there was something he would put his skill at pyromancy down to, it would be this. He has become very skilled at finding the right information for the job at hand, whether this be in a library, book, situation, or person.
Traveling: One might not consider this a skill. Nar would beg to differ. If one can travel as much as he has within the time he has, it definitely is a skill. He is accustomed to using a map and compass, packing light, walking (so much walking), sailing, and learning local languages and dialects to a level that allows survival. Even finding forest food when none other is available.
Communication: He is very used to communicating his ideas to others and understanding what others are trying to say. He has Taught many people and been taught by many people, and that is the root of this skill. He learns and teaches quickly as a result of this.

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Training:
Nar has been trained by uncountable tutors in the art of pyromancy to such a degree that those who are beholding it are spellbound (not by rule, for obvious reasons). Chief among those tutors are the Old Man and the Book of Ishamel. He can weave firestorms the size of warships, or place a singular point of super hot fire exactly where it needs to be.

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Affiliation: He isn't affiliated with any order, religion, or country in particular. Although, he has a notable distaste for the inelegance of the Order of Fire. He is of the belief that they don't know how to properly control themselves. He agrees with some of their ideology, but not their practice.

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Personality: Nar has a personality that is brimming with a youthful curiosity, though it has been tempered by age. To elaborate, he will pursue anything and everything that interests him with an utmost dedication, but use the wisdom he's gathered over the years to guide himself.

He tends to find himself lost in contemplation of fire when he has a spare moment, especially when there is fire present. Campfires aren't for sharing stories, singing, or cooking. They're for discovering anything at all about the nature of fire. Because of this he has a very deep understanding of his art, and how it affects other objects. He also tends to let of a contemplative air, which most people find quite contrary to his standing as a maestro pyromancer. He also performs startlingly well under pressure, only losing a little bit of control. On the flip side, this 'zoning out' can cause him to miss some important things. While he will generally pick up on loud noises or large movements, he may miss smaller details. This isn't helped by his age, either.

He loves a good jest, and will often give cryptic answers to questions for shits and gigs. Even if they could be answered in a few concise sentences. He's also able to find the funny viewpoint on a given situation in a slightly absurdist manner. This has led to some people feeling alienated by him laughing at their suffering, but he's not really of a mind to care about that.

He views mistakes as learning opportunities, although some of the mistakes he's made have really ruined some people's lives, and he struggles to move past that. He will actively try to reduce collateral as thoroughly as he possibly can. Although, if he is unable to do this he suffers a guilty streak, causing him to run from the problem. He knows he shouldn't run from it, but this only serves to cause more guilt.

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History
He usually starts his story with the day his gift unveiled itself, so I'll do that. He was the eldest sibling in an upper class merchant family, and he had mistakenly offended a Knight. He must've been having a bad day, because he challenged Nar to a duel. The knight was wearing plate mail, and Nar was wearing no armour. The knight had a sword, and Nar was lucky to have a stick. Nar wouldn't take this without a fight, however. Within seconds he was bested, and as naturally as breathing, his rage rose out of his fist, and became fire. By the end of the fight, the knight had a cheek melted off, and Nar had some nasty cuts.

The surge of power interested Nar. He'd never experienced anything quite like this. He spent the next five years studying everything on pyromancy he could get his hands on. When he ran out of reading material, he watched fires and studied the emotions it brought. Every pyromancer that came through Kron Nesis was hired to tutor Nar, and by nineteen he had made a small name for himself as a young scholar of his art.

All too soon, he had exhausted his resources on pyromancy. The teachers had no more time, the books only said so much, and his hearth fire was evoking the same emotions over and over and over. He figured the best way forward was to travel the world, and collect some piece of knowledge from each area. And so he set off with a sum of money, some clothes, and some food. He headed north out of Tarantis, towards Vesh. Unfortunately, he was never much of a spendthrift and had spent most of his money by the time he reached Vesh. He decided he'd work in the farmhouses along the way for food and board.

In one farm, he met an elderly couple and their thirteen children. The youngest was called Fiona, and was the same age as Nar. She cared for her parents while all the other siblings worked in the fields, kitchens, or forests. Nar decided to stay longer here, as he had nowhere better to be. On top of that, he was interested in Fiona. He hadn't been interested in something this way since he discovered pyromancy six years ago, and in the small amount of time in a day when they were both free, Nar and Fiona grew closer. It took longer than Nar would've liked, but they became lovers.

One night, when they were... doing their deed in the forest, Nar's pyromancy reared its ugly head. From his pores poured fire instead of sweat. He didn't feel the heat, and only noticed when Fiona began to scream in pain. She had blackened skin all over, and some of it was smoking. He carried her to her parents farm, put her on the doorstep, and ran. His guilt was stronger than his love in every way, and his will was stronger than his muscles. He kept running until he passed out.

He woke up in a wagon, covered in blankets, but shivering. He was deathly sick, and drifted in and out of consciousness all the way to Urland, where he soon found out he was to be sold off as a slave on the black market. It was his first major scale pyromancing, and it went wonderfully. He had managed to burn everybody around him to death within seconds. As an added bonus, he was able to mitigate property damage to some faint blackening. After about a month in Urland, he met an Ithell Scholar who specialised in the study of the stars. This scholar was carrying a certain book that Nar had assumed nonexistent until now. The Book of Ishamel. After a few days of hopeless pestering, Nar managed to get him drunk enough to wager it against the entire Zalaam family fortune in a game of dice. Fortunately, lady luck was smiling on him that day, and he won by a narrow 12 points. He was finally in possession of the most rare book on pyromancy in history. He spends the next few years holed up in Urland, doing nothing but studying The Book of Ishamel. The insights he gains are impressive, and he makes a significant name for himself. People had begun to actively seek him out as a tutor. This proved useful to him, because he was able to legally earn money through pyromancy.

The student that impressed him most was a young human named Tetheras Pessoa. He had something that Nar could only describe as a gift. Teth had a huge amount of raw power he could tap in to, but not too much control. They spent a few months in Urland before shipping out to Ithell at the behest of the mages guild. During these months, and on the way there, Teth developed his grasp on pyromancy so quickly that Nar was almost ready to name him an equal. They had daily sparring sessions aboard the ship, and while Nar still managed to win most of them, Teth would consistently slip through Nars defenses. The sparring made the captain nervous, but they were both confident enough to quell flames before they did any significant damage to anything.

Nar noticed that over time, Teth would grow more reckless. He was growing more aggressive as time wore on, but Nar thought nothing of it. In hindsight, this was a very bad idea. As it turned out, there is an affliction that plagues skilled, yet uneducated pyromancers: Fire fever. It causes the afflicted to become increasingly more power hungry. It drives them to burn everything around them, just to watch the beauteous flames. Nar had never faced it before, so he didn't know to look out for it.

After four months in Ithell, they had both learned much. Nar had refined his pyromancy to heights he hadn't dreamed of, and Teth had never been far behind him. One day, not entirely out of the blue, Teth was found burning a supply ship from Urland. As Teth's mentor, Nar was asked to deal with the situation. So Nar went down to the docks. He forced the fire Teth had started to die down, to which Teth responded with more fire. Naturally, this led to a fight. Teth had totally forsaken his defense, though. This made it incredibly easy for Nar. With one hand he warded the flames from the dock, and with the other he fired off a beam of intensely hot fire. He meant only to his Teth's arm, but alas, Teth was moving too much and took it straight into the gut.

He wasn't happy with himself, naturally. If he caught this earlier on, he could've saved Teth. Instead, Teth was dead by his hand. As he is accustomed to doing, he ran from his problems. He made a brief announcement of his departure before stealing a rowboat and heading north. And so the next leg in his journey saw him hopelessly lost at sea. This was a period of massive growth for his mind (which he credits in part to sunstroke). He had several revelations while lying in a tiny rowboat, clutching the Book of Ishamel. The most profound being Low Fire. He hypothesised on the existence of a third flame type based on Ishamel's relationship with the night. When he had nothing better to do he would sit and think on despair, and how it would power a flame. The days saw nothing but him, the Book, and the sun. The nights saw something quite different, though. The stars were eyes to see his elaborate displays of exquisite firecraft. Bolts of flame licked wavering strokes around the boat, boiling any water that happened to come into contact with it. Perhaps most strangely, words rang through the air.

This is how he was seen by a small fishing town who lived on a coast in the north. They sent a longboat to pick him up, and he was taken in. They nurtured him back to health out of the kindness of their hearts (to this day, Nar has not forgotten their kindness. He means to pay them back in full next time he finds himself even remotely close to the north). When he had returned to health, an old man who wore a blindfold and a raven feather cloak showed up in the village. Nobody knew who he was, but he was asking for Nar.

The old man turned out to be an old fire wizard from the far north. He allegedly had family ties to Ishamel, and felt the Book's presence. He brought Nar to his homestead, and taught him the north's take on pyromancy. They spent every spare hour studying the Book: at first as teacher and student, and after time as equals. Nar has no idea how long he spent there, but it was long enough. On the last day Nar was there, the Old Man removed his blindfold to reveal a completely melted face and scalp. He told Nar to be careful with fire, and make sure it doesn't consume him as it does so many others. (I can't do justice to how profound this was to Nar. He had never seen under the blindfold before, and it had just seemed to go unnoticed after a certain point.).

The Old Man, after revealing his face and warning Nar of the internal danger of fire, requested that he deliver a package to Curael Endir, in Illvandrin. The journey there was cold, long, and somewhat boring, so I'll skip over it. When he arrived at the forest entrance he got chills. He'd heard of how the forest will attack those who enter if they mean harm, and he was entirely unsure about how it'd react to his pyromancy. Much to his relief, it held no objections. He'd never seen such a magnificent forest, and spent the first few days getting lost in its beauty, before stumbling across a scorched area. It was here he realised that while fire can be destructive, it is also a natural force. It's only a problem because humans make it one.

In Curael Endir he was treated as an outsider, which he wasn't used to. Finding the person he had to deliver the package to took weeks of constant detective work, but when he found him it turned out to be another student of the Old Man. The package was just a few rocks, but the other student knew what was really going on. Nar had been sent as eyes for the Old Man, so he might check up on his student (It was only now that Nar knew the Old Man could see through others' eyes. Perhaps he was more than a pyromancer?). Nar spent as little time here as he could get away with. There was something that kept him on edge.

Next, his travels brought him westward. He planned on going through the archclericy, and through Eamonvale. His goal was to get to the Darkeene Protectorate. Of course, something surpassing odd happened on the way. Due to a battle he'd heard of, he gave the Fool's Pass a wide berth. This turned out to be much more wise than he could've anticipated. As he looked upon it all he could see were magical storms, melting the souls out of those who were caught in it. Even at this distance, Nar felt a slight pressure from it. He had no doubt he could protect himself from it for a few minutes, but there was no way he would last longer than that. The sheer power on display made him realise just how close he had come to death. The amount of wasted magic did bother him, though. Whoever created that storm was taking out the army, sure, but he was doing it in a way that would wipe out thousands of civilians. He felt hollow as he wondered if Fiona died from this, or from Nar's burns. The image of the storm haunts him to this day. He wonders if that type of magic could offer some insights on Low Fire, based on the utter despair he could feel within the storm, much like how you feel the charged air in a thunderstorm.

With a newfound lust for Low Fire, he traveled south to the Darkeene Protectorate. He was fully aware that they had very few mages there, but he wanted the opinion of a scientist. He figured that finding out the physical requirements would help immensely. Unfortunately, the scientists had nothing groundbreaking to say. Doubtless they helped, just not as much as Nar had hoped. Slightly disappointed, he made his way back east through the war torn mountains. He didn't have much to fear from soldiers. Humans burn.

And now we catch up with the present, where he has made his way back to Kron-Nesis. Further still, into Tarantis. The first thing he sees is two knights duking it out in what Nar assumes to be an honour duel.

Theme: Burn the Witch, by Radiohead