Fantasy The Decline CS

[Archie]

Use whatever format you want as long as it includes this info, but here is a template:

[imagefloat=left][img]PIC LINK HERE[/img][imagefloat][tabs][tab=General][b]Name:[/b]
[b]Age:[/b]
[b]Gender:[/b]
[b]Species:[/b][/tab]
[tab=Appearance][b]Weight:[/b]
[b]Height:[/b]
[b]Other:[/b] (Distinguishing marks, if any)

[/tab][tab=Abilities]A general description of your character's abilities, including magic.

[/tab][tab=Personality]A description of personality.

[/tab][tab=History]Backstory.

[/tab][/tabs]

There's only a few rules with these:

1. No God-like characters - this will be an RP with a lot of complicated and hard choices, so we are all mere mortals with limitations.

2. No dragons, abominations, or demons - this has to do with the lore.

3. All characters are from Westmarch/Neveston, most have lived here for their whole lives or a very long time. Neveston is a backwater, and especially with all the wars going on it's very unlikely there are lots of people who are non-local.

4. There must be a picture.

 

[BELIAL.]

• General
• Appearance
• Abilities
• Personality
• History

• Name: Aoife Glasse
  Age: 19
  Gender: Female
  Species: Wood Elf
• Weight: 110lbs
  Height: 5'1"
  Other: Aside from the large, pointed ears, her skin is relatively smooth and untouched by hard-work. There are a few, minuscule scars on her legs from her youth, but they have faded.
  
  
• Aoife is deeply in touch with the Nether. Perhaps more so than the other children of her clan, it has made her susceptible to the sensory struggles that come with the burden. Her physical abilities lack, to compensate, but she's been able to beat the odds for the better part of ten years; with some thanks to the Spire. Still, she's hardly strong and hardly got the stamina for a lot of running or heavy-lifting activities. As for magic, nature and the spirits have always been her call: bending plants and crops to her will, whispering to the ancestors in the breeze, and even uprooting a few trees during sensory overload attacks in her youth. That's not to say she doesn't apply herself offensively, though her magic is geared toward defense and support than hurt.
  
  Being young, she lacks the full and intended amount of lectures to hone in her powers. She's yet to fully grapple what strengths she has, and her true limitations. Time will tell, as of now.
  
  
• Prior to her time in the Spire, Aoife was a boisterous child. Despite her crippling sensitivities beginning to show, she strove to challenge and antagonize the other children in her clan. She was a tricky child, particularly mischievous in her games and taunts. As she grew older and things began to get too overwhelming for Aoife, she began to draw in. It was a quick change, and as much as she desired to start trouble, the quick beating of her heart and the wet palms she would experience at the prospect of engaging with the screaming, laughing children made her turn back immediately.
  
  The Spire made a recluse of her, the introverted elf she became was a shadow of her once loud and inviting self. Inside she screamed to return to this state, to be funny and loud and well-known, but every cell in her body made the prospect nauseating. Still, Aoife shows her wit in quiet remarks and snarky commentary. A quick smirk, a wink at the eye. For the most part, this sardonic shade is a reflection of the type of person she would be, without the intense connection to the Nether. The dark thoughts she hears too, although probably a product of her powers (in her reasoning, anyway), encourage her to strive for darkness. To attend to every selfish need in her, despite the consequences.
  
  This engages a bit of a grey to her morality. Where her heart is innocent as a closeted child grown into a shy woman could be, with a desire for the good and the righteous in life, there is a part of her that wishes to indulge in greed and debauchery. She's irritable at times and quick to anger, but just as quick to forgive and forget (with reason). The opposing parts of her mind tend to cross paths into a type of self-serving woman, whose greater good could be influenced by those around her-- given she isn't stubborn enough on her own decision to be unmoving.
  
  
• Aoife's youth remains a blurry figment of her past; with sharper images at the most traumatic of times. The first being the death of her father. A man she had hardly gotten to know, the clan mourned. In their travelling, eccentric ways, they threw a lively event with music and dancing to celebrate his memory. They weren't normal wood elves, Aoife figured once she was acquainted with the regular society of Neveston. In fact, the most that she remembers about her clan was told in stories, toward the end of her time as a wandering clan-member. It was her father's death that brought some clarity to the familial society she resided in for half of her life.
  
  Their clan was nameless, but they were a tight-knit group of elves. Preferring to brace the elements, staying in tune with nature, they usually avoided major cities. The woods were home to these elves, and they made good of their relationship to nature. They worshiped Hyralism, as well as some bastardized form of paying respects to their ancestors and elevating them to their watcher-like status in the Nether. This was specific to Aoife's clan, and they probably would have been run into the ground by anyone who wandered in. In that spirit, they kept to themselves. Reclusive, but engaging with each other. They were a well-loved, devoted clan.
  
  Aoife was born when the clan settled just outside of Westmarch. By then, their new keeper was Saoirse, and she was keen on integrating the clan with human civilizations. They had little knowledge if they would be accepted or not, but Saoirse assumed that their positivity and Hyral enthusiasm would keep them alive. She, and a choice clan-member, would make the week-long trip to Westmarch, or even Neveston on the particularly bold journey. Saoirse claimed this would allow them to thrive, and that there would be no need to return to their home tribe. They were their own clan, nameless, and were stubborn in that regard. The reality was that their clan was beginning to fall apart, and had been for the past five years. They were constantly hungry and they resembled hermits of the woods moreso than the illustrious tribe they originated from.
  
  Nevertheless, Aoife looked up to Saoirse. Perhaps more than her own mother, Aoife dreamed of joining Saoirse on one of the trips to the cities. However, she didn't plead her case well-- being prone to fight with the other children and cause general chaos among the families of the clan. Aoife was a troublemaker, that was for sure, and her own mother didn't know what to do with her most of the time. Aoife had been close to her father too, in the short time that they had had together.
  
  When he died, in a hunting accident, it had also served as a catalyst to her sensitivities beginning to emerge. They started off as whispers, and a breeze when the air was still up her spine. This snow-balled of course. Before things got truly overwhelming for the girl, Saoirse took pity on the aspiring youth and took her on a trip.
  
  It was the single-most worst, and best as well, to Aoife. Her senses were on fire, and her mind was melting every second they navigated in a semi-congested part of town. More than once her powers almost flared out, just from the sheer emotional discharge. But Saoirse was there, and coaxed the girl into a level of calm. Aoife continues to use the method to this day, when she feels her anxieties and hyper-sensitivity begin to flare.
  
  However, just after Aoife and Saoirse got back from the trip, the second most traumatic event in Aoife's life happened. Some disagreement with a merchant had led a gang of muscles to follow the girls back to the clan. They were a small group, and stood no chance at this surprise attack. Their numbers were decimated, for more reasons than one, and Saoirse fled back to the city with Aoife and another boy. Aoife never saw her mother again.
  
  In the city they hid, but were hardly under much disguise. They stayed for a year and a half, buried in dirt and a state of living lower than poverty even. Food was scarce, more so than the on-off hunting that the clan had done. Aoife and the boy were beat more than once by merchants and shop-keeps, purely for huddling outside or lingering nearby. A month or two after Aoife's ninth birthday Saoirse died from illness. Before she passed, however, she had convinced a sympathetic friend to take in Aoife and the boy as her own children. The woman, Celia Glasse, with enough coin and persuasion, had agreed. Dragged from the small shack the three lived in, Aoife could only watch as Saoirse wilted away in the pile of blankets on the floor.
  
  Life with the woman was nice, but it was just shy of a week after this third transition, Aoife clearly displayed her powers. It was a silly incident that Aoife didn't even figure to be a big deal. The harvest season, and the abominations that visited in the dead of night, had been particularly cruel to the woman, and Aoife tapped into the magical reserve to boost the life back to the rows and rows of crops. They bloomed beyond harvest, growing big and plump; unnatural to the observing eye. In less than a day Aoife was gone, and swept to the Neveston Spire.
  
  There she flourished, despite the awful circumstances. The Exalted Knights made her skin crawl, and she had almost no friends, but she was an excelling student. Privy only by gossip to the types of experiments on the top floor, Aoife could only hope that keeping her head down would keep her safe. Academically she was a top student, and magically she was top as well-- which was bully to the whole prospect of keeping her head down.
  
  Perhaps days before she was going to be escorted to that upper floor, Lord Harmon opened the floodgates.
  
  

 

[Huntertabbysandshark3]

• General
• Appearance
• Abilities
• Personality

• Name: Keel
  
  Age: 397
  
  Gender: male
  
  Species: naga
• Weight: 100 kgs
  
  Height: 15 ft long
  
  Other: (Distinguishing marks, if any)
  
  
  
  
• being a naga, keel has abilities you would expect form a snake man.. surprising strong, better sense of smell and taste somewhat worse hearing. able to unhinge his jaw and eat large pray iteams, venomous bite. aside form this however he tend to forgo armor as keels scales are on par with plate mail and interesting enough its a similar case with his human half being about a similar strength. Along with these physical attributes, keel has some innate magical abilities able to use both necrotic and fire magic... although limited To more simple stuff as he lacks any proper Training. Oh he can also sing... and play a lute
  
  
  
  
• keel is a friendly creature although one of odd habits most of the time. Licking and sniffing people he meets, and tending to find everyone and everything a interesting experience. He does rather enjoy music even if he can’t exactly hear as good as most people meaning that his own singing is often somewhat off tune. It should be noted that while he’s a very capable combatant even aside form this. Oh he also likes hugs... even if there unwelcome. and while be no means any romantic, his looks and tendency to not wear a shirt means he’s rather attractive much to keels own confusion. Just don’t touch the amulet he keeps with him... otherwise he will 100% nom you
  
  
  
  

 

[Fletchawk]

​

• General
• History

• 
  Name: Elda Koralis
  Age: Forty-two summers
  Gender: Female
  Species: Human
  Weight: 180lbs
  Height: 5' 10"
  
  ​
  Descriptors: A vast myriad of scars over most of her body, and the few on her face make her look older than she is. Raven colored hair, greyed by years on the battlefield. Her eyes can appear somewhat glazed from a distance, largely due to their steel colored hue.
  
  Abilities: Having spent nearly two decades immersed in war, Elda is a formidable melee combatant. Knowing that she'd never be as strong as her peers, despite never neglecting her physical training, she focused on more unorthodox methods of fighting. Spending the latter half of her career leading a platoon of men, she's become very adept at small unit tactics, and has a decent grasp on large scale strategies as well. Years of fighting have also honed her ability to read people, as she needed every edge to stay alive.
  
  Personality: Elda is gruff woman who is unsurprising short on words when off the battlefield. While she may not seem like an empathetic woman on the surface, it is because the cold hard realities of war have taught her time and time again that she can't save everyone. She has low tolerance for incompetence, stemming from the need of being able to trust her life to those who fight beside her.
  
  
• A Veteran of The Rideaux Royal Wars. Served under Irault Stormcloud and his father. Retired to Neveston after Irault took the throne.
  
  

 

[idalie]

Oderint dum metuant

• General
• Appearance
• Abilities
• Personality
• History

• Name: Guillemot de Clermont
  Age: 37
  Gender: Male
  Species: Human
• Weight: 200 lbs
  Height: 6'4"
  
  Looming at 6’4” the Knight is a broad, athletic man fit for his duties. Heavy muscle sets the foundation for his large frame, built for combat on years of intense training. More often than not, Guillemot wears his helm as a professional habit, refusing to remove it unless actively praying, sleeping, or eating. Afraid of being caught off guard and pushing the frightening image of the Exalted, he finds relief in the now tattered uniform. A deserter by all accounts. Behind the mask is a handsome, albeit melancholy man; thick dark hair falls just below his collarbone, tied back with leather or string. A strong jaw emphasised by his unruly beard makes the sleepless circles of paranoid eyes more pronounced, cheekbones ever striking from the drawn appearance of his features. Dressed in steel plate with faded surcoat, the ensemble hidden by a beggars cloak of rough cloth. An amulet depicting Alithian and a ring of his house arms is the only belongings pertaining to his past, before that of the Exalted.
  
• His place as an Exalted Knight granted Guillemot to be blooded with his brethren. The worms that make their home in the veins of these fighters, are well known to aid in quick regeneration of the body. Beyond his hardier wear, Guille has trained and studied in Knighthood for over thirty years. Swordsmanship, equestrian training and knowledge of warfare are just some of what he’s honed. More effective in a group rather than on his own, the individual war he’s waged against the abominations has been enlightening but hard labour. Other than his skills on the battlefield, Clermont is a surprisingly educated man beyond the scriptures of faith.
  
• Guillemot has dedicated his livelihood and essence to devotion, hard work, and loyalty. All three of which have been thrown up in the air since his desertion from the Exalted. Extremely religious still, even considering his circumstances, De Clermont leans on it heavier than ever to fulfil the void left by his estranged family and abandoned post. For someone who has lived under rules and expectations since the day of his conception, Guille is utterly lost in the changing landscape. There is nothing he can do, nothing he can see, that makes the future any easier, but marks out a long path toward salvation. Abstaining from vices with oaths and vows, Clermont holds onto the rigid structure of faith, more mechanical than man at times. His growth has only just begun yet it feels as though a daffodil blossoming in the deep midwinter.
  
• Guillemot was the fifth child of the de Clermont family, a small but old noble house who dabbled in trade and land. Born to serve but never inherit, throughout his childhood he was instilled with the lessons of the youngest son. From the age of seven he was trained as a Page, learning to read and write, finding a devotion to faith with the castle chaplains and beginning his introduction to the hard life of combat. He was taught by his fathers’ oldest and dearest friend; Sir Visscher, his mentor from that day onward would be Guille’s slave driver. In hindsight it was the best teaching that a boy could ask for, tested to the end of his tether again and again. He was instructed how to climb, swim, hunt and fight. Taken everywhere with the man he bore witness to skirmishes and death at an early age, a strange thing for a child to comprehend. By his early teenage years he was promoted to squire, owning his first set of real armour and allowed to choose a steed of his choice, a loyal animal that would follow him into his adult years.
  
  On his sixteenth summer, his training had come to an end. The fully-fledged Knight endured a ceremony of faith, holding a prayer vigil until the dawn where he was awarded his title. Indoctrinated into the Exalted Knights for their dedication to Alithian with his newly acquired station, Guillemot joined their ranks young and suffered for it. His life was a cold one, rigid with structure but alleviated by prayer and camaraderie. It was during those weeks, he and his fellow newcomers would be given the gift to aid them in their protection of the mages. Drinking deeply from a chalice where writhed the bodies of small, insignificant things, they were inherently changed. For better or worse, Guille could not say. It was their leaders, their priests and commanders who instilled them with the knowledge that they were blessed. Exalted Knights could not sin, not when they had Alithian’s own favour.
  
  He was charged to keep the peace, as they called it. To beat down uprisings, capture mages, and ensure that order was maintained. Innocent men and women suffered by his violence, his warnings not heeded as he dragged their children to the spire. The mages whom he would watch with the greatest of care, knowing that they were arguably the most favoured jewels his world revolved around. It was they, the youthful souls caged in the towers, that would save them all. Evil could not be allowed to flourish and it had been his responsibility to keep it at bay. To be a good and loyal dog, so his prayers would go answered by the powers that be.
  
  Clermont, as fanatic as he was, fell to his own demons in the end. The strain of such work leaves a dark and shattered conscience, not something religion can so easily soothe. His dreams attended each night by faces, eyelids printed with scripture that proved his actions righteous among the echo of broken families and starving villages. The fractures of his mind grew and madness took hold, something snapped. Once one of the most promising Knights of the Exalted, his massacres and violent outbursts ended his service to the order. A messy ex-communication when Guillemot attempted to attack a High Rector for his dismissal. It has been two years since the ragged Knight became a pilgrim, aiding peasantry against the onslaught of the Kraken's creatures. Wandering but returning to where it all began, Neveston. It is his hope to redeem himself, in the name of the people rather than the temple. To see his faith set right or wilt in the trials to come.
  

 

[Archie]

• General
• Appearance
• Abilities
• Personality
• History

• 
  Name: Eamon Rutherford
  Age: 24
  Gender: Male
  Species: Human
• Weight: 185 Pounds
  Height: 6'2"
  
  
• Eamon is an accurate and fast archer. He practices archery from the right side of the bow, enabling rapid shooting at short range - as much as 3 arrows per second. Adding to this speed, he holds multiple arrows in his right hand at a time. He is a better close range than long range shooter for this reason, but is competent in both. As a poacher, he has survival skills and is good at evading the law. He knows several tricks to go into a situation undetected, and has a silver tongue for weaseling his way in and out of situations.
  
  
• Conniving, underhanded, and fast-talking, Eamon is a man seemingly without principles. Making a living by breaking the Duke's poaching laws, by robbing the rich, and by peddling odd schemes, Eamon would have acquired a notorious reputation by now had he been important enough. Having been orphaned at a young age, Eamon has had no one and nothing but his own knowledge of the woods and his ability to market his skills to help him survive. He sees life as difficult, and all the underhanded aspects of his personality as necessary. Further, he believes that the social order as it stands now is fundamentally unjust - the lords and kings of the world claim to fight one another but in practice are cut from the same cloth. The good treatment of surrendering knights is just one of many customs that has turned war into a social event or a sport for the nobility, while it is still tragic for the peasants. Further, nobles will find any excuse to "treat with", dine with, and party with their alleged enemies. Having grown up "rough", Eamon sees himself as a "thief in law", a rogue who robs from the rich, indirectly to the benefit of the poor simply because their overbearing "betters" are a little worse off at the end of it.
  
  
• Eamon's father was a charcoal burner in the forests of Neveston. Orphaned during the civil war between Duke Rudolf and Sir Bertrand, later Bertrand I, Eamon grew up by himself in the woods with some help from the local priest from the age of 12. Learning to hunt, Eamon soon realized the best hunting grounds were those that belonged to the Duke, the most prolific hunter of them all, and became a poacher, ignoring the law. Thrown in the dungeon once, he made the acquaintance of local gangsters, and worked in their employ for several years after his release. After making enough money robbing for them to work alone, Eamon once again took to the woods, making a living through heists in the local areas, bird hunting (made relatively easy by his right-hand archery method), and by winning archery contests. The third has led to an ironic side-hustle as a somewhat desired archery instructor among the local nobility, most of whom are unaware of Eamon's brief time in the lord's dungeon.