Fantasy King After King (CS)

Siren77 · Jun 16, 2019

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Name:

Age:

Weight:

Height:

Role:

Tribal Bloodline:

Looks: (image preferably, but description is allowed)

Personality:

Skills: (Besides magic)

Sorcery Type: (Leave blank for now!)

Methods of Fighting: (How do they fair in combat? What tactics will they use?)

Weapon of Choice:

Hopes for the Future:

History:

Siren77 · Jun 16, 2019

Name: Arvin Hashima

Age: 21

Weight: 15.71 Stone

Height: 188 Centimeters

Role: King of Örn

Tribal Bloodline: Abbadon
Stature: Given Arvin’s rather impressive background of training in combat, it’s no surprise that he’s built up a firm body to support him. Defined and chiseled features adorn his muscular structure, providing an intimidating build that towers in comparison to most other normal men.

It’s not just for show though, as every fiber of tissue is packed with the strength and determination that Arvin learned to harness and use to drive him in the toughest of times.

Noticeable Features: Aside from the shaggy mop of black hair, and the outlined scruff of a beard in equal color that compliment his ever so slightly tanned skin, there’s very little else to look at. No scars of which to boast and tell stories of, no impressive marks, one might even think this “warrior” to be coddled from combat! The most Arvin harbors is a faint scar across his right cheek.

However, those who were familiar with his parents would recognize that Arvin’s facial structure resembles his father’s greatly. Not only this, but his emerald green eyes were almost a carbon copy of his mother’s, glinting and shining with emotion in an all too obvious way.
Well mannered, yet temperamental. Arvin has been raised since birth to fit the mentality and actions of a King, being often times polite and reverent amongst others. Though this is only when he is placed among people he is far from well acquainted with, and you’ll find that he’s a lot less proper when around dear friends. In this case, a much more teasing nature comes about. He enjoys cracking jokes and having fun amongst others, never truly enjoying trying to act like someone he isn’t. This might be due to his younger age, or simply because his father was the exact same in nature among himself and his brother, and among family friends as well.

All excuses aside, he has a deep and obvious love for those around him who have supported him both in this time of great strife and long before. With this love comes respect and admiration, as each person close to him has gone on to teach him so much and further aid his development as Örn’s King.

However on the opposite side of the coin in the face of adversity and enemy, Arvin takes a mighty turn for the worst. He is quick to anger, as expressed above, and can be turned to a more aggressive and vile standpoint should someone or something bring that out in him. Unfortunately, this stress knows no bounds, and should he already be in an infuriated mood he tends to take it out on those around him. Arvin’s temper was one of the many things his father warned him about before his death, but he never truly would know the extent of it until now.

He’s always quick to apologize after acting out, and refuses to let ill will stain a friendship or other form of relationship. Arvin is a man of good faith and never wants to let those around him down through his actions, be it intentional or otherwise. What’s more is he never wishes to be the cause of suffering for any one person, and would sooner burn the throne he sits upon than be a pestilence upon his people.

All other lives are deemed more valuable than his own, so Arvin is more than willing to put any misfortune on himself than the Races of The Realm. No price is too high for him to pay, even the ever present threat of death of which his enemies present to him both in dream and reality. This is what burns his drive to the cause, not for his own benefit, but that he might snuff out the terrible and untimely misfortune of others.
As the new Warrior King, and Disciple of The Gods, Arvin is trained and knowledgeable in a great many things. All of which were blessed to him through his father, and with some aid from The Gods that his mind might be enlightened to their wisdom.

Combat is obviously where he reigns supreme, due to his bloodline of the Abaddon’s. Which is rather humorous, as that was actually his Mothers tribal origin as to his fathers which was Inviad. Moving along though, he is expert in fighting with just about any weapon, and even when presented without one he is still able to fight in hand to hand through various styles of grappling and a fighting style similar to modern day Muay Thai.

Arvin is also well versed in any and all customs of the races in the realm, as to be respectful to their customs and cause no unintentional conflict. Not only this, but his father also taught him the basics of some of the various races’ languages to better communicate directly as opposed to using interpreters.

He’s also a fantastic negotiator and political figure, meaning he can take the front of any political issues. But for the most part he leaves that sort of thing to his brother to handle in the event that there are more pressing matters for himself to attend to.
Sorcery Type: Arvin has received the blessing of The Fire God Kasai, which took place in the temple of flame on his sixteenth birthday. As such, he is now skilled in using her flames to aid him in battle and any other situation he might need them. For just as the flames guided the King home, now they shall guide him to victory.

Methods of Fighting: Arvin is a calculated and intuitive sort of fighter, taking a preference of analyzing his opponents if but for a moment before charging in to the fray. This gives him time to look for weaknesses and/or imperfections in defenses that he might be able to exploit. Once he has a game plan, he’s all in, taking no moment to hesitate or second guess himself in the slightest. He’ll Fight to the bitter end, regardless how the turnout of a battle is looking, and will stand by his allies no matter what.

Arvin has perfected mix ups, altering his attack strategy from weapons, to physical strikes, and of course his flame magic. Any opportunity he has to surprise his opponent, he takes it.

Combining this array of skills together, it makes for a strategy that is all too satisfying for him to perform. Seeing the frustration build in an opponent’s eyes, tearing them apart piece by piece until they are only able to recognize their inevitable defeat just moments before it occurs.

Weapon of Choice:
Champions Blade: A sturdy and war torn blade that still gleams with the Heavens light. It has been the weapon used by the Kings since the beginning, and has succeeded in many battles. Now Arvin’s, the blade works to his will, and poses a lightweight build that provides quick attacks and movements to parry.

The Testaments of The Kings long past day the Blade was crafted from some of Terran’s rarest steel, forged in the hottest earthly flames Kasai could muster, the blunt winds of Argus to stoke the flames until the design was perfected, and then solidified in the waters of Nera.
Born on the 12th of May in the Five Hundred and Fiftieth year, Arvin Hashima was destined to be The Gods servant. Though it was deemed in the ages long past that no bloodline and no tribe would bring forth The Prophet of The Gods, Arvin is the fourth generation in his family to be brought forward as The King of Örn. Being the ninth to lead the people of the realm, he was to spend most of his years preparing and learning all he could so that one day he would be ready.

Around his third year of living, he would be gifted a brother that would become an unshakable companion alongside him. Together they trained, and learned under their father. However, it seemed that the price of this companion, was that of his dear mother Queen Mira. She was to pass after being afflicted by one of the many plagues brought about by The Void’s will, which took her life six months after Lyrren’s birth.

Kungen would be the primary caretaker of the two boys, training them both for the responsibilities they would harbor with Arvin as The King and Lyrren as The Prince. Though the more that the two were gifted different challenges, the more Arvin began to envy his brother for the greater freedoms he was allowed. While Lyrren was taken with The King on diplomatic missions and even minor battles, Arvin was forced to stay in the Kingdom where his responsibilities lie. He was always told the same phrase, that the people he was destined to serve needed him to be prepared as the day might be approaching faster than anyone could predict.

Arvin of course brushed this off in his mind, but obeyed his father’s wishes to the fullest extent, though a seed of resentment was to be planted in his heart against his father and the very throne itself. He wanted to explore, to be free of any obligation to the people of Örn, that he might be as a true warrior in practice! Warriors didn’t need to prepare for political interactions and religious customs like this, no they were free to act only in the face of action. This was he life he so desperately wished for, and was willing to do just about anything to make it a reality. So much so, that he was willing to put a plan into action.

Arvin had turned over the idea of pushing the responsibility of becoming the future King to someone else, someone of equal nobility that could handle the responsibility just as well as he could. Namely of course, Lyrren. It was the perfect scheme, surely his father his could see reason within the deal! Then Arvin would be a free man to take on the tasks of a Prince, as opposed to the overbearing responsibility of being a King over a whole nation of people. Granted while good in concept to his own biased mind, it wouldn’t turn out as well as he hoped.

After approaching his father with the idea, which transpired just days before that great battle that was to be The Kings end, he found himself on the receiving end of a disappointed and rather angry glare from his wise father. A much more vibrant and heated discussion took place, that was more one sided due to his father scolding and reprimanding the irresponsibility of the foolish boy. The point was made extremely clear that this responsibility, title, and destiny was not his to freely give away.

The Gods had said in the beginning of the first Kings reign that the title of their Prophet could be extended to any person that harbored the skills and spirituality necessary to be worthy of it. The reign of Kings did not belong to any one bloodline or tribe.

Arvin was met with the bitter but enlightening taste of defeat, recognizing his place in the wrong and humbled himself to apologize to The King. In the midst of his star struck dreams, he had forgotten that the will of The Gods was absolute above all else. To deny them was to deny life itself. No matter how daunting the task, all must obey them or suffer the consequences.

After years of trying to reject the title and finding a way out of it, the boy would only come to truly accept this responsibly upon himself just days after his father’s death and that strange final meeting with him in the tomb. How cruel that at that point he was all alone, with no one to understand the weight on him save for his brother. Hell a portion of the people didn’t even think it was his to have! And at that point, he knew of the demon horde that threatened the land in an Apocalypse foretold by The Gods themselves. How ironic it was that after all his days of yearning for combat, he did truly see the light and understood that peace was a much better alternative.

Thankfully he wouldn’t have to be on his own for long. As soon as he received his first instruction from The Gods, he set to work scouring the land for able individuals who could meet the needs he required from close allies. He called upon old friends, and even approached new allies who’s reputation sparked great interest. Together, they would take on the oncoming struggles. Together, they would purge the darkness that threatened to swallow the light. Together, they would realize The Gods Will.

Theme:

Ramjammer · Jun 17, 2019

Name: Nemir Cesti.
Applicable Titles: Lady. Judicator. Captain Buzzkill.
Tribal Bloodline: Inviad.
Gender: Female
Age: 46
Alignment: Lawful Neutral.
Role: Judicator of Terran. Royal Knight.
Nemir is rather unassuming in her general appearance, bearing no distinguishing features save for the tell tale crookedness of a nose broken and healed repeatedly. Thickly braided, brown hair stands in even contrast to the woman's dark skin and seems to be the only vanity that Nemir allows herself, as she spends and inappropriate amount of time maintaining it.

A lifetime spent training for, and engaging in battle has instilled a deep respect for labor in Nemir, and it shows plainly in her physique. An assortment of scars covers the Judicator's well-muscled frame, many the result of near constant battle, and a few from various mishaps.

She trains relentlessly with her blade, a strict practitioner of Martial skill and war tactics that go hand in hand with her religious upbringing.

A noticeably deep voice accompanies the woman's elegant speech. Often giving her words a greater sense of gravitas than others.

Nemir chooses to don a fearsome set of black armor in battle. The snarling fangs and abundance of claws certainly give the Judicator the appearance of a Demon more than a Knight. But its effect is unmistakable. Fear, and a sense of foreboding are as good a weapon as any blade in Nemir's eyes.
Positive Personality Traits: Honest. Dependable. Patient. Stable.
Negative Personality Traits: Arrogant. Vindictive. Fanatical. Ruthless.

"There is Iron in your blood, Squire. A paltry amount. No more than can be used to forge a single nail. But it is there. And by that single nail is your soul tethered to your bones. Those same bones, are filled with minerals. Hidden away under your flesh, the way soil and stone hide precious ores. The Earth you serve does not merely rest under your feet, boy. That Nail forged from your blood, and those Minerals found in your bones do not belong to you. They belong to the Earth. They belong to Terran. He has left his mark on you, from the very day that you're born. And he will take your blood, your bones, and the Iron therein back when you die. You may as well give your life and all the devotion in your heart for the duration."

-Lady Nemir Cesti.

Fanaticism, an unshakable set of morals, and a willingness to condemn those deemed too lawless for good company, doesn't earn a person many friends. At least, not in most parts of Örn. Certainly not in the wake their recent war with the Demons and the Warrior King's death. With the sundering of the Real came the degradation of Örn's morals, and a certain distaste for the law. And especially there came disdain for those that upheld it.

Nemir knows this. And for that reason, she unflinchingly walks the path set before her, as great change can only come through great hardship.

Ambition resides deep within the woman. Gnawing at her insides and clawing just beyond the boundries of her own conciousness. She keeps it well tethered. Constrained and tempered by a cool demeanor and a critical manner. Nothing worthwhile has ever been earned through haste, and Nemir embodies this in her seemingly boundless patience. She approaches tasks and decision making carefully, not wanting to worsen things with misguided haste. This in turn makes Nemir slow to act. But with her gaze set firmly on the future, each choice the woman makes can be felt long after the deed is done.

That limitless patience however, hides a deep rooted vindictiveness within the woman. All slights, no matter how small are committed to Nemir's memory. Never forgotten and allowed to fester within her heart. She weighs each crime, internally compiling a list of offensives for one and all. The higher the count grows, the harder Nemir works against her foes. Often bringing the very Laws that she so reveres, to bear in their full crushing weight against them.

As a Judicator, Nemir holds an intimate knowledge of Örn's laws and is one to make use of hidden loopholes and doublespeak in order to get her way. A level of underhandedness not uncommon in her line of work. She believes that this says less about her, and more about the state of Humanity. Flawed beings create equally flawed laws, no matter how noble their intent. In this regard, Nemir believes that only the laws of the Gods are truly without reproach.

Nemir fervently worships the God Terran. Her House has long boasted a string of individuals particularly close to the Earth God and Nemir is no different. Impressions of potential ends often plague her mind, especially in her dreams. She meditates often as a result, studying and weighing these probable, yet faint futures. Some consider it a from of subtle precognition. An ability to scry the future and bring about the changes one most desires. Nemir understands the truth of the matter. The Blessing of Terran is not so much future sight, as it is an odd form of heightened instincts. Allowing those touched to read their environment in muted ways, and better avoid coming obstacles.

But Nemir does little if anything to put a halt to these beliefs. Örn is a land of deep rooted spirituality, and reverence for its Gods. And a Blessing is just that. To shun the reverence her people hold for House D'eshem's closeness to their God, would be to shun the God himself. An offense inconceivable.

Unsurprisingly, Nemir does not get on well with Nobility . She finds most of them too soft, and too degenerate to be deserving of their titles. To nothing of the burdens of War would be forgivable if Örn was at peace. But the constant turmoil plaguing the realm leaves little excuse for the lack of involvement from many of the Houses and those that lead them. Practicing swordsmanship for the sake of entertainment and one's own ego is an especially foul offense in the woman's eyes. The matter of the blade is not one that Nemir takes lightly. And to see the art reduced to a mere hobby among the Houses grates on her especially.

That is to say nothing of their distance from the people that they supposedly serve. While Nemir cannot be considered the most warm hearted of individuals, her concern for Örn's territories and the people that reside in them are foremost in her mind. And the concerns of the people that she's sworn herself to protect can't be taken care of from atop a self made pedestal. Calloused hands, and a listening ear have garnered Nemir more support from the common folk, far more than a storied bloodline ever could.
A drooling mass of fangs and fur, Ghan can be counted among Nature's many mistakes. But as far as Nemir is concerned, the Hyena is a pleasure to have around. Sporting a pair of ears just too small for his head, and a set of teeth slightly too big for his mouth, Ghan is a disproportionate mess. Prone to knocking over furniture and tackling guests, Ghan spends his days terrorizing everyone on with sloppy kisses and overwhelming affection. Hyena's aren't particularly common pets in most parts of Örn, but the can be spotted here and there. The large chuckling beasts make for good war hounds and are excellent trackers. Ghan is no different in either of those regards. Sporting almost as many battle scars as his Mistress, the Hyena's bite is something to be feared. His constant laughing bark amidst the carnage of war only makes the ordeal that much worse.
"All things die child. You stand here before me and call that unfair? Little fool that you are, you cannot see death for what it is. There is no greater fairness, nor any greater equalizer than the embrace of the grave."

-Aurelius Cesti. Last Patriarch of House D'shem.

Most Children look to the future. They consider the weight of their name. They envision the path forged by their ancestors that lays sprawling before them. They dream of what they might build and add on to their own House.

But all that Nemir knew, and all that she ever foresaw was the end of her own bloodline.

House D'shem was once proud. It was once powerful. Its ties to the Tribe of Inviad was more than clear. House D'shem produced generations of Spiritual leaders. Priests and Caliphates all, the once noble house stood as an example of Spirituality and kinship with the Gods. A closeness to the Tribe of Abbadon since a time unwritten only further increased their sway. House D'shem birthed a caste of Warrior-Priests unyielding in their strength and unshakable in their conviction.

Those were truly the glory days. Where evil sought to creep into the cracks of society, House D'shem would loose its Sons and Daughters upon it, beating back the dark and restoring order. It was simple, and moreover it was right.

But when one spends too long with their heads in the clouds, they soon forget that their feet still touch the earth. House D'shem had always been small. Seeing no need to expand, nor expressing the interest to. Their sole interest was and would ever be the protection of the realm. To right all things wrong. And to rout the Void and its horrors wherever they might appear. What greater glory could there be, than service to one's own Gods?

And so it was. And so it would be. Each engagement dwindling their numbers and weakening their grip on their already shrinking territory.

But House D'shem would not be swayed. Not from the path that each member saw so vividly laid out before them. There had always been rumors surrounding the odd family. How each successive generation produced an heir capable of foreseeing things to come. They would always remain so. Rumors and the prattling of Housewives with nothing better to do. Yet the House's insistence on following a path that spelled their ultimate demise seemed almost uncanny. Every soul eerily fixated on a point in the future where they claimed that the Gods would no longer need them.

If House D'shem knew something that no one else did, it was strictly between the Gods and they. The world still turned, and men still lived their lives. Wars came and went, and the House retreated finally into itself and dwindled further.

By the time Aurelius Cesti was born, all that he had to his name were overgrown wild lands, a sword that had known nothing but the taste of blood and a crumbling Keep perched atop a wind-beaten cliff. And all that he had to pass onto his only daughter was more of the same.

As a child, Nemir saw an unfairness in her lot. Born to a slowly dying bloodline and plagued by dreams of any possible end that it might reach. Life was bleak, and it was cold. Aurelius, stern and unyielding merely assured her that this was the mark of their House. One bright, and filled with life, now dying like embers from a fire left in the cold. There was little else that he could give her. Her Mother, sick of her Husband's grim insistence to kill what remained of his heritage left home when Nemir was scarcely a year old.

"She doesn't even look like me. When I look in this child's eyes, all that I see is an emptiness. Keep her. She's cursed to become like her Father, no matter what I do."

A childhood with no Mother is difficult on a child. And a childhood where everyone in the Village knew that she was gone merely because she didn't want you was far harder. Nemir doesn't recall her childhood with great fondness. Between the village gossip, and her Father's stern teachings she realized, even from a young age that nothing was gained without great cost.

The only real credit that Nemir could give to her Father is that he never ceased teaching her. And that despite his feelings concerning the death of his own bloodline, there was a small and unspoken part of him that wanted Nemir to become something greater than he.

Aurelius taught Nemir to read and write. He spoke constantly of the God's teachings. Ensuring that the young girl wouldn't be left ignorant to what had once made them great. She practiced swordsmanship, hunting and tracking. All t eo prepare for the day that would eventually see her out into a world that had no real use for her. But that, he told her again and again, didn't matter. For the Gods still needed House D'shem and so they still needed Nemir.

Her coming of age was a bleak affair. The passing of age old burdens, collecting dust from one set of shoulders to the other.

"Take Raumspalter now that you are old enough. And make whatever life that it will allow you to. That blade, and the Gods will see fit to determine what you become. I hope it's something far greater than I."

There were very little options available to Nemir then. Her Father had been a soldier, but not a particularly notable one. All he'd passed down to Nemir was some knowledge of blade work and a reverence for the Gods.

A Judicator seemed as good a choice as any. But their numbers were low for a multitude of reasons. They were picky about their stock, training took a lifetime, and not everyone survived it. Nemir was young, she wasn't exactly remarkable but was willing to try, and she expected to die, eventually. It had stopped mattering to her a long while back.

It was almost fitting. The last Daughter of House D'shem seeking a place among the same caste of Warriors it had a hand in creating. The irony was almost poetic. But it was mostly bitter.

True to form, not all of Nemir's fellow students made it through training. The clever ones quit once they saw what lay ahead of them. The foolish died in their stead. It didn't matter to Nemir in the end. She could scarce recall their names or faces. Training was better than sitting around contemplating ones own death. Praying provided the comfort that a family rightfully should have. Becoming a Judicator quickly changed from a task meant to pass the time until Nemir's inevitable demise and instead became as close a reason to living as the woman could muster.

It became an easy role to fall into. A simple ideal to uphold. Over the years, Nemir developed an affinity for Terran. Viewing the God's mastery over earth and stone as a spiritual stability. Something that she needed, and something that she was willing to offer the world.

For good or for Ill.

Nemir proved to be efficient at her job. She was untested, but refused to remain that way for long. Her blood belonged to Terran, and she would see it returned to the God as offering one way or another. But in the end, Nemir spilled far more blood than she lost. She would restore order, forcibly if necessary to whatever town or village needed. It was the one thing that she was good at.

Nemir's foreboding appearance struck fear into weak hearts more than it offered reassurance. As a result, she became something of a small legend. Not in the sense that the woman would nobly appear in a burst of light to save tortured souls. But more that she'd rise from the pits of Hell to drag the lawless there kicking and screaming.

The Judicator didn't really mind. If local superstition was enough to keep the peace, Nemir was happy to let it be so. But someone, somewhere always sought to test their luck. And on those days, Nemir would appear with Ghan in tow. Together, they would put blade and tooth to the necks of anyone hoping to subvert the laws of the land and the Gods for their own gain.

It was simple, and it was right.

Such was her ceaseless devotion to maintaining peace that Nemir's work did not go unnoticed by those that ruled the Realm. The woman held a particular distaste for Nobility, due in no small part to the prolonged death of her own. But a great deal of it stemmed from the fact that Noble Houses were notorious for stirring the pot and trying to use their names to avoid their rightful punishment.

But a summons from the Warrior King could not be ignored, no matter how much Nemir may have wanted it. And so she resigned herself to the Honor as best she could.

He was an oddly charming man. Bidding her welcome into his castle as if she were an old friend and recounting tales of her deeds as if he was but a child hearing of them for the first time. It was an appreciation that Nemir wasn't quite used to and she was unsure of how to deal with any of it. A welcome change, from fearful glances and whispers. But the man's energy was something to behold as well.

Nemir merely scoffed in a light-hearted manner, assured the man that she was doing nothing more than as the Gods directed her to and attempted to wrestle the King's firstborn son's hand out of Ghan's slobbering mouth. Even if the Hyena didn't mind a child climbing onto his back and riding him around like a Horse, Nemir DID.

The King's voice grew soft, hushed as if he were revealing a secret just then. Nemir was forced to leave a then young Arvin to wrestle with Ghan as she gave the man her undivided attention. He spoke solemnly and cryptically, but the woman knew a prophecy when she heard one. How long had she been forced to sift through the wreckage of her own night terrors to discern the truth? How long had her House ruled merely from its closeness with the unknown? This was one and the same. The King spoke, and Nemir listened.

Serving the Crown hadn't been on Nemir's list of priorities, but it was a task she had no fear of. A Judicator roaming the lands closest to the Throne would certainly be welcome. And why wouldn't the King choose one of the Order's most dedicated? Part of Nemir suspected that the King found her tendency to make people nervous funny, but she never got the chance to ask him directly.

Well over a decade passed before War came to Örn in greater ferocity than anyone had ever seen. The rolling fields, hills and mountains were awash with fighting. Villages were razed overnight, and countless souls were lost in the storm of chaos.

Killing Demons was simpler than killing men in that Demons did not waste time begging for their lives. They sought to cause as much pain as they could, and where one would fall his brother would kick aside his corpse to take his place. Raumspalter had known battle since it was first forged, but Nemir idly wondered if the blade had seen quite as much as it did during the Demon's greatest incursion.

They blackened the sky. Screaming heresy and threatening only doom. The sky was black and dark, the sun long blotted out by the mass of bodies. Nemir had never been so certain of her own death. For miles, onto the horizon the Void's army stretched. There were not enough men and women in the Kingdom to fight them and there never would be.

Nemir could never say how long she fought. Hours stretching on without end. Possibly days. Few lived to speak of that last great battle, and all wished that they could erase it from memory. Raumsplater grew heavier with each swing, and Nemir knew that soon she'd be unable to lift it at all. Death had come for her, and for every man and woman around her. There was nothing else to be done.

She was right, in a way. Death came, descending from the sky with terrible intent. But it had come for but one man. All the rest were nothing but obstacles in the face of the Demon's true prize.

The King had fallen. Every drop of his blood, fallen to the ground and his last breath torn from his lungs. As if they'd never been there at all, the Demons retreated in a single mass. Their job had been done to great, and awful effect. There was no King, no Prophet to guide all that remained of Örn through the coming times. Countless had been slain, and the Realm was in shambles. A vigil for their now dead Prophet and the coronation of his eldest son did little if anything to soothe the hurt. The Kingdom devolved steadily into chaos and Nemir felt deep in her bones that nothing could ever fix it.

There was no longer a place for her at the Castle. She'd sworn her service to a now dead King, and the woman had little desire to look after his son while everything went to Hell. Assuring herself that Arvin was at least smart enough to seek help from someone more capable should his new responsibilities be too daunting, Nemir struck out into the Wilds of Örn with a grave purpose.

Crops had been burned, and the people starved. Brigands roamed the Highways and Nobles cloistered themselves behind the walls of their ostentatious homes, hoping to ride out the coming Storm. But Nemir knew that there was no escaping what would come next. The Demonspawn had vowed to return. They vowed to destroy whatever remained of Örn and with it every soul in the Realm. Nemir had no means to stem the tide of Chaos, and she had no intention to. All that the Judicator could do was to ease the Kingdom's suffering as they prepared for the end.

Skills: Judicator
The Law doesn't keep itself, and it is the fatal flaw of man to try and avoid its gaze. Where words and ink will not sway the hearts of the guilty, blood and steel can.

Nemir stands as but one of many Judicator's spread out over the Kingdom of Örn. Not so much an occupation as it is a way of life, to be counted among the ranks of the Kingdom's Judicators is an honor highly sought out by Örn's most pious citizens. The laws of the realm can be recited from front to back by any among their number. And the willingness to enact them runs deep in every soul. A ruthless, and almost fantical devotion to Justice, Order, and above all else, the teachings of the Gods is but standard fare for a Judicator. Nemir is no different.

Martial prowess comes part and parcel to those that call themselves a Judicator. The Laws of the land, and the Laws of the Gods exist for a reason. Any that fall outside their boundaries, or seek to subvert those holy words long ago written down, must be brought to justice by any means. And if the guilty are unwilling to face the justice as deemed fit by Örn's Courts, then they will be sent to face that Justice before the Gods themselves in short order.

Wilderness Survival A Judicator is on the road almost as often as they are in the comfort of their own home, if not more. Evil does not rest, and so Nemir has no excuse to sit idle while it works tirelessly. A comfortable Inn isn't always guaranteed during her travels, and so Nemir has learned to make do in the wilds of Örn. Hunting, trapping and fishing keep the stomach full. And knowing how to construct both a fire and shelter keeps the cold and beasts well away.
Weapon of Choice: Nemir can scarcely recall a time when she did not know Raumspalter's familliar weight. A comfort in those times when she felt most unsure. The Greatsword knows well the taste of blood. An ancient family Heirloom, Raunspalter has seen more wars, more battles, and more death than any single person can ever attest to. And after generations of gorging itself on the lifeblood of the unworthy, Raumspalter now rests in the hands of House D'Shem's last living member. When Nemir leaves the land of the living, and her name fades from memory, so too will the sword and all that stands as a reminder of a long dying bloodline. But until that day long written in the woman's bones, Nemir will wield Raumsplater with the brutal efficiency, and stark cruelty it has come to represent.

'Like the Vulture, I feast on the bones of both the small, and of the great. Both are one and the same once I have been drawn.'

-Inscription written on the First Blade of House D'shem
Fighting Style: "You don't have to yield now. Only when you're ready. I'll still be here when that time comes."

-Nemir Cesti.

Haste can ruin a woman's life worse than any amount of village gossip. Nemir has spent her life moving at her own pace, and she's never been particularly interested in how that may affect others. On the battlefield, this may seem odd. Out of place. Suicidal, even. When one second, one misstep can spell disaster, and your death, what right does one person have to drag things out?

Those, are the words of the impatient, the young. The needlessly hasty. A single battle, a war is won long before two swords first meet. Victory does not hinge upon one lucky moment. But a lifetime of moments, planned, executed and refined. The sum of all leading to the experience that only true warriors can claim.

Nemir's pace is not quick. It is slow, plodding and measured. But it has nothing to do with the pounds of steel she encases herself in. Endurance training the likes that would make even the dead quake have afforded Nemir some measure of comfort within her armor. Her breath doesn't run short as quickly as it would for another. Her movements are fluid from ease of practice. Decades spent honing her body, and her craft given devastating life in each swing.

Faster opponents, nimble and sure footed are wont to dance around the woman. Hoping to tire her out. But Nemir's slowness grants time. Time to plot. And time to read the environment around her. Each step she takes is measured and sure. Inch by inch, second by second Nemir herds her foes into the direction that she need them. Even those that see the trap for what it is always think themselves too quick, and too clever to be boxed in. If they'd bother to pay attention, they'd recall how the old snapping turtle waits. Blind and ancient. Too slow to run from danger. Too slow to do anything at all.

Until it truly matters.

Raumspalter is almost the length of Nemir's body, and it's blade is heavier than it should rightfully be. It crushes almost as much as it cuts, and the truth becomes clear in one single devastating moment.

Time is on Nemir's side. Death comes sooner or later. And the Judicator's patience is long.
Sorcery Type
Hope for the Future: A summons from Örn's newly crowned King, a Realm plagued by Lawlessness, and opportunistic Nobles hoping to seize power has left Nemir with little options. Their is a sickness in the Kingdom, and with War looming over everyone the Judicator knows that she no longer has an excuse to sit idle. Come what may, Nemir is committed to seeing Örn survive the coming trials. And she is prepared to offer as much blood to Terran as it takes to earn the God's favor. It doesn't all have to be hers either.

ItsKenAgain · Jun 18, 2019

Name: Aurin Elliot

Age: 27

Weight: 145 lbs

Height: 5’9

Role: Second Knight

Tribal Bloodline: Crest/Abaddon
A man of a smaller stature, Aurin is lean, almost with a gymnasts’ build, and light on his feet. One might take notice of his posture as he comes from a proper life in a Noble Family. He tends to stand a little straighter, carry himself a little higher than most.
He’s got an olive skin tone, which has only been made darker over the recent years due to his training in the courtyards of his high lord’s estate. His hair is dark and its tousled curls hang to nearly the middle of his back when not tied up in it’s signature top knot.
Not a man of many true battles, he doesn’t have many battle scars to behold. A remnant of a blow from the back of an ax to his forehead lingers above his right brow, but the rest would be hidden beneath his clothes. His rise to Second Knight had more to do with who his family knew, rather than his tales of glory.

Facial Features: (Original art for reference, and I haven't colored it yet because it takes so much time lol hopefully this will suffice because I couldn't find a reference that looked just how I wanted him to look)

If we start from the top down, he has a thick hairline with a bit of a widow’s peak. This gives way to groomed, pointed brows, the right arched upward by his scar. He has dark lashes, shading deep olive eyes which always seem to carry a secret behind them, like he has an edge in this world that he keeps inside. His nose is prominent in which it is very chiseled and aquiline. His cheekbones are high and cut into his sharp jawline by way of deep dimples. Aurin’s lips are blushed and softly molded. They rest under a mustache that doesn’t connect to where we finish this tour at his pointed goatee.

His style doesn’t shy from a variety of colors and flamboyant details. He comes from a wealthy family, and must look the part when not in full armor. Speaking of armor… What he usually opts for is light, so it does not greatly impede his mobility. He opts for speed rather than strength so heavy armor would slow him down.

His day to day look in layers goes about like this: A thick shirt, reinforced with cloth padding, and sleeves which bellow out, but are pulled in by a twisted iron band above each elbow and three of them near the wrists. This shirt is striped down the sleeves, an alteration of subdued mauve and sage green. At his collar is a sort of thick ascot made of the same mauve colored material from his shirt, to protect his throat. Over this shirt, he wears a simple chainmail garment to cover his torso.

Over that he wears a heavy blue vest, which covers his torso as well, until it meets a dark leather belt, and then this vest extends to protect his legs, ending above the knees. From the belt a kind of chainmail skirt hangs along with the waist coat for further protection. His pants underneath are flowy and bunch around his ankles. They are charcoal in color and don’t do much to protect his legs. He wears iron knee guards to counter this problem, and from them hang dark leather guards for his shins, with iron gilded onto them. Lastly, he wears these tan leather shoes which kind of curl up into little points at the toes, and have wide tongues that protect his ankles.
From childhood, Aurin has been a man who knows what he wants, but keeps his desires to himself. He doesn’t reveal his emotions easily, but will make sure you do know his intentions. He was raised in a noble family, and understands the politics of their bonds with other noble houses. He knows from an early age that he’s meant to be a servant to bring honor to his family name, and to himself in return. This has not, however, made him a humble man or lose sight of his own goals.

He thinks quite highly of himself in the sense that his position means he should be shown respect, and that he must be sure that’s what he is given. It’s not until he faces shame brought onto him by the breaking of an oath that he realizes he must face himself and ask what his worth actually is. He finds that he is not somebody that has earned the things in his life by right, but by the work of others, and he knows that with his deeds that he is facing the repercussions of now, that he must prove himself as an honorable man, while struggling to break through the lenses of softness, and cowardice that have placed themselves over him.

He can tend to be picky, and particular about how things are done around him. He has an intellectual way with words and approaching conversation, but he tends to speak down to others, even when he doesn’t mean to. On the flip side, he can be a bit of a sweet-talking weasle when there’s something he wants of someone. Aurin will argue with others when he feels he is in the right, whether or not he should be arguing.

Aurin can tend to be ruled by his emotions. He asks himself what he must do to make things right, and he acts on those answers. This can lead him to be somewhat impulsive, and self serving, but he views this as for the moral greater good, which he finds himself fit to determine.
The only ones that Aurin sees as truly above him are the gods, and has a devout faith. He is ritualistic with his prayers and offerings. When he prays to the gods he looks to Mother Kasai for enlightenment and wisdom. He devotes himself to Terran, for strength and protection. He asks the Goddess Nera to provide him with good health. Mostly he has an affinity for the God of Winds, Argus. He gives offerings to Argus, requesting that in return he be light on his feet in battle, and that his spear be carried by the winds to bring divine justice to those evil forces of the void. In turn, he also trusts the judgement of the gods to appoint the new King, Arvin, and hopes to find their judgements be realized.
It’s said that the Elliot Family were some of the first to tame the creatures given to this world beside the humans. They became great herders of livestock, namely goats (which serves as their bannerment), and would rise to wealth throughout the centuries by being the first to perfect this practice, and build it into an empire of trade, and service for higher nobility. Wealth seemed to breed titles for the Elliot Family, and titles meant land, land meant more farming, and that meant more wealth.

When humanity split into its six tribes, the Elliot Family were some of the most noble of Crest. However, the division did threaten to harm the profit of their empire, especially having so much land and not much in the way of defending that land. When the people were at war with one another, they knew they must do their business carefully to avoid the trouble that would come with aiding opposing tribes. They made a deal with nobles of the Warrior Tribe of Abaddon, that if their family were to supply them with their goods, the nobility of Abaddon would be indebted to defend their family’s lands. Their service for the nobility of Abaddon meant they could split their yield with both tribes, still servicing some of their own tribe, but gaining loyalty with Abaddon Nobility.

Since then, the Elliot family has evolved from their roots, along with the rising of the peace between the tribes. Many marriages between nobility of the Abaddon, and of the Crest-born Elliot heirs would change the shape of their house. They began to have heirs which trained in the warrior arts, and would come to protect their own family lands, or serve for higher nobility. The house was now one which aimed to defend the wealth and status it had gained, rather than expanding its crop, and to use its loyal connections with other Noble Houses to do so.

While it was more usual for members of the Elliot Family to be married out, it was less usual for outsiders to be married in, in terms of becoming the head of family estates. However, when a plague struck one of their family estates, a smaller castle called Valesbriar, that part of the family was left with one heir to this specific castle, a young woman who had yet to bare children. To settle a debt to one high lord of Abaddon nobility, one of his sons was to be wed to her, and together they were to produce heirs for Valesbriar. He was to take on the name Elliot, and become the lord of Valesbriar. He did so and with his wife they produced five sons.

The oldest, Shannon, would have a duty as the first heir to Valesbriar, to take up the castle and grow their family. Castor, the second oldest was promised to train as a warrior, to serve for a high lord, and expand their loyalties with a close Abaddon noble family. Aurin was the third born son, making him the next available candidate to produce heirs and settle at Valesbriar should Shannon meet an untimely demise. However, the prospect of producing heirs doesn’t exactly fall in line with Aurin’s desires. To avoid this future that he couldn’t be happy in, he instead would train as Castor did, to serve under a high lord of Abaddon. As for his two younger brothers, Aleksandr and Isaiah, the two would remain at Valesbriar, being prospective heirs and defenders of their castle.

Leaving home as a young squire to live at his new place in the high lord’s castle, Aurin was trained from the age of 16 to fight with spear and shield. He was raised in luxury there that not even many of the Elliot family heirs did. With the news of the first wave coming, there wasn’t much time for luxury, however. Everybody trained tirelessly to prepare, and many would be sent to fight with his majesty, King Kungen. Aurin, however, would be requested to stand with his family in defense of Valesbriar, as many heirs to the Elliot family were called back to their roots to defend their lands. His skills had grown to impress his high lord, and he was wanted to ride into the battle of the void with him, but Aurin’s parents persisted. They came to an agreement which Aurin agreed to only because he was begged to by his mother. The same thing he was trying to run from by becoming a warrior.

Aurin was to be betrothed to the high lord’s daughter who fancied him, and they were to be married upon his return after serving his family at Valesbriar. She was intelligent, cunning, and a fearful warrior who trained many times with Aurin. She had many qualities that would make her a desirable partner, however Aurin couldn’t find himself attracted to her, more than simply admiring her as a friend. The thought of anything else with her honestly repulsed him in a way. However, he agreed, and as he rode back to Valesbriar, the high lord’s daughter rode out with her father to face the void with the King.

After the battle ended, Aurin rode back to his high lord’s castle, having served his family well. Upon returning he was requested immediately by the high lord. Upon meeting with him, he was surprised to be met with a hostile outburst. Trying to collect what was going on, and make sense of the accusations against him, Aurin asked what he had done. The high lord lashed out at him, yelling about the death of his daughter to whom Aurin was betrothed. She had been killed in the battle, and the high lord in his grief accused that had Aurin been on the battlefield as he should have under his oath of loyalty which his family had fought to let him break, he could have protected her.

Though Aurin did not initially blame himself for this, a great grief fell over him and he fell to his knees begging his high lord for forgiveness. By following the requests of his family, he could not deny that he had done as the high lord said, and broken his oath to serve and protect his house, even if his absence had been agreed upon. Now that the high lord's daughter was gone from the world, he could not make good on his family’s side of this contract, that he had not even wanted a part in, and he pleaded with the high lord to let him do whatever he could to serve him, however the high lord had forsaken his fondness of Aurin, and instead cast him away, casting dishonor on his name and his household.

Since then, Aurin has felt the need to escape this stain on his name, and will do anything in his power to right this wrong, and overcome the shame he faced. Because of the damage caused by being absent from those he swore loyalty to during the first wave, he pledged himself to never desert battle with the evil forces of the void again. The news of the King’s death was another loss for not only Aurin, but the entire kingdom, but the appointment of the new King, Arvin, by the gods, was a new hope. Hearing of the great devastation of the King’s army, and the efforts to construct a new one, Aurin went quickly, and humbly asked that he be allowed to devote his life to serve in this new army, and to bring an end to the evils of the void. He would fight alongside his King, and he would never bring shame to his name again. He was granted the position of Second Knight, and would begin his journey to retribution.

Skills: He is a skilled spearman, and horseback rider. He doesn’t have many other talents, in the way of cooking or building, because he had servants to do those things for him. He does tend to have a charming way with words due to being well learned in literature arts.
Sorcery Type: LEAVE BLANK FOR NOW
Methods of Fighting: He prefers the back of a war horse honestly. His horse specifically is a black mare named Meadow, which he sometimes refers to as his Good Servant. He will ride into battle, spearing his enemies for a preliminary attack, cutting down as many as he’s able to in a quick ride by. When the fight hits the ground, however, he relies heavily on speed and his position dancing around his enemies. He never likes to be locked into one spot for long, and if he can’t make quick work of his opponent, is likely to look for a chance to retreat enough to lose them and find another target.

One tactic he uses is to throw his long spear into an enemy, and then fight his way over there to retrieve it, using his shield for defense and his short spear to combat opponents. This is a tactic he would use on foot, rather than on Meadow, as his short spear wouldn’t have much reach in a battle on horseback and he doesn’t intend to recklessly have his horse slaughtered.
Weapon of Choice: He’s trained in long spear and short spear. Along with these weapons he carries a dagger on his hip as back up and of course he carries a shield.
Hope for the Future

Jack19XK · Jun 18, 2019

Name: Lyrren Hashima
Age: 19
Weight: 175 lbs
Height: 6’2”
Role:
- Prince of Örn
- High Duke of Wissenland (Duchy of Wissenland)
Tribal Bloodline: Abaddon
Body Type: Lyrren’s build is Fit and Muscular.
Beginning in his adolescent years, Lyrren had been taught on subjects required for any nobleman ranging from simple table manners to how one should speak to individuals of various status. Due to Lyrren’s status as a royal, his education was much more vigorous than most. Similar to his brother, their father had sought to it that Lyrren was molded into the ideal image of a prince. This was made easy by the young son’s natural interest in learning and literature. Said teachings had visibly carried into Lyrren’s adulthood as the prince is well known for his charisma and wits.

Like all men, flaws do exist in Lyrren personality. When angered, Lyrren’s rage could be just as terrifying as his brother’s. But in contrast, Lyrren had trained himself to better suppress his emotions subtly and with quick haste. He had picked up such a skill due to his status as his brother’s primary diplomatic representative.The only real things that could break his facade are matters regarding his loved ones. Whenever Lyrren learns of the potential harm that could fall upon those he loves, his calm and collective persona often dissipates, only to be replaced with impulsiveness. Lyrren knew this and has attempted to train himself to forsake such a negative trait.

Ever since a young age, Lyrren has always taken up an interest in politics. For years, the young prince has educated himself on matters of the state and beyond. He has familiarized himself with many of the country’s nobles and those from other realms. While noble in a sense, Lyrren wasn’t the type to shy away from malicious intrigues. He understands that one can’t survive in the political world without pulling strings and undermining others.

Lyrren also enjoys traveling abroad to other kingdoms as he finds interest in learning about the cultures and traits of other races and societies. One could say that he’s someone who lusts for knowledge.

While he and Arvin have a relationship that some siblings could only dream of, Lyrren couldn’t help but feel the occasional envy towards his brother. Not because of his status as King, but because of his status as the Chosen of the Gods. This itself, is often enough for most to immediately place Arvin at a higher esteem in every subject. While Lyrren doesn’t loathe his brother for the attention and praise that he receives, the young prince couldn’t help for lust for the day that he could share the same spotlight as his brother. This has created an extremely ambitious nature in Lyrren as he continuously sought to better himself in both fighting and intelligence.
Shadow: Aside from his brother, Lyrren also have one other trusty companion that has been with him since his childhood. Named Shadow, this massive female direwolf was discovered by Lyrren during one of his trips abroad with his father. Lyrren was 15 at the time and instantly fell in love with the wolf pup. As it was uncommon for direwolves to be spotted out in the open in broad daylight, Lyrren had assumed that her mother was killed or she may had been abandoned.

Likely already evident, the direwolf was named for her thick pitch black fur and a pair of chestnut colored orbs. The young prince would diligently take care of his new found pet from the minute she was brought home. The two soon became inseparable as Shadow often accompanied Lyrren wherever he went. It didn’t take long before Lyrren realized that Shadow was going to be much bigger than the standard direwolf.

By the time that Lyrren was 18, Shadow had already grown to a size that nearly undermined his own. Yet, his gentle nature did not dissipate with time as he remained as the same wonderful and loyal pup that Lyrren found three years ago. The wolf was there for many of Lyrren’s milestones from his first fought battle to his attendance of his brother’s coronation. If the memory was precious, Shadow was likely there to share it.
Skills: Along with being introduced to literature at a young age, Lyrren was also trained to be a shrewd and skillful fighter. Aside from politics, Lyrren’s second greatest hobby is perhaps combat. Being only three years apart from Arvin, Lyrren and his brother often spared during their early years. Through these multitude of duels, the brothers watched as one another grew from amateur swordsmen to master fighters. Lyrren is perhaps one of the few in the kingdom who could hold his own against his brother. At least to an extent. Like Arvin, Lyrren is able to use a variety of weapons such as sword, bow, and spear. Having been blessed by the combat and fiery skills of Kasai, Lyrren has also taught himself how to incorporate such powers into his techniques and fights. He has a clever mind for tactics and strategies, which secures him a spot on his brother’s war council.

As his brother’s right hand, Lyrren is often tasked with various matters that the King is better off not partaking in. One of such matters is the repulsive court intrigues that every kingdom faces. As a keen and articulate politician, Lyrren has grasped the ability to maneuver himself within the kingdom’s royal court through careful studies and understandings of his opponents. Just as he is able to cast a facade over himself, Lyrren is also able to see through those of others. He has even become well acquainted with many of the nation’s most influential and wealthy nobles, which often makes passing new edicts and laws much easier. When it came to diplomat visits into other kingdoms, Lyrren was often the first choice. His skillful diplomacy skills combined with a genuine interest to travel makes him a viable choice.

Sorcery Type: As a favorite of Kasai, Lyrren is blessed with the Goddess’ fiery abilities, in which the prince is still learning how to fully master.

Methods of Fighting: In correlation with his thirst for knowledge, it’s no surprise that Lyrren possesses a tactical and strategic mind. He is observant and adaptable, often focusing on his opponent’s equipment and surroundings. His strategies often summarize into a balance of his swordsmanship with his magical powers.

Weapon of Choice: Unlike Arvin, Lyrren was not gifted with a weapon that had been passed down from generations. Instead, his weapon of choice is a sword newly crafted from the most durable and fitting materials that his father could find. It’s a sword in Lyrren’s possession since his teenage years and has yet to leave his side. Over the years, several enchantments had been placed on the blade that increases it efficiency and durability.
Lyrren was born as the second and last son to the previous King of Örn. He was brought into the world as Prince of a mighty and prosperous kingdom. And search, great pressure was placed on him to live up to the expectations of a prince. Impressively, that’s exactly what Lyrren would do.

From the minute that he learned to speak and read, his father filled hs mind with books and texts. As he was born to be the second son, Lyrren’s education was focused primarily on politics, leading armies, and how to govern various provinces. And of course, his father had also made sure that he understood the importance of Arvin’s destiny as Örn’s future king.

When he was old enough to hold a sword, Lyrren was brought into the fields where he and his brother, would spend their early years besting and sparing one another. Like with education and politics, Lyrren quickly took a liking to combat and learning how to use various forms of weapons and fighting tactics. There were days where he had chosen to neglect his studies just so that he could remain in the training grounds. While he was berated for his actions by his father, his overall childhood was still a rather light hearted time, even with the threat of demons being eerily known to all.

As a reflection of the bond the two had, Lyrren had expressed little to no jealousy towards his brother’s status as the Chosen of the Gods. When he learned of Arvin’s destiny as the future King of Örn, Lyrren expressed nothing but support. Upon hearing of his brother’s hopes to ceding the throne to him, Lyrren fervently declined. He believed that the Gods had chosen his brother for a reason and it was be blasphemous of him to disrupt their plan. However, his decline didn’t seem to have led to his brother’s acceptance. Instead, Arvin had continued to forsake his teachings and responsibilities for becoming king.

Lyrren could see just how much his brother didn’t want the title as well as how angry that had made their father. Understanding Arvin’s conflict, Lyrren became a beacon of encouragement for his brother. Just like the Gods and their father, Lyrren too saw potential within his brother. Lyrren wasn’t born to rule the kingdom but he was.

With the brothers’ path separated, they would spend less time with one another in the later years. While Arvain remained in the capital to be taught the principles of a wise and benevolent ruler, Lyrren was accompanying their father abroad and being trained in the ways of diplomacy and court politics. It was during one of such visits that Lyrren came across an abandoned direwolf pup. The same one of which that would later become his trusted companion.

The age of 16 would prove to be one of the most monumental moments in Lyrren’s early life. Like his brother before him, Lyrren was chosen by Kasai to become a bearer of her powers. And so, in her Temple of Worship, Lyrren was bestowed upon the blazing gift of the goddess’ fiery abilities. This was a major boost to the integrity of the royal family as it showed that the Gods still heavily favored them.

In the years that followed, Lyrren would began to delve deeper and deeper into the politics of the state. His charisma and wits had helped him make many allies in the form of the noble class. When their father passed away and passed the throne to Arvin, Lyrren became one of his brother’s most powerful and vehement supporters. Arvin was the one who gave the order and Lyrren was the one who make sure it’s carried out, often done through shadowy means. Whenever there’s a division in court, Lyrren was often the pillar that supported the side loyal to Arvin.

As a reward for his services, Arvin had awarded his brother a great plot of land located in the fertile and resourceful lands in the eastern part of the kingdom. Lyrren was pronounced “High Duke of Wissenland”, a title named after his Duchy of Wissenland. Lyrren was given his own castle to rule from as well as his own population to collect taxes and raise troops from. Lyrren’s Duchy was one of the largest within Örn and under the Prince’s rule, it also grew to become one of the wealthiest and most powerful.

The True Plague · Jun 18, 2019

Name: Gabriele Heartsong, prefers to go by Crow for some reason.

Applicable Titles: Royal Doctor, That One Guy

Species: Half-Elf

Gender: Male

Age: Hasn't bothered keeping track, answers with vague hundreds. Changes every time he's asked. More than likely he's 40, but again, he'll not tell.

Tribal Bloodline: Abbadon, so he claims. Given his apptitude for improvising with whatever materials he has on hand, some swear he has Pakevali blood in him.

Occupation: Doctor, grave robber, hunter... It all kinda blends together, ya know?

Place of Birth: Wherever he comes from, he won't say. Probably a small town or something. Maybe near a forest.

Current Residence: The closest he can live to the new King without having to live in castle. Too many people in castles, ya feel? Not to mention, he feels it feels too... Impersonal.
(Note, that is outside of his normal attire)

Making use of stray fabric and very precise layering, he's created a wispy effect used to intimidate and scare off others who aren't worth his time. Kinda looks like feathers at the right angle.

Gabriele is a somewhat imposing looking guy, standing at an impressive 6'7", of course that is with his boots. Closer to 6'4" without. He's somewhat of a bulky guy, which would seem strange to most given his occupation, but honestly, if you're hauling around injured warriors and have to restrain them so you could handle their injuries, you'd be gaining some serious muscle as well. As it stands, he is a somewhat large man with the muscles needed to control a flailing warrior hopped on adrenaline due to the flight or fight response

Of course, you'd never guess it from how he slouches when he walks, or the somewhat feminine features of his face. Not to mention his voice, which more often than not held a near monotone when he was doing his job. You'd imagine he may have just been a part of Terran brought to life. Stone and nothing else. This changes drastically once the robes and mask are off though, with his voice becoming more vibrant, and the glint in his eye often being a noticeable trait.
"Life has never been easy. Every element is akin to a rot upon the body. Every action frays the rope keeping you alive... My job is to cut out the unusable parts, and patch it back up. So still, my child, Crow is here to ensure you see the end of your destiny."
- Crow, speaking to a gravely injured soldier.

Likes: A good joke, stable enviroments to work, birds despite their usual diseases they carry, and confusing others.

Dislikes: Non-negotiable hours, most nobles, idiots who don't have him check their wounds, and the prices for herbs nowadays.

Fears: That someday, he'll outlive his usefulness. He'd like to die before that happens. Being a burden is a shame, even if you've earned it through hard work.

Positive Personality Traits: Good humored, hard worker, and a quick thinker.

Negative Personality Traits: Generally a bit of a pushing the boundaries kind of guy, enjoys testing the patience of others, and outside of work he tends to get caught up in whatever he's thinking about.

Although Gabriele, or Crow as he liked to be called, doesn't allow many to know about his past, nobody can deny what they see in the here and now. The bare surface is of a jokester off the clock and a serious man on it. Somebody who can be depended on when it counts, but small things may sometimes be forgotten in lieu of pulling a prank or enjoying himself. Does seem to know moderation though, sometimes pulling the joke on himself if he knows somebody is down and might need a laugh. However, those few who know a bit about him can see more to it.

The way he typically got nobles in and out as fast as possible, and yet would dally with the poorer folk he managed to make time for. Almost doting on the urchins and orphans, offering them extremely low prices or just free work depending on the situation. How he'd break from his seriousness when helping small children if they're scared. Sometimes even removing his mask despite the dangers. Once or twice, he had even allowed a curious kid to wear it, if he felt certain they'd not get him sick or make him have to clean it since it is a pain to do so.

Some even remark on his signs of sorrow when he watched a young man, barely trained, be used as a distraction for a noble to flee a losing battle. They also circulate rumors on why said noble tends to avoid the Royal Doctor now, but who listens to hearsay anyways? Some use these rumors to speculate that he holds grudges, and also helps fuel the belief he hated all nobles... Which is a lie. He just hated most because they typically don't assist those below them, unless they'll benefit from it.

Some even claim him to be a monster, given that he has expressed to those close to him that he enjoyed his job. It allowed him to become familiar with the human form after all. Cutting into it, and removing what he felt they didn't need... Which, with corpses, was everything. The few who knew him before he donned the robes and mask, would probably chime in on his disregard of the law when it suited him... Of course, they did too, but that is hardly the point. He feels that the law doesn't exactly bind him as completely as others think. Some things need to be done, and it is better to seek forgiveness for necessary actions, than to never do them due to permission.
Gabriele's past is one he has done his best to hide. However, he has allowed some to know of it, besides those who lived it alongside him. Of course, he was also slightly drunk when recounting it, so some details might seem off.

Gabriele Heartsong was the bastard son of a wealthy noble, and an elf woman who'd come into town to buy choice fabrics and some leather from said noble. His mother always said his father was a handsome man, with a heart of icy stone and the mind of a fox. Uncaring, witty, and handsome. A mix capable of swooning a woman if the person desired to do so. Which the man saw fit to do with his mother.

This was, of course, about forty one years prior to current day, and a year before his birth. So not too relevant to him, besides helping to explain his lot in life. After all, a proud noble is not going to admit to laying with an Elvish woman, especially not when said noble was married. Hell, to cover his own backside, he spread rumors of his mother being... Loose. Smeared her name to get even less people to believe her on that child being his.

The upcoming Winter would see the birth of one young half elf into the small settlement within the forest. He'd spend his first ten years here, learning how to hunt and survive. To hide and sneak when needed. He was taught about the Gods, and their influence on nature. After his tenth year, and the death of his mother though, he was expelled from the settlement. Not many were comfortable with the Half-Elf as it were since it wasn't exactly a common occurance, and only allowed it to begin with due to his mother. So, he went into town to attempt to make a living.

Which he did well enough. Theiving, hunting, even a bit of gathering of herbs and plants since the Elves had shown him a fair bit of valuable things. Sometimes, he'd be digging graves, though he'd never be filling them. Just digging them for a good chunk of coin for no questions. It simply is how it worked. This went on for a good while as well, up until the war.

During the war, he was tasked with aiding the sick and dying, due to his knowledge of herbal remedies. Personally, he thought it was the one kind move his father would do for him, by keeping him out of harm's way. Regardless, it was here that he'd also begin to learn of the body. Observing the work of the monsters of the Void, he saw what parts of the body could be broken. Through trial, error, and a bit of mentoring, he began to even learn how to fix what was broken. How to splint, how to draw out bad blood. Fashioning casts, and although discouraged by most... Potent mixtures of different herbs to strengthen one temporarily. He saw nothing wrong with it. He was, after all, helping them. It let them fight despite their wounds, which he knew couldn't be fixed or healed. He even asked them if they'd like to die far from battle or in combat. They generally chose the latter for honor reasons. However, this isn't where his big break comes in.

You see, throughout the war, he had learned how humans could be broken and fixed. That was good for his job, yes... But he wondered how the enemy would be broken. So, he'd pay a few guys to try and snag dead bodies of the enemy, so that he could have a look around. To poke around inside them and figure out how to break them and how things worked. He'd spend what little downtime he got, looking into these strange creatures. Cutting into them, finding out how to break their bodies. He even would convince a few to try his methods... Which, although the methods worked, wasn't really enough to save them due to overwhelming numbers. This is what drew him royal attention, and how, at the age of 39, he'd be brought before King Kungen to reveal what he knew, and accept an offer. When the king died a little bit later that year... Well, he was a bit worried. Thankfully though, the new King seemed fine with allowing him his position... Probably because he didn't have many other choices, but he wasn't gonna bother figuring out why. Just mattered that he was retained.

Fighting Style: Generally speaking, he tends to be fixing the results of a fight rather than participating. When he does participate though, it generally is a one sided affair. Making use of his knowledge of the body, he begins to systematically decimate one's ability to fight him. For unarmored foes, he sticks to a dagger to slice tendons and muscle. Nick just the right spot to prevent use of one's arm or leg. For armored foes, he has an axe that he typically will use for amputation. Quick to slice through, and due to his build, he can puncture a fair bit of armor with a swing. Just sometimes struggles to remove it.

Of course, he's really only good offensively. He knows the body and can take it apart, but all these different fighting styles are beyond him. Putting him on yhe defensive is a good way to end him, or cause him to back off since the only thing saving him is the very thick leather robes he wears whenever he's on duty.
Skills: Gabriele is a somewhat decent hunter, able to not only bring down an animal, but skin it and prepare the meat. He can even tan the hide without much issue. He also uses his surgical precision for sewing and has used this in conjunction with the prior skill for maintaining his robes.
Hopes for the Future: That the state of nobles ignoring the plights of the lower class will be overturned.
Sorcery Type: N/A (As of yet.)

AiDEE-c0 · Jun 18, 2019

Name: Tessa Rimbaud
Species: Human
Age: 23
Gender: Female
Weight: 11.3 Stone
Height: 186 centimetres
Role: Royal Advisor
Tribal Bloodline: Crest
Stature:
Tessa stands at a fairly impressive height, yet that is the extent of her physicality. While not slouchy, her frame and build are definitely not of muscular nature either. Rather, flexibility is her body's greatest strength, combined with a sense of agility and quick responsiveness. Despite her simple looks, Tessa carries herself with grace whenever in the company of "civilised peoples." In fact, she can often come off as a royal servant, rather than an advisor, using soft movements, hellbently straightening her back and keeping her hands folded away at her sides. In general, her body gives off the vibes of muted elegance, in spite of the rather... colourful dress.

Noticeable features:
One thing the eyes might immediately draw themselves towards is Tessa's vibrantly white hair, along with an almost unhealthily pale complexion. As far as she knows, these are the results of troublesome blood, as she's always struggled with sickness more than others might. Speaking of vibrant though, the girl's dress is a mess of different colours and mismatched influences, something also pretty hard to miss.
Tessa is a long-term thinker, always looking for the outcomes that return best in the future, as opposed to right away. This translates into a good few things, like the inability to hold a regular conversation beyond the question of weather, for example. Her mindset is that of measuring twice and only then thinking about cutting, which means she can often take a bit of time to reach the best conclusion. However, when reached, she will not take any heed carrying this conclusion out, accepting no further questions.

She holds a fairly strong pseudo-moral compass, desiring the best for people for the sake of them operating at their peak when content. In advising the king, Tessa always makes sure to stress the need to satisfy both the people of their own lands and even the ones which may act as the enemy at the time, to be fair to even the most stubborn of soldiers. She does this not only to bring prosperity to her homeland, but also as a person thankful for her current spot in life, which she owes to the king himself. When it comes to friends, those she wants to see prosper because it makes her feel happy by extension.

In stark contrast, her upbringing has given her a peculiar outlook on those she considers bandits and vagabonds. In short, Tessa sometimes struggles with a blatant superiority complex. Other times, she can also come off as a tad cold and uninterested, lost in thought or simply deciding to bite her tongue instead of making a regrettable response. She's trying, though!

When it comes to actions, she will always be rushing in to help, a testament of her past. Indeed, her history has shaped her reflexes to be faster than her swirl of thoughts, keeping bottles from spilling and people from tripping quicker than she can even process what's happening. Furthermore, she keeps her voice muted and her body language elegant and subtle, this appearing to her as a natural thing of courtesy to do. Tessa's mind is strong on manners... and very dry on humour.
Tessa is well-read and educated, especially when it comes to humanitarian subjects. She has a knack for philosophy and an understanding of leadership, studying a good part of her life so she could help carry the reins of government. Outside of mathematics and geometry, she holds a grip on the basics of most common-taught sciences, but these never reach overly far.
She is also knowledgeable in the arts of stewardship, thanks to her previous experience as a butler. This includes a grasp on high etiquette, capable hands, culinary expertise and a list of in-built guest responses, however unhelpful to actual conversation.

Albeit with some drawbacks, Tessa's decision-making is also a strong aspect of her person, along with her ability to deduce the few best political, strategic and crowd-pleasing options from a list of dozens. Her foremost expertise is public image and opinion, especially when it's others that the opinions concern. Her head tends to stay the same, cold temperature in the face of most stress and pressure, up to an impressive limit, allowing her thought-calculations to continue going unimpaired, when others might be relegated to a muttering mess.

Combat-wise, Tessa's good reflexes and precision come into play. Rather than a fighter, she acts as an assassin when she truly must, targeting vital spots with quick and precise attacks taken from a good range. In terms of conventional weaponry, crossbows are the only weapon under her mastery. Instead, her heart rather lies with specialised throwing weapons.
Tessa comes from nothing, a child born to a family of destitute street-dwellers. Her supposed purpose was to act as an escape from her parents' landlessness, to carry out some manual labor for a lord, bringing what she reapt in return back home. Yet, therein laid the problem. Instead of a sturdy boy, what came was a sickly girl, unfit for any such task. This reflected heavily in her earliest bringing-up, as her parents were not eager to drop their dreams of a son, tirelessly slaving away to get them out of their situation. Her hair was kept short, dirt left unawashed and rags served as her clothing. Nothing came her way other than lectures of selfishness and shouting, left to fend for herself in back-alleys. What little she salvaged for herself was oft taken away. After all, Tessa was there for her parents, not they for her.

This continued for a good few years, up until one day, the girl simply woke up cold and alone, family nowhere in sight. As much as this could be crushing to some, to Tessa it just meant business as usual. Begging, looking through garbage, sleeping on stone without company, life was just as bleak nonetheless. Her parents always spoke of weakness causing her to be undeserving of happiness, this somewhat stuck with her, the only memento of them ever existing.

At her weakest, luck seemingly decided to shine its smile upon the orphan. With a fever, she sat leaning against a rocky wall, when a group of fancily dressed royal servants strolled through. She paid little attention towards them, but the other side didn't shoot back with the same gesture. Having been in a gracious mood, against their better judgement and on account of mild understaffing, the servant-family ended up lending young Tessa a hand, letting her stay at their quarters and taking decent care of her. In exchange for this gesture, she would dedicate her life to servitude as they had done.

As she entered training, Tessa still looked and claimed the part of a boy, under the brain-games of her parents. Thus, she was to become a butler, rather than a maid. Her cultivation was harsh and difficult, but that did not stop her from being thankful. All throughout, the girl was glad for her new place in life, shown actual compassion from her educators and a purpose other than as a safe-bail. At around her twelfth year of life, she let the truth of her gender slip out, causing only a light response, as the other servants were already growing suspicious before. Besides, there was nothing much to do with the revelation, and so life continued as normal once again.

Tessa became a timid, although effective servant. She made a deduction, from the words that resonated within her, that she had finally become useful, operated the way those around her wanted, and she was happy. She worked around a castle of grandiose architecture and masonry, one room fascinating her above all else. It was the one where her fosters had previously taught her to read and write, where pages upon pages of wisdom accumulated over generations were kept - the castle library.

Alas, she had very little time to spend looking through scrolls and books, being absorbed in work throughout most of the daytime, all year round. But, her age was ripe for seeds of rebellion to plant themselves, and so, when a day was looking to be particularly unbusy, Tessa tended to sneak out of her quarters and spend a good few hours hiding in the library. On one such day, making her way through a garden, she happened upon a person who would prove to be key in the future events of her life, the at-the-time prince of the kingdom, a younger-than-her Arvin. While at first immensely embarrassed and remorseful, Tessa soon found herself immersed in her first real conversation since the departure of her parents. She and the boy exchanged talks about their daily lives, with the prince walking away surprised to find that Tessa had never attended a school, despite her interest in words and letters.

What she certainly did not expect was to find herself relieved of her duties a few days after this conversation, apparently now to attend a regularly hard-to-access education on wish of the king. It wouldn't take her long to put two and two together. Yet again, she had a chance meeting to thank for an advancement in her life, one she wanted to make sure to repay somehow. With big eyes, she made sure to let everybody who cared for her know of this development, and soon enough departed.

It was when she reflected on what Arvin had told her of the education system that some doubt sprang up inside of her, but she laid it all to rest before her next slumber. Another first in her life, Tessa now truly felt determined. She began her education being milestones behind other children of the same age, but trough tireless, night-spanning work eventually caught up to pace with her peers, much to the surprise of everyone involved. She was hardly a premium student, but managed to climb up above the arithmetic average in terms of results. Humanitarian subjects especially became a forte, an excellence.

She kept at learning as much as she could for a decade or more, up until the war that tore the lands in twain arrived. When the news had reached her, Tessa immediately knew what to do. She set out on foot, going over plain and mountain, assisting wherever and however she could. Predominantly, this act was to assemble experience, something she well-understood was needed for her future undertakings. She came to advise both noble and general, claiming herself to be a scholar of a prestigious foreign background. While this allowed her to grow mentally, she also taught herself a style of lethal defence in the process, overlooking the battlefields whenever she could. The sights often pained her, but she knew she had to learn to bear and become stronger.

Then, troublesome word spread among the people, word concerning the death of the king. Instead of despair, this predicament filled Tessa's heart with even more determination, for it was time for debts to be repaid. At once, she journeyed to find the prince who had allowed her to follow her pursuits. She would yet again pledge herself into service of the crown, to help the new king reach a better future, just like he had helped her all those years ago.

Sorcery Type: ---
Methods of Fighting: Tessa stands at a range, taking time to calculate a single, lethal strike, as opposed to taking wild shots. She'd never engage directly with an opponent, rather standing off the side and attacking those not paying attention to her presence. Preferably, she strikes with a height advantage, too. When finding herself right in the face of an enemy, Tessa acts out her best to regain distance, utilizing any means necessary to immobilize them and then safely finish them off from far-away. The last thing you could want is a mess, after all.
Weapon of Choice: A set of vaguely feather-shaped throwing knives, kept in pouches at her side. Each is about twenty centimetres long and sharp enough to pierce through most plate armours. Their shape allows them speed and to be well-carried by wind.
Hopes for the Future: A prospering world with a successful king... and improvements to her talking ability.

seasonedcat · Jun 19, 2019

Sergio Acre Yarrow De Iuliis

Name:
Sergio Acre Yarrow De Iuliis

Gender:
Male

Age:
26

Role:
Spy Master

Tribal Bloodline:
Schmol
Height:
5'8

Weight:
123.4lbs

Sergio is often said to be prettier than most girls, and sometimes even gets mistaken for one. His hair is a light blonde, but not light enough to be mistaken for the hair of Aurelia. His eyes are a pale blue that glitters in most lights. His skin is a rosy fair that is clearer than girls who spend hours cleaning their skin. His hair falls a little bit past his chin and is enough to put in a small ponytail, but he never really does. He doesn't have much muscle on his body or fat, being quite bony with long legs.
Likes:
Secrets, sweet things, interesting things and/or situations, chicken, and fashion

Dislikes:
Vegetables, red, people touching his hair, egg, and less or more than two blankets near him when he is sleeping

Hopes for the future:
Sergio doesn't know for sure what he wants for the world or what he wants it to become, he is still deciding if the world is worth hoping for.

Personality:
+Kind
+Soft spoken
+Gentle
+Smart
+Friendly
-Bipolar
-Violent when angry
-Deceptive
-Emotionless at times
-Manipulative
--
Sergio's personality is a more complicated and delicate one than most people's. His mood can change at the drop of a hat, going from happy to disgusted in seconds. Not to mention periods where he is simply empty and dull, not feeling his emotions well. When he gets angry he is prone to yelling and throwing things in his anger, his rage being something he has trouble controlling. His emotions are a tad bit duller than most people, causing him to feel things less than most other than anger and desire.

He is known around the kingdom for his unstable personality, driving most people to think twice before asking him out despite his good looks. However, despite his problems with social situations, his skill is undeniable in his art. Always seeming to know the right information at the right time, and knowing how to gather information better than most. A skill that is known by most, causing great distrust in him despite him never doing anything against the person. People thinking that he will spill anything to anyone.

He likes to call his spies the breeze, saying the wind 'whispered' to him and told him this and that. No one is really sure who exactly is his spies, or if they can be even tracked down to one common strand, but all that is known is that they are all over. People suspect that this is because of his family's love for travelling, but of course, there is no proof of this at all, but it does seem like something that helped him get to know more important people. His connections like his spies are also unknown, but they usually can provide services required.
History:
Sergio grew up in the wealthy family of the De Iuliis. They loved to travel, maybe from their origins, so he grew up travelling a lot and meeting new people. It didn't take him long to understand what the world was like after travelling to less well off places to see different cultures and such. He knew that the world would bend to his words if he said the right things, especially since he started off with the bonus for being rich.

From then on he started looking into the human mind and how far it bends till it breaks. What words said to what people will cause them to swoon or cry. What will get him friends and what will create enemies. He learned how to tell who is rich and who is poor, and how to test how people will react to things without ruining his chances at getting to them. He loved his discoveries, learning how to get foolish nobles to swim in the palm of his hands.

As he took over his family after his father died he also began to tap into making a spy network that could get him from weaving things out of someone directly, to knowing things about the person before they even knew he existed. Much easier to get a man to give you what you want if you threaten to tell his wife that he has been cheating on her with her sister, no? After a time his network grew huge and his name became known.

He took his family's name from being just another wealthy family to being a well-known house. People feared him, came to him begging him not to tell his wife about this, or tell the law this and that, even if he hadn't even spoken to them in any suspicious manner. People feared that if they angered him in his burst of rage he would forget the deal they made and tell the world their secret. But he never did. He knew who to keep at his side until they ran out of uses.
Skills:
+Deseption
+Speaking
+Charming
+Thinking on his feet
+Figuring things out(or find the answers at least}
+Languages

Sorcery Type:
OwO TBA

Methods of Fighting:
Sergio isn't the best fighter, of course, he prefers to use his brain than swing around a sword like an idiot. If he gets in fights however, he doesn't care about using dirty moves or tactics to win. Bringing up painful childhood memories that traumatized you, sure. Taking them out before they have the chance of waking up, double sure. Whatever wins you the battle sure, it doesn't matter if you bend the rules a little.

Weapon of Choice:
Daggers. Easy to hide with the same ability to kill.

Juju · Jun 21, 2019

Name: Aurelia Luxenri

Age: 20

Weight: 120 lbs

Height: 5'8"

Role: Ambassador/Diplomat

Tribal Bloodline: Uniod

Hopes for the future: To maintain her family's position of power, and to increase it.
Aurelia is a radiant beauty with a very old, and very powerful name. Her hair is like spun gold, her skin pearls, and her eyes a misty jade; a beauty they say is only rivalled by the gods. Her blessedly good looks are her primary asset, one she carefully maintains.

She is the jewel of the Luxenri house, with tales of her beauty being a favourite among young ladies and single lords across the kingdom...tales that the Luxenri let flourish, like a half-wild garden.

As an extension of her family's immense wealth, Aurelia is always garbed in luxurious dresses embossed with precious stones and metal.
Intelligent | Observant | Creative | Confident | Assertive | Bold
Vain | Proud | Self-serving | Intolerant | Priggish | Haughty

They say that every rose has its thorn, a saying that is quite fitting for Aurelia. While none can question her dazzling beauty, her personality does not always match this. The nobility see her as a goddess, but if you are not blue-blooded a different sort of shade begins to show.

As any diplomat, Aurelia knows how to be very pleasing when she wants to be, often using her beauty to sway the hearts of men. When she is getting what she wants she can be quite the daydream, her laughter like spring rain and her words like honey. Yet as quickly as sunny island weather may shift to a storm, so too can Aurelia's mood. The intensity of which depends on your social status.

She is used to getting what she wants, and when there is resistance the sweet words rolling off her tongue become sharp. Sometimes the venom is even sugary, with harsh meanings hiding behind flowery language. When she is displeased she will not rest until she is content. Her tolerance to anything (dress, language, behaviour) below the high standards of nobility is minimal, and she is very open in her distaste.

Aurelia loves herself almost as much as her admirers do and is a sucker for compliments. Yet as selfish and shallow as she may seem, her redeeming quality lies in her unyielding loyalty to her family. The legacy of the Luxenri has been her life goal since she was a young girl and she goes to great lengths in her devotion. There is little she wouldn't do for her house.

As for the common folk...
Beyond her dominion over them, Aurelia cares very little for the plebians. She finds them mildly amusing at best, and absolutely pitiful at worst. They are merely pawns, and so long as they know their place beneath her she couldn't care less about their miserably dull lives.
✧ Diplomacy
✧ Trade x treasury keeping
✧ Persuasion
✧ Bribery x blackmail
- Since she was a little girl, Aurelia has been taught the ways of diplomacy and all the skills she needs to traverse the spiderweb politics As arrogant as she is, Aurelia is quite good at getting what she wants and has a good sense for when people are lying.
✧ Penmanship
✧ Translation
✧ History
- The Luxenri's influence is far-reaching, and as such Aurelia must effectively communicate with current contacts and forge new ones. She is well read in the history of the noble/royal houses and fluent in every major language spoken in the kingdom.
✧ Dancing
✧ Music (harp, flute)
✧ Poetry x Literature
✧ Art
- Aurelia prides herself on being well-cultured. She is a connoisseur of the fine arts and can recite poetry by heart. While it is a lesser known fact nowadays, she is actually quite a huge fan of fictional stories. She owns a large collection of first-edition copies of her favourites.
Strength: ✦✧✧✧✧
Dexterity: ✦✦✧✧✧
Stamina: ✦✧✧✧✧
Intuition: ✦✦✦✦✦

Sorcery Type: ????

Methods of Fighting: Why fight when you can have others do it for you? The closest thing to combat training Aurelia has received was when she used to swing sticks like swords at the age of 6. That ended shortly after her parents found out.

Weapon of Choice: gold, parchment and ravens. Her family's immense power means that Aurelia can get out of most situations merely by calling upon her house's wealth or ties. Few people dare to cross her family either out of fear, or the knowledge that helping them is far more rewarding.
Quick Overview The Luxenri family owns a monopoly on almost all the gold and precious gems mined in the kingdom. They are immensely rich and influential, arguably the most powerful noble family in the kingdom. Their influence is great and few dare to cross them. Aurelia is the star child of her house and aims to improve her family's position of power in these times of chaos.

Every story has its beginning, but some are better than others. Born to great wealth and luxury, Aurelia always knew she was the main character of her own, yet learned quite quickly that it was not one of the fairy tales she grew to love as a child.

Perhaps it started when she was nearing her womanhood when she couldn't understand why her lord father prohibited her from visiting the princes when he travelled to the capital, or how she started to figure out why men seemed to take interest in her. Compliments directed towards her went from being a pretty girl to other words like radiant, stunning, or ravishing. Aurelia had always known she was beautiful, something she was told often and was very proud of, but it wasn't until she 'blossomed' that she realized the weight behind that word...and the power. Perhaps the only power she would know.

Aurelia matured into a fine lady, leaving behind her childish ways in favour of elegance and feminity. She was groomed for a life of nobility, the prized child of her parents who attended many of their meetings with other nobles and dignitaries. Everywhere she went, tales of her beauty followed.

This renown has earned her many suitors and admirers over the years, but she turned them all down. In truth, the family was reluctant to ship off their prized child for too low a price, and the more suitors she refused the greater her value became.

She became one of the most desirable bachelorettes in the kingdom, until the day when the newly anointed lord to house Paleglade, the long-standing rival of the Luxenri, inherited his father's land. It was rather convenient, really, when Aurelia happened to be passing through upon the day of his promotion. She rode to his castle to congratulate him on behalf of he Luxenri, and welcome him into the fold of nobility.

Rumour has it that after just one meeting he was madly in love with her, so much that he swore to the gods that his heart could never find another woman. A marriage proposal was made, and for once in her life Aurelia accepted.

They were to be wed, but tragedy struck when the demon invasion occurred. Like the king, Lord Paleglade was killed in the battle along with most of his bannermen. His only living brother went missing shortly after the battle and was found dead on route to his castle. Bandits, it was assumed.

It was a rather unfortunate turn of events for both his bride-to-be and the lordless lands he left behind. However, out of sheer generosity, the Luxenri family took it upon themselves to bring the dead lord's vassals and all his lands under their protection as a measure of goodwill. After all, their families were to be linked had fate been kinder, and they wished to keep this tie in honour of the fallen lord. It is what he would have wanted, after all.

When the new king was coronated, Aurelia was sent to the capital as the ambassador of the noble lords and ladies of the kingdom and to act as a diplomat for the fledgling king.
The LuxenriLord Tytos & Lady Reyne

Claiming to be the most powerful house, The Luxenri are renowned for many things throughout the kingdom.

The first and foremost is their great wealth. While other noble houses may contest the Luxenri's power in terms of military power, none can match their wealth. They own the most fertile gold and gem mines in all of Örn, and after their recent 'stewardship' of their only rival's lands, they are completely unmatched in their monopoly. If there are gold and gems for sale, chances are they are from one of the Luxenri mines.

These mines are their largest source of income and are run day and night, primarily by inmates or peasants attempting to pay off their debts. Instead of the traditional methods of execution of criminals, the Luxenri prefer not to waste good manual labour. They are instead worked in their top-quality mines, though with less than top-quality treatment. Alas, they are criminals and lowborn so who is there to care?

The Luxenri's wealth has earned them many contacts far and wide across Örn. Anybody who is anybody has attended their parties -- they are the standard of luxury throughout the kingdom, the elite among the elite. As beneficial as it is to be on their good side, the opposite goes for those who cross them. Poor fortune seems to follow those who spurned them, and although the punishment is neither quick nor obvious, it almost always takes its toll in one way or another.

Many noble houses have borrowed gold from them, and many noble houses are in their debt. At the snap of a Luxenri's fingers, many lords and ladies will be at their side to carry out favours. Most of the time there is little need to ask, for many noble houses actively try to gain their favour.

Fantasy King After King (CS)

Siren77

Bored Ancient

Siren77

Bored Ancient

Ramjammer

Confirmed Memelord

ItsKenAgain

absolutely average

Jack19XK

And so it begins,,,

The True Plague

Lord Doctor of the Plague

AiDEE-c0

evil flower blossoming cutely

seasonedcat

bloodless

Juju

PREY-FOR-US

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