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Fantasy We are Musketeers characters

Lordxana0

Junior Member
"Greetings to those who are known as Musketeers, I write this letter never knowing if it will reach you but praying to the Creator and each of the Saints that it does. I am the Crown Price of a large Kingdom by the name of Zorim, and I have seen such pain in my kingdom that it rends my heart. Without having made it known I have walked among our people and felt their despair. Children dead on their mothers breast for lack of food, priests thrown from their places of worship so that they can be remade into the sanctuary of a witch. Nobles feed of honey and boar while the common people beg for rats. My peoples pain is my own, but I have no power, and even my father the King is made into a figurehead by the Nobles, holding our kingdom hostage with threats of pulling out their money and leaving us to fund more powerful kingdoms should their demands not be met. But I can no longer stand this, I can't live knowing that my people suffer. I do not ask for you to empower or serve me, I beg you to do what must be done for my people. I don't care if I am cast from my place on the throne and live the life of a commoner working on my hands and knees to scrub floors. Please I cast aside my pride and beg you in the name of the Saint's and the Creator, please save my people. I beg this of you.'


An old man lowered a crumpled letter onto a large wooden table in the center of a large hall, filled with figures wearing red robes with hoods that covered their faces. Also at the table was a pale blonde man with a massive great sword at his side, and a young woman with raven hair and ebony skin who wore pistols on her sides. "This is the request that has come to us," the old man stated.

"I see," the pale man said, lacing his fingers together and looking forward. "If people are being abused then the only action we can take is to strive forward and save them." he smiled confidently and put a hand on his blade, as if he was ready to leave at that exact moment to right all that he saw.

The raven haired woman looked less sure. "And if this is a trap? We have never been friends to nobility before, having a Prince write us and begging for his people sounds suspicious to me." her words weren't meant to be unkind, but carried with them an air of realism to them that was hard to deny.

"I must rebuke you at that," the old man put a hand over the letter. "This paper carries with it the soul of a gentle person, even with my weak senses I can still feel the tears that splashed on it while he cursed his own weakness."

With a nod of her head the woman accepted those words, the oldest Seeker among them would simply know such things. "Very well, but I would still recommend we send a group forward to observe the situation before we gather all of our forces."

"I agree my dear." the old man replied with a nod.

The pale man frowned but accepted the words of his fellow Musketeers. "I see, then!" he stood up on his chair and looked to the various figured that surrounded the table. "Well you heard our High Seeker, we are looking for any who would brave this task for the people who are so readily abused by those above them. Those who feel the need to right this wrong speak now!"

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Classes

  • Master of Arms- A Master of Arms is a Musketeer who strives to find power within the strength of their arms and their chosen weapon. Each has studied long hours and practiced each day in order to use their weapon to its fullest potential. In the hands of a Master of Arms a knife is as deadly as any sword. Beyond this they have honed their own bodies until they reach an understanding of self that allows them to move in a way that wastes no effort, their reflexes are the likes of which could run through a storm and not have a single drop of liquid upon them. They strive to end conflicts in a straight forward way, but despite their best intentions find issues of more subtle natures difficult to grasp.

  • Rangers- Rangers are Musketeers who battle from range with a variety of hidden weapons and fast hit and run tactics in order to confuse their enemies. They utilize a wide variety of weapons, from the subtle throwing knife to the powerful Musket to end conflicts quickly. They train in the shadows to hide their natures until they can fully blend in to the background, becoming living shadows whose ever movement is wrapped in mystery. They are prepared for a variety of situations and prefer to be a step ahead of everyone. However due to their solitary nature they at times have trouble communicating their thoughts to others. Their hearts are in the right place, but their communication skills are awful.

  • Seekers- Seekers are those who dare to uncover the secrets of the natural world by manipulating the natural mana in the air to form spells and perform wonders. At times what they do appears to be miraculous, as if they were reshaping the world itself to their needs. However this an illusion, the Seeker can only reach forward into the mana with intent, what they draw forth from it may not always be what they expect or plan. It is only with years of meditations and study that a Seeker can come to actually craft the wild mana of the world into a controllable form, and even that provides some difficulty. They are by far the most powerful of the Musketeers, but physically most are frail. The greatest drawback for a Seeker is their sight, which allows them to know others by looking at how the mana of the world reacts to them. Most go mad seeing only darkness in others and become Witch's who cause pain, but should a Seeker stay true they can inspire light into the world.

Character Sheet
Name:
Age:
Gender:
Class:
Personality:
Backstory:
Appearance: [Imagine or description]
Weapon: [Image or description]
Spells: [For Seekers to put forward their most common abilities that they use.]
Creed: [Your characters personal oath. Each Musketeer agrees to uphold the three rules, but take a fourth that defines them. Could be as simple as 'always aid the poor' or more complicated. A Creed is their own personal promise to themselves and should connect with both personality and backstory]
 
Name:
Konstantin Vyacheslav

Age:
31

Gender:
Male

Class:
Master of Arms

Personality:
Dislikes small-talk and prefers silence; from first impressions, Konstantin is a sourfaced, bitter man who is agitated by heavy-breathers, loud-chewers, obnoxious laughers, and in general: human beings. Whilst some assume it's part of his 'brooding mystique', the musketeer has noted on several occasions he's fairly uninclined to speak on subjects not worth his breath, such as the weather and what kind of sandwiches you prefer. Make no mistake, Konstantin is nicer than he lets on alas it simply appears he hasn't quite had the time to work on his social skills nor care about what opinions others hold of him. Deathly sarcastic, seemingly apathetic, and constantly in a state of irritation -- befriending the stoic, blank-faced Northerner can seem like trying to build a bridge over a chasm of certain death before realising the pieces of the bridge are already burnt by a mob of angry, anti-constructionist imps who hate puns made about their height -- useless, better kept to the imagination, and will always end in some nasty confrontation. However, if one manages to succeed, Konstantin is surprisingly fond of those he befriends. Nevertheless, friends or not, Vyacheslav is loyal to whoever he considers a brother-in-arms and unfailingly supportive of his somewhat 'extended family'. Discreet, and helpful to advise on subjects deemed personal and business, Konstantin has earned a reputation for being somewhat an exasperated uncle to those who require it. Even so, he remains a loner for the most part, yet likes sitting on the fringes of groups to observe rather than join in, keeping to himself more than one secret, few being better known than others such as not being able to read nor write. The quiet, calm he exudes, often means that when he does raise his voice - people listen.

Backstory:
Konstantin grew up to the North, in the mountains. Whilst he dislikes speaking of it, the stern, permanently disgruntled character was a happy child once. Alas, any man can claim at least a singular, carefree memory of their youth which leads others to believe they had it better than most. Konstantin, on the other hand, was far from part of a perfect family. His father being a mercenary and mother the daughter of a merchant. While they had it good for a majority of their married life Konstantin was born in the days of summer, before the beginning of what came to be known as 'The Long Winter'. It lasted for three years, the ground never thawing enough for crops to be planted, which plunged areas of the North into great famines and unimaginable debt. Abused by bandits and taken advantage of by the faithless rich. Women sold themselves to pay for food, men worked themselves to the bone for a penny, and children lay skeletal in beds no longer able to play nor laugh.

When it began, Konstantin was only a child of seven who came to understand what having something truly meant. It meant having enough to eat so you didn't go to bed with a stomach that ached enough you'd fill yourself up with bark-tea till the sensation became nothing but the natural way of things. It meant having a roof over your head. It meant being able to step over the corpses of those who collapsed in the street -- unable to stand with legs so bowed by rickets they were morbid harps of soft bone. His mother fell ill first, perishing to exhaustion and fever. His father, did one last favour and took Konstantin on the perilous journey from the mountains downward accompanied by those desperate enough to risk it - till father and son were abandoned and without shelter. Until Konstantin was old enough, he remained living with an aunt and then found himself working with his father when he reached the prime age of fourteen.

Mercenary work suited Konstantin well into his early twenties, which was accompanied by the death of his father eventually and it sent him almost insane with grief. Konstantin, by that note, obtained a darker past than he lets on. There were things he wasn't proud of, and still, the Northerner pulled through to become cleansed. By all accounts, he was ready to hang up the blade and attempt making an honest man out of himself before discovering the Musketeers by the time he was twenty-four. Seven years in service, and not once has he failed whilst his faith has only increased in himself and the changes he can make to the world which has twisted beyond recognition. No matter what happened, Konstantin prefers to avoid having his past retold, for dislike of pity and the pain of what cannot be changed -- instead making a conscious decision to focus on the present moment.

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Standing at 6'5" the Northerner certainly gives the description of 'intimidation' weighing over 200 pounds of armour and muscle. Thick, shaggy black hair cups high cheekbones on which sit sharp, almost translucent glacier irises; reflecting the place of his birth - whilst his chin sports a thick, partially braided beard. Tattoos cover his chest, back, arms and legs -- however Konstantin personally inks his forearms. One may find him completing such a design on his skin in the evenings or beginning another, seemingly acting as an odd sort of personal meditation and peace of mind. His expression, nonetheless, appears never exhausted by the frown which overwhelms it day in, day out.

Weapon:
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A short hafted weapon, very effective at delivering heavy blows with the axe edge in a battle situation. Using the down curved, wedge-shaped blade coupled with the reinforced shaft makes for a very powerful cutting arc that can shear through mail and badly damage simple plate. However, in addition, the axe also sports a spike on the opposite side of the head to give the weapon equally devastating armour piercing capabilities. Its use extends to being able to hook around the back of the knee as a surprise attack, thus tearing out tendons and causing the opponent to collapse, or hooking the opponent's shield and pulling it away opening them up for further attack.
*Dual-wielded or used with shield

Spells:
N/A

Creed:
"I do so swear to pledge my blade to the innocent and wicked alike, for those in need have many faces. I will never falter to help the needy; aiding the poor and feeding the starving. Helping the sick of body and sick of mind, I swear upon the life of my own and countless which have come before me, that my time upon this mortal plain shall change the world for the better and safeguard innocence from harm. Where hurt is found, may I heal. Where evil abounds, may I eradicate. Where misunderstanding is prevalent, may I enlighten."
 
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W.I.P

Name: Ellia Martel
[ell-ya mard-tell]
Age: 28
Gender: Female
Class: Ranger
Personality: Ellia is, in layman's terms, a mess. She has herself pulled together during a fight, or a chase, no question. Her demeanor exudes confidence, slyness and years of undoubted practice. It is as if she is a cometely different person. And yet, away from the spoils of war, her hood is pulled down, her remarks are lazy and snarky, her hands dont know what to do with themselves, and her eyes are in a constant nervous flickering. On the surface, Ellia is incredibly janus faced. Not always on purpose. Those who come to understand her persona, will realise she has a plethora of emotions that she wishes to convey but she can only do so, a few at a time. She isn't exactly cheery but she isn't a pessimist. Ellie is hopeful. She isn't a lover, but she hates the fight. Ellia longs for balance. She stands up for those who cannot, and becomes their shield. Ellia is brave and selfless. She wants to connect, but she doesn't know how. Ellia is a closed book. She feels pity for the weak, and hunts those who prey on them. Ellia is passionate. She hates discussions and yet adores their outcomes. Ellia is stubborn. She knows what she wants and then she doesnt. Ellia is indecisive. She doesn't know what she wants, and suddenly she does. Ellia is determined and impressionable. She analyses her every situation as achievable in light of her obstacles. Ellia is fearless, intuituve and calculated. She values a good heart. Ellia doesn't know how to communicate that. Become close to Ellia, and you will find there is more than a lonesome ranger who's favourite pass time is leaping from buildings. There is a very good chance she will let you past at least...two, or her defences. And, don't be worried to ask her where her facial scars came from.
Just kidding. Good luck with that.
Backstory: Ellia grew up in amongst the sand dunes of the great dessert, and was raised by a loving father, and a harsh mother. She had a brother, who was older than her by one year. His name was Nathaniel. She has many other relatives, but she has not seen them or contacted them in many, many years.
Appearance:
"My mother used to tell me my hair grew white in place of her own. That it sacrificed itself for her's because i loved her so dearly."
"It's true then?"
"Ha. I hated that woman more than anything."

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outfit + short swords & best [only] friend
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Her deep copper skin and countless freckles must be owed to the harsh sun of her homeland and the similar characteristics all those from the sand possess. As can her accent, which can be compared to that of something foreign and spanish/latin in our real life. Her eyes are an intense sea green , uncharacteristic of her golden eyed people. Her hair is a deep dark hazel, save for the way it catches in the sun, and the strands of grey and white hair from her roots. A result of "a stressfull childhood". Across her face are three confronting claw marks. They have healed over time, but left noticeable white scars that run close to her left eye, over her cheek and, one, across her plump lip. Their origin is explained in her biography. They do not hurt, but they can itch when Ellia becomes nervous. Ellia stands at 5'9" in height, and has a toned and highly muscled physique which weighs in at about 125lbs.
Weapons:
Short Swords - A pair of short swords she usually utilises simultaneously in a fight. Since beginning to train with them, she has become ambidextrous. They give her the advantage of greater odds in a sword fight, and when crossed, make it easier to block incoming objects and blows. She ties her sword skills in with her nimble kicks and flips to become unpredictable and ultimately fast in any fight. They have their own sheaths on each side of her hips.
[pictured with garb]
Grappling Hook - A simple-ish rope and grapple which hangs in a lasso like style from her waist. She uses it to reach high distances, grab hold of assailants trying to escape her, pull assailants down from the edge of rootops, bring assailants towards her in a fight, etc. The hook doesn't do more damage than she wants. She uses it correctly, and has so far only killed one person with it purposefully. It comes in handy especially when needing a quick escape or a way across empty space. Soon as the grapple is in place, she is climbing or swinging with ease. The rope hangs on her right side, as she is more dominant in the right hand.

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Miscellaneous: She is also capable of using a long/short bow, throwing knives, staff, and pistol should she happen upon any of them, or be required to equip them
Creed: "I swear, that the injustices that befell my life will not befall the innocents that i walk among. No child shall furrher witness death, no mother will have her babe stripped from her, no sister will have to beg for her brothers mercy. I swear by the old saints, and the new, that the innocent will be under my protection, always, until my dying breath. Nothing will stand in my way, and the justice that must befall the wicked, in order for our good world to heal itself, and for those wicked, to find retribution from their sins."
 
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Trist Monroe


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The Crow


Name: Trist Monroe
Age: Twenty-six winters
Gender: Female
Class: Seeker


Personality: Trist is a rather courteous, she rarely forgets her manners and it always polite as she can be. It is often confusing should she face someone aggressive, but it adds to her kindness. Trist also takes risks daily, due to her nature, she'd always prepared to adventure into the unknown in the meaning of knowledge. Typically she's curious, loyal and logical. Three things she holds very dear, her curiosity will only lead her to certain places, never pressing further about people than her relationship with them will allow. However when it comes to knowledge, Trist will press and press and press. Although she may be loyal, Trist is prepared to be dishonest if it's required to keep them safe, whether it endangers her or not. On the contrary, she is very fragile when it comes to romantic interests. Likely unprepared she doesn't know what to do, flirting and courting are certainly not her strong points.

Backstory: Trist was raised in an distant village within swamp lands. Most of her family shared the trait of fare skin due to the lack of sunlight, or so they say at least. She was raised as any other child would be though occasionally visiting other local towns for herbal trade. Trists village was well known for their common healing using plants grinded and mixed with other liquids. She was different though, this young girl, there was something that poked and twitched about her than people couldn't put there finger on. Her mother knew it exactly, taking her away Trist and her younger brother disappeared into the thickness of the swamps.

When she appeared once more, she was alone, aged twenty-two a lot for her had changed including who she was. Trist travelled to the biggest city of them all and set up shop as a simple herbalist. Of course this was a cover for her true intentions of discovering more about the world and magic. The constant buying of books and the continuous writing soon filled her room to the point of exploding. She was learning, finding out more and more. Over the years she slowed herself down, focused more on what the world needed rather than what she did.

Weapon: Long crooked staff with a clear crystal like egg sat on top. From what she knows, the crystal holds nothing but an pleasing appearance, yet due to her unwillingness to use a blade, this is what she uses for protection of herself. (scroll picture to see.)

Spells: Due to her time behind the cloaking shadows of the swamp, this Seeker has played in the darker of magic's.
Ring of crows: Her go to spell, she is able to summon flocks of black ravens, targeting at maximum three different targets. They peck, dive and claw at her prey, ending in painful death.
Foretell the past: With great concentration, Trist is able to bring forth the soul of dead company, it is a painful progress and requires much of her power. It's only ever used if she has to find out information that may be dire.
Army of the dead: This is her most powerful spell, but it has never been used, except once. Trist is able to bring forth the dead beneath the earth to fight for her. The last time she cast it however, she almost died from the amount of energy it took out of her.​

Creed: "I swear, till my last breath is taken, all and any knowledge that I find within the world will be set for the children of our children's children. I will sacrifice my own mind to succeed, to only know that they will have a better future, in health, in knowledge and in everything that the natural world can give to us."

 
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