Zombehs

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

Huh, thanks for catching those. S'what I get for being distracted I guess.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

Gregory Irving - Aberration - Launch Path

ℕ 𝕒 𝕞 𝕖 :

Gregory Irving

𝔸 𝕘 𝕖 :

18.

ℍ 𝕖 𝕚 𝕘 𝕙 𝕥 :

5’7 (1.70m)

𝕎 𝕖 𝕚 𝕘 𝕙 𝕥 :

163 lbs. (74kg)

𝔸 𝕡 𝕡 𝕖 𝕒 𝕣 𝕒 𝕟 𝕔 𝕖 :

Gregory’s blonde hair goes down to his upper back, and he generally keeps it tied up in a ponytail. Two bangs frame his face with the right a bit longer than the left. His eyes are a light violet in coloration, and he’s awfully pale for someone who isn’t holed up in a room somewhere. He moves with a sense of relaxation, without a sense of urgency.

ℙ 𝕖 𝕣 𝕤 𝕠 𝕟 𝕒 𝕝 𝕚 𝕥 𝕪 :

Remarkably self-disciplined, Gregory is someone who holds high standards for himself. A daily routine to hold himself to grants some sorely needed stability with something as unstable as a Stigma. He strives to fill each day with some meaning, however small, but is rather relaxed in the manner he goes about things. He sees little point in pushing the utmost day after day, regarding it as a quick route to burning out. Think practically, plan out weeks rather than single days, and look towards the long-term goals.

He often speaks frankly, and does his best to avoid dancing around issues. About as wieldy as a sledgehammer when it comes to delicate conversations, he does at least have the sense of when someone else is better suited. While he likes to brush off any negative reactions to his bluntness, it’s not too hard to tell that those sorts of conflicts are rather annoying for Gregory.

In terms of hobbies, he enjoys a wide range of activities from maintaining an exercise regime to knitting beneath a tree on a pleasant afternoon. Quite open to trying new things as well, he seems to lean towards anything that involves creating things such as the arts.

The effects his Stigma has on Gregory are fairly subtle at first. It begins as a curiosity and makes his thoughts more prone to stray. How bad could he injure someone if he used this as a projectile. Wouldn’t the destruction be beautiful if he could get his hands on some dangerous items? Naturally it escalates the longer he refuses the desire, until it builds up to a frustrated rage that becomes impossible to clamp down lest it boil over and burn him out. Yet there still remains a clinical side to that, as the urge is not simply to use his powers and destroy, but also to examine the exact results.

ℍ 𝕚 𝕤 𝕥 𝕠 𝕣 𝕪 :

The cuffs were cold, but no more than the feelings that plagued Gregory. They dug into his wrists painfully, tightened far beyond necessary, but even that was a minor discomfort to the thoughts that ran freely in his mind. He shook his head to clear the bangs from his eyes, and saw that even that movement had caused the cop watching him to tense. A bitter laugh as his head thumped against the rough stone of the cell’s wall before his eyes flicked towards the people that walked through an opened door. He didn’t recognize the symbol on sight, but considering the situation? Well… he kept up with the news enough that what was to come wasn’t a surprise…

𝕄 𝕒 𝕘 𝕚 𝕔 :

Launch Path

By tapping an unliving object to mark it, Gregory can then draw a line to launch it forward. The projectile is suspended at the point of release by a simple amber-colored magic circle. He must trace the path manually, and the projectile is launched upon completion. Currently the max length is six meters and projectiles fly out at about 200ft/s.

Other limitations are that Gregory can only draw one line at a time, and that his max weight seems to be around 200 lbs. The heavier an object is, the harder it is to draw the launch path. If he were to try and launch something around 200 lbs. in weight, he would be forced to move at a slow walk while drawing the path. Anything heavier simply results in Gregory being unable to move at all.

Gregory no longer needs surfaces to draw on and is capable of forming lines in the air. Projectiles launched will fly true until impact, and are no longer affected by factors such as wind, gravity, etc.

Buff Log

1.1: Double weight limit, double path length, slightly brighter color. Longer to use and more noticeable.
1.2: Can draw lines mid-air. Projectiles fly completely straight after being launched. No longer affected by gravity, wind, etc.

𝔻 𝕣 𝕖 𝕒 𝕞 :

Countless strings float in the air around him. He smiles as he searches for a few among them, and reaches out when he finds them. They drift towards him when he wills for them to do so. A length of material so dark it looks like a black hole given shape. The other, a white so pure it is almost blinding. His smile grows a bit wider as he raises a hand and makes a thumbs up. Yet there is no one but him in this space filled with strings. It doesn’t matter though as he flicks a finger and the strings begin to weave themselves together. He smiles in anticipation.

ℕ 𝕚 𝕘 𝕙 𝕥 𝕞 𝕒 𝕣 𝕖 :

“Hm…” A foot tapped as Gregory stroked his chin, lost in thought with his eyes closed. Surrounding him? A labyrinth that shifted and changed according to his whims. It barred him from the world, revealed a few paths, or shifted until he could walk in any direction. Enemies were ground to paste within its shifting form, and obstacles crushed. Surrounded by a domain of his own making he continued to think and wonder, a smile etched onto his expression.

𝔸 𝕨 𝕒 𝕜 𝕖 𝕟 𝕚 𝕟 𝕘 :

Aberration

𝕊 𝕥 𝕚 𝕘 𝕞 𝕒 :

His thoughts are not his own. They note down details of the scene with a surgical precision that is almost inhuman. The diameter of the wound as the boy falls to his knees in shock, the amount of blood flowing out per second, and his own hysterical feelings as they’re clamped down on. ‘It’ll get easier, don’t you worry.” A clinical voice, not his own again, seems to reassure Gregory, but the tone only drives the fear further into his heart. ‘Ah… a shame.’ Flashing lights appear at the edge of his vision, his body turns, and his hands rise into the air slowly. Voices yell for him to drop to the ground, and Gregory does just that as he faints and falls forward.

𝔸 𝕣 𝕞 𝕒 𝕞 𝕖 𝕟 𝕥 𝕤 :

N/A

You have none, yet. You will get some as the story progresses. Keep track of them here. Some of them might be really important or something, I don't know.

𝕋 𝕙 𝕖 𝕞 𝕖 𝕊 𝕠 𝕟 𝕘 𝕤 :

Time to relax.
EVERYTHING INTENSIFIES

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

Blarg

ℕ 𝕒 𝕞 𝕖 :

Gregory Irving

𝔸 𝕘 𝕖 :

18.

ℍ 𝕖 𝕚 𝕘 𝕙 𝕥 :

5’7 (1.70m)

𝕎 𝕖 𝕚 𝕘 𝕙 𝕥 :

163 lbs. (74kg)

𝔸 𝕡 𝕡 𝕖 𝕒 𝕣 𝕒 𝕟 𝕔 𝕖 :

Jeral’s blonde hair goes down to his upper back, and he generally keeps it tied up in a ponytail. Two bangs frame his face with the right a bit longer than the left. His eyes are a light violet in coloration, and he’s awfully pale for someone who isn’t holed up in a room somewhere. He moves with a sense of relaxation, without a sense of urgency.

ℙ 𝕖 𝕣 𝕤 𝕠 𝕟 𝕒 𝕝 𝕚 𝕥 𝕪 :

Remarkably self-disciplined, Gregory is someone who holds high standards for himself. A daily routine to hold himself to grants some sorely needed stability with something as unstable as a Stigma. He strives to fill each day with some meaning, however small, but is rather relaxed in the manner he goes about things. He sees little point in pushing the utmost day after day, regarding it as a quick route to burning out. Think practically, plan out weeks rather than single days, and look towards the long-term goals.

He often speaks frankly, and does his best to avoid dancing around issues. About as wieldy as a sledgehammer when it comes to delicate conversations, he does at least have the sense of when someone else is better suited. While he likes to brush off any negative reactions to his bluntness, it’s not too hard to tell that those sorts of conflicts are rather annoying for Gregory.

In terms of hobbies, he enjoys a wide range of activities from maintaining an exercise regime to knitting beneath a tree on a pleasant afternoon. Quite open to trying new things as well, he seems to lean towards anything that involves creating things such as the arts.

The effects his Stimga has on Gregory are fairly subtle at first. It begins as a curiosity and makes his thoughts more prone to stray. How bad could he injure someone if he used this as a projectile. Wouldn’t the destruction be beautiful if he could get his hands on some dangerous items? Naturally it escalates the longer he refuses the desire, until it builds up to a frustrated rage that becomes impossible to clamp down lest it boil over and burn him out. Yet there still remains a clinical side to that, as the urge is not simply to use his powers and destroy, but also to examine the exact results.

ℍ 𝕚 𝕤 𝕥 𝕠 𝕣 𝕪 :

The cuffs were cold, but no more than the feelings that plagued Gregory. They dug into his wrists painfully, tightened far beyond necessary, but even that was a minor discomfort to the thoughts that ran freely in his mind. He shook his head to clear the bangs from his eyes, and saw that even that movement had caused the cop watching him to tense. A bitter laugh as his head thumped against the rough stone of the cell’s wall before his eyes flicked towards the people that walked through an opened door. He didn’t recognize the symbol on sight, but considering the situation? Well… he kept up with the news enough that what was to come wasn’t a surprise…

𝕄 𝕒 𝕘 𝕚 𝕔 :

Launch Path

By tapping an unliving object to mark it, Gregory can then draw a line on the ground to launch it forward. The projectile is suspended at the point of release by a simple amber-colored magic circle. He must trace the path manually by touching a surface, and the projectile is launched upon completion. Currently the max length is three meters, with projectiles flying out at about 140ft/s.

Other limitations are that Gregory can only draw one line at a time, and that his max weight seems to be around 100 lbs. The heavier an object is, the harder it is to draw the launch path. If he were to try and launch something around 100 lbs. in weight, he would be forced to move at a slow walk while drawing the path. Anything heavier simply results in Gregory being unable to move at all.

𝔻 𝕣 𝕖 𝕒 𝕞 :

Countless strings float in the air around him. He smiles as he searches for a few among them, and reaches out when he finds them. They drift towards him when he wills for them to do so. A length of material so dark it looks like a black hole given shape. The other, a white so pure it is almost blinding. His smile grows a bit wider as he raises a hand and makes a thumbs up. Yet there is no one but him in this space filled with strings. It doesn’t matter though as he flicks a finger and the strings begin to weave themselves together. He smiles in anticipation.

ℕ 𝕚 𝕘 𝕙 𝕥 𝕞 𝕒 𝕣 𝕖 :

“Hm…” A foot tapped as Gregory stroked his chin, lost in thought with his eyes closed. Surrounding him? A labyrinth that shifted and changed according to his whims. It barred him from the world, revealed a few paths, or shifted until he could walk in any direction. Enemies were ground to paste within its shifting form, and obstacles crushed. Surrounded by a domain of his own making he continued to think and wonder, a smile etched onto his expression.

𝔸 𝕨 𝕒 𝕜 𝕖 𝕟 𝕚 𝕟 𝕘 :

Aberration

𝕊 𝕥 𝕚 𝕘 𝕞 𝕒 :

His thoughts are not his own. They note down details of the scene with a surgical precision that is almost inhuman. The diameter of the wound as the boy falls to his knees in shock, the amount of blood flowing out per second, and his own hysterical feelings as they’re clamped down on. ‘It’ll get easier, don’t you worry.” A clinical voice, not his own again, seems to reassure Gregory, but the tone only drives the fear further into his heart. ‘Ah… a shame.’ Flashing lights appear at the edge of his vision, his body turns, and his hands rise into the air slowly. Voices yell for him to drop to the ground, and Gregory does just that as he faints and falls forward.

𝔸 𝕣 𝕞 𝕒 𝕞 𝕖 𝕟 𝕥 𝕤 :

N/A

You have none, yet. You will get some as the story progresses. Keep track of them here. Some of them might be really important or something, I don't know.

𝕋 𝕙 𝕖 𝕞 𝕖 𝕊 𝕠 𝕟 𝕘 𝕤 :

Time to relax.
EVERYTHING INTENSIFIES

Last Train Home--An 'Alternate World' Fantasy RP

Normally the sound of conversation would have done little to wake Kir, but in this case it was what wasn’t there that caused him to awaken. The steady clunk of wheels over tracks, the background buzz of city noise, and other such noises were noticeably absent.

Covering up a yawn, he blinked a few times before looking around blearily. Upon actually taking in the surroundings, both inside and outside the train, Kir froze momentarily. Although being alone was slightly distressing, it was quickly mollified by a few vaguely familiar individuals immediately outside the train car. That wasn’t to say he knew any of them, but they were faces he had seen at some point tonight when he was on the train. Any relief was quickly drowned out by the fact it was now some time in the morning and public transport had somehow gone so far off the rails that he had wound up in the middle of a forest…

Taking a few deep breaths to try and still himself, he glanced down as he fished his phone out. The time… was actually surprisingly accurate, reading just slightly before noon, the lack of signal was expected, and the two messages were… not. He took a few moments to read the messages over, once and then twice. His arm flopped down to the seat as he leaned into the back rest, stunned at this unexpected turn of events. Looking at the seat next to him and then at his own attire, Kir frowned at just how little belongings he had with him.

Running a hand through his hair, Kir eventually stood and made his way towards the train’s exit. He had to duck slightly to get through, and wound up scratching a cheek as he looked between the gathered individuals.

Last Train Home--An 'Alternate World' Fantasy RP

Kir (Key-ur) Niwa

"Come on, we can talk things out right?"

"Guess not. Let's get on with it then."

Age: 18
Appearance: His appearance seems to come mostly from his father albeit with some blatant hints about his mixed heritage. Bright green eyes and rather soft facial features are framed by silvery grey hair. He's easily above average in height at 6'2 (1.88m) and has a solid build, even if he's more of the lean side of things. His skin is of a fair coloration and his body does bear some signs from years of varied swordplay.

Personality: While confident, the way Kir presents himself often makes him unassuming to others; as much as someone with his appearance can be. Soft spoken and content to remain quiet when unnecessary, he is not someone who values the spotlight role in social situations. His sense of right and wrong has been described as more prominent than others, and he won’t hesitate to interfere in the affairs of others.

Perhaps that is a result of his competitive nature when it comes to all things regarding physical prowess. Though he enjoys swordplay in its various forms the most, naturally competing in various tournaments, he does not shy away from other sports and endeavors. Lose or win, it’s the effort and experience that matters most to Kir.

Abilities: Plenty of experience in all manners of physical activities. An innate sense of direction that lets him get used to new locales quickly. The ability to stomach anything edible and some things that probably aren’t.

Native or Newcomer?: Newcomer.
Cheat: Blade of the Upstart: Time for that sport you’ve been practicing all your life to save your hide! The ability to turn almost anything into a weapon suited for Kir to wield. That stick on the side of the road? That spear the guard was holding just a moment ago? All suitable! There’s also the nifty side effect of naturally picking up on the techniques and expertise of those he studies. Real annoying for them, but awesome for Kir.

History: Privileged! Kir grew up in the lap of luxury with the freedom to choose between many pursuits. Despite his appearance, he chose to devote his time towards the sport of fencing and other similar practices. It was far from relaxing though, despite his apparent natural inclination. His parents allowed him a great deal of freedom to choose, but once the decision had been made pressed him to be the best. Which was fine of course. If he was going to do something, then he’d do it to the best of his ability.

Of course he still went to school, and all the stuff other people did, but without a doubt his “hobby” dominated much of his time. Returning from a casual night out with friends, it’s unfortunate that this midnight train is not bringing him home.

Other: Doesn’t have any trouble falling asleep even under extreme circumstances.

Last Train Home--An 'Alternate World' Fantasy RP

@Rin I'd be surprised if it didn't lol.
@PKMNB0Y Stealing styles or techniques from an experienced practitioner would probably involve several matches/battles before he really manages to hijack their stuff for himself. Learning how to wield a weapon is more an instinctive thing that happens when he picks it up.

Last Train Home--An 'Alternate World' Fantasy RP

Kir (Key-ur) Niwa

"Come on, we can talk things out right?"

"Guess not. Let's get on with it then."

Age: 18
Appearance: His appearance seems to come mostly from his father albeit with some blatant hints about his mixed heritage. Bright green eyes and rather soft facial features are framed by silvery grey hair. He's easily above average in height at 6'2 (1.88m) and has a solid build, even if he's more of the lean side of things. His skin is of a fair coloration and his body does bear some signs from years of varied swordplay.

Personality: While confident, the way Kir presents himself often makes him unassuming to others; as much as someone with his appearance can be. Soft spoken and content to remain quiet when unnecessary, he is not someone who values the spotlight role in social situations. His sense of right and wrong has been described as more prominent than others, and he won’t hesitate to interfere in the affairs of others.

Perhaps that is a result of his competitive nature when it comes to all things regarding physical prowess. Though he enjoys swordplay in its various forms the most, naturally competing in various tournaments, he does not shy away from other sports and endeavors. Lose or win, it’s the effort and experience that matters most to Kir.

Abilities: Plenty of experience in all manners of physical activities. An innate sense of direction that lets him get used to new locales quickly. The ability to stomach anything edible and some things that probably aren’t.

Native or Newcomer?: Newcomer.
Cheat: Blade of the Upstart: Time for that sport you’ve been practicing all your life to save your hide! The ability to turn almost anything into a weapon suited for Kir to wield. That stick on the side of the road? That spear the guard was holding just a moment ago? All suitable! There’s also the nifty side effect of naturally picking up on the techniques and expertise of those he studies. Real annoying for them, but awesome for Kir.

History: Privileged! Kir grew up in the lap of luxury with the freedom to choose between many pursuits. Despite his appearance, he chose to devote his time towards the sport of fencing and other similar practices. It was far from relaxing though, despite his apparent natural inclination. His parents allowed him a great deal of freedom to choose, but once the decision had been made pressed him to be the best. Which was fine of course. If he was going to do something, then he’d do it to the best of his ability.

Of course he still went to school, and all the stuff other people did, but without a doubt his “hobby” dominated much of his time. Returning from a casual night out with friends, it’s unfortunate that this midnight train is not bringing him home.

Other: Doesn’t have any trouble falling asleep even under extreme circumstances.

Immortality's End - Prodigy Prophecy

Stars shone brightly in the sky when Willow awoke, though from his position the foliage blocked much of the night sky. From deep sleep to fully awake, he woke without any sense of drowsiness. Birdsongs made him aware of the happenings in his surroundings, and he smiled as he pushed himself to his feet. Balanced on a branch some distance from the ground, he glanced around for a few moments and then stepped forward to fall. From branch to branch, he slowed his descent to the forest floor before he patted his attire smooth and slipped through the underbrush to rejoin his pack.

Without any attempt to hide his approach, he could feel hidden eyes watch him return. Pausing for a moment, he looked up at some of the nearby trees before he raised a hand in greeting. He smiled at the lack of any response, dipping his head slightly, before he continued on towards the camp.

A few dying fires illuminated painted the clearing with flickering shadows, and Willow took the time to admire the varied styles of shelter that made up the camp. Yet another reminder of exactly what had been accomplished and those that had been brought together. It took him a moment to pick out a specific tent among the dozens, but after doing so he quickly made his way towards it. People slept soundly for the most part, even with his passing, but his keen ears picked up slight stirrings as some of the early risers began to wake.

Approaching the tent, Willow’s ears twitched as a hand dropped to grasp a piece of wood hooked onto his belt. The other hand rose to brush aside the tent flap and he took in the surroundings as he stepped inside. It wasn’t too odd to find the place empty at this time, but there was something else that made him uneasy… It took him a few moments to finally notice what set him on edge. A pair of white orbs slinked forth from the folds of the tent’s fabric, shadowy vapors wisping around and coalescing into a vaguely humanoid form. Lightning crackled as the piece of wood rapidly reshaped itself into a bow, but the creature had slipped away by the time the string was drawn.

He held the stance for awhile longer before he allowed his magic to fade away with an uneasy sigh… “That was a Primordial,” he murmured to himself as he wandered about the tent, searching for any hint, beyond those of legends, to why the creature had appeared. A sigh of disappointment at the lack of any results, and he resolved to ask Myra about it later. Perhaps the scholar would know more…

Considering their practice chased away the darkness with bright displays of magic, it wasn’t particularly difficult for Willow to find his two acquaintances. He stopped a fair distance away and returned Myra’s nod before waiting in silence for the pair to finish their lesson. Another werefolk stood at the center of the clearing, arcane sigils and glyphs swirling in the air around him. His expression was one of concentration, but it faltered with each of Myra’s motions. A gesture here would cause a glyph to flicker, and a quick swipe all but erased another as the Werefolk tried to salvage the first. The Neodragon examined and broke apart her student’s arrays without any show of effort, and she simply smiled when he finally collapsed to a knee; unable to keep up any further.

“That’s a new record I believe,” she remarked as she strode over and hauled the boy up onto his feet. Still in the midst of catching his breath, the Werefolk could only nod in response as his posture remained unsteady. Sure he would not collapse once more, the Neodragon ruffled his hair briefly to his annoyance before she turned to Willow. “Morning. You’ve received the message?”

Seeing his raised brow, her expression betrayed a hint of exasperation before she shook her head slightly and gestured flippantly at one his pockets. While Willow busied with unfolding the piece of parchment, she turned her attention back to Elliot for a moment. “I’m sure Willow’s wondering how much you’ve learned. Up for a demonstration?” A hesitant look in his direction by the younger Werefolk wasn’t missed, and he paused his reading briefly to look up.

It was hard to tell if his acknowledgement bolstered or shook Elliot’s resolve, as he tensed, but eventually the young mage nodded. Raising the lantern that served as his focus, Eli blew on the flame gently and numerous tendrils lashed out, burning sigils and marks into the air. They shifted and rotated quickly, arranging themselves before the Werefolk, and a few gestures caused them to glow bright with power. A quiet mutter from Eli released the gathered energy in great gouts of flame that bathed the clearing in a sea of flames, the heat and light so intense that Willow had no choice but to turn away.

Shielded from the conflagration, he whistled in admiration as he folded and pocketed the message. “So when did this arrive?”

“One of the Boars came back from town with it,” Myra replied as she worked to contain the damage from Elliot’s display. Layered barriers isolated the heat and destruction and actively smothering the flames now that the show was over with. “You will respond?”

“Don’t really have a choice now do I?” He scoffed as the barriers fell away and a wave of hot air rushed over him. Irritated expression as he squinted aside, Willow walked forward and reached out towards Elliot. Ignoring the younger boy’s flinch, he pat the kid a few times on the head and nodded before he turned to look back at Myra. “Think you’ll be free to accompany me?”

“Perhaps. I’ll send word ahead?” Once he nodded, she stepped past him towards Elliot. With that taken care of, Willow left the two alone as he faded seamlessly back into the treeline and returned to camp. Preparations needed to be made for travel.

Immortality's End - Prodigy Prophecy

Name: Willow
Age: 20
Sex: Male
Race: Werefolk (Jackal)

Nation: Mecrundyr
Position/Status: Wild Warden & Rising Packlord

TL;DR History:

• Born to nomadic pack of Werefolk
• Six years to circuit the nation, stopping afterwards at their ancestral home to raise and hone Willow’s burgeoning talents
• Another circuit around the nation, this time Willow sneaks off into settlements to hang out with pets and their owners
• As they return the arcane cannon explodes and the pack hesitates to restart the journey without more information
• Scouts eventually report back that Baelwill has withdrawn much of their forces and that other packs are now on the move
• Pack eventually continues their nomadic ways, but naturally things become difficult with conflict between other Werefolk and the Mecrundyr population
• No one dies or anything, but eventually Willow gets tired of all the conflict and resolves to do something about it
• Making contact with one of the powerful merchant families in the nation, he extends the offer of partnership before disappearing back into the night
• After subjugating raiders plaguing the area, his offer is accepted and his position as Wild Warden formally announced
• Safeguarding all residents of Mecrundyr, he plans to first unite all Werefolk under him or stop the conflict at the least

Skills and Abilities:
Lay of the Land: Whether forest or plain, Willow’s ability to traverse Mecrundyr’s lands are almost without peer. Beyond that it seems that his skill enhances those that work alongside or beneath him. His raiding party was known to sink into the treeline and leave no trace, or move from one plain to another with unnatural swiftness. The land itself seemed to conspire against efforts to track or catch Willow, and he welcomed pursuers with but a grin as a result.

Bountiful Friends: The lay of the land is not Willow’s only blessing though. He can count on wildlife in the environment to heed his call for aid as well. Beyond a passive empathetic link that he can open up to connect with nearby animals, he can also speak words of power to beseech beings for aid and empower them so they may come to his aid. Naturally, he feels kinship with beasts of the canidae family and interacts with them easiest, but he is not limited to only them.

Druidic Marksman: A deceptively simple piece of wood quickly grows and shapes itself into a magnificent bow. A small twig twists and expands into a deadly arrow, sharp and strong enough to pierce worked steel. The string barely twangs even as arrow after arrow is loosed. A bright glow finally illuminates the archer’s hidden position, but the crackling bolt of lightning is blinding as it streaks forth.

Curator of the Pack: While Willow is typically not the sort to engage in open battle, sometimes it cannot be avoided. In such times, Willow reveals his hybrid form and leads the charge to drive back his foes. Clad in gold as he grows several feet in height, spectral hounds swirl and bay at his feet as he rises and draws forth a halberd from the earth. The head crackles with lightning and he strides forth, a spectral pack at his hide.

Immortality's End - Prodigy Prophecy

Name: Willow
Age: 20
Sex: Male
Race: Werefolk (Jackal)

Nation: Mecrundyr
Position/Status: Wild Warden & Rising Packlord

TL;DR History:

• Born to nomadic pack of Werefolk
• Six years to circuit the nation, stopping afterwards at their ancestral home to raise and hone Willow’s burgeoning talents
• Another circuit around the nation, this time Willow sneaks off into settlements to hang out with pets and their owners
• As they return the arcane cannon explodes and the pack hesitates to restart the journey without more information
• Scouts eventually report back that Baelwill has withdrawn much of their forces and that other packs are now on the move
• Pack eventually continues their nomadic ways, but naturally things become difficult with conflict between other Werefolk and the Mecrundyr population
• No one dies or anything, but eventually Willow gets tired of all the conflict and resolves to do something about it
• Making contact with one of the powerful merchant families in the nation, he extends the offer of partnership before disappearing back into the night
• After subjugating raiders plaguing the area, his offer is accepted and his position as Wild Warden formally announced
• Safeguarding all residents of Mecrundyr, he plans to first unite all Werefolk under him or stop the conflict at the least

Skills and Abilities:
Lay of the Land: Whether forest or plain, Willow’s ability to traverse Mecrundyr’s lands are almost without peer. Beyond that it seems that his skill enhances those that work alongside or beneath him. His raiding party was known to sink into the treeline and leave no trace, or move from one plain to another with unnatural swiftness. The land itself seemed to conspire against efforts to track or catch Willow, and he welcomed pursuers with but a grin as a result.

Bountiful Friends: The lay of the land is not Willow’s only blessing though. He can count on wildlife in the environment to heed his call for aid as well. Beyond a passive empathetic link that he can open up to connect with nearby animals, he can also speak words of power to beseech beings for aid and empower them so they may come to his aid. Naturally, he feels kinship with beasts of the canidae family and interacts with them easiest, but he is not limited to only them.

Druidic Marksman: A deceptively simple piece of wood quickly grows and shapes itself into a magnificent bow. A small twig twists and expands into a deadly arrow, sharp and strong enough to pierce worked steel. The string barely twangs even as arrow after arrow is loosed. A bright glow finally illuminates the archer’s hidden position, but the crackling bolt of lightning is blinding as it streaks forth.

Curator of the Pack: While Willow is typically not the sort to engage in open battle, sometimes it cannot be avoided. In such times, Willow reveals his hybrid form and leads the charge to drive back his foes. Clad in gold as he grows several feet in height, spectral hounds swirl and bay at his feet as he rises and draws forth a halberd from the earth. The head crackles with lightning and he strides forth, a spectral pack at his hide.