Fantasy [CS] Groznyverse: TOTTDLMTH

[Pilgrim59]

DRAGONSREACH REGISTRATION OFFICE​

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Roster

IRIS COMPANY
pc_hero_sylvia / Sushi
pc_hns_preston / Pleb
pc_blader_irelia / Zephyr
pc_deadeye_eryn / Doc
pc_dancer_uziel / Rem
pc_slayer_markas / Meme
pc_infofficer_odhran / Larry
pc_assassin_balthasar / Penguin
-
npc_siegebreaker_laure / Sushi

HARBINGERS
pc_daemonlord_ra'el / Ness
pc_swordsman_hassan / Speck Ops
pc_golemancer_galius / Hunter
pc_disruptor_bisila / Elena
pc_bulwark_fealca / Soviet
pc_spearsinger_der'tonus / Eldrid
pc_loremaster_vichya / Trappy
-
npc_spy_angelica / Ness
npc_dreamweaver_hershey / Sushi

​

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Guidelines
+ Basic grammar - comprehensible level
+ No god-modding - if unsure, run your ideas by me.
+ Approved profiles will be given a reaction by me, as well as a place on the roster.
+ Feel free to ask questions in OOC or in my PMs.
+ Profiles-in-absent will be de-canonized.
+ Limit of one character slot during the First Act - more slots will open up in the future.
+ Anime-styled FCs only. Illustrations are also permitted.

​

CS Template​

Spoiler: template code

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[column=span5][tabs][tab=I. General Info]
[b]Full Name:[/b]

[b]Alias:[/b] (given monikers or identities)

[b]Title / Profession:[/b] (current job or office they're holding)

[b]Age:[/b] 

[b]Height:[/b] 

[b]Race:[/b] (Astrian / Solarian - add sub-race if necessary i.e. draconian, lupo, etc.)

[b]Nationality:[/b] (insert region here), Groznyan

[b]Allegiance:[/b] (Iris / Harbingers)
[/tab]
[tab=II. Personal Profile]
[b]Personality:[/b]
(written or bullet points)

[b]Biography:[/b]
(2 paragraphs minimum)

[/tab]
[tab=III. AMS & Proficiencies]
[b]Class:[/b] (name of class)
(brief summary of their role)

[b]Abilities:[/b]
(4max abilities for astrians)
(2max for solarians)

[b]Weapons Proficiency:[/b] 
(primary weapon type or N/A)

[b]Equipment:[/b]
(anything important of note that they wear or equip)

[/tab][tab=IV. Extras]
[b]Character Theme:[/b]
(youtube/soundcloud links here)

[b]Others:[/b]
(Anything else of note. Do they like potatoes?)
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[Pilgrim59]

• I. General Info
• II. Personal Profile
• III. AMS & Proficiencies
• IV. Extras

• 
  Full Name: Sylvia of Verdan
  
  Alias: "The Angel of Verdan"
  
  Title / Profession:
  Commander of Iris Company
  Joint-Expeditionary Field Commander of Operation Aquila (prior)
  
  Age: 20
  
  Height: 5 ft. 7 in. (170 cm)
  
  Race: Solarian
  
  Nationality: ??? / Groznyan
  
  Allegiance: Iris Company, Imperial Army (prior)
  
• 
  Personality:
  Sylvia is a relatively modest and generous person of interest. She is focused and lends an ear where needed, never shying away from problems that arises. She is usually reserved and well-spoken in her ways, engaging others in a calm, and determined demeanor. Even in battle, she tends to keep a cool head and orchestrates her plans properly. While stern, and often times nonchalant to a certain extent, Sylvia is quite friendly towards her peers - evident in her leadership abilities.
  
  Where she is receptive of strangers and friends alike, Sylvia tries her best to keep her Companions and soldiers in the light - by empathy and personal insights. Accompanied by her intrigues to engage herself in community services, Sylvia does not stray far from one's perception of an idealized hero. However, behind her nonchalant smiles and soft voice, there resides a certain reservation of unspoken gloom and self-deprecating thoughts. At times, she can be seen in her self-endowed melancholy when alone. While disciplinary when it comes to dire situations, Sylvia is generally well-respected for her past deeds.
  
  Biography:
  An enigmatic young girl, with no memories prior to her awakening on the streets of Verdan, where it came under siege by the Daemon Lord's Shadow Legion, Sylvia was only given a name after the ordeal by Laure, her mentor. It was here, among the chaos and bloodshed that she inadvertently picked up a certain lance and hurled herself at the hordes of undead, driven by a certain sensation that she could not make sense of, even to this day. She quickly came to realize her innate abilities of unknown origins, accompanied by the mysterious weapon that she had gotten her hands on, and put them to good use. Before she knew it, Sylvia had managed to hold out long enough for the town to evacuate. While the rest of the folks had made it out, Sylvia continued to fight until she finally collapsed from exhaustion just in time for her to be taken to a medical tent by Laure.
  
  Laure called her Sylvia, due to her misty silver-ashened hair. The young fourteen years old girl would come to be heralded as the 'Angel of Verdan' by her deeds there. She would later go on to serve in the army as a knight, slowly rising up in the ranks for the next six years. Picking up a diverse cast along the way, Sylvia eventually formed the Iris Company, composing of unique individuals that have fought by her since her prophesied awakening in Verdan. Following the decisive battle in Onyx Valley and then onto the Invasion of Saarema a year later, codenamed Operation Aquila, Sylvia managed to defeat the Daemon Lord. She eventually returned home to Dragonsreach shortly after the end of the campaign alongside her Iris Companions. After a few encounters with a certain individual when she first returned, Sylvia and the man eventually got married. Unbeknownst to her, the person she married was the very individual she had cast off Mount Hornet a year prior.
  
• 
  Class: Lancer
  A long-reaching weapon specialist that forms the backbone of most vanguard elements. Lancers tend to take the fight to the enemy, driven by their offensive doctrines to cause a gap in the enemy lines for a breakthrough, as opposed to spearmen's defensive drills.
  
  Abilities:
  [Azure Gospel]
  Sylvia is able to cast light-spells via her lance, burning through anything unholy by nature. In addition, Sylvia's spells are blue in hue, in contrast with most golden light spells. This ability also causes burn-over-time effect upon undead and opponents with darkness affinities.
  
  [Sol's Vindication]
  Sylvia imbues her weapons with light magic, before letting loose a volley of concentrated rays that pierce through her opponents. Especially lethal against undead and any creatures of darkness. This ability is generally used to break through a phalanx of mass infantry or crowd.
  
  Weapons Proficiency: Lance / Spear
  
  Equipment:
  [Solomon's Edge]
  A legendary lance shaped like that of a cross. Solomon's Edge is a sacred weapon portrayed by a high-relief work in the Basilica de Verdan. Based on the Verdanian Fables, it is a piece of Sola's mythic blade Griswald. Solomon's Edge does not accept any additional grozites or runestones. The lance itself can be stowed away in a magic pocket, as it is soul-bound to Sylvia.
  
  
• 
  Character Theme:
  
  
  Others:
  + Sylvia loves apples and mushroom soup.
  + Loves anything her husband makes for her.
  - Has an unhealthy habit of consuming military-issued hardtacks over a squared meal.
  - Tendency to be passive-aggressive with her husband when envious.
  

• I. General Info
• II. Personal Profile
• III. AMS & Proficiencies
• IV. Extras

• 
  Full Name: Laure Yrix of Havensreach
  
  Alias: "The Hammer"
  
  Title / Profession:
  Vice-Commander of Iris Company
  Imperial Army Captain (prior)
  
  Age: 37
  
  Height: 5 ft. 4 in. (162 cm)
  
  Race: Astrian (Dovean)
  
  Nationality: Havenite / Groznyan
  
  Allegiance: Iris Company, Imperial Army (prior)
  
• 
  Personality:
  + cheerful
  + tactful
  + energetic
  - trusting
  - easily angered
  - vindictive
  
  Biography:
  A young Dovean hailing from Havensreach, Laure made captain by the outbreak of the Fourth Daemonic War. Following in her family's legacy of military personnel, Laure made a name for herself during the Second Assault on Amityvale. There, she smashed through the Legion's line with a handful of men under her command, and managed to link up with the relief forces from Cromwald.
  
  After three years of withdrawing, she became restless with the army's incapabilities to mount any sucessful counterattacks against Sertek. With morale at an all-time low, in addition to her critical injuries at Verdan, Laure was taken off the line for a few weeks. When she returned, Laure mustered what was left of her company and set out to relief pockets of platoons surrounded by the Legion. Coincidentally, she was the first to discover a young girl amongst the ruins of Verdan, of whom had the sacred Solomon's Edge in her hands. That young girl would later go on to become the idolized figure of Grozny. Laure witnessed the artifact's power that devastated much of the Legion's manpower, and swore to accompany the young girl, out of her desires to do good over following unfruitful commands.
  
  Since the Siege of Verdan, Laure kept watch over the young girl, training and teaching the latter - effectively becoming a mentor. It was Laure that gave the amnesiac girl her new life as Sylvia of Verdan. Following the defeat of the Daemon Lord on Mount Hornet, Laure followed Sylvia home. Like the hero, she too, was searching for purposes to fulfill after the conclusion of the Fourth Daemonic War.
  
• 
  Class: Siegebreaker
  In definition, a Siegebreaker is an area-of-effect warrior that utilizes different weapons and strategies to turn the battle in their favor. They usually carry a big weapon, or two to smash through an enemy line. Siegebreakers often formed the backbone of most sapper battalions, instrumental to set up barricade or engage in flanking maneuvers beside warriors and pathfinders.
  
  Abilities:
  [Steeled Feathers]
  Laure crystalizes her wings via Astartes, before launching a hail of sharpened feathers. The projectiles are able to pierce through an Imperial standard-issued armor.
  
  [Wind Elementalist]
  Laure is able to utilize wind magic, unleashing gusts of wind to cut her way through, or neutralize incoming projectiles.
  
  [Dovean]
  Laure inherits an innate trait of the avian sub-race, giving her the ability to sense impending catastrophe such as volcanic, atmospheric or seismic activities within the span of a ten miles radius.
  
  Weapons Proficiency: Twin Hammers
  
  Equipment:
  [Able & Baker]
  A pair of grozite-embedded hammers. These hammers are designed to cycle through different groziums to tackle different situations. As an Astrian, Laure is able to manipulate her own surge of aetherium for controlled attacks. For example, her hammer could quickly cycle to a water-grozite that lets her put out fires with an area-of-effect smash. The literal saying of "smashing away the problems".
  
  [Daffodil Issue No.178]
  A custom battle robe, woven with lunar moth's durable silks, and interlaced with kroup steel, Daffodil keeps Laure light on her feet, while offering decent protections. Design emulates a Daffodil-brand dress from summer of 1178.
  
  
• 
  Character Theme:
  
  
  Others:
  + loves bread & cookies
  - dislikes the cold, as it makes her sleepy
  

 

[Pilgrim59]

• I. General Info
• II. Personal Profile
• III. AMS & Proficiencies
• IV. Extras

• 
  Full Name: Hersa of Authie
  
  Alias: "the Terror of Black Forest"; "Hershey"
  
  Title / Profession:
  Shadow Legion Junior Marshall; Nightmare Arcane Corps (prior)
  Unemployed roamer (current)
  
  Age: 45
  
  Height: 5 ft. 2 in. (157 cm)
  
  Race: Astrian (Aries)
  
  Nationality: Saareman, Shadow Territory (prior) - Groznyan passport (current)
  
  Allegiance: Harbingers
  
• 
  Personality:
  + reserved (generally has little words to spare)
  + loyal (dedicated to a cause and tactful with her words)
  + multi-facade (often times hard to decipher what Hershey meant beneath her nonchalant tone)
  - shy / sheepish (has difficulty engaging in a conversation with strangers)
  - fanatically devoted (has undying loyalty to the Daemon Lord, and will not restrict herself to moral or ethic to complete her task)
  - selfish (has a set of principles stemmed into her mindset, and is less likely to relinquish those views)
  
  Biography:
  A striving writer since a young age, Hersa wanted to pursue a literary career. She joined the Grozette news as a reporter, but struck out due to her sheepish personality. Since then, she took on different odd jobs and subsequently grew fond of psychology - particularly a profession that delt with therapy in hopes of doing good for others and herself.
  
  It did not take long for her to be swallowed up by gloom, as her colleagues often belittled her unorthodox methods and direct tampering with her patient's brain via magic. At the time, aetherial therapies were uncommon and dangerous in practice. Despite this, Hersa practiced without much progress. But it did not take long before a certain incident destroyed her career. Her colleagues, threatened and envious of her capabilities, plotted against Hersa. One that she would remember to this day.
  
  She was eventually approached by the Daemon Lord Sertek when she was shipwrecked on an island at the World's Edge. Charmed by promises to pursue her dreams, and a taste of revenge, the forlorn aries swore her allegiance to Sertek and would pit her years of being bereaved of her potentials onto Grozny's inhabitants. She eventually developed a liking to being taken seriously and fought under the Daemon Lord without remorse, deeming it as her endowed rights to be recognized. When Mount Hornet fell, Hershey barely escaped capture, and resolved to sought after the Daemon Lord, in hopes of helping the latter reclaim Saarema and return to power once again. But Hershey was not alone in her personal quest.
  
  
• 
  Class: Dreamweaver
  Dreamweavers are talented illusion magic users. Their abilities range from psychological warfare to cortex manipulation. Dreamweavers oftentimes make up most of Grozny's array of psychiatrist practitioners. While others are employed in the military to safeguard against or attack morale via their broad use of area-of-effect psychological manipulations.
  
  Abilities:
  [LAMP]
  Lightning-based area-of-effect surge of aetherial energy that renders most magitech equipment useless temporarily. LAMP (Light Anti-Magitech Pulse), in essence, is an overcharged ability that either fries grozium-embedded equipment like a grozite barrier or independent automatons. LAMP also disables grozium booby traps or anpracs within its field of effect.
  
  [Counting Sheeps]
  Hallucigen agent deployed over an area that pollutes natural enkephalins with aetherial energy, causing the afflicted to display erratic emotions or go into a frenzy - turning Hershey's opponents on themselves. As a gaseous agent, it is often countered at the near end of the war by the advent of gas mask. The miasma produced by this ability is often in the shape of a white gas like that of a sheep's wool.
  
  [Nightmare of the Bleeding Lamb]
  Utilizing blood rituals, Hershey brings out an individual's deepest fears and materializing it in form of a vortex of blood. The pool of blood constricts her opponents, warping their minds with terrors, causing them to go insane or completely broken to do her bidding.
  
  [Lambda Legion]
  Hershey summons apparitions of fluffy lambs that tackles and tears apart her enemies with great speed, in addition to their small-profile. Similar to the advent of trained war dogs.
  
  Weapons Proficiency:
  + Grimoire
  + Off-hand enchanted accesories
  
  Equipment:
  [Lantern of the Unholy Sepulcher]
  A cursed accessory that collects aetherium from slain enemies. The lantern acts as a power bank for Hershey to conjure wide area-of-effect abilities without tapping into her innate aetherian wellspring. It also looks like an ordinary lantern.
  
  [Scarlet Almanac]
  A reverse-engineered grimoire that was meant to replicate spell templates. Instead, the tome is corrupted by Hershey's emotions, causing it to produce only templates of destructive spells. The grimoire is now utilized by Hershey to reduce her abilities' casting speed.
  
  
• 
  Character Theme:
  
  
  Others:
  + affectionately called "Hershey" by the Daemon Lord. 'Til this day, no one knows where the name Hershey originated. Only the fact that Hershey loves chocolate bars.
  + taken a liking to Bresta's Number 2 Combo. With extra barbeque sauce.
  + thin-crust pizzas with skullmelon toppings.
  - dislikes magitech.
  +/- gets flustered when someone give her headpats or caresses her horns.
  
  
  

 

[Worthlessplebian]

• I. General Info
• II. Personal Profile
• III. AMS & Proficiencies
• IV. Extras

• 
  Full Name: Preston of Met Di Plurida
  
  Alias: Preston S. Pacer, Doctor Webb, Queen Killer;
  
  Title / Profession: Combat Medic/Surgeon of Iris Company;
  
  Age: 31;
  
  Height: 5'10 (176 cm);
  
  Race: Astrian -- Arachnida (Aranea Hominum);
  
  Nationality: ?!?, Groznyan;
  
  Allegiance: Iris;
  
• 
  Personality:
  Preston is quite the professional when it comes to things of delicate matter, if you have a problem -- be it physical or otherwise, he'll make sure to get it done. His societal policy is quite hands-off, as he prefers to let anybody do anything within the confines of their privacy. Over the years, he's learned to be quite the pompous person, mirroring the people that once looked down on him. But he means well even if first impressions are sour. Something of a precautious man, he prepares for nearly any situation, be it formal or informal. Sometimes during operations or social gatherings, he might crack a joke or two pertaining to the current subject if his wit fails him, he'll simply default to an arachnid joke. When ever something new is discovered, Preston writes it down in his notebook. Most of Preston's time when he isn't around other people is spent on symposiums, recommended reading, and generally enjoying the finer things of society. Don't let him hear you say this but despite his respect of privacy, he does have a tendency to creep up on people silently. Seriously how does he keep doing that?
  
  Biography:
  In the deepest parts of Grozny's forests, lies an innocuous cave entrance that any cave spelunker would find uninteresting. However should a person decide to brave the damp, dark, unfathomably elaborate or unnaturally developed passages of this wonderous cave, they'll eventually stumble upon something that is, by all accounts, something straight from the horror stories that one hears around a campfire. Grand structures of rock, mud, wood, metal decorations for those of high status and all of that held together by the white tapestry of silk which upon first glance appears soft but when touched is harder than steel. This is the underground mega-city of Met Di Plurida, one home of many for the arachnidan Astrians, or at least those that belong to the Silk Weaver line of Astrians although all spiders, from the smallest to the largest, are welcome in this haven.
  
  Today we focus on but one member of the Silk Weavers. He is, as the outside world came to know him, Preston of Met Di Plurida or as he prefers to go by Preston Saytzeff Pacer.
  
  Preston was a low-borne citizen yet his ambition far outpaced his peers around him. He resolved that he would one day leave Met Di Plurida and travel the outside world. To do this, he'd have to rise from his low class and become a prestigious member of society as only those worthy of note are fit to represent the Silk Weavers in the wild. Preston needed to decide what role should he take but quickly found that all of them were unfit for him, save for one... Surgery. It is unknown what exactly drew the eight legged being to this specific field of medicine but he knew that it would be the right choice for him. His first few applications were denied by the recruiters, deeming someone low-borne would just be a waste of resources and time. However Preston persisted and eventually lucked out on a mentor who took him under his wing. Ten hard years of studying, practicing, sleepless nights, and even specialization in soft body surgery, Preston had done it! He had become a surgeon. It was a momentous occasion for the twenty-eight year old, to kneel at the feet of the matriarch, the Great Mother and receive her blessings to exit the expansive Met Di Plurida and venture out into the endless wilderness of the outside.
  
  Ah, the beautiful sunlight, warm on his exoskeleton yet painful on his cave eyes. This was a feeling that Preston would treasure forever.
  
  Years later, Preston finds himself with a badge on his sternum and scars on his body. Wonder what the future entails for him?
  
  
  
• 
  Class: Hack-N-Slasher
  The Hack-N-Slasher is a close-ranged fighter whose main weapons consist of: claws, knives, katars, tekko, and other kinds of short-bladed/fist-oriented weapons. These brutal killers can make almost anybody into mince meat in just a few seconds. In essence, they function as essential target removals i.e medics, generals, commanders, etc, etc. They typically also posses some form of specialized movement ability to close in the gap yet their greatest weakness still remains their typically short range.
  
  Abilities:
  - Web Spinnerets ~ Preston can produce webbing from the palms of his hands, the webbing is particularly strong and can't be easily torn apart with bare hands. It has an antiseptic quality. The webbing is also sticky although if Preston wished it, could be created without this adhesive property;
  
  - Stick'em powers! ~ Through miraculous biology of setules and van der Waals force, our good surgeon can scale almost any surface, save for those pesky magical barriers. It can also be used offensively, to easily hold someone with his grip or simply peel away the skin like a banana;
  
  - Spelimbs! ~ Four additional appendages typically used for enhanced mobility, offensive capabilities, or as pseudo graspers. They can regenerate if cut although the process is... quite painful;
  
  - Exoskeletal Armor ~ Like most spiders, Preston has an exoskeleton that consists of these parts: an inner layer that is elastic and typically acts like a gambeson and an outer, rigid layer that is similar to a knightly carapace;
  
  
  Weapons Proficiency:
  Claws, Daggers, Katars, and other short ranged weapons;
  
  Equipment:
  A Doctor's Bag;
  Notebook w/ Pen;
  Ornamental Dagger
  
  
  
• 
  Character Theme:
  
  
  Others:
  "Great Mother is Dead! Zolo Kobre MUST FALL!"
  - Likes meat smoothies;
  - Is omnivorous;
  - Hates it when you shine light into his eyes;
  - Seriously... Don't shine light into his eyes;
  - Would be happy to teach you surgical interventions;
  - Can pull back his face plate to reveal.... a set of jagged teeth used to strip the flesh off of bone, with no lips to cover these mucus covered utensils of consumption;
  - Operates his own clinic, "The Web Clinic", in the Central District on 29th Street.
  

 

[Celestial Speck]

"For the longest time, I envied you. I envied you and your strength, I envied you and your happiness, I envied you and your future...But now I know, I envied you because I want that same future for myself, one day." Hassan

• I. General Info
• II. Personal Profile
• III. AMS & Proficiencies
• IV. Extras

• 
  Full Name: Hassan Nox I-sen.
  
  Alias: The Endless Swordsman, Swordsman of a Thousand Arms, Uncuttable Oak, The First Harbinger, Second Hand of Sertek.
  
  Title / Profession: Swordman.
  
  Age: 32
  
  Height: 5'11"
  
  Race: Astrian.
  
  Nationality: Kingdom of Seoju, Groznyan
  
  Allegiance: Harbinger
  
• 
  Personality:
  
  Hassan's personality can often be described to others as friendly, if not cocky towards other foes. Possessing great confidence in his skill and the force of his own allies, he can be often be seen with some sort of small smile on his face, either during fights or during more 'social' situations. His way of speech and body language is laid back- almost lazy, and his demeanor can often be seen as mocking, and that is often true- Hassan has no issues with mocking his opponents with words to get on their head, or simply to infuriate them if he sees them as weak or disgusting in his eyes. Despite this, he holds great respect for others who stand their ground against him or others despite immeasurable odds, or who hold great strength, such as the Demon Lord, or other Harbingers.
  
  Despite this, when left alone or in a serious situation, Hassan is capable of changing his demeanor to a more serious and focused personality. A more realistic, less friendly personality. He isn't outright rude or mocking, but he is often blunt, and almost meek. He isn't one to talk much about himself, his own emotions, and his own dream, despite his sheer determination of wanting to reach it- and knowing that he'll likely never be able to do so. He always seems to focus on others- pushing away attention from himself towards other's own characters. A wish to not be read- perhaps not to be held back by such things as his turmoil. His dream was the only thing he's ever known in his life- to a point where he almost sacrificed anything else he could have ever had. In a way, this quieter, gentler, and more realistic side of him is his true self- his true feelings. A man who wishes to give up the blade, but is too scared to do so, for he doesn't know what is beyond it.
  
  As such, he pushes his attention away to others and uses his incredible brutal skill and personality to make others not see him as one with humanity, and simply an obstacle. A man without any sort of humanity in their eyes, yet despite this, a part of him, and perhaps others, can see the confused envy he feels at other people going about their happy, mundane life.
  
  "A part of me wishes it...To give up my dream...And pursue a new one. A world where I can be close to people I can call 'family...' Where I can hold their hands, and feel their warmth. But enough daydreaming...I know that dreams can never be achieved now. Because in this world, I was born to be the strongest swordsman..."
  
  Biography:
  
  "I want to be the strongest swordsman!"
  
  The others laughed at the boy's dream. They saw it as merely a child wanting to achieve the impossible with a dream that would soon be replaced by something more realistic as he grew- yet that never came. The boy looked at others with anger and envy- his background was like many others. He wasn't born under a special moon, he wasn't born with some sort of destined fate, he was, by all means, an orphan like many others in the world. A face in a sea of children who didn't have a future, who relied on others to be able to give them one. To this day, even he isn't sure why he chose such a dream. Perhaps it was simply out of a simple frustration, for him to yell out to the world he exists, perhaps he simply wanted to try to gain more power and not be helpless, or perhaps it was a misguided dream, born from a child wanting to achieve an impossible dream.
  
  When he picked up his blades, he swung them with all the ability and power he could muster through the years. To defend himself from others, to simply grow stronger, to become stronger with every passing breath. He swung and he trained alone until his lungs collapsed, until he wanted to cry, until his muscles tore themselves apart. There was an innate talent- whenever he picked up the blade at his peak, others saw him more akin to a great, uncuttable oak tree than any mortal race. Yet, at first, his skill and potential only took him so far- he was able to take on more skilled adults, defeat his peers with enough training and ability, and he felt some sort of pride swell inside of him- a pride that hid away a deeper, realistic wish that any man or woman had. Yet, he was so blinded in his quest to become someone known in the world, to not become a faceless figure, that he gave up his own happiness for a dream that didn't matter in the long river that is history.
  
  One day, however, he met a man.
  
  The wind was cold that day. It was raining, and he had finally decided to move beyond his village after gaining enough power and money. The man exuberated some incredible aura only another warrior could sense- he was akin to a great storm, whose thunder was capable of destroying anything in its wake. The silence between the two was unimaginably massive, the power from the other, unlike anything he's ever sensed before. His face didn't change, his body was standing still as it always did- he didn't look scared, but for the first time in his life, Hassan felt a chill go down his spine.
  
  Perhaps it was destined, perhaps it was a coincidence, or maybe the Demon Lord heard of the man with a lifelong dream of becoming the strongest swordsman. There was only wordless caution and tension before the two fought- a battle of incredible skill and talent from both sides without the usage of the Aether's powers. Yet, despite the lack of the supernatural, calling their battle, short as it was, anything but legendary would be a disservice to the man who Hassan both envied and respected so much, and the man who would eventually accept the happiness the daemon he once called a 'friend.'
  
  "I want to be like you." Was the words of the boy with a dream once he eventually lost to the man who would wreck chaos into the world. I want to be you.
  
  
• 
  Class: Swordsman
  
  The swordsman is a powerful warrior who uses long blades to cut down their foes with immense speed and brutality. Swordsmen are known for being agile and capable of cutting through the enemy's defenses with good momentum and speed, some using a single blade, while others use two to get multiple foes at once with a single swipe. On the battlefield, a skilled swordsman is truly terrifying- cutting down limb after limb, head after head, all with immense speed and dexterity, making them hard targets to catch up to, and cut down. Despite this, their weakness remains in their frail bodies. Although they can resist pain and push through it, a swordsman will still die from things like bloodloss, magic spells, or anyone who is capable of hitting a single, good hit against them.
  
  Abilities:
  
  Sun Style: Song of Fire
  
  The first of Hassan's three sword styles. By adding grozium into a specific slot on his blades, the blades will gain fiery like properties for the remainder of a battle. This style is specifically deadly against weaker enemies, specializing in quick movements and dexterity to move out of the way of attacks, almost like the user itself is fire, with the blade itself causing the burning of the target, as well as cutting down their limbs- and clotting the wound instantly due to the heat of the blade. The fires of the Sun Style cause massive burns against one opponent and can work well to defeat them quickly.
  
  Moon Style: Dance of Ice
  
  The second of Hassan's three sword styles. By adding grozium into a specific slot on his blade, the blades will gain ice-like properties for the remainder of a battle. This is style is specifically deadly against stronger, tankier enemies, specializing in immediate, massive damage all at once and heavy thrusts against specific spots of their bodies to wear them down. While not as fast or constantly damaging as the Sun Style, the Moon Style is rather effective as it can slow enemies down and wear their stamina away over time with the ice it utilizes. Said ice can cause frostbite against the opponent, although it is effective in going past their defenses, as the swings, compared to the Sun Style, are more aggressive.
  
  Twilight Style: Marriage of the Sun and Moon
  
  The third of Hassan's three sword styles. By adding both fire and ice grozium on his blades, they will gain both fire and ice properties for the remainder of a battle, although burning away relatively more quickly than when using the two previous styles. This style is used when Hassan is facing a truly deadly foe- someone who can go toe to toe with him and is more than capable of killing him if he doesn't take things seriously. Using every ounce of speed and strength he can muster, this style is can both of the previous' styles abilities albeit in a much less 'specialized' and effective manner than the two. Its techniques are, however, used to reach enemies which are farther away by swinging his blades to cause a slightly longer-reaching elemental slash that automatically depletes the grozium on the blade in question, although is extremely powerful, but leaves him open when he has to 'reload.'
  
  The style, ironically enough, is also more effective in defense, as it is his last resort when fighting a strong enemy- keep his distance, watch them, and be prepared for the worst.
  
  Unbound Wanderer:
  
  The Aether tethers the user down into the ground, while their own body and strength keep them standing up in this state. In other words, with this ability, Hassan is able to walk on virtually any surface that is somewhat solid or fully solid, that being a tree, a wall, water, or even falling objects without being flung off of it or falling off. This is especially useful during combat, allowing Hassan to quickly move around the battlefield and jump from location to location with momentum and supernatural skill.
  
  Weapons Proficiency:
  
  Twin blades.
  
  Equipment:
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  Character Theme:
  
  
  
  Others:
  - Is quite gentle and holds things carefully, despite his hands being rather rough due to holding his swords.
  - Likes tending to flowers.
  - Will never kill a child or a pregnant woman.
  - Likes testing the strength of his foes, although this can be often be seen as him 'playing' with them.
  - Will only accept challenges he finds the challenger in question to be interesting enough, or if he has no other choice.
  - Marriage is...
  - His technique is so legendary, only a person with a thousand arms can copy it. Or so the rumors say.
  

 

[Huntertabbysandshark3]

• I. General Info
• II. Personal Profile
• III. AMS & Proficiencies
• IV. Extras

• 
  Full Name: Sir Galious Meeples
  
  Alias: Mr meeples, legion of the lost, the great dragon, boop snoot.
  
  Title / Profession: Magitechnician/head golemanecer
  Age: 69
  
  Height: 4'5
  
  Race: Astrian: salamderian (Or is it draconian?)
  
  Nationality: Groznyan
  
  Allegiance: Harbingers
  
• 
  Personality:
  If Galious was not himself, He'd likely be described by others as an arrogant, self-centered, delusional, prick. However his small stature, squeaky voice, liking of head pats, and candy. Leave him being more cute and endearingly goofy. This is of course a pet hate of his. Going to great lengths to get people to actually respect him. Galious believes himself to in truth be a dragon. Enraging this little lizard usually results in the destruction of property or the local city Infrastructure. Thought he will begrudgingly respect those that best his constructs in a fight. Or head pats and candy, while he will attempt to leverage his status as a harbinger to get stuff it usually results in people dismissing the silly little gecko man.
  
  Biography:
  Sir Galious Meeples' early life was full of the usual tropes you see of bullying and insults however most of this was just people thinking he was absolutely adorable. Over the years he grew to resent this throughout the years learning to produce golems mainly To threaten people. learning was a long and arduous process taking many years to master. Finally, he returned to his childhood home to destroy everything. Of course such petty and wholesale destruction attracted the Attention of the Daemon lord who needed very little to convince the gecko man to join his cause. early during the war, Galious took over Saarema. Chasing out the Havenite settlers of the town of Kean and converting into great golem factories. That churned out golems through the war till the city was retaken, through his golem legions Sir Meeples finally got what he wanted people to fear him, even if he rarely entered battle personally. His existence was only made known to the empire and iris upon the invasion of Sarrema and the discovery of his factories. Galious managed to escape without ever been seen. Sadly having to leave his battlesuit behind, leaving no one the wiser of who the head Golemancer truly was. Thus the legend of the "Great Dragon" faded away. Now finding his way back to the Grozny mainland. Galious is back at square one and adorably pissed about it.
  
  
• 
  Class: Golemancer
  An expert in the art of golemancy often being proficient in both lore and rune mastery. These people construct, conjure, maintain, and fight with the usage of golems. Sometimes even riding a more personalized construct into battle as to make up for there personal lack of combat skills, without their golems however this class is usually rendered harmless
  
  Abilities:
  Golemancy template: Galious is an inventive sort, usually making or carrying a variety of scrolls for the different types of golems he's invented over the years.
  
  Personal combat suit: to make himself more intimidating Galious pilots a hollowed-out automaton of his own designs running not of his own magic bit that of grozium. The combat suit is armed with 2 small arm cannons, carrying either light ammo for more mobility or heavy ammo for more of a kick (can't change it during a fight tho) It stands at an impressive 6 foot tall SO BIG!!!! (current it is lost on Saarema after the DL defeat)
  
  remove the swords add arm cannons instead
  
  Golemancy: Galious magic almost solely specializes in the creation of golems form on the spot materials allowing him to have an army that simply raises debris to fight on. The quality and type of material used to conjure the golems matter immensely, metal is the most preferred material even if it's still got meaty dead bits inside it.
  
  Grozium destabilization: allowing Galious close to grozium devices is to spell disaster this little gecko (Or dragon) man with some time and focus can turn a grozium battery into a ticking time bomb.
  
  Weapons Proficiency:
  He’s a gecko in a combat suit
  
  Equipment:
  A big backpack full of golemancy templates and scrolls. Equipment for writing scrolls, often a bag of hard candy.
  
  
• 
  Character Theme:
  
  
  
  
  Others:
  Do they like potatoes? yes yes he does and candy
  official designated loli
  

 

[Nessi]

• I. General Info
• II. Personal Profile
• III. AMS & Proficiencies
• IV. Extras

• 
  Full Name:Ra'el
  
  Alias: Dark Lord Sertek(formerly)
  
  Title / Profession:Homemaker
  
  Age:???
  
  Height: 6'0
  
  Race: Daemon
  
  Nationality: ???
  
  Allegiance: Harbinger(formerly)
  
• 
  Personality:
  Despite Ra'el's past, he is surprising gentle, especially when he's around his wife. He's a good listener, and tries not to make hasty decisions until he has all the facts. However, when his wife is in the equation, he tends to become irrational, sometimes putting her before himself. Due to his amnesia, he doesn't remember much about his past, so he can get very frustrated when he tries to remember something from his past.
  
  Biography:
  Ra'el didn't remember how he ended up in dragonsreach, in fact, he didn't remember anything prior to him being in dragonsreach. He walked around the streets of dragonsreach, until he came across a woman, who he somehow already knew, even thought he couldn't remember talking to her at all. Her name was Sylvia of Verdan, and from the moment they met, they both hit it off. It didn't take long for them to form a friendship, and when Ra'el explained that he couldn't remember his past, and didn't have a place to stay, Sylvia was more than happy to open her home to him.
  
  They might have started off as just roommates, but it quickly took a romantic turn after a few months of living together. Eventually, the pair begun to date, and after more than a year of dating, Ra'el asked the big question, and through tears, Sylvia accepted. Ever since they've gotten married, they've had a quiet live. Ra'el stays home for most of the time, and does most of the cooking, cleaning, and anything else that Sylvia doesn't do.
  
  
• 
  Class: Swashbuckler
  A Class made to hit your opponent, and then get away before they attack you, the swashbuckler is the perfect combination of offense and defense. They use two blades, and wait for the perfect moment to strike their foes. This class is perfect for eliminating people with rather high defensive capability.
  
  Abilities:
  [Soul Fire]
  Fire that burns hotter than any other flame known. It is a very dark blue, almost black color
  
  [Terror]
  This ability makes everyone in the immediate area panic, run away, or do something really stupid (like killing someone). The fear generated can then be absorbed by Ra'el, making him more powerful. However, this ability does not work on powerful foes.
  
  [Hellish Armaments]
  Ra'el can summon his weapons or armor to him with a snap of his fingers. He has a variety of weapons to choose from, but he generally sticks to the dual blades, as they are his favorite weapon.
  
  [State of Madness]
  Ra'el goes into a berserker mode, and attacks everything around him, friend or foe. He only uses this ability as a last resort, and has only been forced to use it twice in his life.
  
  Weapons Proficiency:
  Dual blades
  Rifle
  Equipment:
  [Shriek and Squall]
  Ra'el's dual blades, and his favorite weapon. These swords are light, and easy for the demon lord to use.
  
  [Silence]
  A rifle that is fueled the Ra'el's magic. It fires a powerful beam that can melt through armor like a hot knife through butter.
  
  
• 
  Character Theme:
  
  
  Others:
  -Enjoys cooking for his wife
  

 

[Zariel]

• I. GENERAL INFO
• II. PERSONAL PROFILE
• III. AMS & PROFICIENCIES
• IV. GALLERY
• V. QUOTES
• VI. RELATIONSHIPS
• VII. EXTRA

• 
  Full Name: Irelia Sonan
  
  Alias: Dawnbringer, The Rising Sun
  
  Title / Profession: Swordmaiden
  
  Age: 29
  
  Height: 5'7"
  
  Race: Astrian (Faean)
  
  Nationality: Jian, Groznyan
  
  Allegiance: Iris Company
  
  
• 
  
  Personality:
  Irelia is good-natured and benevolent. Through her radiance, she spreads happiness and hope. She is fair in her judgment, treating everyone equally, and without discrimination, regardless of who they may be. Many view her a respectable arbiter, as so often, she is beckoned to settle dissension. Outwardly, she appears to wear a mask of gentle and kind. On the battlefield, she is ever calm and composed; seldom does she succumb to her seething rage. Though, woe betides any foolish enough to invoke her wrath.
  
  Instilled in her since young, Irelia has an affinity for nature and a strong instinct to protect and preserve life. Thus, she is deeply concerned with the state of the world around her. Seeing decay, strife, or anything else that disrupts the delicate equilibrium brings her great sadness, and she will do everything in her power to make things right. She will make things better. She must. Never again will she fail those who place their faith in her.
  
  Even if that means to put an end to the very life, she solemnly swore to defend.
  
  Biography:
  The Oeki Order are the self-appointed keepers of Jianki's sacred balance. They constitute solely a caste of swordmaidens, trained since they were juvenile neophytes to guard their homeland. The Oeki operate under a matriarchal society, led by a triumvirate.
  
  Born among their ranks was Irelia, daughter of Kaguya Sonan, the renowned Eye of Dawn—one of the three leaders of the order. Interactions with her father, Shen, an inhabitant of the village at the base of the mountain, were minimal. Her mother raised her in the Oeki monastery, where she grew up under the vigilant gaze of the acolytes.
  
  Even as a small child, Irelia was fascinated by the grace and beauty of the earth. It was through the order's teachings that her desire to preserve such splendour bolstered. Though a naturally gifted neophyte, being the offspring of one of the triad leaders was both a blessing and a curse.
  
  All eyes were on Irelia, as she practised the martial traditions of her people, and excelled in all her classes. Soundless voices echoed in her ears, of awe, praise, but even jealousy. The burden of expectation weighed heavy on her shoulders.
  
  Nevertheless, Irelia indeed grew to become an exceptional acolyte. Few could deny her worth to the order.
  
  Many years later, the start of a war brewed. It will have been the fourth time the conflict against Sertek spread havoc and turmoil.
  
  When the fiefdom entrusted to the Oeki was attacked by the Demon Lord's countless legions, the swordmaidens rushed to retaliate. Plenty of blood split on both sides. Black clouds coalesced as entire villages set ablaze. Alas, though they fought valiantly, the swordmaidens, outnumbered, suffered a grim defeat.
  
  Irelia was one of the fortunate few that survived the bloodbath. Around her battered and bleeding body was nothing but crimson flames and death. For nights and day, bereaved, she mourned her massacred kin. The wicked, seething, fire of vengeance churned inside of her.
  
  All hell was about to break loose.
  
  Her mind tainted with hatred, Irelia passed through what little remained of a village—charred wood and mounds of ash. For the months to come, she relentlessly hunted Sertek's forces, cutting down thousands with not an iota of remorse. Ironically, some would dare say she was becoming a monster herself.
  
  It was on the path of revenge that she came upon an individual that shared a common goal—Sylvia of Verdan. Both desired to collapse the reigning terror of the Demon Lord, and concurrently save the world. But on their journeys together, Sylvia inadvertently accomplished much more than that. Not only did she give Irelia a chance at redemption, but she also rescued her sanity. For that, Irelia is forever grateful and feels indebted to Sylvia for bringing her back to her senses.
  
  Now, Irelia accompanies her new comrade as a powerful ally, and a close friend.
  
  
  
• 
  
  Class: Blader
  Bladers are masters of the sword. They wield their weapon with lethal precision to inflict critical damage. Opting to don less or lighter armour, the blader deftly dances across the battlefield to cut down their foes with rapid strikes. However, this means they can ill afford to lower their guard and must be prepared to counter. A true blader aims to kill in a single, painless slash.
  
  Abilities:
  [Dawnbringer]
  Irelia is able to cast sun spells via Amaterasu. Most often, she imbues her blade with the sacred golden light and exacts divine retribution on her foes. As her magic is light-based, its effects are particularly fatal against undead and beings of darkness.
  
  [Solar Blessing]
  In the presence of the sun, Irelia can bathe in its light and restore her health and aetherium pool. Additionally, her body exudes a glowing, golden aura that grants her additional magical power and enhanced physical capabilities (i.e. speed, strength, agility and endurance).
  
  [Mercurial Mirror]
  A counterspell, Irelia summons an aetherium mirror in front of her. The mirror absorbs energy from the attacks that strike it. After a duration, Irelia can return fire a beam of light that's equal in power to the stored energy. However, the mirror has a capacity on how much energy it can soak up; if hit with a powerful enough attack, or too much energy, the mirror will be dispelled.
  
  [Divine Sanctuary]
  A powerful, defensive light-spell. Irelia calls a beacon of light, which disperses and forms a revitalising umbrella around an area. The light of the aetherium restores the health of all those underneath. This spell is incredibly taxing, and therefore requires both a large amount of aetherium and blood to fuel it.
  
  Weapons Proficiency: Katana
  
  Equipment:
  [Amaterasu]
  A holy katana that once belonged to Irelia's mother. It glistens with the golden hues of the magic imbued into the steel of the blade during its craft. Now, Irelia wields it to bring a swift end to her enemies, as a paragon on justice.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The pattern and colours of Irelia's wings​
  
  
• 
  
  
  Work in progress...
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  TBD...
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  Character Theme:
  
  
  Likes & Dislikes:
  + Revels in peace and tranquillity.
  + Irelia has a fondness for jewels.
  + Flowers, namely cherry blossoms, as it reminds her of the beautiful forests and gardens of her homeland.
  + Some of her favourite foods include noodles, rice, and Marethian curries. Also, she enjoys confections like daifuku with tea.
  + Her favourite smell is that peaches. It is the reason she often purchases peach-scented conditioners.
  + Irelia continues to act on the practices of the Oeki Order; she spends a lot of her free time doing things such as yoga or meditation.
  - Darkness can sometimes make Irelia uneasy, or perhaps, even a little scared.
  - Intoxicants like drugs and alcohol, mostly due to their effects in clouding the mind.
  
  
  

 

[ElenaIsCool]

• I. General Info
• II. Personal Profile
• III. AMS & Proficiencies
• IV. Extras

• 
  Full Name: Bisila Nzo
  
  Alias: Bisi, Shiroi ,Tinkerbell, The Trickster, The White Wolf
  
  Title / Profession: Magitechnician/ Inventor (Previously) Prisioner, Prankster (Currently)
  
  Age: 25
  
  Height: 5'6
  
  Race: Solarian
  
  Nationality: Albion, Groznyan
  
  Allegiance: Harbringers
  
• 
  Personality:
  + Cheerful
  
  + Energetic
  
  + Creative
  
  + Hardworking
  
  
  ~ Thrill-seeking
  
  ~ Snarky
  
  ~ Flirty
  
  
  - Manipulative
  
  - Stubborn
  
  - Insensitive
  
  - Maybe crazy
  
  
  Biography:
  Bisila was born to a very rich family in Westray, Albion as an only child. Her parents, while caring were strict, overrprotective and had many rules. She couldn't go outside without more than four servants watching her, couldn't touch much for fear of getting hurt. Bisila was annoyed but decided to suck it up and deal with it and have some fun inside. Soon, she started pranking the servant; first going small in things like swapping the sugar for pepper. As time passed, her pranks changed and Bisila started building little contraptions to better her pranks, along with developing a silver tongue to get her out of trouble. Her tinkering didn't go unnoticed by her parents and was immidiately surrounded by tutors to enhance her skills and proved herself as a prodigy. After a while, she started getting bored. Her machine's utilities were limited to only show and what her teachers taught her. She wanted more, something more exciting, thrilling even. After some convincing, Bisila's parents sent her to a prestigious academy to enhance her skills and for the first few months, it worked out and she was recognized as a prodigy and someone with an exciting carrer ahead.
  
  That is, until the limits got to her again. She became a troublemaker, constantly pranking and using other students to her advantage with her pranks becoming less and less harmless until one day, she blew it, quite literally. It was supposed to be a simple test, one that got out of control. Many were injured and the academy got a nice hole in the wall. The thrill of the explosion, the adrenaline, the beauty, it was exactly what she was looking for. Sadly, explosives and creating machines that posed a danger was a very well known rule and thus Bisila got the boot. She didn't care, now she was free to do whatever she wanted and started her own path as a troublemaker, going from place to place, pranking and brushing with the law more than once. Some didn't appreciate the pranks, others didn't like the danger her machines posed. The thrill it posed to be on the run was exciting but staying months in prision, the ultimate cage, wasn't worth it. So there she was, an unemployed troublemaker that went from place to place, using people, pranking them and becoming a rather dangerous nuisance in general.
  
  Her life changed for the better when she picked the wrongest person to prank.
  
  It backfired but Bisila got the recognition of her skills from the Demon Lord himself. Her reputation preceeded her and her skills was one of the few things he needed for his army. Bisila couldn't be more excited. At the battlefield, her thirst for excitement and fun was sated more than once as she tested many of her machines, ranging from explosives to even mechanical animals, sometimes entering the battlefield herself, albeit from behind, under the alias "The White Wolf" and shooting her enemies in the face, really exciting indeed. Out there in the battlefield, there were no limits to what she could do. She could shoot, explode and trick all she wanted and she loved it. She later met some unsavory folks that would sell her weapons and pay her for her talents. Soon, her underground weapons business was booming and she felt life couldn't get better.
  
  Sadly, all good things came to an end with the defeat of Sertek. Bisila, like many of her fellow Harbringers, faded into the darkness, once again thrown into a cage. However, she was still smiling as she was detained because she knew that the fun wasn't at it's end.
  
  
  
  
• 
  Class: Disruptors
  Disruptors, gunslingers with incredible aim, people of this class focus on using guns and bombs that focus on destabilizing the target for the ones at the front to take advantage. However, that doesn't mean Disruptors can't do killing of their own. Their accuracy and aim give masters the ability to kill in only one shot. However, since they are mostly long-range focused, they have lowered guard towards short range, melee attacks.
  
  
  Abilities:
  
  [Runemastery]
  This gives Bisila the ability to craft groznium and modify it's usage ranging from making groznium bullets to enhancing weapons. She also has knowledge of groznium and knows how they work
  
  
  Weapons Proficiency:
  Rifles, Explosives, Guns
  
  Equipment:
  [Imperial Ordnance M95]
  
  A seemingly average rifle with a grenade laucher, with a few adjustments such as being powered by groznium instead of gunpowder.
  
  [Bag]
  
  It's a bag filled with many things, food, weapons and crafting tools so Bisila can prank on the go.
  
  [Wolf Mask]
  
  Bisila wears the Okami-style wolf mask whenever doing her stunts in public, and wore it during the war.
  
  [Groznium Grenades]
  
  Weapons made by herself, by using groznium to make a much more powerful and explosive impact
  
  
  
• 
  Character Theme:
  
  
  
  Others:
  - Bisila likes gardening and often does it as a hobby
  
  - Bisila loves dogs, especially wolves and foxes
  
  - There's a rumor that Bisila once bombed a whole town. She neither confirms nor denies this fact
  
  - Ever since she got her arm almost sliced off by an Arachnida in the battlefield, she's developed a fear of spiders, along with having a scar on her left arm too.
  

 

[Nessi]

• I. General Info
• II. Personal Profile
• III. AMS & Proficiencies
• IV. Extras

• 
  Full Name: Angelica Mori
  
  Alias: The Siren
  
  Title / Profession: Seamstress
  
  Age:34
  
  Height: 5'5
  
  Race: Astrian
  
  Nationality: Dragonsreach, Groznyan
  
  Allegiance: Harbingers
  
• 
  Personality:
  +Hardworking
  +caring (towards fellow harbingers)
  +mature
  +knowledgeable
  -sadistic
  -trust issues
  -holds grudges
  Biography:
  Angelica was born on the streets of Dragonsreach, no memory of her parents, and had no idea if she had family members or not. She spent most of her childhood living in the church, but wouldn't stay for long. She wasn't kicked out, she just wasn't all that bonkers about religion, and hated the nuns, so she ran away, and tried to get out of dragonsreach. She didn't get far, due to the lack of money, so she decided to save money until she had enough to travel as far as possible from dragonreach, for a change of scenery. How did she get money? By killing people of course. She'd draw them in with her alluring looks, and then, once they were in a vulnerable state, she'd kill them. Sometimes she'd drag out the process into a slow, and painful death, she enjoyed watching her victims in pain. Once she got the bag, Angelica would leave the premise as quickly as possible, and would repeat the process every night. Eventually, all of her killings would attract the Daemon Lord himself, and when she finally left dragonsreach, she was approached by the Daemon lord, and asked to work with him. Angelica didn't really have any reason not to accept, especially since he was going to pay her, so she decided to accept his offer. Angelica would work as a spy for the shadow legion, and would use the same tactics that she used when she was back Dragonsreach, this time to get information instead of money. And no one lived to to ever tell anyone what she looked like.
  
  Eventually, Sertek would be defeated by the hero, and Angelica would silently slip away before she could be caught by the Iris company. She used all of her money to actually go back to dragonsreach, and open up a clothing shop, and settle down, or at least, that's what she planned, until a certain pair showed up.
  
  
• 
  Class: Spy
  A class that isn't the best at combat, but is more suited for roles that have to do with gathering information. The spy uses petty tactics to take down foes with the least amount of attention drawn towards themselves.
  
  Abilities:
  [Mimic]
  This Ability creates a clone of herself that can do whatever she commands it to do. The clone takes some of her own power, so the more clones she makes, the weaker they get. The maximum amount of clones she cane make that are decently strong are 3.
  
  [Cloaking]
  Angelica can make herself translucent for a maximum of 1 minute. She isn't completely invisible, and can still be spotted if you look close enough.
  
  [Bewitching beauty]
  Basically a beauty filter. The ability allows her to enhances ones desire for her, but it only works on one person, and she has to look them in the eyes for at least 6 seconds.
  
  [Marked]
  Angelica can place a magical mark on one target, and it allows her to sense when said target is close to her. The farther away, the harder it is to find where they are.
  
  Weapons Proficiency:
  claws
  
  Equipment:
  [Black steel claws]
  Claws that are coated in a deadly poison. If the wounds don't kill you, the poison will.
  
  
• 
  Character Theme:
  
  
  Others:
  enjoys cooking when she's not working on a dress for a client.
  

 

[Doctor Nope]

• I. General Info
• II. Personal Profile
• III. AMS & Proficiencies
• IV. Extras

• 
  Full Name: Eryn Leasath Cissnei
  
  Alias: N/A
  
  Title / Profession: Combat Medic/ Surgeon of Iris Company. Yeah we got two of 'em.
  
  Age: 26
  
  Height: 5'6"
  
  Race: Solarian
  
  Nationality: Haven, Groznyan
  
  Allegiance: Iris Company
  
• 
  Personality:
  + Maximum effort in carrying out his duties
  + Nice enough in most circumstances
  + Deadpan humour
  
  - Somewhat of a sadist, taking pleasure both in inflicting injuries and in treating the more "aesthetically pleasing" ones
  - Will forego the painkillers while treating you if you annoy him sufficiently
  - A brewing addiction to whatever drugs might be laced in his candy
  
  ~ Quite merciless when it comes to gunning things down
  ~ Occasional sass
  
  Biography:
  Having been born a Solarian in Haven, Eryn had been well-acquainted with technology during his upbringing. His mother was a magitechnician and his father a doctor, both having great influence on him, becoming skilled in first aid and gaining a basic understanding of magitechnology. The Fourth Daemonic War came around, and he enlisted as a combat medic. He didn't see combat for quite a while though, often assigned to patrol missions or to garrison in 'safer' areas. When he got his first real taste of combat, it was probably in one of the worst ways it could have happened for a greeny like him, at the Siege of Verdan. Soldiers and civilians alike had their blood spilled while the town was on its way to being reduced to rubble. Even if he had the stamina and skill to treat every casuality he came across (which he definitely didn't back then), he could only carry so many supplies. People called out to him for help, and there was nothing he could do for them. It took everything he had just to be able to return fire during his retreat. His uniform had become a mess of blood stains, as if it'd been dyed red. This was, however, the first time he'd catch a glimpse of his future Commander. In the distance, a girl who couldn't have looked less than a couple years younger than him, had engaged the horde with nothing but a lance, allowing the evacuation to be completed. An Angel, perhaps? Well, that was what everyone else started calling her. He definitely thought it was fitting.
  
  It took some time, but he started climbing ranks. He was on the front lines more often now, honing his skills and discovering his specialties. He stopped carrying his bolt action rifle after deciding it easier to return fire with a sidearm when treating somebody, and the lost weight could allow for carrying extra supplies. He got good at both of those things. First it was just pausing to fire off a few shots before returning to treatment, then he was doing it one-handed while his other hand continued patching people up. Being ambidextrous had its perks. Next he was using two of them, and his accuracy still didn't falter. Eventually he stopped needing to look directly at a target to hit it. He was a medic, but killing things had gradually became something much more enjoyable for him now that he was getting so good at it. He became pretty great at the main job too, even picking up pharmaceutical developments as a side hobby. Prescribing amphetamines to his comrades really seemed to boost their performance, as well as his own. On more than one occasion, he fought in close vicinity to members of the Iris Company, garnering their attention.
  
  We know how things go from there. He especially took a liking to the spider. That guy's cool.
  
  
  
• 
  Class: Deadeye
  A type of gunslinger. They fire quickly, accurately, and they don't let up on their constant barrages of lead. Preferring to use sidearms instead of a rifle, they like to shoot from up close and see the blood fly. But not TOO close. Obviously.
  
  Abilities:
  [ICU - "I see you"]
  The ICU is a magitech visor that grants him a drastic increase in his field of view. Drastic, as in he's got 360 degree vision whenever he's got it wrapped around his head. The thing's got nodes connecting to his temples to send everything directly into his head, and it's a miracle that he hasn't gone insane from all the input his brain recieves. Or maybe he has, who knows?
  
  [H2]
  The H2, derived from HH, short for "Helping Hands". Magitech gauntlet-looking things that connect from his forearms to the groznian batteries on his belt. An aperture on the back of each hand opens up to let long, thin mechanical tendrils sprout out, five from each hand. Each one is capable of holding a tool on its own and using it effectively, potentially turning him into a 10-surgeon team if he uses all of them to treat somebody, or treat multiple people at once.
  
  Weapons Proficiency:
  Revolvers
  
  Equipment:
  -Two 6-shot revolvers chambered for .455 calibre cartridges
  -Above mentioned magitechnologies
  -Spare groznian batteries
  -Medic's bag
  -White cloak lined with load-bearing webbing, stores ammunition and extra medical supplies. It's white because he "likes the aesthetic whenever blood gets on it"
  -Speedloaders
  -Packs of candy under his beret
  
  
• 
  Character Theme:
  
  
  Others:
  Does not like potatoes. Unless they've got meth in them, then maybe.
  

 

[Remembrance]

• I. General Info
• II. Personal Profile
• III. AMS & Proficiencies
• IV. Extras

• 
  Full Name: Uziel Isa Gamugama
  
  Alias: Uzuma | Ms. Isa | Mr. Iso | The Silk Leader
  
  Title / Profession:
  Companion of the Iris Company
  Leader of the Golden Tirade Performers (formerly; on leave)
  Sweets Maker in Jianki (formerly; fired)
  
  Age: ???
  
  Height: 5'11" (180cm)
  
  Race: Astrian
  
  Nationality: Jianki (presumed) | Groznyan
  
  Allegiance: Iris Company
  
• 
  Personality:
  + Friendly
  + Respectful
  + Observant
  + Generous
  = Eccentric
  - Careless
  - Oblivious
  - Prideful
  
  Biography:
  Uziel at a young age had a fascination with dancing and the performing arts. These interests were of no concern to his parents, thinking it a fad and of little consequence. They wished for him to carry on the family legacy of making sweets for the wonderful people of Jianki. He did pursue that career but only for a little while before he was fired by his own parents because of the constant amount of dancing he did in the bakery; which due to his lack of experience in dancing, caused many an accident.
  
  Now with his parents begrudgingly accepting of his passion, he practiced for days on dancing. He would go to local festivals, admiring the beautiful women and their graceful moves. His admiration turned to him replicating their look and passion. Though his parents were disapproving of his new appearance, they grew to accept it over time but not without many arguments between them and their child. He grew to resent his parents for their need for control over their own child; a child who themself has a mind of their own.
  
  Reaching adulthood, he had reached a new level of proficiency with his dancing though he found it to resemble something fiercer and greater than a simple dance. Preforming in a traveling troupe, one military party joined the crowd of onlookers and watched with great interest to the geisha and kimono-clad women move with grace. The leader of the military party seemed to take particular interest in Uziel. He himself knew not of what this man dressed in silk uniform and decorated metals could want. Uziel opted to introduce himself to the man, eager to learn what interest he is to the military man.
  
  The decorated soldier presented himself as Colonel Rockenhowier; a fine man he was though a quick inspection of his fingers brought no view of a ring or anything sentimental; a slight surprise to see he had not been courted prior to their encounter. With their introductions done, Uziel was requested to teach the colonel's men new moves. Uziel gladly accepted though he had misunderstood the situation entirely from the start. He believed Colonel Rockenhowier a fake. Instead of a man of the army, he thought him a leader of a dancing troupe rather than the leader of troops.
  
  For two weeks, Uziel taught Colonel Rockenhowier's men traditional Jianki dancing styles before he eventually realized his mistake and vanished.
  
  - - -
  
  Vanishing to the World's Edge, Uziel opted for a nice change of scenery for his dancing. Though the war in full action, he had not considered Ries to be a dangerous place for its beauty was unheard of in other regions. As he practiced his form and grace, the wind shifted the prairie grass and the ground shook as if a tremor had hit. Uziel looked off to where the wind had come from and saw over the horizon a large blast not too dissimilar to a catastrophe.
  
  Uziel sighed and weighed his options. He could either stay put and continue his training, forever living with the curiosity of what could be over those rolling hills. Or he could take hold of fate and venture out to what may lie past the horizon. For some obscure reason, Uziel chose the second option.
  
  With haste, he ran over the hills and found a singular man fighting what appeared to be a horned giant. The singular man, wearing a dark green uniform spotted the pink kimono wearing geisha off in the distance. Ignoring temptation, the uniformed man yelled to Uziel, requesting he not be present as the danger would undoubtedly kill him. Uziel did not heed his words and supported the soldier despite his many requests and warnings.
  
  The details on what happened next are fuzzy for many as the soldier was never seen again after reporting the encounter but as Uziel tells it; they disarmed the giant and succeeded in decapitating it by holding the beast down and chopping the head off in its final moments.
  
  Uziel bid his farewell to the soldier as did he. Weeks later, a woman in similar garb greeted the Jianki dancer at his abode, requesting his assistance in the current war. Uziel politely denied the request though that seemed to not affect the number of couriers bringing letters of recruitment to him.
  
  Eventually, Uziel caved in and sent back an acceptance letter.
  
  And that's how he joined the Iris Company. He left his troupe and began advising and being an auxiliary to the company, assisting in matters that required his expertise.
  
  
• 
  Class: Dancer
  With remarkable speed and ability, the Dancer is capable of weaving themselves through defenses and striking at the most opportune moments. Their speed is matched only by those willing to challenge the Dancer and their unpredictable movements. They specialize in wearing down the defense of their opponent through different tactics and techniques. Though those are left to the Dancer to use in their own way. Despite their strengths, the weaknesses of a Dancer leaves much to be desired. They lack proper defense and are incapable of taking more than a few blows.
  
  In terms of Uziel's personal fighting style; he mainly focuses on theatrical dancing-motions along with a variety of motions that also involve weaving his many cloths, as well as forming them into a variety of shapes such as a ribbon, kite, drills, and so forth.
  
  Abilities:
  [The Touch of Silk]Uziel is able to manipulate the density (and by extension volume and mass) of any piece of silk. He's also capable of manipulating its shape in various ways. The only limitation of this ability is that he is incapable of manipulating any other form of clothing but this is partly circumvented by being able to weave silk he already possesses into other forms of clothing; creating a blend.
  [Beyond]
  Uziel is also capable of manipulating his own gravity. Allowing him levitation and pseudo-flying.
  
  Weapons Proficiency: Sword (Cleaver) | Lance | Hammer
  
  Equipment:
  [Thin Silk Cloth Kimono]
  A flowing pink and red silk kimono weaved by Uziel himself. This acts as his usual attire and his main weapon. The kimono is always in pristine condition, lacking any dirt, scuff, or tears.
  
  [Thin Silk Cloth Scarf]
  Uziel also sports a translucent pink scarf which levitates through his own abilities.
  
  [Ornamental Combat Umbrella]
  A specially designed umbrella. Its staff is made of tough bamboo and the canopy made of stiff silk, both waterproof and incredibly resistant to blows. The umbrella functions as any normal umbrella with the exception of a hard metal tip at the finial.
  
  [Iris Badge]
  Like all Iris Company members, Uziel carries with him his badge of authenticity. He typically carries it either in a badge holder bound in leather but occasionally clips it to his turtleneck.
  
  
• 
  Character Theme:
  
  
  Others:
  Enjoys beautiful things and making sweets.
  
  
  

 

[Midrick]

• I. General Info
• II. Personal Profile
• III. AMS & Proficiencies
• IV. Extras

• 
  Full Name: Markas Vik
  
  Alias: "Last of the Vik"
  
  Title / Profession: Monster hunter, Adventurer, Dragon slayer
  Iris Company Vanguard (former)
  
  Age: 23
  
  Height: 6'0" ft. (182 cm)
  
  Race: Solarian
  
  Nationality: Blackford Albion, Groznyan
  
  Allegiance: Iris company
  
• 
  Personality:
  Markas is one of the more infamous members of the Iris company, his lone wolf attitude and violent tendencies often put him at odds with other members, Sylvia especially. Markas isn't much for idle chatter, whenever he speaks it is straight the point and usually blunt to the point of rudeness. It's clear that Markas has something eating at him, his pride prevents him from speaking to others about it, he believes he must solve his problems on his own. Men in Albion, especially the kingdom of blackford, are taught to face their trials and tribulations head on and alone, anything besides that would make them weak in the eyes of their fellow Albians.
  
  Ever since the destruction of clan Vik, Markas feels that he has been living in the shadow of his father and sister, he constantly feels that he never measures up no matter what he does, his survivors guilt runs extremely deep, and his anger has given way to sadness now that he has nothing to direct it at with the the war being over, and hunting dragons is sanctioned unless the beast actively poses a threat. Markas feels he still has something to prove, he's turned to taking only the most dangerous adventurer jobs while obsessively searching for the dragon that destroyed his life in secret.
  
  Biography:
  The man who would be known as "Dragonslayer" and "Sylvia's mad dog" came from rather humble beginnings, born the second child of Einar, the leader of clan Vik, Markas was odd for a child. More interested in the stories and history of Blackford and neighbouring Hibernia than playing with other children. Markas was in stark contrast to his sister Kana, who was known for rebellious and mischievous nature. Markas shied away from attention unlike his sister, despite his bookish nature he excelled in many of the physical and martial activities that Einar arranged for them be it swordplay, archery, or hand to hand combat, much to the fury of Kana.
  
  Years passed and Markas honed his skills, Kana was chosen as Einar's successor which meant one of two things would happen, either he would be made an advisor of his sister, or he would be married off for political advantages. He didn't enjoy the idea of being forced into marriage at such a young age, so he decided to show he was indispensable to his sister by displaying his skills as a strategist and tactician. That day would never come.
  
  The Hadrian ruins were famous for their mystical and forbidden nature, exactly why it was taboo had been lost the most of the clan members, but other more malignant groups did. Servants of Sertek infiltrated the ruins and undid a powerful ward, releasing a dragon on the unwitting clan Vik. Markas was isolated in the library at the time, he wasn't present for the initial defense, when he finally realized something was wrong. Markas arrived in the death throes of the futile defense, forced to watch as everything he knew and loved be burnt to ash including his father and sister. Markas was blasted away by the gigantic beast being spared the fate of many members of the clan. When he had finally Awoken the next morning ash and charred remains greeted him where people once stood. Something broke inside Markas, and a powerful curse that had been cast by the dragon targeted him, latching onto Markas and blighting his soul. That day a monster besides the dragon had been released onto the world.
  
  For the next 6 years Markas roamed, hunting and killing any dragon he could find, nearly driving the beasts to extinction in Blackford. Tales began to spring up of an unhinged Albian hunting dragons. Eventually he was accosted by a girl for his recent slaying, and words turned to blows. Markas found out quickly that she was in fact, the famous Angel of Verdan, although he maintains that he wasn't going 100% on Sylvia, she offered him a chance for his revenge by joining her in the battle against Sertek, Markas reluctantly agreed and became quite famous for his exploits on the battlefield. His name became something to fear in the dark lords forces, and he led the vanguard during the assualt on mount hornet as well as buying time for Sylvia while she defeated Sertek.
  
  Now that the war is over and Markas has returned to dragonsreach with the Iris company he has started quietly making steps to hunt the dragon that was responsible for the destruction of his home despite the imperial sanctions against hunting the beasts.
  
  
• 
  Class:Slayer
  Slayers are quite simply killing machines, often when a breakthrough cannot be achieved a slayer is deployed. Capable of carving bloody swaths through battlefields as well as incredible feats of arms and strength. Unlike the more traditional sword and board warriors, slayers usually prefer heavier or more specialized weapons, making them offensively powerful, but their defense is lacking. The main characteristic of a slayer is their aberrant strength, ignorance to pain, and rage as well as having the mentality of unrelenting force, they won't outmaneuver their opponent using agility or dexterity, they will simply rend, cleave, and smash until there is nothing left but blood and pulp.
  
  
  Abilities:
  [Beast of Darkness]
  Markas' curse given shape, a twisted and vile creature that feeds on pain. When Markas is compromised, the beast can manifest itself. Although the two are linked, the beast has a mind of it's own, and while Markas can exert his will to control it, the beast can do the same to him. When the beast manifests Markas in enveloped in a dark aura that increases his power significantly. The beasts presence can be felt by others as well as it's insidious whispers heard in the mind as it gnaws on the sanity of friend and foe alike. The beast's effects on his mind have made Markas resistant to psychological attacks.
  
  Spoiler: Beast of Darkness

  
  
  
  
  [Infernal Shackles]
  Markas channels magic to summon a shackle, enemies caught in the ethereal chains are weakened and have their mobility reduced. Markas can use the shackles to drag targets back to him. The ethereal shackles are used to keep the beast of darkness restrained, the more shackles he has summoned at once makes it easier for the beast to escape and influence Markas.
  
  Weapons Proficiency: Two handed/ One handed sword
  
  Equipment:
  
  [Gramr]
  The abused blade of this sword is razor sharp despite its worn appearance. The humble Albian bastard sword has tasted the blood of many dragons, the magic properties of the beasts has strengthened it, increasing its cutting and piercing power, making it a legendary item among adventurers and monster hunters.
  
  [Dragon Plate]
  Plate armor fashioned from the bones of dragons, its lightweight and protective nature make it one of Markas' most valued pieces of equipment, Ironic considering the source material of the armor.
  
  
  
• 
  Character Theme:
  
  
  Others:
  -Rarely attempts to be noticed, actively avoids attention.
  -Terrible luck with romance.
  -Shut in.
  -Lover of music and literature despite his brutish nature.
  -Most of the women in the Aurelian district are envious of his hair.
  -Speaks with a thick Albish accent.
  

 

[Soviet Panda]

• I. General Info
• II. Personal Profile
• III. AMS & Proficiencies
• IV. Extras

• 
  Full Name: Fealca Isern
  
  Alias: "The Mountain" (Former)
  "Mr. Irons" (Current)
  
  Title / Profession:
  Grand General of the Demon Lord's Army (Former)
  Owner and butcher of "Isern Braede" (Current)
  Part Time Adventurer (Current)
  
  Age: 65
  
  Height: 6'9"
  
  Race: Astrian (Dovean)
  
  Nationality: Ries, Groznyan
  
  Allegiance: Harbinger
  
• 
  Personality:
  Single minded and focusing on one task at a time, Isern's slow, deliberate actions made him the perfect choice to command the grinding advance of the Demon Lord's armies. And his stalwart belief that the strong have a right to rule guaranteed his loyalties. However, having had time to think upon his actions, his outlook on life has changed drastically. While he is still a single minded individual, he does not place raw strength in as high a regard as he used to. Though occasionally he will slip back into his old ways of thinking, he will quickly catch himself.
  
  Biography:
  Isern's early years are shrouded in mystery. Hailing from Ries, there are rumors abound that he's from a tribe of cannibals, marauding savages, each claim being more ludicrous than the last. Isern has not helped in quelling these rumors by neither confirming nor denying any of these. The first confirmed reports of Isern being him on the frontlines of the war, seemingly impervious to all but the greatest of blows, with even those simply causing him to slide back. It wasn't until a combined assault of a Siegebreaker and Slayer was lead on his position, on the eve of the Demon Lord's demise, that he was eventually subdued. And that was more because he surrendered than actually lost.
  
  It wasn't to last, however, for he soon escaped. How they managed to lose a 6'9" Astrian is anyone's guess, but lose him they did. And as far as anyone could tell, he simply disappeared. However, he is in the one place no one would expect to look, Dragonsreach itself. He hasn't even bothered to change his name, though instead of leading a mercenary company he has settled on the more mundane and opened his own butcher shop, selling the finest meats in the city he claims. Though, at times, he can't help but think about what the world would be like if Seretek had won...
  
  
• 
  Class: Bulwark
  Bulwarks stand where the fighting is thickest, the enemy's blows bouncing harmlessly against their superb defense. Bulwarks have been known to hold off entire armies when the conditions allowed it, sometimes even managing to single handedly push it back. Coupled with their immense strength allowing for some truly titanic blows, the Bulwark can be an intimidating opponent to face. However, this comes at the cost of speed and agility. The heavy arms and armor worn by a Bulwark slows their movements to a sluggish crawl when compared to the more nimble classes. However, should a Bulwark be smart and their opponent careless, they can capitalize on the first mistake.
  
  Abilities:
  
  1. Coat of Thorns: An almost invisible enchantment, Coat of Thorns reflects a portion of the damage intended for Isern back upon it's wielder. A single strike will do nothing, but over the course of a battle the small cuts can and will add up.
  2. A Grudge Held: Instead of reflecting a portion of the damage via Coat of Thorns, Isern can choose to store it. Strikes stored this way are cumulative and are unleashed in a singular strike. Because this does require him to be hit by the full force of his opponents attack, timing is everything.
  3. Bastion: For those that think they are smart and can simply fire upon him from afar, Isern has developed Bastion. Summoning a wall of hard light, he is protected from ranged fire. For those in melee combat with him, trying to pass through Bastion will feel much like trying to move through water.
  4. Commanding Aura: There seems to be a natural aura of leadership that surrounds Isern, though some argue it is an aura of intimidation and not leadership. Those he deems as subordinate or lesser suffer from a crushing presence, second guessing every move they make while under his gaze. Those that he deems as equals or of strong enough will aren't effected by this. Isern does not appear aware of this ability.
  
  Weapons Proficiency:
  Great weapons.
  
  Equipment:
  Blodsweor: The sword Isern wielded during the 4th Demon War. This gargantuan blade, while appropriate for his size, makes any wielder look almost like a child holding their family's heirloom. The only magical property it has is it's strength, having withstood attacks from even the strongest of classes. Currently on display in the Dragonsreach Museum, alongside Isern's armor
  Draca Scirham: The 'Dragon Bright Armor', worn by Isern during the 4th Demon War. Tailored by an unknown smith for Isern, it is impossible for it to be worn by anyone else. Similar to Blodsweor, the only magical properties the suit of armor has is it's enhanced strength. Currently, Draca Scirham is on display alongside Isern's sword.
  
  
• 
  Character Theme:
  
  
  Others:
  Isern occasionally moonlights as an adventurer when business is slow and he needs to make ends meet.
  

 

[Trappy]

• I. General Info
• II. Personal Profile
• III. AMS & Proficiencies
• IV. Extras

• 
  Full Name: Vichya of Dragonsreach
  
  Alias: Vichy
  Formerly Maryam Lagarde - the Whispered Dread
  
  Title / Profession: Assistant Shopkeeper at Emor's Endless Emporium of Enchanted Eccentric Enhancives
  High Overseer of the Nightmare Corps
  
  Age: Looks to be in her early 20s
  
  Height: 5'4'' (~162cm)
  
  Race: Astrian (Felis)
  
  Nationality: Dragonsreach, Groznyan
  
  Allegiance: Harbingers
  
• 
  Personality: To sum it up in one sentence, Vichya is an energetic and confident wide-eyed young Astrian. Her curiosity in the fundamental laws that govern the reality she lives in was particularly noted by her mentors and peers. She is never shy from asking the questions on her mind, for good or ill, and often go out of the way to conduct her own studies - often described as somewhat obsessive towards obtaining her immediate goals before pushing above and beyond. Her (perhaps overtly) eager attitude aside, Vichya is definitely a person of particular focus and commitment to her work - both vital traits of a skilled mage in the making.
  
  Vichya does not seem to mind what others think of her as she fully embraces the eccentricities of her character - reflected in her choice of attire: a strange combination of comfortable skirts, purple coloured robes of the esteemed Starline Magecraft Institution, and the iconic pointed hat.
  
  Biography:
  
  Spoiler

  Maryam Lagarde was a powerful mage of 12th century AC, who lived and fought in the 4th Daemonic War of the last decade. She was particularly notorious for pushing the limits of sorcery via numerous unorthodox methods, namely sacrifices and unethical experimentations. These revelation of these practices would quickly lead to her excommunication from most mage societies, institutions, and subsequently her prosecution in all Imperial territories, forcing Maryam into exile - during which, she would come into contact with the Daemon Lord Sertek. Her talents obviously recognised and with a promise of power for joining his ranks of followers, the mage found herself a new patron.
  
  In truth, the Maryam Lagarde is an arrogant, egoistic and ambitious creature who saw little more in the Daemon Lord than a mere opportunity. While she treated her comrades well enough, presenting herself as a sociable and generous creature, deep down she loathed them - nothing more than a herd of mindless sheep, in her opinion. She barely participated in his campaigns like the rest of the daemonic generals and Harbingers, instead occasionally diverting some resources and power there way, while ruling over a little fiefdom of the Black Mountain, with her personal contingent of the Nightmare Corps, resuming the work she had left behind before her exile. Whole villages would be fed to the pyres and experimentation sites so that the wicked witch could satisfy her insatiable thirst for knowledge and power, and while many of her experiments would hit dead-ends, that only meant more sacrifices were to be made.
  
  Historians would refer to Maryam Lagarde as one of the most irredeemable of the Sertek's followers. She was never captured alive, and her body sundered so that the witch would never rise to haunt the people of the Black Mountain again.
  
  But the Whispered Dread would not stay dead, for she would not willingly kowtow to death itself. Mere moments before the witch was served her long-overdue sentence at the edge of a blade, the Incubation Chambers deep beneath the Mountain hummed alive, giving birth to a contingency plan years in the making.
  
  Vichya never had a memory of her childhood. Her earliest memories were that of the winding streets of Dragonsreach, and the men in purple robes approaching her. For most of what would be the closest thing to a childhood through her eyes, Vichya was raised within the great halls of the Starline Magecraft Institution, surrounded by great minds, tomes and scrolls of knowledge, and competition. In her rigorous years at the Institution, while her innate talents for the arcane was very quickly noted by her mentors, who saw great interest in enabling her to pursue greater academic pursuits.
  
  As she grew up, the Astrian girl would discover certain abilities she possessed that she did not fathom herself. These curious occurrences would take a turn for the worse when they came in the forms of dreams and visions. While the young girl would dismiss most of these as mere bad dreams from her studies taking a toll on her mental health, some of them would become way too specific and horrific to ignore. In the end of the day, Vichya would elect to simply live with them, as much as they continued to bother her, and focused on the day-to-day troubles.
  
  When she came of age, Vichya began taking up part-time jobs in order to continue financially support her education, eventually settling as an assistant to the one Emor Kandela - owner of a local apothecary. Life goes on for the Astrian girl, but as the mysterious abilities begin to further manifest themselves to her, Vichya could not help but acknowledge a growing worry and curiosity gnawing at the back of her mind.
  
  
• 
  Class: Loremaster
  Intrepid explorers of Grozny's history and sciences, Loremasters dedicate themselves to the study and documentation of the knowledges of the world, material or immaterial. Their mastery of these informations allow them to fashion certain enchantments, tinctures and even magical scrolls - given time and materials. Far more than simply craftsmen, however, Loremasters are often capable magic casters, weaving the aetherium with intricate spells to manifest their will into reality.
  
  Abilities:
  
  • Aegis
  • A simple spell, but quite unbreakable formidable. Aegis forms a spherical, semi-translucent barrier around the caster, minimising incoming impacts from spells and magecrafts, and absorbing them in the form of aetherium at the caster's disposal. The barrier requires a focus at a certain point in order to negate physical impacts.
  • 
    
  • Faerie Fire
  • Elemental fiery sprites spark to life around the caster. These sprites are capable of targeting multiple creatures, or focusing on one, dealing moderate damages in the form of burns as they come into contact with the target(s). They are visually very bright.
  • 
    
  • Aetherial Chains
  • The caster summons forth sickly green chains of energy, which springs forth to restrain creatures within a 60ft radius of the caster. The chains are very strong, but breakable with a magical weapon/tool. The chains are also corrosive by nature, thus capable of damaging creatures they come into contact with. The chains may target multiple creatures individually, however this weakens the restraint put upon each of them.
  • 
    
  • Mindfire
  • The caster invokes a curse at a single target within hearing distance, causing the target's mind to become feverish. The creature affected by the spell becomes confused and incapable of communicating in any intelligible ways or casting spells.
  
  Weapons Proficiency:
  
  • Grimoire
  • Staff
  
  Equipment:
  Monocle of the Loremaster: Enables the user to detect sources of magic within a 30ft range and identifies the nature of the magic.
  Grimoire of Vichya: Crammed to the margins with notes, spell formulas and ingredient lists. The grimoire ensures Vichy always has her knowledge on hand, and additionally, it greatly enhances her casting speed. The tome is old, but hardy, and the stitches suggest the cover had been changed a couple times already. It smells of old paper, ink, dried herbs and brimstone.
  
  
• 
  Character Theme:
  
  
  Others:
  Vichya does like potatoes.
  Also, Astrian Felis eyes.
  
  
  
  

 

[Larry]

• I. General Info
• II. Personal Profile
• III. AMS & Proficiencies
• IV. Extras

• 
  Full Name: Ódhran von Starkenburg
  
  Alias: 'Cadaver', a slighting nickname given to Ódhran due to his pale complexion.
  
  Title/Profession:
  ~Secretary for Lord Bruatar of Iona, Consul of the Outer Parallel Kreise ('circle') for the imperial year 1210.
  ~Former Chief of Logistics for Iris Company.
  ~Former aide-de-camp to the Iris Company.
  
  Age: Twenty-five years old.
  
  Height: 5'11.
  
  Race: Solarian.
  
  Nationality: Islander/Groznyan.
  
  Allegiance: Iris Company.
  
• 
  Personality:
  Ódhran has always been something of a busybody; if there are things to be done, you can be sure that the former aide-de-camp will get to them with great promptitude. The young man's tendency to always be engaged with some kind of task stems from a jittery desire to make sure that everything is in it's place, that everyone's roles and duties are circumscribed in all situations and that as little as can be humanely-possible, be left to chance. In behaving this way, Ódhran as somewhat monotonous to those around, often being described as a person stuck in a rut vs. being in a healthy routine. Though the young man might agree that on a first look it would seem to be the case, if it's all about ensuring that people can perform at an optimum rate, his personal feelings are well worth the sacrifice.
  
  This stems from a childhood filled with a great degree of want, and, being the eldest of a group of five siblings, Ódhran always ensured that his own meagre earnings, through working a number of jobs from a young age, contributed to his siblings betterment and that of their mother. As a result, whenever he sees someone attempting to go about something not in their best interest say, health-wise (i.e., running head-on into a skirmish with numerous regiments) Ódhran will admonish them for their foolishness and, in hoping that the reprove has done its job, will try to ensure that they don't go about anything too reckless again; though, knowing the company he keeps, mitigation is the best course of action.
  
  Ódhran loves to be in the company of those close to him and could talk to them for hours on end. If it also happens to be on a subject he's greatly interested in (Ódhran is fascinated by rivers and greedily scoops any books on hydrology that he can!) he'll have the talked off you by the evenings end, if he hasn't made you fall asleep by then.
  
  Biography:
  Ódhran was the born the eldest son of Art and Máire von Starkenburg on the 16th March, 1185 A.C. on the small island of Arán, in the Outer Parallel, a dominion of the Havenite Imperial Accord of Grozny. In 1192, his father was involved in a political controversy when, in his capacity as a notary for Lord Colm of Arán, the latter holding the consulate for that year, attempted to undermine a joint-initiative agreed a few years previous, which stipulated that all members of the Kreise would convey itself as a single body to the viceroy (in this case, Lord Spiel of Drakensreich) for any requested administrative changes relating to the islands. Although having been conquered by Haven a good four centuries ago, the political culture amongst the islanders was not tampered too heavily by the Havenite administration in Dragonsreach, for lack of need for a better system.
  
  With the forged seal as well as signatures uncovered (with Ódhran's father complicit in attesting to the validity of the signatures) by an ambassador from the young Lord Bruatar of Iona, who has declaimed that Colm intended to try and influence the viceroy to extend his consulship for another year, a 'League War' (a typical instrument used by the small island-states of the Outer Parallel for enforcing consistency with established practices) was launched against Colm and in the space of a few short weeks, Colm, his family and the vast majority of his administration, were remanded into custody to await trial for malfeasance. The resulting trial ensured the prosecution and imprisonment of all those involved in the conspiracy, leading his mother to take up her own job as a seamstress and for Ódhran to take up a job distributing newspapers, often met with a fair degree of ridicule from those awake to receive them whilst he attended school.
  
  At the onset of the 4th Daemonic War, Ódhran, like other men his age, was conscripted into an expeditionary force organised the Outer Parallel Kreise, who, as a collectively body, had reduced the age necessary for conscription so as to appease the authorities in Dragonsreach as to their earnest involvement in the war. As the war passed into its 6th year, Ódhran found his company, the 1st Arán Company, co-opted by a group of rather eccentric individuals, known as the Iris Company, led by the much-vaunted Sylvia, the Angel of Verdan, who a few years previous had fended off an army of undead from her eponymous namesake. Sylvia had ordered Ódhran's company to scout enemy forces near the town of Cannstatt, so as to get an idea of their fighting disposition in the region. Ódhran demonstrated his ability to Sylvia and informed her that they'd be more efficient, time-wise, if they utilised his ability as opposed to ANPRAC. After a successful reconnaissance and subsequent routing of the forces at Cannstatt, Sylvia requested that the young Arán join her squad and Ódhran remained with the Iris Company for the remainder of the war, enjoying a friendly, if ever-fretful relationship with this group of eccentric figures. Though he always was cautious, maybe even circumspect over some operations (especially the invasion of Saarema, later known as Operation Aquila), Ódhran always trusted the judgement Sylvia's judgement.
  
  After the war had concluded, and Ódhran parted ways with his companions with whom he had built a formidable bond, the young man found service in the administration of Lord Bruatar of Iona, as a way of making amends for the crime that his father had committed.
  
• 
  Class: Information Officer
  Far from the thick of the action, an Information Officer's role is to ensure that information passes expeditiously between the various flanks of the army and that section commanders are kept abreast of changes on the battlefield as well to ensure that lines of communication are kept intact.
  
  Abilities:
  Real-Time Information Relay (RTIR) Clone
  This ability allows for Ódhran to manifest an exact, incorporeal copy of himself that he can then use to attack to various persons or groups should the need arise. It's primary purpose is to facilitate the quick transfer of information (especially on a battlefield setting) between pertinent individuals, allowing them to adjust a given situation, whether to push onward or to retreat, as well as to relay messages from said persons i.e., to initiate a manoeuvre.
  
  Mental Manipulation
  If a person is conscious, Ódhran can mentally manipulate the person to divulge any knowledge that they currenly possess. It goes without saying of course that if they do not have the requisite information to answer the question, they will remain silent. This ability is incrementally useful the more a person goes up the chain of command.
  
  Weapons Proficiency:
  Ódhran shows proficiency with standard issue equipment.
  
  Equipment:
  n/A.
  
  
• 
  Character Theme:
  
  
  Others:
  Ódhran has a keen interest in hydrology.
  

 

[Malphaestus]

• I. General Info
• II. Personal Profile
• III. AMS & Proficiencies
• IV. Extras

• 
  Full Name: Alwyntyrix Petraeus.
  
  Alias: Marshal of the Astalon Order | Knight-Leper.
  
  Title / Profession: Hedge Knight, Excommunicated Monk.
  
  Age: 33.
  
  Height: 6'2.
  
  Race: Solarian Mutant.
  
  Nationality: Marethia, Groznyan.
  
  Allegiance: Formerly Astalon Order.
  
• 
  Personality:
  A zealous figure, even though the subject of his devotion is certainly seldom known. Travelling, by sword and word, to 'assess what it is to be.' What Alwyntyrix is, may depend on who they are, and not he. He is the mirror to the being, a student to the world, someone the world has yet to see. Once he was but merely a scholar reading texts already read and scripts already scribed, trying to gleam divine providence in lines where none could be found. Yet, they tried, and so he tried. That was his life before the fall of the Last of the True Great Knightly Orders- whatever mimics the Empire replaced them with be damned- ? All humanity since, was spent, and mysteries instead, fill the beak behind the mask, whatever knowledge found, must have been profound.
  Biography:
  Part 1: The White Raven
  
  "The White Raven."
  
  In Ur-Marethei they- the ancients who dwelled amidst what now is Marethia, in times before their cities, wonders, and grandeurs were burried beneath the toiling winds and the thrashing sands of the turbulent present- spoke of a White Raven. ​
  
  Marethia, a jewel beyond the empire's own heartlands; a sight to behold unlike any other. It's vast towers, palaces, and palicades enough to dwarf even the most prideful of men and women. And within those confines, whilst their warriors were not the kind of ilk capable of surmounting the warborn of the east, they produced from themselves great wonder. So much so, that their position within the empire dwarfs all others. Most of the elite find their wings here, amidst the infinite records of endless libraries where scholars regularly entertain their every waking moment. Discussing the importances of life, and the transcendentnesses of universal concepts. A land blessed even with its own geography, though seldom the topic goes beyond their vast dunes. Even so, the region is defended by great myriad ranges of bedrock and towering earthly spires to thwart the ambitions of would-be conquerors such as the former Jianki rulers of ancient eras. The land has kept them unto themselves, to develope as they see fit, and to produce wonders to spectacle all and themselves alike. Here, within the most royal of all regions, amidst the provincial capital of a once great civilization rendered into little but servitude, resides a soon-to-be born man by the name of Alwyntyrix. An utmost uncommon name, but such is to be expected from Jefri Petraeus, a scholar-warrior with few equals to his name. He had told his son Alwyntyrix, when he could speak, that it was a name with great meaning.
  
  As he grew, as did the growth of his father's impatience in him. Alwyntyrix studied, certainly, but his heart was never in the procedures itself. Finding loop holes, and excuses to wander the gardens, and peruse the nature, and to play with whichever noble visitor he could, had they someome in his own age-group to entertain him. He was, under many circumstances, a normal boy. But for a house as lavish as the Petraeus, ruled by a Patriarch such as Jefri, never would he be suited for the inevitable toils of rulership. Jefri saw before him a buffoon who'd agree to all who could sway him, and not an persona of gravitas so great as to keep the whole of a nation in line.
  
  Therefore, an adventurous fool amidst a world of politics and intrigue. Too wishful to gleam into the depths of the malice which hid beneath soothed smiles. He had studied his due, and exercised within the vast garden complexes of the Viceroy's palace as he saw it owed to him. But beneath the shallow facades, his father, the Great Viceroy of Marethia under the Imperial banner, could not see within him the qualities necessary to replace him upon the throne. He was no poor father, but neither was he the most loving. There would quickly grow distances between the two, ones which would eventually exacerbate. As young as he was, he saw it as an excuse to do as he had always done. Study, then take one of his many journeys. But as the situation changed, so too did Jefri's patience in his imbecilic descendent. At the age of 7, he was to be handed over to the Astalon Order's headquarters within Makübhaal, placed strategically along the sole passageway between Marethia and Jianki. The rest of the border overlooked by demanding and truly world-rending storms and mountains as furious as the jaws of great beasts. To climb the Makaamal Mountain Range as infantile as waging war on the dunes of inner Marethia.
  
  Alwyntyrix can remember it all so well, the journey there had been through grueling weather, sandstorms to bite the flesh from fellow men and women alike. Being noble, even if unwated, he was saved from such blisters and injury for now, placed within a pulled cart of lavish design and surprisingly hardy walls as he was. Though these hardy warriors saw no plight in their own tasks, clearly accustomed to far worse. As they ascended a mountain slope, too tight to even be comprehenesibly walked, their adventure was nearing its end. It would take three days, and once upon the flattened plateau upon which the Order's grand fortress domineers, overlooking a slope immediately down the adjoining valley between two former rivals. The perfect position from which to wage a defensive war and yet, it all seemed so empty. The Astalon Order, old beyond all knowing, the first bulwark against Jianki ambition into the south, now stagnant. Though, it did beg the question for why he, a recruit, had to traverse the side entrance, many times more impossible than simply walking up the gradual slope.
  
  'Safety concerns,' he had been told. But he was no ordinary fool, for he was one aware of his own position, but more importantly, the worldly circumstances: war between Marethia and Jianki no longer a possibility. Even at such a young age. His father would prefer it much better were he to simply die, and his brother- what had spurred the toking up of the cloth and the baptizement into the nebulous traditions of the order in the first place- could succeed him in peace. Alwyntyrix then, as he lie ragged after his arrival towards the Temple Order upon his haybale'd bedding, vowed 'never to uphold a name beyond his own. To cast aside whatever greatness he had once come from. Let them rule the nation as they wished, father and brother. Let it perish with them, if they so desire it to, it's got none to do with me, no more.'
  Part 2: Astalon to War
  
  The inner sanctum of Makübhaal were prestine in their solitude, all that was here were the shuffling of the robed and the learned across its refurbished marble tiles. As one would observe, from beneath one of the myriad columns which surround the sanctum, and support the dome above aloft, the past and success of this order would strike the psuche of any man. And so, now here he was, a monk to the cause, and a monk of war. Deprived of the world, for all he knew now was the arts of war to be fielded upon those who follow injustice paths, and the righteousness he must bring in order to grace the divine. He would study the infamously secret scriptures of 'that which is divine' and dialogue with fellow templars over a piece of bread and a pint of milk, before training through the evening and until noon, where further religious rituals would finalize the daily tedium. Within his life here, there was truly nothing. All he could see, should he wish it, and climb atop the battlements of Great Makübhaal, was that which was frozen and desolate, tundras far and wide, and to the south, inhospitable wasteland whose existence bewildered him little. He simply did not care.
  
  He was not sure of who he had become, or who he even was, any longer. He had attempted to start anew, but the ascenticism of the order, and the lack of expeditions, damepened the sense of accomplishment one would naturally strife for. To better the world, to see the true will be done. But the Empire had since regulated these fine holds of honour and humanity during their conquest of the world, and seeing as the Orders that yet remain were those strong enough to resist, they will ruin Astalon with a million strokes of the dagger.
  
  Alwyntyrix could no longer withhold his anger, the pen having been exclusive observer of his endless scriptures written and flown all throughout his small dormatory, would have to invite a new companion to its ranks. Alwyn of the Astolan Order had become no simple squire during his 27 years entombed within Marethia's mightiest stronghold, trained by Marethia's potentially strongest chivalric order. Within the organization, at least, he was respected. And with that respect, he darted through the myriad mazes which concluded the Great Makübhaal. At last, having ascended the two-hundred-and-seventy spiralstair steps to ascend the apex, where the Grandmaster resides, atop the Dome of Eternity.
  
  "Grandmaster," Alwyn had roared, as loud indeed as the door which he ripped open to enter the circular room atop the very peak of Great Makübhaal. Before him, many steps away, as far away, in fact, as possible from the door, comfortably seated within a chair of simple wood and of simple making. Ascentics they were, so luxury was never to be held on to. "Alwyn, my most honoured Marshal, you arrive with the speed of Antonina..." The Grandmaster continued to consume himself within his papers, never to alow his glance to wander. But within Alwyn his convictions were never solid, and had relied on the goodness of the monastery, not its faith. He was a blasphemer, but for what? Certainly there were an answer in the world, but it was not here. Had the Grandmaster seen his face, a slight whince would've garnered him suspicion.
  
  Thankfully for all, the letter was an important one, and as soon as the Grandmaster laid it back upon his desk, he rose up from his seat, and retook the letter in hand, tossing it within the Khamulakharn: the blazer of the righteous peoples. A furnace of sorts, though acting more as an enclosed spire which spews infernoan torrents of vicious flames above the grand fortress. Alwyn was the first to test the waters, though the face of the Grandmaster too soothed, as usual, to truly know of what resided within his mind. "Is it... A rebellion perhaps?" The grandmaster walked through his vast room, surveying the many piles of maps, logistics documents, finances, and metallurgic discoveries procured over the span of 600-years. Alwyn was befuddled watching the pillar of the entire Chivalric Order in such a muse. With neither want nor will to interrupt, he remained estute before the entrance, since closed, to await the Grandmaster's true statements.
  
  It would take many minutes for him, an aged yet unparralleled warrior such as he, to come to grips with what was to come. And as he did, he finally gazed into Alwyn's far too juvenile eyes; radiant and glistening. His face, however, serious and regimented. Though none would know, Grandmaster Alaster would hold a heavy heart, finely coated with a musing grin, as he came to tell his prodigy, his legacy, Alwyn, of what was to come:
  
  "War, Alwyn. Let is speak not as Master and Follower. But as friends do amongst friends, for we may never have such a chance again," Alwyn's eyes had once gloomed, whether with or without intent is something not even he may know. But with the worst actually presenting itself as the truth, it all fell deep. Deep down into that chasm which is the soul, all ambition rendered nothing, as his heart, breath, thought, and emotions developed further, and further, into those dark places. Into the void- "But worry not, you shan't do. I'm older, so I'll die before you!" Alastar laughed in gregorious fashion, from the heart, and through the throat. "A fine rhyme, if I do say so my self." The laugh, as infectious as it is said to be, soon spread, and Alawyn laughed a reply. "Ha! Clever my ass! Whatever it is we're judging, you'll always be the last..."
  
  A faint silence broached between the two, as war was seeping into their minds even in stillness; a force so great that silence itself is subservient. For in silence, thoughts wander, and in war, all that can be thought, is that of war.
  
  "You have to be the last," Alwyn repeated, his robed form- clad in beggar's cloth, warmed only by the structural superbidity of Great Makübhaal- obscuring the complexities of humanity which ravaged him in the stillnesses of the silence. He was thankful, to Alastar, for allowing his pupil this moment of expressing himself. But it would take many more moments before the next words of his own could be uttered.
  
  A faint inhale of the nose followed Alwyn's next words, shook in deliverance: "Because I have to deliver you, so that you can return to those who have felled-"
  
  "Do not worry boy," Alastar responded thusly. Walking slowly, until he can reach out his arm, and place it firmly upon Alwyn's shoulder. There was no hiding the minute tears which flowed from this otherwisely perfect Templar, he had not seen anything but war, after all. It was nothing Alastar could fault him. "But, you must understand that the message of the Ko'unn is beyond any sacrifice." Alwyn remained silent, and Alastar allowed him so. Understanding that he would be in need to time to prepare himself for his first turmoil. And it simply had to have been the Daemon War.
  
  Within the room, the ascetic, until now devoted to the way of Alon in all fashion concievable. Never having wavered. But now, from atop the cupola of sanctitude, where only those well-dressed and well-worded in piety may dwell, he looks through the windows, and sees Great Makübhaal. The mightiest fortress to ever stretch the land, and soon, it will end.
  
  The only thought he could comprehend, in those moments of melancholic dread was, "How the Empire schemes."
  Part 3: The White Book
  
  The White Book does not yet desire to speak of the past.
  
  Part 4: What Was To Come
  
  Alwyntyrix was once a normal human, tossed into the world without forethought, destined to deal with their existence any way they could. And so he did, but yet, war would then take Great Makübhaal, and the order would since be weakened. With the Great Grandmaster Alaster slain, the order will shatter. But not before, at the very least, his memory is allowed to wither into all hearts. His body, retireved from distant conflicts, shipped to the since ravaged ruin to the congregation's left-side as they ferried the valorous paragon down the slope, lying prestine amidst a finely fashioned casket, deep into the Kab'mahn Valley. All Marshals, Alwyntyrix amongst them, lit the torches to show their way. The way to the Deep Grave.
  
  As they traversed the snowy land, walls bedrock to the left and right of them all, both nature and men were silent. Thoughts to the past no doubt plaguing all, plaguing most, perhaps, the stalwart Marshal at front, who at his side stands a rival of mediocre quality, but ambitious dispositions. Alwyn knew of all this, but cared little. His task, alone, was to lay, at last, respect unto lord. All else could come after.
  
  After a day's walk, a small hole in the path presented itself, and most importantly, still upon Marethian boundries; to be used for burying. The hole, seemingly trivial, but unlike what one may see, it is what one may never see which fears. To where it connects, or how deep it perhaps delves, is for none too say. It is the Deep Grave. But Alaster, in supreme respect of his valour and service, shall rest here. Alike all Grandmasters of their station, for they shall journey where none have gone before. And test their mettle and brawn with the deities themselves if time allows.
  
  The ceramony long since over, and for some, it did not take long for ambition to spur and their 'sadness' to settle. For others, it took far too long. Alwyntyrix had at last made do with loss, yet the temple was aflame with intrigue and political maneuvering the mere moment he released himself from his meditative isolation. Disgusted by man, yet impressed by the nature of individuals, he would leave the temple and study the White Book as he did.
  
  And thus the wandering began.
  
  
• 
  Class: HERALD.
  A frontline brawler capable of dealing with swathes of the undesired, but also to eliminate high-valued targets.
  To lay fear into the hearts of the weak, as if beast descends to prey upon mankind. Terror to spread, an arrow to unfeather.
  The White Book decides the rest.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ẃ̶̧̧̹͓͎̘̞͖̜̬͚̟͔̺͓̜͓̳̮͍̘̣͕͕̜͍̗̖̔͊̑͗̈̈͒̍̏̿̎̾̽͋͂͗͐͐͛̍̈́̔͌̐̋͂͆̋́͛̅͛͋͑͘̕͜͠H̶̨̢̢̢̨̢̤͙͈̬͎͖̰̩͈̺͖̯̠̬̥̠̦̰̻̹̞̝̺̜͙̦̭̪̼͎̻͇̝̪̩̬̘̣̻͌͜ͅI̸̡̡̨̠̤̜͈͎͉͔̞̭͓͍̻͚̮̗̺͌̌̿̓͜͠Ţ̸̨̡̫̝͕̙̪̼͍̣̹̙̣͍̖̮͎̲̮̘͔͔̲̫͈̼̭̣͚̤̪̰͓̦͎̝̘͒̈́͗̍͗̃̉̇̊̃͆͜͜͜͜͜ͅͅͅȨ̸̡̺̼̦̯̦͈̲̬̘͚̂͒͜͠ ̴͙̹̠̫̭͊̅͑̊̂̔̃͆͗̅͂̀̊͌̒̾͑̌̀̀͌̕̚͘͜͠͝͝B̶̡̢̛̙͓̪̻̘̼͈̯̺̘͖̯̹͈̳̜̙̣̬̻̏̀̓̎̅̈́͒̑̋́̄̈͗̌̄̏̂̿̈́́̅̈́̈̾͑̽͒̀̊̏͊̃̇̽̓̑̓̈́̓͒̿͘̚̕͘̚͜͠͝͠Ơ̶̪͎͙͂͊̔̽̍͋̀̈́͆͆̈́͒̒͗̋̌̓̒̐͐̓̈́͐͌̀̽̇͑̅̏̏̔̊̅̃̊̋̍̑͛̄̄̈͘͘̕͠͠͝ͅỌ̵̧̼͇̳̘͚̙̼͍͖̘͚̜̺͉̳̫̪͕̘̙͇͖̖̜̙̬̥̻̫͔̖̯͉̣̗̬̪̪̆̽̈́̂̓̒͋̈́̕̕͜͜͠ͅḲ̸̨̧̛͉̺̥͓͚͕͓͚̗͇̱̱̝̍̉̍̔͑̍͋̈́̍̾̔͒͋͘͝​
  
  
  
  Weapons Proficiency:
  + Two-Handed Weapon Mastery: Alwyn was a master swordsman.
  During his time within the Astalon Order any two-handed blade was as if made for him.
  
  Equipment:
  + Embroidered Mask: An embroidered mask mimicking facial features, typical amongst leper victims.
  + Concealing Cloak: A full-body cloak, to envelope the entirety of the person, save for the face. Made of black-tiger fur.
  + Regal Chivalric Monastery Full-Plate: Worn and rusted at parts, simply due to the passaging of time. Were he to have tools, he could repair it.
  
  
• 
  Character Theme:
  
  
  Others:
  (Anything else of note.)