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Fantasy Axelis Fantasia | Interest Check (Closed)

Design & Code by Serobliss
Axelis Fantasia
Character by SleepySheepiez
Chapter I. Introduction
Esther, the Dawnseeker - Main Theme
The Dawnseeker
Chaos Root: Hyreus
Esther
Profile
General Information
Race
Draculus
Gender
Female
Age
232
Height
6'3" | 192cm
Class
Hyreus, Protector
Origin
Murkmourn, Aeslengard
Description
Scorching Inflorescence

Tall, pale, and divinely beautiful, Esther makes efforts to accentuate her people's gift of supernatural beauty, taking pleasure from fine clothes to drape over her curved shape, and gilded baubles to match the undertones of gold that streak through her Ink black hair. She finds fondness in natural beauty, considering it often to be an outward expression of what a person holds inside. A gift from the gods themselves. Yet, despite the apparent value she places on outward appearance, it's still nothing more than a hobby to her, inconsequential in the grander picture, and nothing more than a pleasurable distraction from what truly matters.

Esther's worldview is one dominated by her own passions, her own whims, and her own ideals. To these she devotes herself wholeheartedly with an almost frightening fervor. Dull, dark eyes, almost to the point of colorlessness, will illuminate into something inhuman the moment she sets her full attentions onto something, and once she does, the imperious Draculus will stop at nothing.

Be it the soothing quench of her next feed, the righteous retribution aimed for those who've slighted her, or the violent protection of those she's deemed worthy enough of it, Esther's ironclad will and, perhaps dangerous, conceit are both assets and exploitable flaws. The ageless woman's whims may be fickle, but they land with purpose.

For there's another thing that drives her, above all.
Though the world may seem to have tired itself of gods and the divine, still there is one who carries her faith ardently. Vanhela's followers may be few in number, and her death at the hands of the Godslayer was surely enough to snuff out the last spark out devotion for most, but there is one who's mortal thirst for blood is eclipsed by an even greater want.
Every drop of blood spilled is consecrated in her name.
Every life taken is offered up to it's fallen progenitor.
The adoration the Dawnseeker carries for her dead goddess seems irrational at times, perhaps even mad, but the effect it has on her actions and emotions leaves no room for doubt.

There is only love,
undercut by hunger.
Ambitions
Inner Aspirations

One would not think a woman who devotes herself so entirely to her corpse of a goddess to have ambition beyond the honour and restoration of her deity's name, but, in this regard, Esther defies expectation.
For the tall Draculus bears something of an ulterior motive behind her faith.

The one thing the apostle of the goddess of life reaches for above all else is life eternal.
The heinous Godslayer himself proved it a very real possibility, and Esther plans to follow his bloody footsteps to the gates of her own true immortality.

Second to this, of course, lies the final fate of Vanhela. To one who believes in miracles, the blessed resurrection of her one true ruler is all but a certainty. In the mind of the Dawnseeker, once her own near-deification is achieved, how better to spend an eternity than at the side of Vanhela herself?
Her trusted right hand and fiery sword, to protect and be guided ever after.

However, should this reality finally be realized as an impossibility...

well...

The land would then be in dire need for a chosen Immortal to take on the mantle of her progenitor, wouldn't it.
Esther finds it a heavy cross to bear of course, but it is one she sees herself as more than qualified for should this hateful necessity prove necessary.
After all, Should the Dawnseeker find no dawn over the horizon, the only option left would be to make her own.
Regrets
Past Failures

There are very few things Esther regrets. Most of the thoughts that would trouble her so are swiftly doused and discarded. There's no time to be dwelling on what has happened after all, only on what will. In this regard the Dawnseeker is rather carefree in her whims, perhaps too much so. The dealings of civilization and the mortal realm aren't much more than fancies and frivolities to her now.

Nonetheless, the thought of Vanhela's death at the hand of the Godslayer is something that scars her to this day. Though she knows it to be nothing more than fantasy, when these things happen there's always the insistent notion that things would have turned out better if she had only been at her side. If only one more person had been there to cut the Godslayer down before he did the irreversible damage he had...
The dream is mere fantasy, even for Esther, but it pains her all the same.

The second of her few regrets rings much the opposite. Where the death of a goddess brings her only sadness and hurt, Esther finds herself filled with cavernous, blood boiling rage for each of the prideful Nephilim she failed to cut down every single one of the arduous years she spent avoiding and enduring the suffering they wrought during the cruel genocide of her people.
This is a slight not so easily forgiven by the balm of faith.
Chapter II. Combat Statistic
Chaos Root: Archon
Awakening History & Experiences
Awakening from a bloodlusted Stupor, Esther trembles as she scrabbles to her feet. Around her lies what remains of the wounded Nephilim she had come across. His obsidian blade lies useless on the ground, kicked away out of reach. It had been her only chance. She had watched him use the marks before. A surprise attack was her only bet. That kind of power was the only way she could ever hope to survive the horrors that were sure to come. She had to do it, Vanhela forgive her she had to. The draculus woman in the plain dress, stained and ragged with red, watches as the marks come into being.
Was the gift of the chaos root one that could truly be taken? or was it only given. The first had been the reason she'd taken her moment to strike. The second, was far more disconcerting to consider. The Nephilim did not give anything to a creature like her. They only took and took and took. Esther dries her tears and turns to stalk away into the night, filled with newfound fear and power.
Physical Examination
Strength Measurement
Strength
Mobility
Endurance
Arts
Control
Inventory
A Gilded Birdcage
Finely crafted, sturdily made, Some strange power exists within it's thin golden bars. Despite the beautiful fragility of its design, the birdcage will not break, no matter how forcefully it is smashed against. Esther has tried crushing it beneath boulders, watched as it's trampled by wild beasts, felt the deadened rattling of a steel blade in her palm as it is jounced harmlessly off it's delicate-looking, gilded door. The draculus keeps the cage with her always, one of the few possessions she carries with her. When asked about its purpose, she will retreat coldly behind an emotionless mask. It is a telltale sign that some part of her is too deeply attached to it.
Far too deeply to let anyone find out.
A Blood Red Blade
The Dawnseeker carries with her a stained blade of forged and tempered steel, perfected by the renowned metalworking techniques of her people. It is not a pretty sword. Its straight utilitarian edges are forever sharpened and kept with care, even if the things she's killed with have left their bloody mark on an otherwise unassuming and straightforward weapon. The murky, rippling reddish-silver of the flat is the only notable aspect of it. A butcher's knife needs no gilded adornments to be effective.
There's a different kind of beauty to be found in this truth.

Esther had never seen fit to give it a name.
Chapter III. Background
Esther - "Caged in Endless Dusk"
Act I. Larva
Once upon a time, in the dust coated halls of a since abandoned churchground, there lived a quiet human girl with ebony hair. Her parents had left her there, gone of to live or fight or die without the burden of a girl weighing them down. Whoever the two had been, the care of the daughter still too young to remember them was left to the religious caretakers of several other abandoned children, owners and custodians of those venerable shrinegrounds. They preached to her of a Goddess of life and love. A goddess worthy of adoration. Vanhela was a goddess to take solace in even as the scourge of disease and wicked creatures left in the wake of the second divine conflict continued to ravage this forlorn stretch of marshy Aeslengard countryside.

The young girl could most often be found playing near the gilded golden cage of a blue songbird that was kept in one of the many empty rooms filled with sheet covered furniture that brought to mind ghosts of the of the tenants who had once called the church their home. Everything about the cage was enamoring to the impressionable mind. The simple beauty of the bird with its feathers and its voice. The way it looked fondly at her when she brought it feed, chirping its gratitude.
It is here by the cage that the ebony haired girl curled when she began to get sick. It was here the screams graced her ears when all across the village, the humans began to turn.
Act II. Chrysalis
There is little of the girl's life as a Nightwalker that she cares to remember, and littler still that she found pleasure in. The Nightwalkers may not have been savage beasts, but this one preferred to be seen as such. It kept the curious away from the slowly decaying grounds of the Church in the ghost town of Murkmourn. The animals that are killed, are hung half-eaten from the branches coming in, and the foolish who ignore the warnings find a gruesome end in the jaws of the reclusive monster of Murkmourn.

Should a stealthier individual have evaded the beast's attentions and for some reason followed it about as it made its tireless rounds in and around that abandoned marsh graveyard of a village, they may have borne witness to the Haunting sight of a gangly Nightwalker kneeling in gutteral prayer before the crumbling shrine to the goddess of life, speaking a language only, or perhaps listened to it's croaking sobs as it curls around an empty gilded cage, carressing bars that should have reasonably been broken by now in the creature's supernaturally powerful embrace.
Act III. Metamorphosis
The burning was agony. She had considered fighting it at first, considered breaking away to hide away in her familiar trails and musty buildings. The town was empty and rotting, but it had become hers over the years. For one turned so young, the finer points of interaction were sorely lacking.
And yet...

When she saw what it was she was becoming... the woman emerging from the howling husk of the hulking woodland beast found herself wearing a smile. This was a gift! It was surely a blessing from the goddess that she had not only reclaimed her 'humanity', but had become something more. She was Draculus they told her. They fed her, and clothed her, and taught her once more the ways of civilized life. The woman took the name Esther, and devoted this new life ever more fervently to Vanhela. The gilded cage she carries with her always, a reminder of what was lost, a beautiful trinket, and a mystery coursing with a strange pulsing power that Esther sometimes swore she could feel.
Act IV. Pursuit of the Dawn
The advent of the third divine conflict was the hammer that crashed down to shatter the relatively peaceful existence of esther the priestess. Well adjusted, and far more composed than she had ever been, The ethereally beautiful draculus now sports a golden undertone to her ebony hair. She walks with pride and grace among her newfound people, wanting for nothing. Her days of reclusive hermitage and killing to survive were long past. This was when the Nephilim came. The Nephilim with their obsidian swords and their stolen knowledge. The Nephilim with their betrayal and their self-righteous extermination of every last draculi they could get their steel into.
The life Esther was living was dashed to pieces.

But though the woman no longer lived the life of the wild nightwalker, the Monster of Murkmourn, the lessons it had taught her were what ultimately saved her. She could disappear into the marshes she knew like no other, follow the well traveled animal trails hidden by the cover of brush, and she could kill if need be, with only her seemingly magical birdcage as witness to her foul deeds.
And that is what she did.
It was the only way. Her only ticket out of hiding. To become powerful enough to escape the Nephilim menace for good. Though her life as a true citizen of the draculi had perhaps lifted her pride above that base necessity, her present circumstance was quick to dispel those acquired notions. And so she waited, watched, and bided her time. By stroke of luck, she came one night across a lone Nephilim soldier, wounded in the fighting. He bore, as most of his kind did, a dangerous Chaos root. It was to be Esther's key to living.
Somehow... She took it.
And took her leave of the country.

In the years to come, Esther would gradually be molded into a warrior of some modest renown, wandering from town to town, place to place. The somber traveler from afar would slake her thirst on the guilty and the criminal, all in search of a way to finally be at her goddess's side. Seeking a way out of the grey murk her world seems to have cloaked itself in.
Act V. Call to Flame

Initially, Esther regarded the beautiful letter as nothing more than a pretty piece of paper. It was on a whim that she decided to answer the summons. This would be another dalliance to while away the time until her opportunity to achieve her only wish presented itself. It would be amusing at least to watch this girl's dreams crumble and fall before the unbelievable power she attempts to stand against. None of it would really end up mattering in the long run, now would it.
However, It was on the journey there that her opinions began to shift, Little by little, right up until she met the Daughter of the Godslayer in person. The more thought the Dawnseeker gave to this silly quest, the less ludicrous backing it began to seem. After all, was the holy corpse of Vanhela not held somewhere under the deepest protection of her father's kingdom? Did this not present as clear an path as ever could be found to strike down his undying wickedness for good?
Was this not the very opportunity she was claiming to wait for?

To a wanderer such as the Dawnseeker, there exists no nation for her to abandon that she has not already. The promise of adventure is amusing, a welcome prospect even, but there will be no new purpose for the driven Draculus just yet.

Only an old one.

A fallen purpose that bleeds divine gifts into a nation built on blasphemy of the highest order.
And so, though her goals might lie only loosely in conjunction with that of the Evernight Princess, that is all the reason Esther needs to devote herself wholeheartedly and soulfully to the cause, even if her usual methods aren't quite all that much as bloodless as her new liege might hope.
 
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ATurei

The Attic Ghost
Design & Code by Serobliss
Axelis Fantasia
Character by Aturei
Chapter I. Introduction
Iana - Embracing the Light and Shadow
Wistful Drifter
Chaos Root: Archon
Iana Ilmarinen
Profile
General Information
Race
Azelthyrian
Gender
Female
Age
166
Height
5'11 | 180cm
Class
Archon / Archer
Origin
Exultius
Description
Scorching Inflorescence
FC Source: ATyurei
Iana is a woman seemingly full of contradictions. Her way of life is wandering, her temper restless. She is most often seen in the wild, on great detours between city to city. She dresses simply in an ascetic way, her clothes are always weathered and roadworn, and yet beneath all the dust and dirt, she retains an exotic, otherworldly look. For she belongs nowhere. Not in any cities of Exultius could she find a place to call home, nor does her yearning for companionship let her wander long in the wilderness.

Ever since she could remember, Iana has been drawn to the merry laughs of all intelligent races. She thirsts for their stories, the drama of their everyday lives, their deep emotions, and their sentiments. Often she would stay for months in town, making friends, carving a place in the community, only for the wild to beckon her away again. For she could only be at ease sleeping on barren ground, under great boughs for a roof, rather than in any comfort the civilized world could provide. Time from to time, she would return to nature, finding her callings in befriending beasts and contending with savage monsters. Shifting to and fro, she juggles such an unwanted imbalance, left frustrated for more yet always in want of a perfect environment. She envisioned them often: a band of close wanderers ever moving to a new horizon, the love they share as deep as for the ground they walk on. Being a doer and an adventurer at heart, she had attempted to form a band of Azelthyrian to go on such adventures, but none stayed for long and all eventually left her to settle down or for new companions, new opportunities. Only she remained on the move with the burning adventurous blood of ancestors in her veins. Always she would move on, find a place to fit in, until it is no longer so.

She had a love for songs and verses, thinking of them as the closest imitation of the beautiful sounds of nature. But she cares not for any other civilized pleasures. Even her foods are never seasoned, though they are always cooked lightly. She wishes for a companion who’s as ascetic as her, but she never bothers others for their taste. She’s accepting of others, willing to befriend even outlaws, if only for a night by the campfire. But she has little tolerance for injustice, for crimes done against people, no matter the race, is not only an affront to the community but a hindrance to the harmony she seeks. Though she could be judgemental, it’s never personal for her, as all past sins can be forgiven, so long as the offender will cause no more harm.

And yet, for all her willingness to challenge any obstacles between her and her goal, she has no purpose other than finding her true place in this world. She craves for a purpose, of which she was once given, and now she sought once more.
Ambitions
Inner Aspirations
Aside from Iana’s endless search for her true place in the world where she could finally settle, she seeks a higher purpose in her life to experience once more her time with the prince during his journey.
Regrets
Past Failures
Being unable to form a long companionship with people she has met for all her life, as well as not having a place she could call home. She feels a bit of guilt for failing to do anything to save the Prince, though she knows well there was little she could have done in the first place.
Chapter II. Combat Statistic
Chaos Root: Archon
Awakening History & Experiences
Nameless are encounters in the wild that go unrecorded. Where events occur without witnesses and evidence deteriorates back to mother earth. In such places, Iana in her wandering has seen many a bizarre thing. And among them, strange creatures and sights stay with her as little more than yarn to spin in taverns among curious strangers, but one, in particular, left a mark on her memory and body.

By a small creek shadowed under great ancient boughs, dozens of leagues from the nearest settlement, Iana once found a very old and injured man of unknown origin. She never learned his name, but knew what he was, for his entire body was clad in armor, and a mask concealed his face. The old man was deeply shaken by her appearance, as though facing a bygone ghost. The name of her people sounded harsh upon his lips, carrying echoes of rue and sorrow. And his reason for being there, full of irony and bitterness: in search of a deserved death. Iana could not comprehend his purpose. Far from his country and people, the Nephilim had ventured deep into enemy land, where he was hunted and gravely wounded. And yet the man refused help, requesting instead to be killed by her hand. She called him a silly old man.

That night when she was asleep, the old man wandered deep into the forest, never to be seen again, leaving behind only his Mark of Nevrys on the back of her hand.
Physical Examination
Strength Measurement
Strength
Mobility
Endurance
Arts
Control
Inventory
Etherealite Crossbow

Crossbow.png
An oversized crossbow made for killing oversized targets. The gem embed on its head was one she found on an adventure deep in ancient ruins. Though it could do little on its own, it has a high Chaos root conductivity, and serves to empower items when chaos root is channeled upon it, boosting structural integrity and performance. The boost is small but could make a difference in certain circumstances, plus, she likes the shiny look.
Tier 5 Vile Beast - Hesria

6540611464343dd534df1281fde3c801.jpg

Source: Xabi Gazte

A vile beast with the appearance of a she-bear. When traveling to the abyssal dungeon in search of a precious gem as a gift for his newborn daughter, Iana's father found instead a remarkably clever low level vile beast. He found the beast cute in his peculiar way and brought her home instead. Iana was first allowed to play with the beast on her fourth birthday, and since then they have been inseparable. A grumpy and lazy beast, she sleeps for twelve hours a day and eats away most of Iana's traveling fund when not in the wild hunting.

Though lacking in offensive abilities and mobility, Hesria is a physically strong and sturdy beast, able to withstand blows from creatures above her tier. When hunting strong vile beasts, she often plays the role of bait to lure them out and withstand assaults while Iana takes time to aim her killing shot. However, when in one of her not-so-rare reckless moods, Iana would simply ride on Hesria and go ham instead.
Chapter III. Background
Backstory Title
Act I. Childhood
Iana grew up in a rural village far off from the big cities of Exultius. As is her people’s tradition, her parents, both retired adventures, took care of tamed vile beasts and lived on the land through farming and hunting. As a child, she could never sit still for long, but always dash off into the woods, chasing rabbits and squirrels. Her friends are many among the animals, for she is kind and unthreatening. Though once she was injured by a wild beast, instead of forbidding her from wandering again, her parents took to teaching her combat. For that too is a tradition of her people, ever brave the dangerous world instead of sitting back and cowering.
Act II. Early Life
Growing up she started to take a great liking to the occasional trips to the nearby cities. And then like many youths, she set out along with the merchants to head into the open world. She lived on her skills of hunting and foraging, but soon learned other trades like woodworking and seafaring. She dabbled in many trades, taking apprenticeships in whatever place would take her, and on any convoys to a new place. Gradually she got used to a life on the move, befriending new people, and the occasional retreats from the civilization world. Though she could never find true love, more than once she had been heartbroken, for her ways of life were simply incompatible with most people.
Act III. Adulthood
On one of her many journeys, she encountered the prince, and joined him on his journey, eventually placating both sides of a war. It was then that she found for the first time a purpose larger than her own wants. She could forgo her needs and work for the benefit of the people. And so for a while, her heart was at peace. This was it, she thought, at last, what she needed was not to satisfy all her contradicting desires, but to something so great she could devote herself into. The larger-than-life prince was the symbol of those wonderful ideals, and she developed feelings for him, though she never acted on those, knowing that they both ultimately live in different worlds. And then, as had all her adventures before then, her journey with the prince ended. He returned to the capital and would never leave or see a new day again. The news came devastatingly to her. She found herself wandering once more aimlessly in this big world. Until a sealed letter came.
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Admiral19

Welcome to me and my character brainrot
Design & Code by Serobliss
Axelis Fantasia
Character by Admiral
Chapter I. Introduction
Two Flowers | "Lycoris" - Main Theme
Lycoris
Chaos Root: Archon
Altair Vasserow
Profile
General Information
Race
Draculus
Gender
Female
Age
353
Height
170 cm.
Class
Archon, Archer
Origin
What was formerly the town of Dentoro, Southlands
Description
Scorching Inflorescence

Altair, like many other Draculi, has an unnatural sort of beauty about her. However, she doesn't really stress so much about maintaining it as someone with that sort of beauty would. She doesn't let herself look ugly, far from it, but there have been times where her hair was left carelessly unstyled, or times where she unknowingly leaves indiscernible stains on her body or clothing. She likes to decorate herself with small ornaments, but she takes care not to overdecorate with unnecessary baubles.

Altair does not like to be left without something to do; whenever she feels that she's simply idling about without doing something productive, she will go to the closest person and ask them for some kind of activity, whether it be helping with a task or simply joining them on a walk. She also dislikes being alone, often intentionally making an effort to be around as many people as she can. She has a love for literature and storytelling, and uses this enjoyment to improvise tales to tell for groups. These moments are when she feels the most in her element, lost in worlds other than her own and telling stories other than hers, surrounded by those wrapped up in her dulcet voice and emphatic gestures.

If nothing else, Altair thrives best when she has purpose, when she has a reason to stay in this world. If she can, she is more than willing to help someone find their own purpose, although she recognizes when people simply don't want help. Even so, she is more than willing to be a rock for someone, should they want to reach out; she knows how it feels to be lost, and doesn't wish it upon any soul.
Ambitions
Inner Aspirations

-First and foremost, Altair wants to know how many people from Dentoro managed to survive the Nephilims that attacked it. She only caught the fading embers of Dentoro's death and only knew of one person from there who was truly dead. If any other Draculi lived, she needs to know, if only for the sake of closure.

-The Nephilim that led the attack on her home is long dead, perhaps from natural causes. As long as Altair is living, she would make sure any other Nephilims she came by died in a far less peaceful manner.

-Above all, Altair simply wants to get to know more Draculi. Dentoro was fairly small, and back then she was a lot more reserved with everyone but a certain friend. Call it simply wanting to fit in, but in finding survivors of Dentoro's demise, she hopes to become familiar with others like herself.
Regrets
Past Failures

The time Altair spent hiding from the Nephilim scout she met was the most cowardly she's felt in her life, and she spent most of the following years lamenting her fear. If she were a little stronger, then at the very least, she might have been able to justify the period of numbness that followed.
Chapter II. Combat Statistic
Chaos Root: Archon
Awakening History & Experiences

"Say, Altair. Do you remember how inheriting Chaos Roots work?"

Altair and Vagus were about to go on a hunting trip. By this point, Altair was training with the bow and had gotten a decent amount of experience with it, though her skill was really only relegated to hunting. Vagus wasn't versed much with the bow himself, but he did oversee her training(mostly because of a tendency to overpractice). As Altair was training, she learned about Chaos Roots from Vagus, learned about those who could be born with one and how someone could go about obtaining one.

As far as Altair knew, Vagus didn't have a Chaos Root, though she wouldn't really know since he always wore gloves that hid his hands.
---​
It was hard to see in the cave. Altair's body practically hugged the wall as she tried to remain still in the shadows.

The Nephilim scout had been chasing her and Vagus for the past half-hour. Relentless, they were, never seeming to want to stop. One would expect them to get tired, but each time Altair and Vagus ran into them, they seemed no more exhausted than they did earlier.

"Altair."

She looked into Vagus' eyes as he brought out his blade.

"They won't stop until we're dead. I'm going to try and keep them away from here, keep them from finding you. Stay. If you can, return to Dentoro, but only when it's safe."

He took Altair's hand and gripped it tight. He showed no fear, standing bold against the shadows of the cave. Were it not for the sword in his hand shaking slightly, Altair would have believed that he was completely unafraid to die.
---​
Afternoon came, then evening, then morning again. Not a voice rang out in the air.

Altair stayed for far longer than she probably should have. Sitting on the back of her hand was a mark that wasn't there before.

And from what Vagus had taught her, a mark on the back of her hand meant that it had been transferred at some point. Was it transferred from Vagus? Ah...but that could only mean one thing.
Physical Examination
Strength Measurement
Strength
Mobility
Endurance
Arts
Control
Inventory
Danmoch

A modified version of the very first bow Vagus created. He made it knowing that Altair wanted to practice archery, refining his craft over and over until he had something she thought Altair could use. To this very day, Altair keeps it meticulously well-kept.
Silver Flower Pin

A silver pin in the shape of a lily, always pinned to the collar of whatever she's wearing at the time. This object is the last remnant of her time as a human, gifted to her by someone from before she became cursed.
Chapter III. Background
Turning of Blood
Prologue

In a small cabin in a small village in a small forest, a man began packing to leave. He was planning to reach Ukrethia to find somewhere to stay, but he wouldn't complain if he found a small village to stay in either. It had to be far, though, wherever he went. He intended to go as far away from here as he could, to leave this cursed place…and the sickness it housed.

Not far from his bedroom, a child, barely four years old, lay weak and festering in bed. A disease had been plaguing her body for the past couple of days, a disease that had exhausted her to the point where she could do nothing but stay in bed and sleep as best as she could.

The man had heard rumors about this disease, supposedly something cast down from the gods themselves, something capable of killing thousands of people. He wanted nothing to do with it, wanted to be as far from it as possible. He didn't know if the disease was contagious, or even if this child had it, but he wasn't going to find out. As far as he knew, this cabin was cursed, cursed with whatever sickness came about in this world that was already darkened with conflict. And the girl? She was doomed; as far as he knew, this theoretical illness had no cure, and even if a cure did exist, he wouldn't know anything about how to make it.

The most he could do was pray that she would be put out of her misery, that the disease would take her young body as swiftly as possible.
I.
Calm

The sickness Altair had wasn't anything as dangerous as her father feared, nothing more but a fever that came and passed after a few days. But her father's fear of the gods' prowess and the sorts of things they could do left him paranoid, worried for his own safety.

Fortunately, Altair's father wasn't so cruel as to leave her alone.

The person that ended up taking care of her was kind enough, an old man named Baudale. He did his best to keep Altair happy and healthy even when her fever passed; for the most part, he stayed in the house, feeding her, washing her, and teaching her everything she needed to know. She lived through much of her childhood in this way, enjoying Baudale's company, helping others in the village, and exploring the forest outside.

For all her wonder about the world around her, however, Altair never did go far from the cabin, what with it—and the village—being the only thing keeping her safe from whatever might be beyond.
II.
Fester

Perhaps she should have thought of leaving at some point, because then she might have had a chance at a slightly easier change of her life.

Tythos' return from Sitra Achra brought with it perhaps the most devastating plague in Paymonia's history. Not even Altair, far out as she was, could hide from its reach, and she was around 20 when she caught the sickness herself. Baudale tried his best to help her out, but she never seemed to get better, no matter how many remedies he used.

The disease left her bedridden for a good week as parts of her body began shifting—warping—into something different, something terrifying. Her body was in pain, things growing and stretching out and twisting into the wrong places. She began craving food, but everything Baudale made for her tasted horrid and made her stomach churn. At a point, she wasn't even willing to sleep, resigning to watching the shadows pattern the walls for hours at a time. It was perhaps the most torturous week of Altair's life.

By the end of the week, Altair's hunger had reached a point of desperation. She needed to eat something. Not the soups and stews that Baudale was making for her, not the fruits and berries he gathered from the woods.

On the first day of the new week, when Baudale returned, he brought a variety of fruits and vegetables that he bought from a traveling merchant.

Altair, without hesitation and perhaps without remorse, went to devour Baudale instead.
III.
Rebirth

After Altair devoured Baudale, the residents discovered the awful creature she had become and chased her out of the village. For a time after that, she simply wandered about the southlands, avoiding groups of humans for fear of them hunting her down and wiping her out. After what was probably weeks of just aimless wandering, she came across the first place that didn't immediately try to kill her: a small town called Dentoro.

Dentoro became Altair's haven for a while, and she went about her days aiding whoever in the town happened to need help. One year, however, she happened to make a friend in Vagus, a young man who was...well, he wasn't like anyone in Dentoro. He insisted that he wasn’t all that different from everyone, but what was different was rather obvious: he was far more human-looking than the rest of the Nightwalkers, tall, slender, and not nearly as grotesque.

Vagus was more of an occasional visitor than a resident, leaving for months at a time before returning for seemingly no reason. Whenever he did visit, though, he and Altair would bond over everything that happened in and out of Dentoro, talking about things that other people went up to, from the largest event to the smallest occurrence. These talks were, by far and away, Altair's favorite part of when Vagus visited.
---​
In an effort to keep Dentoro’s presence as small as possible, the town's meals were hunted for by four parties of two that were sent in each cardinal direction. Altair was assigned to the south route to fill in when one of the Nightwalkers on it died, with her efficiency in hunts being recognized rather swiftly.

In the midst of a hunt, however, she and her hunting partner came across a group of adventurers who were being paid to take out any Nightwalkers that they could find. They managed to corner the two into a village filled with humans, humans that cared little for either being. The moment a thunderstorm began to pick up, the adventurers cornered Altair and her partner. The next moment, she heard angered shouting.

And then the next, the shouts of anger were mixed with shouts of fear.
---​
"Vagus?"

The village was alight in flame. Bodies of humans were scattered about, many torn to shreds by whatever stormed the area. Vagus stood amidst the fire, smile as wide as it was when Altair first met him.

"Goodness, I leave you alone for a year, and you almost get lost. Lucky that Lilith had us come by here."

"...Lilith?"

Altair learned of Lilith Draculus, of her burning at the stake, of the transformation she underwent, of the Nightwalkers that she rounded up and subjected to the same process, Vagus having been among them. After a bit of persuasion(which was understandable), Altair agreed to be burned herself, emerging from the flames as a newly born Draculus.
IV.
Release

Altair, with a little assistance, returned to Dentoro in 3690 with Vagus and Lilith. She assisted in converting the Nightwalkers there and remained in the town through the beginning of the Third Divine Conflict, helping the residents settle into their new lives; after being away for as long as she was, she felt that it was the least she could do for them. She watched everyone take advantage of their new forms; some went off to aid Lilith, some decided to join Vagus in creating weapons, and some simply decided to go off into the world, their new appearances making them unafraid of encountering other humans.

In the midst of the Third Divine Conflict, however, the Nephilim race would come into being. Dentoro, being one of the smaller communities of Draculi, would surely stand no chance if enough of them came with the right tools.

Altair and Vagus would be the first from Dentoro to encounter a Nephilim, though. On the way back from a hunt with Vagus, the two met a Nephilim scout with a mask that made them appear as if they were wearing a crown. Without another word, the scout went to attack them with a blade of obsidian, chasing them through the forest almost relentlessly. Altair only managed to escape through her own fortitude, Vagus' brave decision to fight off the Nephilim, and an incredibly lucky hiding spot, where she remained until she was absolutely certain the Nephilim wouldn't find her again.

She would come to regret staying so long in that spot, because when she returned the following morning, she beheld Dentoro in ashes, as well as the Nephilim scout leaving the scene with the very blade Vagus had used to fight them off. Vagus' body was not far behind them.

Altair didn't let herself grieve. She didn't let herself be angry, or terrified, or even sad, at least not for too long. No, she simply went to one of the few buildings in the ruin that was still whole and stayed, not wanting to wander again, not wanting to leave the most permanent home she has ever had. Here she would stay for a good century, sustaining herself on blood and tired old memories.
 
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Serobliss

과대 망상
Helper
I will aim to finish the lore by the end of this week, and sooner if possible.

Due to a rough schedule this month, I will extend the character sheet due date by the 24th. The roleplay will commence on the same date as before, on the 30th of this month.
 

Serobliss

과대 망상
Helper
The character sheet has been updated:

 

Kloudy

The Lore King
Roleplay Availability
Roleplay Type(s)
If there is still yet space, I'd be very interested. CS incoming.
 

ATurei

The Attic Ghost
The character sheet has been updated:

Whoa, that's one pretty template! Do we post in that thread now or wait for approval first?
 

ATurei

The Attic Ghost
Well I went ahead and edited in the new cs anyway. And hot damn it was a lucky of me to use a white background for the FC, Iana looks extra sweet with that template
 

Emerald

The Emerald Knight
Oh, geez. I've never been the most confident with coding... 😅

Good thing the deadline has been extended. XD
 

Serobliss

과대 망상
Helper
Whoa, that's one pretty template! Do we post in that thread now or wait for approval first?
Approval first. Only the accepted participants will post on that thread.

Oh, geez. I've never been the most confident with coding... 😅

Good thing the deadline has been extended. XD
It's not required to change the CS for now. Once you're accepted, I can do you the favor of swapping information over to the new template.
 

Kloudy

The Lore King
Roleplay Availability
Roleplay Type(s)
Design & Code by Serobliss
Axelis Fantasia
Character by Kloudy
Chapter I. Introduction
All Good Things (Come To An End) - Main Theme
Reus the Highbane
Chaos Root: Hyreus
Sirius Hawthorne
Profile
General Information
Race
Nephilim
Gender
Male
Age
27
Height
192cm
Class
Hunter
Origin
Aeslengard
Description
Blazing Evanescence
"The blood of a curse borne from gods, in the man hailed as traitor."

Reus the Highbane (ray·uhs), or Sirius Hawthorne as he was once known, is a tall but slender wraith of a man. A single vacant eye hides his spark of sharp cunning behind spindly strands of brown hair so dark one would assume it black. A darker-still cloak mantles his slim, broad shoulders like a shroud of shadows.

If one peered closely, they would notice not a patch of skin visible under the monochromatic tight-fitted leather and black cloth garbs he wears. His traveller's boots are old and fraying, telling stories of journeys long walked. At the hip is an equally-frayed leather belt that holds the sheath of a long, habitually sharpened dagger.
Ambitions
Inner Aspirations

"So this is how liberty dies... To thunderous applause."
  • Upon his awakening, Reus was truly blessed with visions of light and beauty. They showed him the truth of the universe: The cycle of reincarnation must not decay.
  • All should be guided to the end with grace, for mortality is the mark of a life well lived. Since his freeing from the Aeslengard dungeons and again during his time in the Holy Ukrethian Empire, Reus took in the philosophies of Ausar - particularly in regard to the horror of endless longevity.
  • Above all and absolutely; Reus must kill the Nephilim. They are too dangerous to the balance of realms to be left living, and they have wronged him personally for too long.
Regrets
Past Failures

"Mostly it is loss which teaches us about the worth of things."

Reus' regrets lie with Aeslengard. With his family's subsistence on esoteric Nephilim dogma. By the piles of corpse and gore beget from steel and chaos. In the accursed flesh he walks under lawless lands.
Chapter II. Combat Statistic
Adagio For Strings - Second Theme
Chaos Root: Hyreus
Awakening History & Experiences

"Ah. Young Master Hawthorne. It has been some time, no? Your father wishes you a successful surgery, but, uh...."

A beam of light falls on a stone-slab operating table, where a boy lay shackled and struggling.

"DEFECTS RARELY ARE"


The scratching, biting vermin woke him.

Had it been days? Hours? There was no way to tell. No sun-kissed rays to gently caress his concave cheeks or light hope in his sunken eyes. No, there was no hope for those that found themselves here, in the dark.

He looked around sharply, wincing at the pains in his temple and body. Grogginess had set in with a ketamine-fatigue, sapping his will to raise a hand and ward off the rats. They glared at him beadily, biding time that he would slump unconscious once more to resume their salvaging.

Dressed in tattered rags, cast off from his family's moorings and left adrift. Where was he? The suspicion ran cold through his blood, mixing with adrenaline like ice and fire. This was the Under-Dungeons. Many a Nephilim child would rumour about the dark chasms and cells with bars built into coves of hollowed out slate. Mothers would joke about sending them there if they misbehaved. That thought seemed all too chilling now.

Gruff and husky voices chattered with disembodied jests from beyond the bars. The boy strained his bloodshot eyes to see from whom it originated, but darkness claimed his vision once again...



Blinding lights burst ablaze, burning the eyes that snapped open with a gasp of fear.

"Hello Sirius, good to see you are back with us."

Back on the slab, darkness everywhere. He struggled weakly to be met with the resistance of those ever-familiar chains clad to iron over his ankles and wrists. They chafed and tore at his skin. He glanced around feverishly, heaving and volatile like the cornered beast. He recognised that sordid tone, it haunted him in these waking nightmares.

"Surprisingly, you have taken to my practices with enduring grace, Sirius. I am glad. It has been so long since... Well, since I was able to spend this much time on one test subject. You make for... appetising scholarly appeal."

Sirius glanced down and screamed hoarse with anguish. Scars littered his body with grievous injury, some still open wounds held still with metallic blood-spattered utensils. In some he could even see defined organs and... things he could not recognise, foreign and wholly disturbing. Pools of blood surrounded his operating table, born from seeping crimson rivers that ran off the stone. He thrashed and wailed, but the shackles pulled him taut.

"Now, now. The best is yet to come, Sirius. I have deemed you eligible for an honest-to-Vanhela Chaos Root transplant. Do you understand? We've found a donor with a 100% match! You are going to be reborn, my holy son of Sindragar. It will be a shame about your brother, though. Such talent..."

The boy's eyes were wild and darting, his heart thudding through his chest. He begged it to burst through and end this madness. He begged for sweet, deserved release.


"But before that, I think we should get to know each other a little more. After all this time, just a little more won't hurt, right? You don't mind, right? Right?!"



Murky colours in the darkness. Spirals and swirls matching iridescent patterns in the void. Beams of light, racing and dancing...


The sound of heavy footsteps coalescing together. Gruff commands and servile responses. No lights, no colours, no warmth...


"Losing him....cannot handle the strain....need more....begin the bonding....stabilise...



AWAKEN


Sirius woke in a realm entirely unlike his own. His eyelids flicked open, but his body remained still. It was a stone alcove cell, just like his own. Each tiny detail of the interior walls and ground that Sirius had long-etched into his memory were present. He would have called it reality were it not for the swirling void of cosmic colours that twisted behind his prison bars.

Was it a waking dream? His body felt lighter than before, lifted by the washing away of years of physical abuse. He stood, for the first time unaided in too long. A pause, a hesitant step forward. Was this a trap? A test? Sirius had not been this lucid since his unwitting incarceration in the Under-Dungeons. Another step, more certain this time. Then another.

APPROACH


He found himself at the bars, each thick and diseased with rust. His thin stature could almost slip through them. He tried, barely squeezing through the chafing gap. Before him the rough stone floor beneath gave way to an infinite fall. He stumbled back, pupils searching back and forth as he struggled to understand what he was seeing. This was not the Under-Dungeons, not his cell. A pulsing gravity seemed to pull him forward, drawing him closer to the edge.

He gazed back into the void once again, squinting to peer closer into the murkiness. He could hear a voice; deep, rich and distant; echoed with whispers. It was saying something. Over and over, as if slowly chanting spells into his mind.

ACCEPT


Sirius leaned further still, almost horizontal over the edge. And then... he fell.

The boy screamed while he tumbled from the ledge, grasping up fruitlessly as if he could somehow catch the platform that quickly disappeared from view. Wind rushed past him in howling flurries, whipping him this way and that. On and on the Nephilim screamed and fell, until it felt as though eternity had claimed him for the unending journey to Sitra Achra. On and on and on, until...

The howling wind stopped. The screaming stopped. He no longer felt himself falling and Sirius opened his eyes.

Below, infinitely into the distance, was beauty. He saw it now. The darkness was not an eternal damnation. It was not a void to be consumed by. It was beginning. Rebirth. True transcendence. Sirius understood now. For once in his life, he truly, honestly understood.

And from below came the infinitesimal glimpse of light. It rushed up, surrounding and enveloping him. Comforting him. And in this light his body was unmade, unsealing and unravelling. His scars unbound and bloodlessly unfurled. His limbs absconding to magical streams of pure light and energy. From this light, he saw a new form rebuilding and reconstituting. The skin and flesh of his own recourse pouring into the being that grew suspended in glorious beams.

Sirius gazed upon this with heightened consciousness, his features slack with awe. As his torso and chest spilled out before him in luminescent rivers, joining with that which mirrored him. His eyes widened as he realised it would reach his face and he would be entirely unmade. And yet still, there was no fear. Not for merit of his race, but for the peace he felt in his heart as the light wrapped over his vision.


And in that moment, the Nephilim saw through two pairs of eyes. One gazing upon his own demise, the other his reincarnation.



"Master Hawthorne! Despite all belief, your surgery was successful! Your family is very pleased, as am I..."

The voices faded into the background. Sirius, who was Sirius no more, heard only the words from his visions. He saw no holy surgeons, no disgruntled officials, no falsely-affectionate family, no supremacist ideological propaganda. Only the sheer unbound darkness of his dreams, and the rush of purifying light. He heard now what that voice had been saying. He understood now.


"Ausar..."

Physical Examination
Strength Measurement
Strength
Mobility
Endurance
Arts
Control
Abilities
Aeslengard Biomodification

"As long as the soul is unfettered, so is the body."
Having spent years being experimented upon by some of the brightest in the Aeslengardian holy echelon, Reus' body has undergone metamorphosis in the most gruelling form. This has bolstered the efficiency of bonding Chaos Roots to his body, increasing his control with their abilities. While physically weaker than most, his natural agility remains unaffected. Additionally, his ability to regenerate/recover from blood-loss is a stretch higher than the average Nephilim.

Eye of Kane

“Only one man ever understood me, and he did not understand me.”

As part of his Chaos Root transplant surgery, Reus' left eye was removed. In its place they implanted his brother's, Kane Ab'bel Hawthorne, to ensure a particular trait carried over. Those that now look into Reus' hidden eye become paralysed with fear, locking their muscles and overwhelming their will. Nullified by Nephilims and resisted by the strong-willed.

Shadow Arts

“For none of us are as cruel as all of us.”

Having spent so much time in the darkness, it made only sense that Reus would develop talent for the Shadow Arts. He spent years trying to master dashing between patches of shade, travelling greater and greater distances. He would also learn to manifest weaponry of darkness from similar shadows, solid enough to rend one's flesh with swiftness and finesse.

Inventory
Enchiridion

"Wisdom is the offspring of suffering and time."

The Enchiridion is a sharp, flat dagger blackened by the forges that made it. Charged with magical enchantments and hardened by the composite of metal and obsidian that makes up its body, this blade is capable of slashing through light armour or even piercing through moderately protected targets. Foes cut with this blade are plagued with a reduction of view-distance, as if a black fog limits their vision. Additionally, the tip will always fall towards the last cut - pulled by nigh-magnetic forces.

Cold Mantle

"Cold, miserable and alone... but alive."

The dark cloak that dons Reus' shoulders is actually enchanted with invisibility. To do so, it consumes nearby heat and the user's mana to maintain its effects - causing an unnatural chill in the air nearby. It is woven from the silks of vile beasts, increasing its durability to that of quality chainmail.

Nephilim Mask

"I fought for God. Who do you fight for, exile?"

Despite having renounced his people along with Aeslengard, Reus still carries the mask he had been issued after receiving his Chaos Root implant. Although made from highly durable materials, it possesses no magical or otherworldly properties.
Hunter's Satchel

"I offered you the gift of exile and you used it to reinvent yourself. I couldn't wish for a more potent instrument."

A must-have for any Hunter trying to make a living or simply survive. Contains an assortment of vials, powders and materials ranging from obsidian dust to various poisons to even bottled Nephilim blood.
Chapter III. Background
A Tale of Beginnings
Act I. Emergence

The birth of Sirius Hawthorne was unremarkable.

His father was a noble of Aeslengard and a prominent Nephilim in the war effort. The Fourth Divine War saw the Godslayer lay waste to the Nephilim and their gods, so he was never around. Sirius never saw his face if only in pictures or detailed remembrances. His mother doted on his brother, several years older than he and apparently with infinitely more potential. He was to be groomed for apprenticeship with the Aeslengard lords; to join their ranks as nobility. Sirius never found himself envious of his brother, despite their immediate estrangement and lack of interaction. They lived in different worlds, walked different paths.

He was educated, as all Nephilim were. By five he had taken to wearing his mask at Mother's request. He was not permitted to use her true name. Hours were spent practicing proper ritual and etiquette, what to say when and how not to embarrass one's self before figures of leadership. He learnt of the gods, of the terrible and wicked Godslayer, and many wondrous things of history that proved to be his only solace. His home was less a sanctuary than a prison. He did not go outside, he did not question Mother.

By the time his eighth birthday came along he was a learned boy, still naive in the workings of the world. His brother inherited a Chaos Root by the age of five, a most impressive feat. Their family had been overjoyed. Sirius was afforded no such fortune, as when his birthday came he remained Rootless.
Act II. Convergence


(See Awakening History & Experiences)
Act III. Insurgence
Years had passed. The war raged on, as if Sirius had only stepped out for a fleeting moment. The sunlight burned his eyes, scorching his retinas. The ground felt unnaturally smooth, painless. The wind did not howl, only meander aimlessly. These sensations felt like a dream he had long ago, from a past life he almost could not recall. He remembered a family, one that had willed his path into such vile anguish and pain. Wrath bubbled within him, screeching for vengeance; to tear them limb from limb, to watch the spark fade from their eyes. His visions had pulled the veil shrouding his judgement and shown him truth. These people were not his family. This blood was not his blood. Those gods not his gods.

"Ausar..."

Sirius was trained to aid his country in the war. As impossible as it sounded, Aeslengard had still yet to surrender despite more and more of their deities falling from the heavens each year. Sirius' body was weak, too weak to be used on any sort of frontline. Ridicule and mockery became common themes amongst the soldiers he found himself accompanying. He was nimble and sharp-witted, perfect for operations that required a more... delicate touch. Sirius had at first counted each throat his knife would slide across, but soon cast off the innumerable futility of it. The number grew larger than he could fathom to remember with each day that passed.

He watched as thousands of people were killed, as villages were burned in the name of Sindragar and races of the unclean were purged. Bodies stacked in towering corpse-piles and set alight to the acrid stench of blackened flesh. The ground ran slick with red, staining the earth with the sin of his people. Sometimes the casualties would rise both ways, with many a Nephilim lying broken and crooked in the crimson grass. Sirius would often be made to report on these events, in which he would truthfully explain the ways in which his comrades had died.

He would fail to mention the true perpetrators of these crimes often, for he did not want to incriminate himself in the eyes of Aeslengard just yet...

Act IV. Divergence

The time had finally come.

The war had begun its decline, soon to draw to a close. Everyone could feel it. The last of the Godslayer's foes were being slain and Ukrethia liberated. Nephilim territory shrank rapidly in these years, putting pressure on the Aeslengard leadership. Despite all their superiority, their overzealous holy mandates and terrible crimes against mortalkind, still yet were they unwilling to surrender with grace until the blood of just a few more unclean were spilled. They needed something to turn the tide, to swing the momentum back into the hearts and minds of their blessed soldiers. It was Sirius' father that delivered the news.

"You must travel to Exultius and slay the crown Prince. That damnable Evernight may be impervious on the battlefield, but I'd wager his heart is not so protected. Go, son. I know you will not disappoint me."

And so on Sirius went.

It was beneath his father's notice, but none had registered the change that had taken place in Sirius. Broken by the trials of his incarceration and reforged into the brutal killer he now was, many assumed him incapable of autonomy of any kind. He had never failed them, had never spoken out and never asked for anything as reward. It was often bemusedly suggested that he had no mind to think for himself to begin with. He was a non-person, a flesh-automaton to act as an extension of their will - for which they had used him effectively enough for some time.

It took little time to track the prince down. Schedules were passed between logistical and military officials daily, making it easy for a sticky-fingered shade to slip one from their loose-gripped grasp. His mark was, by Hunter standards, easy enough to stalk. Protected by guards as any royal would have been expected, but something was different. The prince himself - there was something about him. A lack of awareness, no, of self-surviving agency. Sirius could feel it. The man was completely open; unafraid of the eyes that would be staring at him from the shadows.

The Nephilim had killed thousands by now. He remembered most of them, and each would ultimately die in the same way. Cold, confused and afraid. Defiance draining from their eyes, hatred pouring hot into the snow around them.

Not the prince.

Sirius knew in that instant when he leapt down from the ceiling rafters, a thrown knife embedded in the necks of each of the guards that stood vigil, and stood powerful over the prone royal. But there was no fear in his eyes, though Sirius knew him to be simply human. He did not try to defend himself or bargain. He only smiled. Smiled and closed his eyes...
Act V. Resurgence
Many years had passed, and the man known as Sirius Hawthorne no longer existed.

Ukrethia had been his next destination. Shortly after the mission to Exultius, he stopped sending information to Aeslengard command. When more Hunters were tasked with discovering his whereabouts, they too would follow suit with blades in their hearts and glazed eyes staring star-ward. He was not returning to the capital and now they knew it. But of course, what could they do? The war was all but over and their forces largely on the verge of defeat. There were no more resources to spend locating a rogue, an exile. A nameless shadow struck from the records with shame and indignation.

Yet he felt no shame. This was supposed to happen, just like in his dreams all those moons ago. He just had to take that extra step from the ledge...

And the Nephilim did have a name - a new one of his own design. He had decided to sever himself from his beginnings; to start anew and try again. He would call himself: Reus; half his own name, half the Chaos Root humming with power inside him. It was the Hyreus Root that granted him these abilities and it once belonged to his brother. In this way, the Nephilim honoured his fallen brethren. It was the most he owed any in his family.

And so Reus left. But not before reports across Aeslengard began cropping up in a panic of rising hysteria. Murders were alleged to being committed by multiple unknown assailants across the capital. Several nobles, Sirius' father included, had been assassinated. There was no known culprit at the time, so the City Guard alarm was sounded. Reus left that day and headed North. There was no one left that knew enough about him to give chase - so he was free in a sense. Free to explore what he wanted as an individual; without the politics, agenda and suspicion. Things would be more simple.

He did not look back.

However, it turned out that he did not need to. Reus soon realised that the ability to lead a normal life and long-escaped him. He travelled to Ukrethia and exchanged random miscellaneous labour for pay. As he refused to engage in the hierarchy of the empire's systematic internal organisation in Aeslengard any further, he had adopted a similar stance here. But it was never enough. There was more to do, more beyond this restless turmoil he could feel writhing within him. The times he was not awake, he found himself dreaming of ledges and falling. The closer he got to the Ukrethian capital, the more frequent and vivid they became.

It happened by chance and accident at first. Rumors of a stray Aeslengardian far from home. Search parties and soldiers took to the land, scouring field and forest for any signs of the much-despised Nephilim scourge. Reus joined them. It had been some months, this would make for a good opportunity to learn how his old home fared. Using his tracking abilities, it did not take long for him to find the man-hunted. Official insignia and markings of military. This particular Nephilim was a spy. The irony was not lost on Reus, who tortured and eventually killed the poor man. It may have been more than he deserved, Reus reasoned, but it was less than what justice demanded. He took no pleasure in these acts of violence, for they were simple, crude tools he could use to clumsily chisel some meaning into the life he had so far wasted. There were things he would like to see realised, elements of this world he preferred to remain unfettered. He had been shown his path, by that which resided in the very country he stood. Reus could not show before him without having accomplished something substantial.

So he made a name for himself the best way he knew how.

More years would pass and rumours would grow into folk tale. They told of a mysterious shadow darker than night, faster than light and with blades sharper than the tongue of a disgruntled mistress. While the rumours largely existed within exaggeration, they based themselves on truth. This shadow was known for the successive murders of more than hundreds of Nephilim. As this was a time of their active-hunting, many had taken to trying to sniff out those that slipped through the cracks. But it was one along the Ukrethian/Aeslengard border that became most popularised.

Reus the Highbane, they called him. A Hunter cloaked in shadows that almost exclusively stalked the Nephilim. Some say his success is attributed to his ability to think like his prey, to understand them before hunting them. Regardless of the facts, the reality of it manifested in the harvested Chaos Roots he brought back as offerings to Herrscher. Leaving them at his shrines, the mysterious shadow would leave again, never to show his face.

And then one day, he received a letter.
 
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Serobliss

과대 망상
Helper
Announcement
The interest check has been updated.

Patch Notes:
- The Codex of Hostile Monsters have been updated, but more monsters will be uploaded later.
- Finished the Chaos Root System for now.
- Updated the CS to a more refined, quality one.

Coming in the future:
- Objective list for the Ashen Knights that the roleplay will follow.
- Update the NPC list with information.

If you have any questions, please ask them here.
 

Kloudy

The Lore King
Roleplay Availability
Roleplay Type(s)
I have a question about the classes. For the Hyreus root, can they still use typical magic (bar the one that can't) or is it strictly physical augmentations?

And for Archon, caster specifically, are there examples of castable magic to use or are we free to simply make it up? Within reason.
 

Serobliss

과대 망상
Helper
I have a question about the classes. For the Hyreus root, can they still use typical magic (bar the one that can't) or is it strictly physical augmentations?

And for Archon, caster specifically, are there examples of castable magic to use or are we free to simply make it up? Within reason.
All classes (excluding the evolved classes) cannot use the standard magic, such as summoning a ball of fire or materializing blades of ice. It's sole physical augmentations and CQC buffs. For example, a Vanguard could propell themselves onto the face of the enemy by using a temporary speed buff that'll accelerate their movement for half a second. This would allow them to dash forward even faster than they normally can.

Creative liberties apply to character abilities.
 

Emerald

The Emerald Knight
Would Azelthyrians be able to gain their Chaos Root through birth, since they are still human, or would they need to have a Root transferred to them?
 

Serobliss

과대 망상
Helper
Would Azelthyrians be able to gain their Chaos Root through birth, since they are still human, or would they need to have a Root transferred to them?
All races derive from humans. It just happens so that the humans and the Nephilims are the only ones with high purity levels. The other races do not, so they cannot materialize their own Chaos Root.
 

Kloudy

The Lore King
Roleplay Availability
Roleplay Type(s)
All classes (excluding the evolved classes) cannot use the standard magic, such as summoning a ball of fire or materializing blades of ice. It's sole physical augmentations and CQC buffs. For example, a Vanguard could propell themselves onto the face of the enemy by using a temporary speed buff that'll accelerate their movement for half a second. This would allow them to dash forward even faster than they normally can.

Creative liberties apply to character abilities.
Alright, that makes sense. I'll settle on Hunter then.

With character abilities, is there any elaboration on how that is organised? Are there common augments between hunters beyond stat enhancers, such as seeing through the eyes of an animal or bolstering a dagger strike's sharpness to pierce armour?

I saw that the hard stat cap is 70, but I assume it would be strange to have most stats above 50% at this stage. If I were a wandering hunter of some renown (perhaps capable of taking on a team of knights, if that sounds permissible), is there a basis for how I should spread my stats? I know knights hang around 40-50 and soldiers stay under 20, so I was wondering if having vastly variable stats would be strange here.

Is there a restriction on items? I'm guessing you wouldn't want us flooding out inventories with Astral Armaments and the like.

(Sorry for the bombardment of questions!)
 

Serobliss

과대 망상
Helper
Before I answer all the questions with a single reply, I forgot to mention the following:

Your character DOES NOT need to have a Chaos Root. For the characters that do not possess one, they will obtain one on the first 3 chapters of the roleplay.
 

accursedjobber

New Member
Roleplay Availability
Damn this looks so well made and far above a rat like me but damn I'll put in my interest if I haven't missed out already.
 

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