Discussion in 'RPG#20 - The Narrow Path Through Darkness.' started by Crusader, Apr 7, 2009.
Please Post all your character profiles here
Avrienne is Liadan's; Korienne is Senekha's.
Names: Avrienne Santhen and Korienne Santhen
Nicknames: Av/Kor (used only by close acquaintances), and Avrienne = “Vree” (only Kor is allowed to call her this). When they don’t wish to reveal their names, they go by the monikers Mistress (sometimes Miss) Sunshine and Mistress (never Miss) Midnight
Weapons: Av has her magic and daggers, and Kor carries two bows (a longbow and a recurve) as well as a large hunting knife and two smaller knives.
Avrienne and Korienne are identical twins, born of the Santhen lineage (at least maternally) in Rekethal. Their mother, Jakienne, was a mediocre runewitch who was devoted to helping small children. Their father was a criminal runewitch convicted of rape and murder – specifically the rape and later murder of Jakienne. He was also a powerful runewitch and a leader of a highly sought-after gang, all of them convicted of various crimes. At the time of the RPG, however, this is unknown.
Jakienne’s sister (who had always been jealous of Jakienne’s talents) deposited them at a minor branch of the Spiral, one of the most reputable schools. Feeling convinced that she had done her duty, she abandoned them to the Spiral (the school their mother graduated from). It would have been shocked and horrified her to learn that Avrienne, only a few years from graduating, had them expelled and hunted from the school.
When they were three, they witnessed a young boy whose spell backfired and incinerated him. After that, at four, Avrienne chose to pursue the path of a runewitch, following her parents’ footsteps. Kor chose instead to become an archer.
Obviously, Korienne could not be trained to fight at such a young age, and instead was trained to run and develop her strength. Avrienne was taught to write her runes in ink, but was forbidden from using her magic until she reached the age of thirteen. Both were trained to use knives, Kor so that she had an efficient close-quarter option (and thus more extensively than her sister), and Avri for last-ditch defense, should her magic and her sister’s fighting fail them.
Avrienne learned quickly; she had learned and memorized forty-four runes by the time she had turned nineteen (faster than most runewitches), including four runes known only to the Spiral. However, her learning was cut short at twenty when the Spiral discovered that she had killed a man experimenting with a rune, and they were expelled. Before she could be brought to justice, both Avrienne and Korienne fled. However, the greatest crime (in the Spiral’s opinion) is that Avri stole the scroll on which all the common runes were written in ink, another scroll containing the five Spiral runes, and several of the most ancient scrolls. Although most of the Spiral have convinced themselves that Avrienne will not be able to decipher the ancient signs to rediscover new runes, others are not so convinced, and have dedicated themselves to finding her.
Since then, they have traveled the land as homeless mercenaries for nine years; Av uses her talents to supplement her sister’s archery, and in turn, Kor protects her physically frailer sister. In those nine years, Av has mastered most of the common runes, but has yet to learn the last three out of a total of fifty-eight.
The sisters have no home, but rather travel and live a nomadic lifestyle, procuring what money they need through banditry or through hiring themselves out as mercenaries or assassins. They live off the land, with Kor hunting game and Avrienne procuring the necessary herbs and plants for their diets. They never stay in one place for more than a week. Along the coastal provinces of Rekethal, they are notoriously known.
At present, the sisters are traversing the coast, with no set goal in mind, simply following one whim to the next, whether it be looting a nobleman’s treasury or protecting a trade caravan.
The lines of their faces are clear and clean, not blurred; they are delicately sharp-featured and not prominently. They have caramel skin and dark hair and eyes. (Think Middle Eastern.) They are not particularly tall, but not petite either.
Avrienne wears robes covered with the loose-flying silk strips of a runewitch, upon which are written her runes. She has hundreds of these strips, and they are sorted upon her clothing by means of runes…for example, she has a collection of fire runes on one hip, and some distance runes on her left (etc etc etc).
Kor wears practical woodsman’s clothing, with harnesses across her body that hold her bows and quivers.
Sketches of the twins are forthcoming….
Avrienne is the elder twin, and it shows; she is the leader, the more outspoken one. But for being identical twins, their personalities are almost opposites. Av is sunny and patient, whereas Kor is dour and often ill-tempered save with her sister. It is impossible to tell when Avrienne is angry, as she is always smiling, even when she is in the middle of killing someone. It is also as impossible to tell what she is thinking; her smiling face means nothing. Although Kor is as difficult to read, it is because she is expressionless.
Neither of them has a problem with killing. Although Kor refuses to shed the blood of children, Av has no conscience. Perhaps the eeriest thing is that she still smiles even when they scream. It is impossible to tell what she is thinking at those times. Neither of them have any sense of morality whatsoever.
Both of them are cunning and intelligent, but Avrienne relies more on logic and reasoning whereas Kor uses instinct (often propelled by her senses). However, Avrienne lives by the code of natural justice, and holds conventional justice in contempt. The strong live and the weak die, and the strong have the right to take anything from the weak by the right of their strength. She has been heard to say, “To be strong is to be just.” She believes that she should seek only her own pleasure, even at the expense of others.
(A quote from the character Callicles in the dialogue Gorgias: “How could a man prove to be happy if he’s enslaved to anyone at all? Rather, this is what’s admirable and just by nature – that the man who’ll live correctly ought [not to restrain] his own appetites.”)
Kor believes this to a certain extent, but she does not embrace this as her life’s philosophy as her twin does. She has been known to restrain Av’s sometimes-excessive killing.
Name: K-107 Beta project (doesn't recall his name)
Nicknames: 107, the hollow man
Weapons: Unnatural strength and whatever sprouts from his body (eg claws, tentacles etc.)
occupation: until recently, test subject
Age: He doesn't remember
equipment: Nothing but a pair of cloth trousers
skills: nothing until he gets his mutations under control, but he may eventually be able to fly, breath fire, spit acid and more on command, as well as being abnormally strong and quick (which will slowly improve) although he has no knowledge of the skills or how to use them.
History: He lead a relatively normal life as a night watchman, he lived alone and continually went about a daily routine the same way everyone else did, until he chased a man out of town over a few stolen pieces of jewlery and, having lost his dog in the chase and gone to find it, ended up lost in the woods beyond the city limits, he soon stumbled upon the dog who was barking at the ruins of an ancient ivory tower, he knew nothing of the significance of the place or what power it held. under the assumption that the man was hiding there he entered, he had been the no less than five minutes when the magic surrounding him spiked causing terrible devastion and horrible mutation to all life in a mile radius. when he reported what he had seen he was locked in isolation, in a maximum security arcane research facility after exposure to what should have been a lethal level of magic energy. there he stayed for goodness knows how long being tested and experimented on by people who claimed they were trying to increase progress and evolve the human race.
His body and mind became warped and after a bloody and firey escape he was left alone, deranged, unsocialised and dangerous. a one of a kind mutant changed by magic.
appearance: He looks like a normal human, about 5'10" 160lbs, but inside him flows a malevolent stream of pure magic energy which can change his anatomy, though he has not yet learned to fully control the changes, he is able to supress them and decide when they happen.
Personality:he's insane, but not all trace of humanity has been lost, as soon as he makes contact with another human he will seek to become friends having been alone for so long.
i have plenty of ideas if this one is unnacceptable, just let me know if you think i should have a different one.
Name: Klaus, House of Rommel (Klaus Verre Rommel)
History: Klaus's story begins in the town of Siendrich, in the harsh mountains and valleys of the Shattered Kingdoms in the continent of Dei. The Shattered Kingdoms were once known as the Vannderhaggen Empire, until its greatest king died after he sided with Rekethal in the great war and left the land to be fought over by his sons, known as the 7 princes. By the time of Klaus was mature, the seven princes had been fighting their petty wars for 6 years and as a member of House Rommel, Klaus was expected to fight for Prince Stumpf.
The son of a tanner, Klaus trained a month out of every year as a man-at-arms, finding the training a fun break from the harsh work of skinning and drying in the meat markets of Siendrich, until inevitably Prince Stumpf called upon his men to take up arms against Prince Driech and take his lands. The war lasted three weeks, and Klaus and the other men of Siendrich were formed into the 13th company and sent to the front. Klaus helped his fellow soldiers storm and take the city of Aeurstadt in the first victory for Prince Stumpf's forces, but it was the battle after that which changed Klaus's fate.
The Battle of Leipzig resulted when Prince Heinz's forces chased the remaining defenders from Aeurstadt past the river Shoul and onto the Leipzig Plains, where the Aeurstadt army was re-enforced by Prince Driech's personal army and prepared for pitched battle. Prince Stumpf's army, also re-enforced from an army from the south, met them at dawn the next day, and carnage ensued. Klaus and his 13th company fought at first disciplined, but as the sun reached midday panic began to ripple among the ranks as Prince Driech's forces took ground. Finally, when all hope seemed lost, the 13th company rallied behind a Royal Calvary commander and charged a small hill, taking it and winning a strategic spot for Stumpf's army. Despite this victory, the 13th company was almost destroyed completely, with only Klaus and several others surviving the charge, and to Klaus, this was only by divine luck.
For helping with the victory at Leipzig, Klaus and two other soldiers from the 13th company were promoted to be Royal Doppelsoldner, or Two-Handed Swordsmen, the personal bodyguards of Prince Stumpf. Ushered into the ranks of these proud warriors, Klaus Verre Rommel felt out of place, and there by accident, and yet he still marched with them and the Prince to the battle of Lutzen.
The battle was a disaster.
Prince Heinz's forces were soon broken and in the midst of retreating, when the Doppelsodlner found themselves the only thing between the Prince Stumpf and Prince Driech's men-at-arms. Klaus stood with these warriors, large sword in hand, and waited for the charging enemy to reach him. He felt weak and unprepared, and yet he swung and killed with the rest of the body guards, until enemy soldiers outflanked them. Klaus saw them charging, and as he stood there, he had two choices, stand and fight, or run.
Klaus, of the House of Rommel, ran.
As he scrambled up the slope of a nearby hill the body of one of his fellow Doppelsodlner fell onto him, slain from an arrow. Klaus was trapped beneath the body of Moltke until the battle ended and the dead were left to rot. Klaus pulled himself up from the carnage and shuffled past the bodies of his dead comrades, all the Doppelsodlner were slain, along with the prince, and thus the war was done. But Klaus felt the guilt of his cowardice plague him, and he soon found that he could see the ghost of his dead comrade Moltke frequently, and Kluas was convinced he was crazy.
Now Klaus has wandered to the southern continent, a sword for hire, fleeing his past and the ever-raging war of the Shattered kingom.
Appearance: Klaus Verre Rommel is of average hight and stern build from years in the tannery. He has dark features common of his people, and has a harsh sounding voice the compliments the hardness of the Vannderhaggen language. He has the armor of Doppelsodlner, which is full plate mixed with cloth except for the head, where he wears a sort of beret. His weapon is the great sword, a two handed weapon with large hilt and larger blade, and a small knife.
Here is my profile, which I have put up in my own thread. Please let me know if it is passable for your RPG or not. I already have written a first post, if you deem me worthy.
Hopefully it is not lacking so much as some others and has some depth to it. And before anyone asks, no I do not have uber supernatuarl powers or something. Just a minor character hoping to add to the RPG.
FULL NAME: Piers Destrae
OCCUPATION: Information gatherer/Safe house operator for the Spymaster of Rekethal.
HOMETOWN: (at present) in Tanith, close to the border with Rekethal in a large city currently running a tavern named “The Demons Whip” in a market district well known for its underground dealings.
SKILLS: Well versed in all aspects of “normality” adept at appearing inconspicuous and blending in with his surroundings. As with all engaged in spy craft, he is familiar with petty criminal acts such as sleight of hand, pick pocketing etc. Quite good at reading lips and people’s expressions, hand gestures etc. Sexually ambiguous, and uses sex and love as a weapon in order to gain what is needed. Usually relies on his wit and charm to disarm most situations, however if pressed he is quite capable in unarmed combat or knife throwing. Has a disdain for the heavy weapons of war and will only pick them up and use them in an absolutely desperate situation.
LIKES: The high life and its associated perks.
DISLIKES: The fact that he lives a lie, and is denied these things in order not to betray his persona,
CLOTHING: Plain everyday wear of his profession, simple white shirt of indiscrimate quality, under a well worn leather jerkin. Greenish/brown breeches and quality well made boots, which appear cheap and rough by his deliberate scuffing and staining of them.
WEAPONS: Usually his manner of speech, or brilliant wide smile. However if the need calls he always carries a brace of throwing knives on his upper body, and one in each boot. A more than competent and capable proponents of unarmed combat as well. But he definitely has a penchant for knives.
RELEVANT HISTORY: The firstborn of a minor noble on the borders of Rekethal and Tanith, his family were ardent supporters of Rekethal. His father’s death in minor border skirmish on his ninth birthday fostered an intense hatred in him for Tanith and all it stood for. As his age was too young for him to take on his fathers mantle, his Uncle was appointed regent till he came of age.
His Uncle proved a foul craven man with unnatural desires, and made his and his family’s life a nightmare. As the conflict escalated and Tanith war parties constantly raided the area, his uncle reneged on his oath to Rekethal and changed sides, sensing this his best chance of retaining the title he had grown used too.
However a major battle in the area secured the province for Rekethal, and his family’s betrayal (even though it was entirely his Uncles fault) was exposed. The ancestral titles and lands were stripped from them, and the entire family and retainers etc were cast out penniless to whatever fate befall them. The uncle however disappeared in the chaos after the battle and has not been seen since in Rekethal.
The then twelve year old boy was taken into the service of the Councils Spymaster, due to his unique knowledge of the borderlands and hatred of the Tanith. Trained over the years in this craft, his resentment of everything grew, and his once haughty arrogant nature of the nobility, transformed into a twisted sadistic streak, that he was only too happy to express. A series of well executed missions early in his career brought him to the attention of the Grand Spymaster, and he was sent deep into the Tanithan capital on a delicate operation. Little is known of what occurred but a spate of unsanctioned murders and worse, almost brought the spy masters operation and the Tanith capital spy ring to an end. As one of the few survivors, he was relegated to a lesser role outside the main cabal, resulting in his current posting.
Height – 5’ 10’
Weight – 176
Eye Colour – Deep Sea green, intense but lifeless, devoid of caring.
Hair Colour – Black, but very closely cropped at present. Always clean shaven.
Has no major visible scars or injuries. Have a few minor marks on his arms and chest from altercations mainly with patrons. However on his left side of his chest, under his arm there is a long (5 inch) scar, which appear to have been made with a knife.
His body is quite sinewy and muscular, and his reflexes are very sharp. He often tries to hide this fact by deliberately slowing his actions in public and wearing looser clothes to indicate a paunch.
Very well schooled in all mannerisms of society and military technique. Very approachable and welcoming to those who appear to be of noble stature, yet slightly aloof and arrogant at the same time. Openly displays a somewhat flirtatious, almost sycophant in style at times when pursuing a mark, be it male or female. Despite his love of the art of seduction, he appears to be incapable of forming any emotional attachment with anyone.
Name: Gavin Whisperwind
Appearance: Long brown coat with a high collar and strips of metal in the sleeves and around the legs for some level of protection, black pants and boots with specially reinforced toes, usually wears either a red or blue shirt, black three point hat. short chopped brown hair and a scruffy goatee
Equipment: Chain shirt, various lock picks hidden all over his person, small knife, a few cords of varying length and thickness, quarterstaff, small telescope, tinderbox
History: Born in one of the nastier slums of one of the various cities dotting the coast of Dei, Gavin quickly took to a life of crime to keep himself alive. His father died when he was very young, and his mother soon followed, but luckily for Gavin fate wasn't getting rid of him yet. He was taken in by a former monk who taught him the craft of staff fighting, and the more subtle are that got him kicked out of the monastery, thievery. Under the monk's tutelage Gavin become a master thief, a skilled sneak and an expert escape artist. Once Gavin reached the age of 20 he left the monk and decided to try to make a name for himself in the world, unfortunately for Gavin, the anonymity of a good thief and his own dreams of fame were bound not to coincide in a way that he was willing to accept. He needed an angle, he needed an identity, he needed a title. It was then that Gavin gave himself the title of "the world's worst swordsman." While he has no way of proving this claim, as he never wields a sword, the plan was successful and he was able to gain a reputation as such, and in addition to his normal income generously donated to him from various unwitting benefactors, he is able to enjoy free drinks in many cities due to this dubious celebrity.
Now in his early thirties Gavin has slowly started to embrace some of the monk's other teachings, those of the gods and the heavens. However no matter how deep these beliefs run Gavin hasn't lost his sense of cynicism at the fact that these same parts of faith are used to inspire many to join the military, a career he could never achieve due to his natural sense of self preservation, which borders on the level of cowardice. Still when it comes to a good enough paying job Gavin's greed often overrides his lackluster sense of bravery and can inspire him to certain levels of heroism, for better or worse.
Full Name: Jaeger “Jae” Freematyr
Occupation: A solider of Rekethal
Hometown: Cemate Dor, a small village near the center of Dei. The soil there is rather rocky and not fit for farming. Up until fifty years ago, the only steady place of work was the Forest of Quartering, where one could find work as a lumberman. This all changed when Rekethal came, looking for soldiers.
Skills: Great brute strength, still visible from his time in the forest, in which he worked in from the age of 13 to the age of 20 when he joined the forces of Rekethal. As a soldier, he honed his skills into legitimate attacks. He also learned survival skills and understanding of nature, living so near to the forest.
Likes: Peacetime, though he knows war is necessary.
Dislikes: Bigots and moneyed folk
Clothing: An old Iron suit of chainmail and leather greaves. Overtop he wears a grayed cloth breeches and a tunic which bears the worn insignia of crossed swords. His forearms are padded with coiled white cloth.
Weapon(s) of choice: An iron maul upon an oaken handle and a small steel knife upon an ivory encrusted handle- a parting gift from his father.
Relevant History: He was raised in Cemate Dor, the son of Thayne Freematyr. His mother, Holly, died while he was only three, in childbirth to what would have been Jae’s first sibling. His father and he lived a lumberman’s life and he had held an axe since his earliest memories. He quickly gained strength and prowess as a lumberman, and gained a reputation among the other men.
His father never re-married and they lived alone, on the very edge of the small town. He loved his father more than most anything in the World, but he left him at 20 to make a name for himself in the ranks of the army. He didn’t want to end up a nameless peasant like his father had. He remained in the lowest ranks of soldierly until present day, where he sits a veteran under a soft-faced commander. His life wasn’t all that he might have hoped, but if only another war would come along, Jae can only hope that he can finally make a name for himself and cement his surname in the history books.
-Eye Color: A deep hazel color
-Hair Color: Short gray. His hair will rarely hang below his neck. He has a thick stubble on his face, but he rarely lets a beard show.
-Notable Scars/Injuries: He favors his left leg only slightly, though it is barely noticeable. His right cheek is greatly scarred from the falling limb of a tree.
-General Physical Ability: Above average, for his age.
Optimist/Pessimist: Optimist, in many ways. Pessimistic to the way of the World.
-General Intelligence: He has little schooling, though he is well informed on the Realm’s current events.
-General Attitude Toward Friends: He respects those who respect him, drinks with those who would drink with him.
-General Attitude Toward Strangers: He is rather welcoming, though he might be considered a little sharp before he gets to know you.
-Opinion of the World: There’s no saving it. Care for yourself and you might survive.
-Mental Endurance: Rather low
-Favorite Quote(s): “War is delightful to those who have had no experience of it.” Desiderius Erasmus
place of origion: rasaron cave kingdom
Race: kanahi ( a mixture between Elf, Vampire, and sand mage.)
religion: monk (pasafist) dosn't fight unless he feels threatend
skin taxture: normal human texture but is made of sand and dust particles
fighting style:evasive stealth
Powers:sand morph (can change hisself into different shapes allowing him extend and retract by moving around the particles he is made of. but after staying in that form for more than a minute his skin forms around the sand particles giveing him the texture of normal skin again.) dust orb ( can losen up particles in his body aloowing him to disinagrate and reform himself in a different location.)
weapon of choice: sand staff ( a staff made of sand particle allowing it to morph into sand with him but it cant change into other weapons.)
class weapon: two handed blunt staff (light stone)
skin color: sandy grey
eye color: red
hair style: long ponytail
Hair color: silver
body type: small, buff
personality: multiple depending on the situation and mood
History: born in the rasaron cave kingdom he was found as a baby and secretly raised by monk because of a beleif of true inner being. as he grew older he began to feel strange and at the age of 18 he could feel emence power running through his veigns. at the age of 25 he had mastered his powers with the help of monk training. at the age of 26 the monk empire was savagly raided by many dark elves but helpless as the monks were they faught to slow the elves down so that holin could escape. the elves obliterated the monks. holin swore to avenge his monk bretherin and assassinate the elvin king. he did so to years later working his way up to getting to be a close body guard to the king they didnt relize who he was with him being 1/3 elf then after the assassination he esscaped not to be seen or heared of for 9 years later the elves never did find out who assassinated there kings so to this day he dose not reveal that secret to keep peace between him and others.
Elsey the Dragonmaid
Princess of Stolen Crowns
History: Elsey’s story began with the Chia’la’an, and ancient and noble tribe of nomadic warriors renowned for their ferocity in combat and their seemingly immortal grace. The Chia’la’an would ride great caravans across the lands looking for a country of their own, beset on all sides by foes and so few in number their warriors would have to be worth a dozen of the enemy, they trained to such a degree they would forgo armour in battle, such was their confidence and skill. Over the years many kingdoms would court the Chia’la’an, hoping to bribe them with lands in exchange for martial service, but they would never accept serfdom at any price. Then finally came King Errenos of Lycea ho gave the last offer. Outraged and denial, he plotted to destroy the Chia’la’an out of spite. Using their fame against them he sent word to the next kingdom they would enter that they were mounting and attack, such was the neighbouring king’s fear he mustered a great host to stop them. And Errenos did the same. Trapped between the armies of two kings the long caravan of the Chia’la’an halted and the warriors took their stand. There were only six hundred and eighty four of them against tens of thousands of heavily armoured soldiers and mounted knights.
For nearly ten days the battle lasted, ten days of blood and steel, bodies piled so high they became battlegrounds in their own right, in the weeks to follow carrion birds would block out the sun over those fields. As sunset came on the ninth day of the battle the last knot of Chia’la’an warriors fell guarding the few remaining members of the tribe. Only a handful of the sick and the children, the rest of the caravan had taken up the fight alongside their guardians. The sickly were butchered and the children were taken as slaves and sold into captivity in the far east.
Elsey was four when she was sold into slavery. And grew up behind locked doors with chains around her limbs remembering little of her past and her people. But as time would prove, that past was written in her blood and could not be forgotten so easily.
For the next ten years Elsey was moved through the slave market, too young for hard labour she was also passed over by people wanting servants. No one was willing to have a Chia’la’an slave, out of fear of her cutting their throats in their sleep. It wasn’t till she began to mature that any interest was paid to her, for as she grew it became clear she had the fabled beauty of her people. At sixteen a great auction was held on the promise of the last flower of a dead people, a Princess in her own right they named her despite her people having no monarchy. Sold on the promise of a unique bed-slave the auction attracted many rich and powerful men. She was finally purchased by Loran, King of the island nation Mirca, taken to be the prize of his harem of slaves.
She spent a year as his possession, kept in golden chains like a pet, biding her time. She was given gifts; jewels and perfumes, dresses to try and buy her favour, some said the King had even given her his heart but it was not enough. Elsey would never accept her captivity, though she feigned interest and gave mock smiles waiting for the king to drop his guard. Exactly one year after her purchase, on her seventeenth birthday, the king brought her another gift, this time a simple gold armlet with three jewels set in it, and with his guards dismissed for privacy he unbound her hands to put it on her. Elsey seized this opportunity to enact her retribution. When he kissed her she leant in and sunk her teeth into his writing tongue, ripping from his mouth. His wet gargling too quiet for the guards to hear she reached for the king’s sword, wrenching it from the sheath he had left beside the bed. Even though this was the first time she had lifted a sword, she held it as if she was born with the hilt between her fingers. One powerful upward stroke took Loran between his legs, Elsey’s aim tempered by her year as his plaything, it wrenched up through to his midriff. His entrails spilled to the ground staining the marble floor. At his death, Elsey relaxed, letting go of the severed tongue she still had in her clenched teeth.
She took the king’s sword and the armlet he had given her to remind her of the day she set herself free. With just those two possessions and the wisps of silk the king had clothed her in, she fought her way out of the palace to escape. By the end of her struggle for liberation rivulets of blood ran down her skin and soaked her clothes, both her blood and the blood of her enemies. But she was unstoppable, fighting with the spirit of her people in her veins. She was at last free of Mirca, but not free of her past.
The sword she had taken from Loran and a long bastard blade that rippled in the moonlight. It was a relic of the ancient houses of the island nation which was said to have been crafted with divine purpose. Each king had held it in hopes it would bring great fortune to them, but none had achieved the greatness that the blade had prophesied. The glimmering sword now belonged to Elsey, and from its graven pommel she took her name; Dragonmaid, after the dragon’s head on the sword.
In the years that followed she spent much time as a mercenary to pay her way travelling westward. In the spirit of her people she wore no armour and fought with courage beyond equal, and though her flesh was rent time and time again in battle, never once did she fall.
At last, when she was past twenty she reached the Border of Lycea and Ferhos, and the field where the Chia’la’an had perished. There she vowed vengeance at the glimpsed memories she had of that day, and by the blood of her people she lived by that oath.
First she went to Ferhos, to find the king who had been tricked to slay her people and she tricked him in turn. Using the seduction she had learned in Mirca, she slowly made her way into the higher reaches of Ferhan society, eventually she shared a room with the king at a large banquet for the nobility. A hundred guests and a dozen or so guards in a marquee at the river’s edge, with no thought for logistics Elsey began her plan for vengeance, the oath assurance enough for success. As the sun set she tipped the nearest sconce against the canvas wall of the marquee setting the place ablaze. Her sword had been smuggled in the night before and placed under one of the tables in easy reach, and she quickly sought it out as panic set in. Beneath the flames that wreathed the canvas, structure she fought her way towards the king, butchering any who blocked her path. Guards closed in on all sides yet she refused to let them hinder her. The copses fell like leaves until at last the king’s head left his shoulders and she was left laughing under the flaming structure, lending credence to the name she had taken.
From then word spread to Lycea of the Dragonmaid, and King Errenos grew wary of the fate that had befallen the neighbouring monarch. Knowing from the reports he had been given that this was surely a Chia’la’an warrior come for revenge. He took shelter in his castle and ordered his legions to guard the walls with their lives. With ranks of enemies to guard each entrance there seemed no way for the Dragonmaid to triumph.
After a month of planning Elsey found a way into the fortress, through the cavernous cisterns kept for sieges. It took a day to navigate pitch black drains that collected rainwater to get to the falls beneath the palace, and she crawled like a worm through them, eventually emerging within the walls. In the depths of the night she snuck through the empty halls of the fortress making her way to Errenos’ chamber. At last she had reached her target when she opened the door to meet her foe she found him surrounded by guards. Such was Errenos’ fear he slept with guards boxing in his bed. Though she slew the guards that were there, by the time she had more arrived in numbers she could not face, and eventually she was knocked unconscious by the heaving throng and taken to the dungeons, not far from where she had entered the castle.
For three days she was tortured by the minions of the king, while Errenos himself watched all the while. Eventually when they though they had broken her they took her naked body and nailed her to a stout wooden beam. Her arms and legs punctured through four times each to keep her there. The guards then set about mounting the beam from the walls of the keep as an example to the people. When at last they had set her atop the crenulations beneath the sun Errenos himself stood before her to scorn her one last time. Captivity had already been proven ineffective against the Dragonmaid and Errenos would learn nails were a poor form of restraint.
With a great cry she wrenched her arms from the beam, tearing out half the nails while some remained in, keeping hold of shreds of her flesh. Stumbling forwards into Errenos she grabbed hold of him, and with the nails still stuck in her flesh, she wrapped her hands around his neck, where protruding nails took him in the throat piercing his veins.
Blood spilled over her hands and onto the both of them, and she met his stare, watching the life leave him, grinning all the way.
Weak and bleeding she took Errenos’ cloak to cover her body, and he sword that he had taken as her own and fled from the castle, the guards less vigilant, thinking their foe subdued. Elsey escaped to a sewer where she rested to recover her strength, stealing food and clothes from the city above she waited till she had strength enough to fight again. It took a week for her to even risk leaving the safety below ground, working her way through the city streets hooded to hide her face. There was still business left to do, her only real possession, her armlet had been taken from her, the symbol of her first kill, her freedom, and she would not leave without it.
Although the legions had suspected she had fled the city, it was no easy task re-entering the castle, the cistern was watched over this time, but the doors were less of a problem. Hiding in a supply wagon, inside a barrel of apples she managed to gain entrance. No one expected her to be mad enough to return.
Only a few encounters happened between the store rooms and the higher levels, and Elsey quickly dispatched the guards present. Making her way to the treasure room where the king kept the trinkets looted during his many wars. Cutting the key and the arm from the guardians she made her way inside There beneath the vaulted ceiling were treasures as far as the eye could see, on a simple wooden table ahead was her armlet.
As she picked it up something flashed in front of her, something black and shiny between the gold and jewels. As she bent down to examine it she recognised the thing at once. It was a belt just like the ones worn by her father, slick black metal rimmed in silver with a fiery jewel at its heart, upon its surface eight strange symbols were etched. She remembered however briefly that these were symbols worn by her people, a sacred mark of the warrior. Ordained by fate she took up the belt and buckled it to her waist, fixing on her sword. She quickly grabbed what few trinkets she could fit into her bag and left the room in haste.
On her way out of the higher levels she ran into a young girl in finery, her eyes red from tears. From here age and grief Elsey could tell she was Errenos’ daughter, the last member of his family after his wife and son had died at sea in the years before. The tears angered Elsey, for she had faced worse fates than this girl would know, baring her teeth all the way.
Elsey struck the girl with the pommel of her sword and trussed her over one shoulder. Fleeing the castle the same way she had entered, only now with a prisoner in tow.
As a last act of vengeance for her fallen people, Elsey would give the house of Errenos the same fate he had given the Chia’la’an. The men killed, the children sold into slavery. Then the girl could cry her pitiful tears, whipped, chained to the wall and alone.
Elsey has the same racial traits as her people, a pale complexion and slender build, amber eyes and brown hair hinting at red, and the ancient beauty of her people. Her mercenary lifestyle is somewhat at odds with this look. She wears simple clothing, tight leather trousers and high boots, her sleeveless shirt is ragged and cut from many battles. A few straps of leather and belts here and there holding on her various possessions. She has some notable ornamental equipment. Firstly her belt, a warrior symbol of her people, a warning for her enemies. Next is her armlet, plain gold but for three jewels and a set of numerals. She has a couple of simply rings and a jewelled choker, trophies from Errenos’ vault. Last, and at odds with the rest of her jewellery is a bracelet of rusty nails, bound together with a hempen thong. On closer inspection the nails still sport dried blood. This piece of jewellery is a symbol of defiance, made from the nails she still carried in her flesh after killing Errenos.
The years fighting and the lack of armour have left Elsey sporting more than her fair share of scars. Most of her body is littered with gouges and long slashing marks. Relics of her many exploits. Nowhere is more covered than her face and head, yet through all the marring, her smile is still as seductive as ever while she still paints her face like other women but also to highlight her scars menacingly.
Elsey carries a few small possessions at her waist; money, whetstones, flint and tinder, trinkets, some odd bits and pieces, enough for travel but not enough to burden her. Occasionally she will carry one or two cast iron black-powder bombs, tools she has grown fond of for the mayhem they cause, though her first trials with them were responsible for a good deal of her scars. At her belt is her sword, which is the only possession she really needs.
Most of her strengths come from her bloodline, traits bred into her people since time immemorial. The first is an affinity for combat, a general martial prowess that places her above most others. While a degree of this is innate, without being brought up by here people and trained in their full art of combat she does not have the full skill of a Chia’la’an warrior, and only time will tell if her prowess will ever reach this level. As she is at the moment she can rival all but the most proficient swordsmen.
The second innate racial trait Elsey has is the fortitude of her people. When determined enough only the most grievous wounds will stop her and she will fight on till she has no blood left to fuel her limbs. This does not make her invincible, only resilient, wounds have the same physical effect, if a muscle is torn in half it cannot be used, but pain alone will not stop her. Much of this ability goes towards counterbalancing the fact that she will not wear armour but the difference in speed and flexibility is patently obvious in combat; Elsey’s lithe and nimble form capable of outpacing foes in bulkier attire with ease.
In some ways this last trait is in part a form of psychological conditioning which stems from the determination of the warrior, and thus the ability can scale depending on the situation. If fuelled by extreme emotions of hate or other intense feelings, then the effect is multiplied, if there is little stake for her then she is unlikely to continue fighting as long as she must.
my new char:
Name: Isaac Gunstrum
Occupation: Royal General (retired)
Isaac began his military career at 16 when he changed his name to Greal Bosalt and enlisted illegally to escape hanging for manslaughter during a bareknuckel brawl in a bar in an empoverished area of him home city. He was sent overseas to where he assumed he would be safe but was, in fact, to be a meat shield on the front line for a battle that, as cliched as it sounds, went horribly wrong.
As they approached what was to be the field of battled between two nations, they discovered that another battle had already begun, one on a much larger scale than theirs could have been. The force opposing theirs stood staring on the other side of the battlefield, just outside of the range of longbows. It appeared as though they were waiting, waiting for their opponant to make a move. They knew that if the opponant could not win this battle, they could not claim the high ground and from there, conquer this province. The battle was to be fought over a vital strategic location, ananother battle had beaten them to it.
Gunstrum was shocked when he heard the general call the charge. He pleaded with his captain, told him that they should fight the winner, not enter such a large figt with so small a force. he was struck in the jaw, and told to move now or be killed on the spot. He rallied the rookies with him and charged the enemy line, as he began to run the world went white. He felt an intense surge, a mixture of fear, rage, pain and adrenaline and as the battle once more came into view he felt nothing. nothing at all. he simply sidestepped the first arrow and leapt what was left of the first line of spears into the fray.
He remembered only flashes. Fire. Blood. the clashing of metal. the rending flesh and the terrible screams. It was in this battle, a battle later known as the thousand hours of bloodshed, that forged the first step of his legacy.
when the weapons were blunt, the dead were stripped of their equipment. When the reinforcements were exhausted, the wounded were made to fight. It was in the storm of of combat that he rested and fed upon those fortuneate enough to have died within six hours after their arrival. Those who lived long enough had to sleep in holes beneath the corpses just to stay alive.
After the battle he was called to by a officer resplendent in gold and red atop white horse. He was accompanied by a brigade of soldiers in clean red uniform and polished armour.
"Hail! General over here!" Called the man. Isaac had taken the generals sword and standard to rally the fragments of what had once been an army, one could just make out the colours of the tattered flag under the blood and filth.
"You come over here!" came the reply as Isaac sat down. The man approached him and looked him up and down, the beaten, shirtless, grime coated figure before him was no general.
"Who the devil are you?!" He demanded. "And where is General Khalon!?"
"His body's right next to you, his heads over there somewhere." He said casually.
"And you are!?"
"Isaac, Isaac Gunstrum, footman second battalion." The man produced a scroll and ran his finger down the parchment.
"You must have been a reinforcement, i dont have you down as part of the original task force."
"Oh, try Greal Bosalt." The man chacked again.
"Ah, yes there you are. Which are you?"
"I killed a man, need somewhere to hide. Turns out a stack of bodies works a treat."
"But, you must be hanged!"
"Aw come on! I've killed two hundred at least! hang me then! Hang me two hundred times!"
"Calm down, hang on. are you saying you're one of the first force?"
"You should be dead. you've been here for forty days! My god man!"
"yeah long time, can you just get me some food, water and a place to sleep? a doctor would be nice too. or you could hang me, i'll get over it."
"I will fetch water immediately, you are a war hero sir! you have aided your country in the claming of this most valuable land."
"Of course! These hills are rich in quality mineral deposits, this battle has made a lot of people immensely rich." Isaac lifted him by the neck and glared into his eyes.
"Thats what this is about!? Money!? Hundreds, no, thousands of people just killed each other! how much of this money would they have seen. How much will their families see?"
"Know your place boy!" the officer pushing him back. "They're grunts, they wouldn't know what to do with it."
"You know whati'd do with it?" Said Isaac quietly as his eyes welled up with tears."I would buy home. I would eat well for once. I would never again have my life threatened by illness."
"You need not, you are a hero, i'll see you promoted to officer if it's the last thing i do, my boy!"
And that was it. He was lead away to a hospital. upon his recovery he was given a medal and promoted to the rank of officer. It was a bitter thing to see himself profit from such a horrible event, so much death over monetary matters...
As he continued to work his way up the ranks his list of heroic accomplishments grew and with each battle came more glory. He vowed that he would not fight for the crown, but for any honourable and noble cause. he refused to take just any army into battle, choosing instead to train one hundred men beside whom he would fight.
The irony was not lost on him as he was forced into retirement when during a routine patrol he was shot in the chest with a crossbow. he surived, but the king would not allow it to happen again. he honourably discharched Isaac and told him that it was time to live the rest of hi life serving himself. most officers retired at forty, but it was a crushing blow for Isaac to have to leave at forty five, all he knew was combat, whether it was against an army, which rarely happed anymore, or against rebels or beasts.
When he heared of the kings disappearance he felt it his duty to join the search for him, to do battle on last time for the sake of honour and glory.
phew... hope you like this one
Name: Aelaellodru (ay-LAY-lo-droo)
Nicknames: Hashim; Aelo
History: Aelaellodru was born a citizen of Ch'umar, a country in the southwest of Lorrha, bordering on the Eastern Provinces, and covered mostly by desert. She was taken into the service of the royal household as a servant when her mother collapsed in the path of Queen Y’ondra’s litter. Aelaellodru, almost four at the time, had refused to leave her mother’s side, and consequently caught the attention of the queen with her unusual looks when she glanced outside her litter to see what the problem was. The queen’s guard advised her to leave the child behind, but she called for the mother to be cared for and the child taken into her service, and so it had been. The other servants could only coax a few words from the mother as she lay dying on her pallet in the corner of their quarters, one of which was “Aelaellodru”. They assumed it to be the child’s name, and began to call her such. The mother passed away the next day, and her body disposed of. Aelaellodru began her training as a servant.
Due to her unusual appearance, it was speculated that Aelo’s father was not of Ch’umar heritage; however, due to her sweet and hardworking nature, most of the other servants called her hashim, “half-breed”, teasingly, rather than with true malice. After the birth of Queen Y’ondra and King Emait’i’s first child, the princess Kalieb’i, Aelaellodru was taken from the kitchens to serve as Kalieb’i’s attendant and playmate, as the queen trusted none of her husband’s subordinates or their children, as life in the land was difficult, and even a child knew how to kill for gain. Y’ondra’s fears were well founded, for political dissent was beginning to build in the kingdom. The princess was two when Aelo was finally chosen, Aelo herself seven, and well versed in proper servant etiquette and manners, despite her young age.
When she was eight, Aelo accompanied Kalieb’i and her father on a journey to visit one of his staunch allies. They were ambushed just out of sight of the capital, and the raiders broke through the royal guard, killing one of the men near Kalieb’i and Aelellodru. Realising that he was trying to take the princess’ life, Aelo snatched up the fallen guard’s sword and swung it at the raider, wounding him and distracting him enough to be dispatched by the other guards, who had regained the upper hand. Upon hearing of Aelo’s bravery, Queen Y’ondra gave her the honour of a tutor so that she may be educated, and Emait’i, remembering her courage, had her enrolled in the military academy so that she may properly learn the art of the sword and return to protect Kalieb’i and his new son, the prince Rak’uma.
Aelaellodru left the palace for seven years, returning with honours for her valour in battle to take her place as the royal guardian of ten year old Princess Kalieb’i and seven year old Prince Rak’uma. She was gifted with the scimitar she had taken from the fallen guard, and there she stayed, the silent, eternal watchman, for five more years. In that time, Kalieb’i fondly dubbed her ‘good at everything, great at nothing’, for although she did well in games of strategy, she could be beaten, nor did her strengths lie in courtly manner or elegant speech, and she was easily bested at archery or horsemanship. This was to be her downfall, for she was thrown from her horse while racing Rak’uma, and injured her ankle. Unable to serve until it healed, she was sent to her quarters, replaced by another guard. The palace came under attack that night, and a frightened, sobbing Kalieb’i found her way to her room, her guards killed and she barely managing to escape through the secret passageway in her residence.
Quickly exchanging clothes with the princess, Aelaellodru chose to act as a decoy to buy the her time to escape, knowing she could do little to fend off an entire force of warriors. Limping down the corridors, sword in hand, she managed to struggle her way down to the stables, where she took the princess’ horse, Aw’kim, and fled the palace, trying to distract as many enemy soldiers as possible while she did so. A group began to pursue her, and she led them with satisfaction in a roundabout through the city, eventually losing them out of sheer luck, and not by choice.
Stopping by one of the less bloodied corpses, Aelo switched clothing and dragged it into the street, hoping the invaders would see it, assume the princess dead (for few had ever seen her face), and call off the search. She then took Aw’kim and made her way out of the city to the secret meeting place the royal family had for such emergencies such as this. Three days she waited, and when no one came, she left, guilt deep in her heart.
With no family to speak of and no one to serve, Aelaellodru made her way from settlement to settlement, despair crushing her when word of the royal family’s death reached her. Around her, many people rejoiced, for Y’ondra and Emait’i had been ill loved. Their rule had brought about famines, so the people said, but Aelo knew it was naught but bad luck that had brought unfavourable weather about during their reign. For several months she wandered, leaving before any could recognise her or Aw’kim, unlikely as it was, always heading closer to the border and miserable.
As she travelled, she heard of work available for mercenaries and information gatherers, and, having nothing else, she turned Aw’kim to the north and headed for the strange nation known as “Tanith”.
Equipment: Aelo still carries the Ch’umar royal guard scimitar she was gifted when she protected Princess Kalieb’i from the would be raiders when she was young. The scabbard is the same, although she has altered the suspension system to allow a quicker draw, making it hang more horizontal than vertical at her hip. She has bought her own hunting knife, as her sharp eyes made her valuable to Rak’uma as a hunter, but it is old looking and a little beaten, despite her diligent care. In a small, leather holster she keeps a whetstone, a piece of flint and her travel repair kit of oil and cloth. Her quiver is small, and holds about twenty arrows, although it has a drawstring that can be tightened to secure the arrows when travelling swiftly and to keep sand (and now, rain) out of it. The bow she carries is a shortbow and made of a single piece of wood, rather than being composite, and has a maximum effective range of about 75 yards. She carries it unstrung to preserve its effectiveness, keeping the string in her travel kit when not in use.
In a separate pouch hanging closer to her sword, she carries several packets of different medicinal herbs, all bought at great expense by the royal treasury for emergencies only. In that pouch she also carries a single rune of weak healing written in ink by the royal runewitch, but she keeps it more out of sentimental value than of practical use, as she has had no training in the arts of magic.
Aelo also has in her possession a horse named Aw'kim, meaning “swift”.
Appearance: Sporting the bronzed skin of her people, yet bearing hair the colour of the desert sand and eyes of jade, Aelaellodru is much fairer than many of her dark haired, dark eyed companions. Her eyes are slightly almond shaped, which is unusual, although she has the prominent nose and full lips that are common to her people. It is obvious that she shares the heritage of another country aside from Ch’umar.
Aelo stands roughly 5’5” (165cm), and weighs 140lbs (64kg), although she doesn’t look it, as most of her weight is muscled gained from her travels and training. She has a scar under her lip from where she put her teeth through it when she was younger, but is otherwise unmarked. Her hair is often in a braid that reaches to her waist or bound up into a simple chignon at the nape of her neck.
The traditional dress of her people consists of wide pants, a loose, billowing shirt covered by a tunic and belted with a thick sash, and a cowl-like headdress to keep out the sun and the breath free of sand. While she still wears her traditional garb, Aelo has altered it by investing in a pair of sturdy Tanithian boots and leather bracers, into which she tucks the ends of her pants and shirtsleeves, and a relatively thin, yet warm blanket she rolls up and tucks through her sash near the back when it’s not in use. Being right handed, she wears her scimitar on her left side, which is hung from two straps of leather that reach up to the belt around her waist, which is covered by her sash. From her belt also hangs a pouch that contains all her medicinal herbs, and the small, leather holster that holds her materials for sword care is attached just behind her, underneath the sash.
On her back she carries her quiver, and, when not in use, her unstrung shortbow which she uses for hunting purposes only.
NAME: William Silverblade
AGE: 111 years old. William's unnaturally long life span is somehow linked to his exceptionally rare bloodline. He appears to be no older then his early fifties, but his knowledge of rune magic and of the world of Lorrha, quickly show those who speculate his true years, that indeed, he has seen his fair share of seasons pass him by.
Hair: Long flowing silver hair with the odd golden strand.
Eyes Pale blue eyes. They reveal an honest soul, with decades of magical study seen through them, the eyes of a master rune mage. Somewhere just under the surface also lurks a tired soul who feels the pain of seeing all those he once cared for, pass from this world. He lives on to help others and continue his endless search for knowledge of the lost runes, fabled to once exist throughout Lorrha.
Height nearly six feet tall, he is a thin man, but far from frail. Although he lacks the sharpness of youth, his magical powers are more then enough to make up for his weaker physical strength.
History William was raised by his mother Elysian and his grandfather Faromere along the northern shores of the Narrow Sea. Never knowing who his real father was, always wondering where his true origins lay, William grew up feeling like an outsider, always sensing the differences between himself and the other rune witches and mages of the small, isolated community. For most of his early life, William spent it alone, with his mother and grandfather, learning all he could of the wonders and ways of magic. It was an escape for him, from the ridicule of most everyone else. William quickly mastering the 50 or so common runes know to exist, and through long hours of study, he managed to create a few unique runes of his own.
When William finally became a man, he felt the call of the open road. He set off to see the world and find his place in it. These adventuring years, are William's fondest memories from his long life. The freedom and fascination of youth were his, and he used this time of wonder, to further his knowledge of the magical arts he so loved. William travelled the lands on both sides of the Narrow Sea for more then fifty years, making many friends and acquaintances throughout these years of discovery.
Now, with all his fellow adventurers either deceased or retired, William finds himself as he was in his youth, alone. With rumours of war whispered on the lips of all those he has spoken to in the past few days, William has decided to come and offer his help to Rekethal. He feels compelled to do something, to prevent the escalation, which will surely lead to war. He has also sensed that something far more sinister lies just beneath the surface of this troubling time, possibly something magical in nature, but what? Driven to find the answers to these questions, he has left his studies of runes for another day and has traveled to Rekethral to offer his help, in any way he can.
Equipment The old wizard wears flowing white robes trimmed with many silvery common runes and a long white cloak given to him, long ago, by his grandfather. William carries a long wooden staff, topped with a brilliant blue crystal orb. Other then his staff and white rune wizard's robes, he only carries his velvety blue spellbook, filled with his life's work of rune magic, blank silk sheets and a handful of coins to pay for his meals and lodging along his continuing journey.
Separate names with a comma.