Fantasy Blight of Eileynn: Wings of Valor Character Thread

[Novafire]

This is the official Character Thread of the Blight of Eileynn: Wings of Valor role-play.

Please do not post your characters here until they have been approved by the GM's

It's here that you may post your completed character sheets, discuss characters, and post any fan art you may have during our time roleplaying together.​

 

[Novafire]

Name: Qoxo (pronounced: Ko-Sho)

Age: 25

Race: Wyx

Gender: Female

Skills: Shadow magic, luck magic, fire magic, potion making, acrobatics, gambling.

Occupation: Potion brewer, Gambler

Affiliations: None

Appearance:

Qoxo is a full Wyx, standing at approximately five feet six inches and weighing 120lbs. Her skin tone is ivory white with crimson red runes etched across her body. Qoxo has two black horns on either side of her head; the two horns on the inside are small and sharp, the two on the outside mimic that of a spiraling upwards. The larger of the two horns on the left side is cracked down the middle, but still intact. Her hair is just about shoulder length, silver in color, with soft waves entangled with metallic beads.

Qoxo has black scleras and bright crimson irises. Her lips are often painted black or purple with heavily pigmented berry juice.

She has several prominent scars, one being a deep v-shaped tear in her left ear. The others are two wide slashes to her abdomen on her right side. Her right ear is pierced with two large black steel gauged rings.

In the center of her chest, a very particular symbol is seated just below the center of her collar bone. It is reminiscent of the gaping jaws of a dragon around a black circle.

She dresses in black trousers and leather boots. Tied around her waist is a thick crimson braided sash that holds various ingredients and runes. She wears a ragged grey shirt with long sleeves, most of the shirt torn away exposing her midriff. Qoxo also wears a crimson shawl/hood combo that is affixed with a black steel broach.

Qoxo carries a black ash staff, it’s not very imposing, but it holds a lot of magical significance.



Personality: Qoxo is generally very mild tempered. She’s naturally curious and can be sarcastic when around friends. When potion making she is focused and precise. When gambling she can be loud and brash.

Qoxo finds emotional attachment difficult, growing up in a culture that promotes separation. She’s indifferent to the going’s on of society as a whole, much more focused on what’s in front of her. She’s insecure about her markings, fearing someone will eventually notice her familial ties with Zekial the Scourge. Even though she is many generations ahead, it still causes a fair amount of anxiety for her.

Qoxo can be quite competitive, especially with gambling. She doesn’t like to lose, and will often fight ‘dirty’ if she has to. Though she lacks a ton of physical strength, Qoxo’s will is stronger than most. She can be stubborn at times, and shuts others out when she feels they are getting to close, but like anyone who grew up without a family she longs for that close familial connection. She fears failure and insignificance.


History: Qoxo was born to a single mother in the Lower Stacks, her father having left before she was born. Like most Wyx, Qoxo’s Mother Dozai did not spend much time raising her child. Wyx believe children must experience the world themselves, as it is ever changing and no parent can prepare their child for what may come in life. Most Wyx children are independent by the age of six to nine, given just basic care by their family. Coming and going for food and sleep, Qoxo ventured across the Stacks as a young child during the days before returning home at night. When she turned six, she was told not to return by her mother and presented with her belongings. The Lower Stacks were riddled with beggars of Wyx origin, Qoxo joining their ranks.

Wyx communities in the Lower and Dark Stacks are unlike most races, their internal workings quite complex. There isn’t much of a hierarchy, not many gatherings, and no huge affiliations as most Wyx are uninterested in taking responsibility for others. Qoxo became aware it was everyone for themselves here in the Lower Stacks; watching thieves bolt through the cart railways, drunken bar fights spilling into the streets, and the vast differences that separated each class. However there are a few older Wyx among the others who take it upon themselves to teach their languages and history to the younger generations. Elders read the runes in which are hand inscribed upon their bodies at birth with magic, teaching the basic Magic’s to the curious Wyx younglings.

The Elder Fytus taught Qoxo, describing the histories of her ancestors limb by limb, explaining their tragedies and triumphs. Fytus spoke of many tales to the young Wyx, the smaller markings representative of a more tame life, the larger more complex the rune, the greater the life.

When Fytus reached Qoxo’s chest she stopped, pulling the young Wyx’s cloak back down over it. Not many Wyx carried this symbol, for reasons well known throughout the community.

Zekial’s mark.

It took some time for Fytus to calm the distraught Qoxo, who shed tears at this revelation. Being related to the most hated Wyx in recent history was not what Qoxo expected. In some parts of the Citadel, this was a death sentence. Pretty much everyone knew who he was. Fytus reminded her that though this was true, not many knew the language of their kind.

Still, the youngling Wyx felt despair. She watched as all the other younglings told their friends about their stories, pointing out the markings they shared. This disconnect between Qoxo and others of her kind continued as the other Wyx younglings continued to venture out beyond the bounds of the Wyx settlement, becoming notorious in their mischief. Qoxo however spent the next several years as a beggar on the street, often scavenging for food in the Dark Stacks. Often people would get lazy on their way to take their waste to the pits that led down to the Base, leaving large piles of trash and scrap for those desperate enough to search through. Eventually, the allure of the Underground Market a few stacks away from the settlement drew Qoxo out, her natural curiosity getting the best of her. She had heard a lot about the markets of the Lower and Middle Stacks, how the linked together in the middle with a plethora of food and wares.

Qoxo was mesmerized by the busy underground markets of the Lower Stacks, taking in the sights and sounds of the bustling streets. She quickly found herself drawn to the herbal scents of the apothecary district. It was there she watched from the scaffolds as Master Brewers worked their craft. Qoxo took note, and was quickly able to snag a few ingredients to make her own potions.

Selling these on the streets, Qoxo was quickly able to support herself. Making a notorious name for herself as a brewer of not just potions but poisons, she kept most of her business on the move instead of the bright colorful stalls. Spending the next decade doing this, she made quite the living. Qoxo spent time learning other languages including Orc and the Common language. This allowed her to study various spell books she picked up in the various markets she stalked.

Qoxo, now flush with copper silver and even a bit of gold, was drawn into various gambling rings throughout the Lower Stacks. Spending most of her nights watching Armored Centipedes tear each other to pieces and playing Orcish card game, Qoxo quickly became a regular around the various underground establishments.

She became especially good when it came to card games, though she often slipped a luck potion or two into her drink from time to time during a bad night. The young Wyx learned the hard way however what happens when cheaters are found out. A human caught her slight of hand from across the room, alerting his friends to Qoxo’s presence. She was taken out back and beaten by the group of humans, her ear badly damaged during the fight. Using her shadow magic she was barely able to escape.

Since this incident, Qoxo has moved up to the Middle Stacks, residing in the inner forest as she gathers stocks of herbs and mushrooms. She sells the ingredients to the Lower Stacks at a higher price, and still occasionally makes a potion or two for the right price. She continues to play cards, but in a much more relaxed pace to avoid being spotted.


(And an example of the dragon sheet, for when the dragon elements are decided upon!)

Qoxo’s Dragon

Name: Malaphaes

Element: Shadow

Scale: Ebony Black, smooth plated scales.

Horns: A total of six horns. Two on either side that jut out from his zygomatic arch, and two larger jagged horns sprouting from the top of his head.
Facial features: A long snake like tongue, Fierce crimson eyes, and rows of serrated teeth.

Wings: Large black wings with faint red accented markings. The wings appear almost draped in shadows turning flight. Their surface is so smooth there is almost no sound he flies. Specialized claw like graspers on wings allow for Malaphaes to lash out with deadly accuracy.

Body: Delicate black spines line his back, connected by a thin dark maroon membrane. These spines extend all the way down to the tip of his tail. There are several jagged and sharp protrusions on the end of his tail, similar to his horns. Powerful limbs with sharp black claws. His body exudes shadow, absorbing light around it.

Personality: Malaphaes takes himself very seriously. He is extremely protective of Qoxo of the get go, their bond strong initially due to He and Qoxo’s shared Element affinity. However Malaphaes believes he knows better than Qoxo and frequently disobeys her.

 

[One Mean Ghost]

Name: Ki'Tavi

Age: 25

Race: Bestias

Gender: Male

Skills: Thievery and associated skills, Unarmed Combat (A style that looks similar to Capoeira), Dual Sword fighting, knife throwing, Illusion Magic

Occupation: Thief, Gambler, Dashing Rogue, Overall Ne'er do well.

Affiliations: Underworld Connections. After all, it's no use being a thief if you don't know where to fence your ill-gotten gains

Personality: A bit cocky, prideful, sure of himsel- "Okay Narrator, I'll take it from here.... Look, if you want to know about me, it's better to ask me rather than the scribe. First off, I'm not a bad guy. Yeah I do a lot of bad things, ya know, stealing mostly, but a cat's gotta do what a cat's gotta do to survive, ya know? I ain't gonna go robbing from the street urchins, granted they'd pick your pocket soon as look at you, but what I'm getting at is I got at least some decency left in me. I'm just a cat of opportunity. You gotta be if you ever hope to get out of the damn smog cloud that is the lower levels around here. One way or another, I'm getting outta here. And when you're at the bottom, the only way to go is up"

History: "Oh here we go. Let's address the elephant in the room quick, eh? Dead Parents. Yep, Ol' Kit's an orphan. Oh boo hoo. Sitting an' crying in a box wasn't going to get me anywhere, so I dried my tears and got me some Street Savoire Faire. My parents bought the farm when I was... shit, six? I dunno. So, I did what any street urchin does on a usual basis, I started thieving. Claws, you see, are pretty damn useful for picking locks. When I got older, I found out I had a knack for Illusion magic. Pretty damn useful shit for a thief, I must say. I gotta tell you, there is nothing more fuckin' priceless than being chased by the Law, only for them to turn a corner and find nothing. Their faces.... Pricelessssss! Let's just say, I know how to make myself scarce when I wanna be. Things been working out pretty okay for me since then. Still a long way to go before I can buy my way above the smog, but, I got a feeling something big is about to come my way"

Ki'Tavi’s Dragon

Name: Nishati

Element: Energy

Scale: Smooth, shiny scales that seem to have a variety of hues to them, inscribed with strange markings that glow when her magic is used

Wings: Large, colorful wings that have markings similar to her body. These also glow when her magic is used.

Body: Her body is remarkably durable, a lot tougher than the smooth appearance would initially indicate. Her entire musculature exudes a refined, almost elegant power

Personality: A calm, relaxed, and very at ease Dragon, Nishati is perfectly content to go with the flow of things as they come. However, beneath her calm exterior is a dangerous temper, such that most who come to know her fear her wrath, despite her normally sweet disposition. She is quite protective of her Rider and insulting him is a fast way to find out why the power of Energy dragons is so feared. Given her natural ability to sense the presence of life energy around her, she is rarely startled.

 

[PhantomSamurai]

Name: Utadetul Cayadorees or Uta for short.

Age: 60 years old but is still considered to be young and acts like someone who is in their middle twenties.

Race: Scalite

Gender: Male

Skills: expert in Hand to hand combat, expert in most weapons one handed, two handed, throwing etc. He has no real skills in magic and generally is not a fan of it preferring to rely on his own strength rather than fancy schmancy magic.

Occupation: none

Affiliations: He is related to a few of the Scalites on the council but they view him as an embarassment.

Appearance: Uta's plates and scales are a combination of dark red and black something that he used to hate as a child but now loves the color as he thinks it makes him look tough. He is very muscular and tall with red piercing eyes. He does have some feathers but they are short and blond in with his scales.

Personality: Uta is loner preferring to keep to himself rather than socialize with others as he feels like he will just cause problems like he did in his younger years. Though a loner he is fiercely loyal to his comrades willing to put himself in danger to protect those he serves with and also the people he is supposed to protect. He is very brave and hardheaded thus can be quite arrogant at times which has gotten him into trouble more than a few times.

History: Uta was born in the lower stacks but had the privilege of being one of the very few Scalites who were allowed in the High Stacks due to his familial connections to a few Scalite Council members. Unlike other Scalites when Uta was born he was not a mix of vibrant colors but instead was dark red and black, this was looked down upon by the Scalite elders but was ultimately left alone. As he grew up he experienced the lavish life of luxury that is afforded to those that lived in the high stacks. However he grew bored of the hoity toity high society gig and began to travel down to the lower stacks to hang out and make mischief with the other Scalites who he thought were cooler than the snobs in the high stacks. Over the years he got into his share of trouble, fights, drunken fights, vandalism, theft, etc. Each time getting out of trouble due and his distractions kept quiet due to his family connections in not just the High Council but in the traders and merchants. However one day he got into a bad fight and severely injured a human who just happened to be the son of a an important council member, this led to him being arrested and thrown into jail while his entire family including his parents essentially disowned him as they refused to have an embarassment like him on the family anymore. While in jail he had a lot of time to think about his actions and how he lived his life up until that point. He decided then and there he would turn his life and attitude around so he would not cause his family any more trouble. Eventually the charges against him were dropped due to last favor from his family before being told to never bother them again. Uta after leaving jail decided to set himself up in an abandoned house in the Dark stacks where no one would bother him and he would bother no one. He spent the next years just training and living alone.


Dragon Description

Name: Honnari

Element: Fire

Scale color: Honnari is covered in many rough, charcoal grey and red ember-like scales that seem to radiate heat around them.



Horns: Honnari like many Fire Dragons do not have one or two pairs of singular horns on their head, instead sporting a cowl of rough red and black spikes extending up and past her head.



Facial Features: Sporting a sharp black horn on the top of her nose and under her chin, Honnari’s face is covered in smaller spine similar to the crest of spikes that adorn her head. These make her incredibly dangerous in close combat, able to impale foes with a swing of her head. Honnari’s eyes are a fiery orange.



Wings: With and average wingspan, her wings are covered in similar volcanic black spikes. The edges of her wings have a singed and torn appearance, though this is natural for her kind.



Body: Fire Dragons sport a furnace like chest, with various opening that exude heat and smoke. They glow in lower light areas like a smoldering Fire. Her belly and chest are covered in charcoal black plates, their texture that of hardened magma. Irregular black spines extend down her back to her mid shoulder range, in between her wings. Her tail is long and whip like at the top, plates with large deep red scales.



Personality: Honnari is a complicated Dragon she was born hostile and mistrustful of all she came into contact with even Uta. At first she would burn, scratch, and claw at Uta because she did not feel he deserved to be partnered with her. However Uta stuck with her and eventually she came to care for Uta and trust him completely. Honnari is fiercely loyal to Uta and Uta alone and she will do anything to protect him, though she will still occasionally attack him for no reason. Her temper is suited to her element as she can be hotheaded and brash when she gets worked up. In combat Honnari is lethal and brutal preferring to strike fast and put her enemies down hard

 

[Spoiled Bread]

Name: Ruma Elis

Age: 29

Race: human

Gender: female

Skills: Stealth, blade master, martial art, cooking

Occupation: tavern owner

Affiliations: The Serpent

Appearance:

Ruma stands at 5'3, with bright brown eyes and black hair. A tattoo of eight-headed demonic serpent spans all over her back and even branching towards the back of her arms and thighs, though it's well-hidden behind the garb she usually wears. She carries two swords on her left hips, one of them is a wooden one.

Personality:
A calm and well-composed person. Ruma held rules highly and won't hesitate in giving punishment. Anyone tried to start a bar fight in her tavern got their face smacked by a wooden sword and her eight years old son also got disciplined frequently.
She used to be a hot-headed person but after she got a child she becames better at restraining her action. Other members of The Serpent calls her the 'ash demon' because of this.

History:
She joined the lower stack's mafia group, The Serpent, when she was still young and eager to show off her family's swordmanship. She later married one of them and have a son, but her husband was killed in one of the group's operation.

Ever since then she tried to resign from the group so she could live peacefully with her son but the group wouldn't let her to simply resign so she ended up making a tavern that also double as one of The Serpent's gathering point.


Dragon

Name: Pyokko

Element: Earth

Scale: Rough and durable rock-like scale. Actually, this might be where all the rock he ate goes.

Horns: A pair of curvaeous horns. Looks intimidating and and packs more power into Pyokko's ram.

Body: Sturdy body with deadly claws equipped. His legs are agile and strong enough to propel himself into the sky. Once his claws grab a target, it can be locked to prevent the target from fleeing. His tail has a fork-like spikes jutting out of it and can be used to smash things.

Personality: A gluttonous dragon that likes to nab on colorful rocks. He can be rather lazy if he's not whipped up to start his training. Likes to be pampered and might throw a tantrum every once in a while.

 

[Fable]

Name: Eira Kylma

Age: 120

Race: High Elf

Gender: Female

Skills: Ice magic, water magic, organization, calligraphy, unarmed combat, dual blade proficiency.

Occupation: Archivist

Affiliations: Curio Company

Personality: Eira, like the element of her dragon, is icy. She prefers not to be bothered with things she deems unimportant, such as the personal dramas of the lives of others. She has no interest and no business in meddling in the personal affairs of someone's life. She's appear like a silent, brooding type; and she can be. At the same time however she can be sarcastic and mocking to others if they get on her nerves. She will give her blunt and honest opinion even if it causes someone to dislike her as she finds lip service deplorable.

History: Eira's life isn't dramatic nor exciting. Normal family with normal occupations, the youngest child with one older sister and one older brother. She got along best with her older brother as she found her older sister's constant rotation of love interests and dramatization of her life exceptionally irritating. So Eira would rough house and wrestle with her older brother, which turned into sparring when her brother became interested in becoming a Citadel Knight.

Eira went on to become an archivist for the Great Library of Ulariae, a job with blissful little interaction required except when absolutely necessary. It was also a personal interest of hers, the history and magical artifacts. She was always eager to learn new things and her position made that possible. This also helped facilitate her abilities regarding magic.

Eira’s Dragon

Name: Boreas

Element: Ice

Scale: Smooth and glass-like with a shimmering translucency that shifts depending on the light.

Horns: Sharp and pointed like icicles, there are two main horns with a few smaller horns.

Facial features: Harsh and angular with larger scales on forehead than the rest of the body

Wings: Large wingspan with multiple large 'ice' spikes

Body: Lithe for a dragon since any additional bulk would only make him slower, there are a few more ice-like spikes where his wings connect to his body and spikes down his tail.

Personality: Like Eira, Boreas is picky with those he interacts with. If he doesn't like you and you try to touch him best be prepared for some nipping cold and an unfriendly growl. It takes time to develop any type of relationship with him. He isn't playful and has a very calm demeanor and will clearly set his boundaries. Don't mistake his calmness for apathy as he is fiercely loyal and will not tolerate harm to those he has a bond with.

 

[Diosa del Sopa]

Name

Formerly Jorek Björrenson, currently Jorek Ironforge


Age

182


Race

Dwarf


Gender

Male


Skills

Two-Handed axe combat, underworld connections, smithing and caretaking of arms and armor, item enchanting.


Occupation

Armsmith


Affiliations

None


Appearance

Jorek Ironforge is a full-blooded dwarf and it shows in his stature. Standing at 4 feet and 8 inches tall, Jarek is actually a little taller than the average dwarf with the weight to match. Weighing in at 230 pounds, Jarek is a force to be reckoned with as almost every ounce of that weight is muscle built from almost two centuries of harsh physical labor and combat. His skin is light due to the lack of sunlight in the Lower Stacks, but it also wears numerous scars. His most notable scars are two deep, jagged knife wounds on his face; one travels horizontally across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, and the fateful one that took his left eye.


His hair is a deep black that has a few silver strands sprinkled from his age beginning to show. The hair on the top of his head has the right side shaved, with the remainder left at a medium length and brush over to the left side. His beard is nine inches long and very well cared for. It has loosely braided and is held in place by three silver, Wolf's head clasps as the base.


His good eye is a striking steel gray, while the blind one has turned white from the scar tissue that formed after his injury.


His facial features are handsome by dwarven standards, and by the standards of those that find dwarves attractive as well. A strong brow, a well cut face and a chiseled nose only marred by the scars he bears.


Typically, Jorek wears smithing equipment. A thin cotton shirt with the sleeves cut away, a heavy leather apron, a tool belt and leather breeches, with heavy leather boots. When expecting a fight, Jarek has a suit of full plate mail that he made for himself and a heavy battle axe.

View attachment 640542


Personality

As a youth, Jorek was hard-headed and aggressive, well known in the Lower Stacks for being the rough-and-tumble type you talked to when you needed violence done to another or muscle to prove a point.


As the years passed and Jorek both lost his eye and lost his family his brutish features were tempered by experience and wisdom; his brash words were replaced with thoughtful stoicism, the fiery temper that cost him his eye cooled, and the boyish desire for violence grew into an appreciation for the quiet aspects of life.


Now, Jorek favors level-heads and peaceful solutions rather than strife, but he is far from a pacifist. When he or those he cares for are in danger, Ironforge won't hesitate to take up his axe and bring war down upon his foes.


History

Born in the High Stacks, Jorek Björrenson was to be the heir to his father's trade Empire. The young dwarf spent every hour of every day being molded into what his parents wished for him to be. Economics tutoring, apprenticeship to the greatest smiths and enchanters, moving in and out of the forges, escorting shipments to and from the Silver Sea Port. Most dwarves, with their sense of honor and drive for limitless wealth, would have taken to the lessons without an ounce of resistance. Jorek, however, was no normal dwarf.


Upon entering adolescence, young Jorek began rebelling however he could, skipping lessons, running away from home and going places that a child should never go. His rebellious streak didn't fade when his parents began to severely punish him, nor did it stop when he had his first run in with the law over a bar brawl that had spilled out into the street. Instead, it only grew. For the first time in his life, Jorek felt free. For the first time, he could do as he liked, act as he liked, and be whomever he wished to be.


Jorek dove even deeper into his darker desires. The occasional night at the pub turned into drunken scandals, his occasional stealing turned into grand larceny as he took bags of coin from merchants at knife point, and every single time his parents would bail him out of trouble with the gold in their vast coffers. This bred a sense of invincibility into Jarek. If the law couldn't touch him, who could? He took up pit brawling in his free time, brutal fist fights that would leave him with split brows and broken bones, all of which his family's vast wealth would handle by bringing the finest healers in the Stacks to heal him. With little consequence from the law and short recovery times, Jorek picked up experience rapidly. He began regularly winning, challenging people of all different races to come and face him in the ring. The name Jarek began spreading across the Lower Stack, and with fame came the eyes of those that ruled that smog-ridden cesspool.


Jorek was down in the Lower Stack yet again, preparing for a fight when he was approached by a roguish human. A new fighter was on the scene, and the underground organizations wanted this new fighter to succeed. They wanted him to succeed so badly that they were willing to put a lump some of coin into Jarek's hands to ensure his victory. Jorek's damnable pride made him refuse; he would do no less than his best, no matter the amount they were willing to give him. The shadowy visitor simply nodded, turned on his booted heel and left. That night, the man's friends found Jorek when he was heading home from the pit, and beat him within an inch of his life. Broken bones, stab wounds, and a dagger strike down his face and into his eye. They'd paid the guard off as well, and rather than helping Jorek, they beat him further and imprisoned him.


Days passed and Jorek was alone. His father and mother never came to see him or release him, healers never came, the guards didn't feed him. For the first time in his life, Jarek was alone with only the repercussions of his actions and his thoughts. He realized, in that moment, the mistakes he had made and the severity of his crimes. He realized that no one was coming to save him from himself. Luckily, the coin put towards destroying him ran dry before his will did, and the normal care given to prisoners was resumed. It was too late to save his eye, or to stop the scars from forming, but he would survive. Maybe even walk again one day with enough work and luck.


Jorek spent ten years in that cell for his crimes. Theft, illegal fighting, assault and battery, the list went on and on. Not once in that time did his family come, not once did they send word or bring him out of his perpetual perdition. Their message, however, was clear. He had dug himself into a hole for long enough, and they were taking back their rope. Jorek, as another first, just accepted that reality, and turned his eyes to the future. He spent those ten years building his body through dedicated training, and, in time, he recovered from the wounds that his attackers had given him. Upon release, he left the crime of the lower stacks and moved to the mines, determined to change who he had become.


Decades passed in the mine, decades of tight living and saving coin whenever and wherever he could, friends came and went, hard sentiments softened with age and experience. Ater forty years of patience and hard work, Jorek left the mines and put his parent's lessons to use. He opened his own smithy, changed his surname to Ironforge, and began smithing some of the finest tools, weapons and armor that the Lower Stacks had ever seen. His name began to spread once again, but for his quality work and honesty instead of brutality.


Jorek felt content here, he had made something genuine and had earned the respect of the people around him instead of their fear or hatred. He had made something of himself, and that was more than enough. Jorek spent the next century refining his art, building off of the lessons he had received as a child, and turned a profession into an art. His arms and armor became among the best in the Citadel, so much so that people from the upper stacks would come to the lower levels just for his wares. Jorek was happy.


Alas…


Fate has other plans, and adventure calls for him once again.


Jorek's Dragon



Name

Nidhöggr


Element

Metal


Scales

Round, polished metal scales.


Horns

Two horns, long by his subspecies' standard, and hand sharpened to a point by Jorek.


Wings

Wide wing heavy, Nidhöggr's wings pummel the air beneath him as he flies, giving a very audible sound as he flies. The front ends of his wings have been adapted for combat by Jorek; any spurs have been sharpened to mimic the tips of spears, and areas without spurs have been reinforced to add both extra protection and more weight for blunt strikes.


Body

Nidhöggr has a large and powerful body; cords of strong muscle glide below his heavily armored scales, all while sharpened spines protrude from the tips of his wings and the joints of his fore legs.


Personality

Similar to his master, Nidhöggr has an intimidating visage with a calmer spirit, as such, it's clear as to why the two of them are partners. This dragon commits to combat only as a last resort, but surges forth like a steel tsunami when push comes to shove.

Outside of fights, he has a good sense of humor and will often try to joke with his companions or master. Couple that with his deep, but friendly voice and few can resist this one's charm.

 

[Turtelini]

Grenga Karagun

Age: 58

Race: Orc

Gender: Female

Skills: Lifting heavy cargo; Intimidating people if necessary; Has some fierce punches; A mediocre gambler; Street-smart

Occupation: Longshoreman

Affiliations:

• Grenga works at the docks as a part of a bigger crew called the Silver Fish. They are a wild mixture of different races, ages and skills, and are used to be hired by incoming shipowners to take care of their ships. From scrubbing decks to relocating cargo, the Silver Fish use their family mentality and their wideranging abilities to work as hard as possible and earn their daily bread.
• Other than that, Grenga also is part of the Karagun family, one of the older families that settled after putting their nomadic lifestyle behind them. Since then, the family has experienced the best and worst times, with the latter being far from over. The Karaguns live in the Lower stacks, hidden in narrow alleys and overcrowded homes. Their name and the power behind it is long faded, and even though they still pride themselves with their heritage, the daily struggles have forced them into a humble lifestyle. Many of the Karaguns work as dockers or bouncers, and some of the less liked members have succumbed to prostitution and gambling. You can identify a Karagun easily by the tattoos on their legs, a pattern of lines and edges that is intended to resemble the journey their family has went through in the past. Nowadays Karagun only travel up and down the Lower Stack, and their tattoos became more of tradition without any belief behind it.

Appearance: Grenga is a 7ft tall muscular orc, which makes her one of the smaller family members. Packed with muscles, she is used to having a problem with finding clothes fitting her. Fortunately some of the Silver Fish have the ability to sew and provided her makeshift shorts and a loose shirt. That didn't bother Grenga in the slightest, as she was looked at with a certain dismissing glance anyway. Brown hair covered her arms, legs and head, and partly hid her almost turquoise skin. Her face got the full orc structure: broad nose, wide mouth, narrow eyes and tusks growing from her lower jaw. Grenga has the family leg tattoos as well, covering her always bare feet and her full lower leg with black lines.

Personality: Grenga might look aggressive, but that's not at all her character. She is humble, knows in what position she is, and has learned when she can say something without getting in trouble. That's the mark the Lower Stack has burned into Grenga, as she actually wants to say so much. Daily mean looks and even more vicious comments have forced her to stop listening to people. Ignoring and silence are a shield hard to keep up, but Grenga tries her best. As a worker, she is dedicated and hard-working, and has a structured way to approach problems and tasks. Brute force is a way, but not a solution. In her opinion, force is less about strength and more about direction.
The right people might get to know the hidden Grenga, an Orc that has a loud laugh and the worst puns. However, to see that side of her, you might have to go a long way.

History: Growing up in the Lower Stacks is never easy. A family worked up in tradition and history, a place filled with thousands of dark holes to fall into, two factors that make it almost impossible to become something else than a failure. Grenga had to work early in her life, helping out as a waiter in some old pub, scrubbing floors and washing clothes. Time to play was scarce, and even if Grenga got some time over, her parents made her listen to old family stories. If she was lucky, they showed her some fighting techniques, but that was a rather rare occasion. Other than that Grengas childhood was bleak and empty, filled with work and pain.

She will never forget the day she got her tattoos. In one moment she was in her room, washing clothes in a leaking bucket, the other she was dragged into the cellar. A few hours later, she was thrown out into the street, legs wrapped in wet linen. "Get yourself a job, and don't come back without money." Grenga was young, only 17, and alone. Wandering through the streets, a year of helping here and there followed. Grenga has found her place in the docks, learned where to be at what time to get some work, and slowly built up a reputation. One day little kid walked up to Grenga, and asked her to follow her. She was dragged into a tavern, and forced to sit down at a full table. That was when she got to know the Silver Fish, and from that day on Grenga's life has improvey massively. A steady income, friends to talk to, and a home with her family again.

Dragon description

Felavon

Element: Air

Scale color/pattern: Rather than having scales, Felavon's body is covered in colorful feathers. From head to tail, feathers lightly sway in the wind, bending with every current and showing off their beauty.

Horns: Felavon's horns resemble two stumps, soft to the touch and sensible to heights. This is where they channel their air magic through!

Facial Features: Their nose is long, narrow and ends almost beak-like. Eyes as little as beads, their vision is almost non-existent. Instead of relying on seeing things, Felavon senses every movement around them, including air being pushed against objects. Behind their little horns two small holes, covered by feathers and a thin, delicate layer of skin, act as a way to hear.

Wings: Felavon's wings can be best described as "A bird that shouldn't have grown this goddamn big". And that's exactly what you should picture for them! Even though, if you see Felavon "fly", you might notice how their wing movement doesn't really add up with their "flying" ...

Body: Long, sleek, and still somehow puffed up! Petting Felavon's body will result in you sinking in their feathers a little bit. It's warm and cuddly! The end of their tail ends in a wide fan of feathers, and even though they look harmless - the wind it creates can rip out trees.

Personality: Felavon looks like a wise, old dragon ready to give their wisdom to humanity. Don't get distracted by that, though, you might not notice the cake levitating above your head! In reality Felavon loves a good prank or two. Or three. On good days.

Never taking life too seriously, Felavon goes through life in a more easy-going manner. This attitude has made their life easy in some ways, and way harder in others. A low attention span, easily distracted, and inability to take anything as serious as it sometimes needs to be, makes Felavon a hard dragon to work with.

And even if you somehow get a hold on them, they always have some way to get their freedom back. Freedom is what Favelon is made of, and noone will take that away from them.

 

[honeylemon]

Name: Hollis Falon


Age: 29


Race: Moor Elf


Gender: Non-binary


Skills: growing/harvesting crops, simple survival skills, plant magic, creation of poultices


Occupation: Forester (Trapper/Farmer)


Affiliations: Citadel Courier (Former)


Appearance:

Hollis stands at five foot six inches- short for both elves and humans- and weighs roughly 135lbs. Their deep brown hair reaches down half of their back, though it is often in a hair tie. They are warmer than most other Moor Elves, but still has the telltale grey skin tone. Hollis can often be seen in close fitting cotton (or whatever else is comfortable), a pair of boots, and a singular necklace. The necklace appears to be some sort of pale stone fitted into the clutches of a dragon.


Personality:

Without much social interaction, Hollis has grown quiet. They seem to only speak when spoken to, and their voice has become dry from disuse. However, if encouraged to speak about a passion, Hollis can speak near-endlessly. Such rambles are normally ended by rushed apologies for speaking so much, along with a shaky voice.

One could say they are aloof, but that would be marking them as unfriendly. While they don’t pursue friendship, they aren’t one to turn it down. Their moral integrity often crumbles under a strong force- whether that be a strong personality, display of power, or simply a menacing presence.


History:

Raised as the third child to a pair of ever-busy parents, Hollis was put through the same life-path as their elder brother. Raised to be a courier, their fascination with both learning and nature were rarely filled- instead, the young elf had to find solace in the drawings and paintings of forests they sometimes spotted. Whenever given the chance to sneak off, they often found themselves asking much older members of the community about magic, and whatever other things they could learn.

When Hollis’s parents saw fit for their last child to leave the house, they quickly became a courier. It was a repetitive job, and became quite boring quite quickly. At the same time, simply too much was going on. However, they were not trained in much else, so they made do. In their spare time, Hollis would read about plants and gardening, hoping to someday start one themselves. Alongside this, they started a fund for when they inevitably left.

Nearly a decade into their job, Hollis packed up and left for the Middle Stacks. It took some time, but eventually they had a home and beautiful garden- more than enough to support themselves. After some trial and error, they recorded their findings on which spells work best to grow which plants, along with the recipes for some poultices.

Hollis dips into town roughly once a week to sell their extra produce and purchase necessities. The company isn’t minded, either. They hadn’t predicted it, but living in the forest gets oh so lonely.

Dragon


Name
Piosuss

Element
Water

Scales
Different shades of blue, becoming darker near the extremities.

Horns
Spiraling, tapering only at the end.

Wings
Connected to the end of the dragon's "elbow", they are scaled similarly to the rest of his body. There are claw-like points at the end of each bone. The membrane of the wings is much paler than the rest of his body- the shade closest to grey.

Body
Piosuss is quite bulky, with his body tapering off at his tail. This allows him to be much more streamlined- his wings fold next to his body to assist with this. Along the back of his neck, going down his back, and along his tail are spines and frills, similar to those on a fish. The end of his tail fans out.

Personality
Like his rider, Piosuss enjoys being alone- there's something about being by oneself that is innately calming. However, this is where their similarities end. He knows how to hold on to his voice, carefully picking which words to say. The dragon loves a good joke. At times, Piosuss becomes nearly deceitful, which he swears isn't- in any way- the same as lying. His incessant teasing annoys Hollis to no ends; he insists that the elf must be less meek if they hope to survive in society.

 

[butterfly aubade]

Name: Elyinara Borbine (Ell-yi-in-uh-rah Bore-bine)

Age: (Approximately): 18

Race: Pixie

Gender: Female

Skills: (Weapon proficiency, Magic, etc): Elyinara truly gives meaning to "small but fierce." While she was born to a family of tailors, she never cared for fashion and clothing in general. Her parents were (understandably) exasperated when she decided to pick up the "needle of battle," as they put it. While she's naturally adept at many hands-on activities, (sewing included, despite her apathy towards the art) the most dangerous weapon in her arsenal is her sharp mind. Able to analyze opponents efficiently, Ely is what you'd call a smart fighter. This, paired with an exceptionally good aim, makes her someone not to be underestimated. She's proficient at using the balisong, multiple daggers and the sai. She prefers doubling up on the knives.

Occupation: (If applicable): A reluctant tailor-in-training

Affiliations: (If applicable): Willowdale Tailor's

Appearance:




Brown tresses chopped short (much to her mother's dismay) sit in a mess of tangles atop her head. Her face is angular in shape, with bright green eyes. She's got four insect-like translucent wings.
Her day-to-day wardrobe consists of battle gear, which she made herself from leftover leather bindings.

Personality: Bright and inquisitive, Ely embodies the spirit of curiosity. Whenever she's learning a new skill or concept, she dislikes wasting too much time on preliminaries, preferring to just dive straight in. When she's not sure, she ask questions. Lots of them. No matter how trivial or silly they might seem, she probes a subject from all the imaginable corners to gain a three-dimensional understanding. Her talkative nature can (and does) annoy some, and she's been on the receiving end of some not-so-nice spells created to shut her mouth. Nevertheless, Elyinara remains undeterred, her persistence being one of her biggest redeeming qualities, as well as the trait that will spell her ultimate doom. She likes challenges; loves the thrill of the chase and frequently takes on ones that are seemingly impossible for someone of her stature. Although things have usually ended up with her only being minorly injured (but victorious), her reckless streak is badly in need of a reality-check.

History: Nothing particularly interesting. She was born to two mid-tier tailors within the middle stack. Although Ely knows that she'll most likely inherit her parents' business, a tiny piece of her won't accept that fate without a fight.

Dragon

* Not proportionate to actual [smaller] size

Name
Ithaca

Element
Lightning

Scales
Silver, with hints of white and gray and a golden sheen.

Horns
Resembles deer antlers. Two large, curved horns with many tinier horns spiralling out in different directions. Gives him an elegant look.

Wings
Nonexistent.

Body
Serpentine in build, with sharp talons near the middle of his figure. On ground, he mainly relies on slithering to get around. He is (without doubt) much more graceful in air, able to glide through the air seamlessly, like he's one with the sky. When harnessing his element (lightning), he becomes one with it, his body akin to a bolt of electricity; pulsing, alive and crackling with deadly energy.

Personality
Ithaca is what you'd call a restless soul. He always has to be doing something. Otherwise, he becomes a ball of bunched-up nervous energy that will result in somebody receiving a new hairdo (at best) or being fried to a crisp (at worst). Despite his anxiety, he's actually a rather friendly dragon and means well. He can be a bit awkward at times, unable to pick up social cues that seem innate to others, but he'll usually laugh it off. (Until he's suffering from insomnia three years later and remembers the awkward encounter -- at which, he will inevitably cringe at). Unlike his Rider, Ithaca prefers having everything thought out before starting the process, as he'll drive himself mad with seemingly trivial details without carefully laid out plans. He's also rather analytical, using strategy and logic as his primary basis for decision-making and tactical manuevers.

 

[Lekiel]

[div class=fyuriwrapper]

[div class=leftside][div class=FC]

[class=picture] position: relative; display: inline-block; [/class] [class=text] position: absolute; width: 100%; height: 100%; top: 0; left: 0; opacity: 0; background-color: rgba(0,0,0,0.1); color: white; z-index: 2; [/class] [class name=text state=hover] opacity: 1; background:url('https://www.rpnation.com/gallery/amithalia-1.41316/full'); transition: all 1.0s ease; [/class] [div class=picture] [div class=text]

[/div]​

[/div]
[div class=headerleft]Ami`thalea Druidess of Wightwillow
[/div]

[div class=tri]

[/div]
Gender: Female
Race: Wood Nymph
Age: 32
Skills: Flora Magic, Weaving, Herbology, Pathfinding, Enhanced Physical and Mental Fortitude.
Occupation: Druid & Weaver
Affiliations: Keeper of Wightwillow Grove
[/div]

[div class=headermain]Appearance

Standing a little over 6 feet tall, Ami`thalea is ugly by woodling standards. Too little bark, not enough twigs, scandalously non-existent moss, and with proportions more akin to the flesh walkers than her own kin. But while her own kind may find her form revolting, she would not be able to easily pass for one of the flesh walkers either. With legs noticeably longer, smooth skin of pale green, firm as a plant's stem, a mixture of fine vines, leaves and twigs addorning her head it was pretty evident that whatever blood coursed through her veins, that of the wood nymphs was marginally higher.

Her eyes are olive green, with tiny pupils and unusually large irises. They gleam a dimmer glow in the darkness when compared to her fellow woodlings.

Out of habit, she dons a living symbiotic garment of plants that covers her body from head to toe to reduce the double-takes.

Ami`thalea carries a staff as well as a variety of seed pouches carefully disguised on her living garment to work her spells.

[div class=headermain]Personality[/div]
Ami`thalea is a victim of the R.T.F., or 'Resting Troll Face', as some of her annoying pixie wannabe tenants often teased her about. Coupled with the fact that she has to tetchily shoo them out of her hair on a regular basis (whoever thought housing pixies on themselves as a good idea was clearly drunk on dwarvish brew) and those closest to her would tell you that Ami`thalea is a grumpy old hag; unfortunately, the only ones closest to her are of course, said family of pixies.

Pixies aside, others might observe the Druidess of Wightwillow Grove as a rather aloof and temperamental individual, prone to random mood swings. Many would recount a snappy and eccentric Ami one day, while facing an oblivious and clearly airheaded wood nymph just hours later.

Nonetheless, for all her volatility, some things are certain. She possesses an inquisitive precociousness to new experiences and knowledge and could spend hours standing still as a tree *cough* just to observe something or someone that piques her interest.

[div class=headermain]History[/div]
Ami. Thalia. Forsaken. One.

Or at least that was what Elder Aer`nala had said her name meant. No other Woodling could confirm her erstwhile guardian's words so she had not let it bother her. Afterall, she knew the Elder woodling to be a rather matter-of-fact individual and considering the nature of her early years it only made sense.

Woodlings were as un-hostile as any, but that did not mean Ami`thalea was spared from the supposedly objective observations. At first glance, it was very much plausible that the orphan was a halfbreed. Many of her kin said that the orphan was the child of a wild woodling and her human lover, while others speculated a Moor Elf parentage. Afterall, she was found out in the wilds by the eccentric Elder Druid Aer`nala during one of her many solo expeditions to obtain rare plants for her grove back in the Middle Stacks. Aer`nala herself was reticent about what she knew when she found a young Ami abandoned in the forests even despite the young sapling's constant questions, saying it did not matter. Though she felt no outright prejudice, the constant whispers felt more like grating metal than rustling leaves on her ears. It was enough to push a young Ami`thalea towards a life of relative isolation with much of her years spent interacting with the elderly druid and her resident pixie family. But you could only isolate yourself so much before you'd hear the whispers again. And like the roots of a large oak boring into rocky beds, a nerve within her was struck and she began her inquisition about her origins anew.

Eventually, on a particularly moody day of endless pestering, Aer`nala finally relented and took Ami out of the Citadel and into the wilderness within which she had found the young woodling. As she stared at the nondescript stony clearing surrounded by tall pines, Ami`thalea felt nothing. She had thought she might've found a sudden revelation or perhaps tranquil peace. Instead there was plain nothing. And with that nothingness, came the realization that her guardian was right. It did not matter where she came from, or who her parents were. She could become whoever she wanted to be. It was only the opinion of who she cared for that mattered, and Aer`nala her beloved guardian, didn't care.

From that time onward, if Ami`thalea longed for more company, she never showed it. In fact, the Elder Druid was such a vast wealth of knowledge and experience the young wood nymph had never found herself lacking. All her knowledge in nature magic, particularly that of mastery over the flora was sucked up by Ami`thalea as though her roots were dry. The elder woodling was a potion master as well, but alas, she passed on before she could teach much of that skill to Ami.

But what Ami`thalea already knew was enough, and she quickly picked up the title of Druidess. Guardian of the little grove nestled in the forests of the Middle Stacks. Named in honour of her beloved guardian, now a large Wightwillow tree. Time passed and Ami`thalea became known as the Druidess of Wightwillow Grove. Known for her herbarium of rare plants and exquisite cloths of Moonweave, made from the delicate fibres of the Moonglimmer blooms.

[div class=headermain]Her Dragon[/div]

Name: Xian-Yu

Element: Light

Scale: Pearlescent white with iridescence like that of polished shells. They gleam like a still pond scintillating under sunlight. They are at times rubbery to the touch for those Xian-Yu allows close. Otherwise slippery as polished marble.

Horns: Xian-Yu has two gold horns stretching backwards from the crown of her head.

Wings: Xian-Yu's wings are considerably large for her average size. They are albino white like much of the rest of her body and are leathery albeit with white feathered plumage on the undersides.

Body: Soft feathered down runs from the back of Xian-Yu's head along her back and she possesses four large talons akin to avians instead of claws. Xian-Yu the dragon of light is often a sight to behold, slightly smaller than a medium-sized dragon, but with large wings, she streaks across the skies like a flash of light. A swooping rush of wind and the delicate sound of windchimes as her iridescent scales shiver on the breeze heralds the Light Dragon's presence.

Personality: Xian-Yu's prudish and petulant behavior paints the picture of a creature who knows their beauty is as a literal gift from the gods. Often aloof and owning up to the title of "The Reluctant Bearer of Light" Xian-Yu is languorous in demeanour, preferring to sleep most of the time. Any attempts to get her to do something is seen as an affront to her Highest Majesty and nigh unworthy of batting an eyelid. Nonetheless, Xian-Yu's superciliousness does have its limits and she knows when she should be serious and work with her bond.
[div class=headermain]

✤ ✤ ✤​

[/div]

[div class=fyuricredit]code/design by Fable [/div]

.

.

[class=fyuriwrapper]
max-width:950px;
margin:auto;
font-family:'Noto Sans', Verdana;
[/class]

[class=leftside]
background-color: #4c4c4c;
color:#fff;
max-width: 350px;
height: 100%;
padding:10px;
box-sizing:border-box;
[/class]

[class=FC]
background:#4c4c4c;
max-width:350px;
max-height:350px;
margin:auto;
overflow:hidden;
border:0.5px solid white;
text-align:center;
[/class]


[class=headerleft]
position:relative;
left:-40px;
max-width:320px;
background:#014421;
padding:5px 5px 0px 40px;
box-sizing:border-box;
font-family:'Yanone Kaffeesatz', Verdana;
font-size:30px;
letter-spacing:2px;
overflow:hidden;
line-height:30px;
[/class]

[class=tri]
position:absolute;
top:0px;
left:-39.5px;
width:30px;
height:30px;
background:#014421;
-webkit-clip-path: polygon(0 0, 100% 0, 100% 100%);
clip-path: polygon(0 0, 100% 0, 100% 100%);
[/class]

[class=headermain]
font-family:'Yanone Kaffeesatz', Verdana;
font-size:30px;
letter-spacing:2px;
border-bottom: 2px solid #63AAAA;
line-height:18px;
margin:0px 0px -20px 0px;
[/class]

[class=fyuricredit]
max-width:950px;
margin:auto;
opacity:0.5;
font-size:10px;
[/class]
[/div][/div][/div]