Fantasy City of Magic Characters

[Lekiel]

~Character Application~


For this RP, you may choose any of the 'normal', 'special' or 'elite' classes. Some Elites may require much more backstory. If unsure, check with me first ^^



Just a basic character skelley will do, as below:


Name:

Age:

Gender:

Homeland: (The Bloodsworn, Arya, Vanharen)

Race:

Class:

Equipment: (Please be mindful of the limit one person can carry ; )

Appearance: (at least 3 lines, include a picture if you have one. Otherwise, add more description to define your physical features)

Personality: (Optional, can be discovered through the story anyway ^^)

Character Background: (Character background and history)

. . . . | . . . .​

Accepted Characters will be liked, you may begin posting as soon as that happens

 

[The Gunrunner]

Spoiler

Yes, I dare to add a theme song.

Name: Glazist Phairnaul, 'The Wanderer.'

Age: 42

Gender: Male

Homeland: Vanharen

Race: Human - Undead

Class: Deathknight

Equipment:
Full-body plate-mail, the rims lined with a thin layer of yellowed brass. The suit includes a customized Armet helmet, wherein the visor has been flattened for the purpose of better visibility.
Chipped and battered two-handed danish Axe.
Chop-focused arming sword, the crossguard and handle reaching equal length. The blade itself has been heavily inscribed in the vows and chants of the Order of Spring.
Flat oval shield, the front showing no emblem.


Appearance:

A beast of nightmare capable only from the deadlands, he stands at around six feet with broad shoulders. The build suggested by the armour presents what is expected of a warrior, no more and no less, though much of the real damage is covered by the steel plates. Typically, it is only the face which is exposed - A face that holds no secrets to his state; the eyes are under a sheen of white, a paleness shared throughout his cold dead skin. The flesh of the face is torn in many areas, revealing muscle tissue and stained bone. Where the flesh remains, there is a sickly red lining the wounds. The armour itself is well made, and well kept after - Polished and shined, though the many scratches and dents show it is certainly far from new. The rims of the gauntlets, pauldrons, and helmet are lined with a yellowed brass. The helmet itself is a customized armet, wherein the mouthpiece is flatter than usual for the purpose of better visibility. The sword and armour together are covered in writing; the former features many of the chants and vows of the Order of spring, with "Of Life and Death I Am King, For Both Do I Bring" displayed along both edges. However, the armour is highly personalized, writings of a variety of exploits and experiences. It reads much like a personal account of the wearer's experiences, though whether or not they are his is to be discovered.

Under the armour is a variety of similar wounds, a mix of gashes and cuts made by both weapons and bites. The body seems as if something had been feasting upon it before his resurrection. Of the wounds caused by weapons, many of such openings have been closed by stitching. But most attention-grabbing of all are his tattoos; from neck to toe, covering every inch of skin and bone under the head, are a massive variety of different forms of tattoos. They are a chaotic mess, difficult to understand at first glance; most are merely messages written in the common language, together reading like a mixture of reminders or short notes together forming a manner of visceral journal. Others are depictions of faces or scenes - The latter including everything from battles, to festivals, to interactions, and so on.


Personality: (Optional, can be discovered through the story anyway ^^)
You'll find out!

Character Background:
Clara, Federick. They are names he might have once felt certain about once - The names of his son and wife. But he could feel no certainty over them now, merely floating possibilities in a sea of his amnesia. When he was first raised, he remembered what was most recent; the assault on his patrol, his throat sore from yelling orders to the men, and the shock he felt when blades first started piercing his flesh. He was a sergeant in Haagsfrot's army - He knows that now. He was married and had a son, of that he was... reasonably sure. The nature of his family was still hazy, but he felt hopefully sure that there were no other children of his that he'd fail to recount. Thinking of his wife gave him a sense of loss, one of the feelings he'd come to learn how to use in his piecing together of the past - If he felt loss, then it meant their death was before his own. It seemed likely Clara's death was long before, and likely somewhat... peaceful, in a sense; sickness, or perhaps childbirth? Whatever the nature of it, she was not one of those to be claimed by what had overrun him and his men.

His memories were fractured, but there were still things he knew and understood - He was part of the army during the Darkest Days, when Haagsfrot went under siege in the unrelenting swarms of the Wretched. When they brutalized their farms and villages, likely too damned stupid to even know they were slowly starving out the city. In their rush to evacuate, dark infections and other beasts had made their way behind the walls. He remembers the outbreaks of the slums, places who's history is still remembered in the continuing use of their names - Bloody Square, The Black Tavern, the Corpse Pit. Even in undeath, he would never forget those horrifying days.

He was not the only soldier to reawaken from that horrible nightmare - Deathknights were not common, true, but following Haagsfrot's devestation it had immediately set itself on creating policy to ensure such an event never repeated itself. Such policies included hiring on veterans from across the Deadlands to train its soldiers, changing recruitment and equipment standards, creating new drill policy, and so much more. As Haagsfrot worked to recover and prepare for another wave, the fields of dead from the battles past were slowly being raised for combat. The plentiful dead and growing militarism of the city was extremely attractive to Harbingers searching for worthy Deathknights, and here there were many veterans of a brutal conflict.

Those who were raised were one of the extremely lucky, to have been killed where there have been witnesses to their past experiences. Glazist could slowly learn of who he is, though it only bred a feeling of loss and confusion in him - What was he to do now? His wife died long ago, and his son did not survive in the starvation of the city. He had no family, and now so few friends. He was not alone, but this is where the history of the Order of Spring begins. Together, these Deathknights find solace with each other. The Order of Spring does not begin for some time later, but even so these men serve the military of their own will - Hunting the Wretched and serving alongside the military.

The Deathknights slowly come under recognition, earning themselves the official titles of their being. It is from here that the resurrected theorize the creation of their order, a group dedicated to the ensuring Haagsfrot's history never repeats itself. It takes time, but the Creed is slowly created amongst fierce debate and consideration. Eventually, it is ready for official sanction - And so, the Order of Spring began. Glazist has served them ever since, lending his sword and axe to them for years. However, his service in Haagsfrot is considered quite short considering his years of service. Without doubt, he has spent far more time outside the city's walls than in.

Glazist is one of the most well-traveled of the Order's members, having served throughout the Deadlands. From the northern woods to the eastern swamps, he has scoured the dying land hunting the Andarun's curse where he can. But yet again, he grows to feel he is not doing enough - Trapped within Vanharen's borders, hunting the scourge only in one of the three dominating nations. Then an opportunity comes his way: An expedition up north, collaborated between the three nations. Glazist gladly accepts, his combat experience and time in the wilds perhaps boon enough to assist the others. For himself, however, he hopes to create an opportunity for his Order to serve outside their homeland.

The Order of Spring:
"We dedicate our lives to what is beyond us. Suffering lives inside us, and one day only inside us. We have walked knee-deep in blood and bone, seen brothers and sisters fall, felt steel beneath the skin, seen our homes turned to ash. Shadows of what once was return, not to take vengeance but to protect. This is my sacrifice, of myself unto myself. I dedicate my life to the creed, and swear to do all I can so the Darkest Days or any other horror are never known again. Of life and death I am king, for both do I bring - For the Order of Spring."
Many years after the Age of Decay, the city of Haagsfrot is slowly flooded by ever-burdening specks of Wretched across its farmland. The result is a lengthy siege, with soldiers fighting desperately until reinforcements finally arrive to relieve the city. Though Haagsfrot did survive, the horrors it faced has affected its culture heavily; its populace is heavily militaristic, frequently taking efforts to quell pockets of the Wretched wherever they are believed to be present. In this climate, the Order of Spring was born; an order made solely of the undead, originally of veterans from the 'Darkest Days' during the Haagsfrot siege. They were used to great effect against the continuing infestations deep in the city's woods, and have since become a highly recognized and respected asset within the city.

Their creed is to protect all Higher Beings, believing from example that the horrors of the Haagsfrot siege could repeat itself elsewhere. Its members are meant to view themselves as a disposable necessity, their second chance solely a purpose to ensure others do not share their terrible fate. To that end, they are ruthless hunters of any threat to that deemed worthy of life - No mercy can be found for the wretched here. There are times where other Higher Beings are deemed unworthy of existence, though there are strict rules to qualify such individuals. Interestingly, a threat to an order member is not itself grounds for death, though it is frequently justified on the grounds that the death of an order knight means lack of protection for others. Regardless, the macabre point is made - The Order are second to the Higher Beings, and all must be done for their safety.

The influence of the Order outside of Haagsfrot varies quite heavily; while they originate from the city, there is an uncommon practice wherein members ply their services elsewhere. To travel from the city and hunt for the locals of far-away towns and cities is neither encouraged nor discouraged from within, but highly respected if such a choice is made. Still, it is not common; the closure from the Order's teachings, and the new comfort found in the newfound comradery, are simply not available outside of their original city. Those who choose to serve elsewhere, and truly do so, are perhaps the best that even the order has to offer; the most dedicated in the creed, surpassing even its own teachers.

Membership is highly difficult to obtain, limited to just one hundred knights, and potential candidates are tested to their extremities. Their will, mentality, and physical abilities must all match the standards of the order to be considered. Many have applied for their opportunity, hoping to find a sense of purpose in their unlife or a closure to the loss of their old life. Those who succeed do so from high dedication, and indeed find their place in the world as a result.

 

[Velkyn]

Name: Wynnter Velatha formally, or simply “Snow”.


Age: 28, With a birthdate near the solstice of winter.


Gender: Female


Alignment; Neutral


Homeland: She was born among Bloodsworn lands


Race: Child of the moon, Isilhin Elf.


Class: Rogue



Equipment: Wynnter is a rogue, and only brings what she sees fit. In her possession, she carries a few essential items. That said, she hasn’t had the opportunity to purchase equipment for the journey quite yet.

• Locksmiths/Thieves tools.
  
  
• Adamantine Dagger (Weapon and Keepsake)
  
  
• Typically carries multiple “Disposable” Daggers, she currently has four.
  
  
• Small coil of rope
  
  
• Steel Necklace (Memento)
  
  
• 25 Empire gold coins
  
  
• Sealed Waterskin

Appearance: As an Elf, she stands at an average height for females. She stands 4’9”, just beneath the shoulders of most humans. She has a manageable length of smooth, pale white hair, which falls just beneath her shoulders when let down. Her eyes are a pale green, almost like leaves on a tree amidst a cold morning. She is pretty, but in a subtle way, with smooth cheeks and a shimmer to her figure. But her looks will easily fool anyone, as she claims. She is typically seen wearing a cloak, over long sleeves and pants. She tries to hide as much of her pale skin as possible, usually under dark-colored clothing.

Personality: Wynnter is a very odd character. As an acquaintance to anyone, she is very polite and almost formal. She is nice and warming, but at the same time distant, as if she is discussing business and barters. She believes that making enemies is actively working against oneself, and will avoid doing so. That said, she won’t hesitate if she sees no other means out of a situation. On a personal level, Wynnter’s character really starts to blossom. Being a rogue and all, she isn’t one to instantly trust someone, however she is still human, or rather, elf. She is a mix of loving, warm-heartedness and cold calculativity. She can be the nicest, most caring individual anyone could expect. Almost motherly, or at least in a way. Not much of a leader, she is a proponent of reliance on one’s self. She excels at doing so, but can work with a team if need be. She can be strong-headed and almost arrogant at times, but is a good person to befriend.

(Her character is a tad complex, And she might not make sense right now. It should unfold better in story and dialogue.)


Character Background: Wynnter was born amidst a harsh time within the Bloodsworn lands, or at least where she lived. Born in the winter months, her mother had little access to care during the harsh months. Raised by a father alone, she took after him in attitude and lifestyle. Her father was a soldier before his age got to him, and he settled down. He lived a roaming lifestyle, traveling among the many lands of Andarun to experience sights, or that’s what Wynnter thought. She later learned that her father was gathering knowledge as an Enchanter, one who imbued weapons with magic. He made small fortunes, selling his services for fractions of the cost of others.

His profession kept the two happy for many years, traveling to ‘See the sights of the world.’ However, his profession slowly led him to involvement with many, well, outcast groups of people. Thieves, bandits, raiders and any of the sort came for his skills. Wynnter lived with her father until she was twenty-five years of age. On her 23rd birthdate, her father gave her a blade of extreme quality, a blade made of lightened Adamantine. A dagger of pristine quality, worth more than everything they owned, or so she thought. A stout six-inch blade inlaid into a silver hilt, that weighed less than one forged from steel. Little did she know, her father had stolen it from a very respected merchant, and one that forgot little, and forgave less.

Her father, in the little time she saw him, taught her how to use the blade, along with others of its sort. He first taught her to use it plainly, in the palms of her hands. She learned how to use it in melee, and she proved herself a natural. She soon began wielding one in each palm, gaining the confidence to face her father with wooden counterparts. She always lost, of course, but the margins slowly began to close. He then taught her how to turn a simple blade into a projectile, lethal at short ranges. By the time she was 24, she was more than proficient in both throwing and fighting with daggers and knives. She had never used them, sparing her practices with her father, and she once hoped she never would have too. Nevertheless, she was comforted by their presence. She began carrying hers everywhere, hiding it in a sleeve or waistband. However, she never thought of why she did. She never thought much of the blade, except how to use it.

Well into the next year, everything seemed to be doing just fine. It seemed her father was happy for once, they had even come into some money. Even though it was little compared to most, it was still enough for them, plenty even. But his past would catch up to him, and tear everything apart. She knows now that what happened was because of what he did, and wasn’t just meaningless assault. She later learned that between faulty sales and shady dealings, the merchant he stole from had came for her father. She lost her father that night, along with any resemblance of family.

She’s remained alone since, where she traveled from city to city, before her name caught wind among the courts of the Bloodsworn. It didn't take her long to figure out she was being watched, but she couldn't fathom by who. She lasted three weeks in the wilderness, before a figure appeared above her in her sleep. She tried to fend him off, but she was little match for a Court Assassin. Call it a stroke of luck, or a change of fate, but the Assassin wasn't there to kill her. Because she was something the Bloodsworn needed, an outcast. Someone with no ties, no true friends, and someone without a reputation. She didn't have a choice if she went with the man or not, and was soon in a carriage being taken... somewhere. She was taken to the school of Infiltrators, a royal academy. Somewhere where she couldn't stick out more. Never told why, she was taught the basics of being an Assassin. and while she passed most her tests, she wasn't fond of not knowing why.

It wasn't until nearly two months passed that she was pulled from her classes, and simply told to "Get ready to leave". She took everything of value with her, but little else. She was more than skeptical, but had learned the hard way that keeping silent was best for her. She was brought to a large, open field, where she was finally told her purpose. She was to cross the territory to the north, with only a handful of others.

"Salazzar"

( I presume its a little better, will fix and improve once I am back home. )