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Raven sourit à Ellie après qu'elle lui ait fait un câlin. Elle est entrée après qu'Ellie ait déplacé quelques espaces pour lui donner de l'espace et c'est là qu'elle a vu combien de personnes il y avait. Il a dit d'un ton heureux après avoir été présenté par Dai. Mon nom est Rayne et j'ai hâte de devenir ton ami. Il a dit avec un sourire. Raven s'est tourné vers le gars joyeux qui s'est présenté comme Rayne. Elle a légèrement cogné la tête et a répondu avec un petit sourire, "C'est un plaisir de vous rencontrer." Elle a regardé le reste des visiteurs et s'est couchée sur un des canapés, était un gars qui lui souriait. Elle l'a rendu avec l'une des siennes et l'a amusé à le regarder rouler hors du canapé. Son attention était de retour à Dai quand elle a réalisé qu'il lui parlait. "Vous, Eleanor et Faith pouvez partager ma chambre si vous voulez. Je trouverai-"il s'est tourné vers Rayne et a clin d'oeil sarcastiquement alors qu'il a placé une main légère sur leur épaule pour le moment; "quelque part où dormir." Raven a été un peu pris le dos, surpris que Dai n'était plus si timide. Il chuchotait d'un ton plutôt suggestif. Elle n'a pu s'empêcher d'être amusée par ce petit échange de flirt et elle a laissé un petit rire sur le visage rouge de Dai. Sachant à quel point il est embarrassé, elle n'a pas pu s'empêcher d'apprécier la situation. Quoi qu'il en soit, la nourriture sonne comme une bonne idée.Il a dit alors qu'il regardait Raven avec un sourire. Vous êtes d'accord? L'attention de Raven était maintenant sur Rayne. La mention de la nourriture l'a fait gronder l'estomac et l'eau de sa bouche. Son corps se sentait si faible à la faim qu'elle ressentait. -- Oui, s'il vous plaît. Elle a répondu dans ce qui ressemblait à un murmure. Elle s'est tournée vers Dai pour obtenir sa permission. Après tout, il était le propriétaire de la Cabine. "Pouvons-nous dîner, s'il vous plaît?" Elle l'a demandé avec douceur.

Age: 17 Height: 5'5 Weight: 105lbs Gender: Female Orientation: Heterosexual Handedness: Right hand is dominant but she is able to write with her left hand slowly Appearance: Long black hair, hazel brown eyes, petite General Personality: -Might seem mean and closed off at first but starts to open up and become more friendly after getting to know her -Blunt and can be harsh with words. -Cares deep inside. -Neat freak. Makes sure every corner of the house is clean and spotless. -Mischievous with a wicked sense of humor

Un peu distrait par Rayne, qui avait réussi à remettre la situation en leur faveur (et à l'embarrasser davantage dans le processus), Dai n'a presque pas répondu quand la question a été posée. Il s'est presque ébranlé en réponse, puis s'est rendu compte de sa place d'hôte; "Oh, bien sûr." Il murmura, sachant que c'était plus tard qu'il ne l'avait senti, et très bientôt, si ce n'était déjà fait, la lumière des soleils s'estomperait laissant seulement une couverture d'étoiles dans le ciel. "Tu sais cuisiner?" Il admirait Rayne, avec qui il devenait plus à l'aise, étant donné qu'il était mieux préparé après ses premières expériences avec leur humour. Lâché, il a traversé le salon et autour d'un long bar-counter, passant P-J et Richard avec un petit clin d'œil de reconnaissance. "Un... deux... trois..." il a commencé, comptant des visages pour la première fois depuis qu'ils étaient tous arrivés. "Ten...." il s'est moqué, un coup soudain de nervosité qui revient et fait pâler son visage. "Je-" a-t-il ajouté à contrecœur; "Je pense que je vais juste appeler quelqu'un." Avec cela, il a pris le téléphone sans fil reposant sur le comptoir intérieur où il reposait contre le mur, et a composé un nombre court, quatre chiffres avant de mettre le téléphone à l'oreille; "Laura. Dix. Les gens. Nourriture, aidez-moi. S'il vous plaît." Il y avait de courtes pauses entre chaque déclaration et celui qui se trouvait à l'autre bout de la ligne semblait assez bien le connaître pour continuer la conversation.

Name: Diana "Dai/Dye" Monroe Age: 19 Height: 5'11 Weight: 120ibs Sex: Male Gender: Cis Male Orientation: Homosexual Handedness: Right Appearance: He's very thin, and relatively tall with spindly arms and legs, but everything about him is gentle, save for his thick-framed glasses. He wears primarily baggy sweaters in soft colours and tight-fitting skinny jeans with his black shoes. General Personality: He's relatively quiet and mild mannered, though often quite sarcastic and dark humored. Overall, people tend to gravitate toward him because he's honest, kind and incredibly loyal.

P-J prenait tout ce qui se passait autour de lui quand Rich s'approchait de lui. P-J connaissait Rich grâce à son amitié avec Rayne et P-J pensait qu'il avait tout à fait raison, mais il ne savait pas assez de lui pour le classer comme un ami proche. Même si toutes les indications étaient que Rich était un gars tout à fait juste et Rayne avait bon goût dans ses amitiés, donc P-J était cool avec Rich. P-J a souri et a dit, "Hey là Rich content de te voir." P-J a levé sa bouteille et a pris une perruque. P-J a remis sa bouteille sur le bar et a dit. "Il semble que Dai n'était pas vraiment prêt pour tout ça, et que Rayne en ait invité quelques-uns de plus qu'il n'était censé le faire. Tout cela étant dit bien que ce sera tout à fait correct, je pense que la clé est de le prendre comme il se doit. » Il a pris un autre verre et a dit, "Je vous ai vu apporter votre SG avec vous, impatient de vous entendre pendant l'été. Je suis fan de Springsteen quand il s'agit de musique. On l'a vu quatre fois au premier rang une fois." P-J a regardé Dai en arrière et a dit à Rich, "Nous devons aider à garder notre hôte sur une quille uniforme. En ce moment, le pauvre gars a l'air d'avoir une dépression nerveuse si tu le regardes mal. Je ne peux pas dire que je le blâme bien que la majorité des gens ici il ne saurait pas s'ils portaient des étiquettes de noms et avaient leurs CV avec eux. Maintenant, il leur sert d'hôte." P-J secoua la tête et dit : "Ça va être un moment intéressant jusqu'à ce qu'on s'habitue l'un à l'autre. Sans parler de qui sait qui peut avoir des relations avec qui l'été se poursuit. » P-J a hurlé et a dit, "Okay je pense que Dai pourrait avoir besoin d'un peu d'éclaircissement de sa charge." P-J est allé au bureau prendre une feuille de papier et y a écrit. Il est revenu au bar et a déménagé à Dai qui était au téléphone. Il a retenu la note qui disait : « Y a-t-il quelque chose que je puisse faire pour vous aider? »

Name: Peter Jason McCabe (Goes by P-J) Age: 19 Height: 6' 2" Weight: 220 Sex: Male Gender: Male Orientation: Hetero HandedNess (dominance): Right Appearance Also has a scar on his left hand. General Personality: P-J is sizable and is going to the University of Pittsburgh on a football scholarship, but don't let that fool you. He is an easy going guy who likes hanging out with his friends and enjoys having a good laugh. P-J doesn't believe in using his size to intimidate others and likes helping others. P-J has a sarcastic wit and at times doesn't know when to turn it off. If he goes over the line with it he will be the first to apologize for it and do what he can to have someone forgive him. However do not EVER mistake P-J's kindness for weakness, and if you ever do cross him or hurt one of his friends P-J is not above hurting you.

Diana a été visiblement surpris, mais cela a cédé la place à un petit sourire alors qu'il continuait sa conversation au téléphone; qui consistait en grande partie de "ouis" ou "noes" calmes et l'élaboration occasionnelle, rien de particulièrement intéressant. Passant au bar, il a pris la note de P-J, et à l'aide d'un stylo bleu qu'il avait trouvé par la base des téléphones a griffonné quelque chose précipitamment avant de retourner la note vers son invité avec un shrug. C'est ainsi que Dai se retourna, se penchant légèrement contre le bord des comptoirs avec son dos à tout le monde, et continua sa conversation, et il apporta une main à l'arrière de sa tête, se battant légèrement avec ses cheveux dans une pensée distraite, pendant qu'il tapait son pied lâchement sur la chanson jouant à la radio.

Name: Diana "Dai/Dye" Monroe Age: 19 Height: 5'11 Weight: 120ibs Sex: Male Gender: Cis Male Orientation: Homosexual Handedness: Right Appearance: He's very thin, and relatively tall with spindly arms and legs, but everything about him is gentle, save for his thick-framed glasses. He wears primarily baggy sweaters in soft colours and tight-fitting skinny jeans with his black shoes. General Personality: He's relatively quiet and mild mannered, though often quite sarcastic and dark humored. Overall, people tend to gravitate toward him because he's honest, kind and incredibly loyal.

Oui, je me sens un peu coupable d'être honnête. Rich a dit à P-J à propos de la situation de Dai. "Comme, je sais si un tas de gens se sont pointés chez moi que je ne savais pas que je serais assez paniqué, mais oui comme tu l'as dit, parfois il faut juste aller avec le flux." Rich sourit à P-J quand il commença à discuter de musique. "Oui, je l'ai apporté pour un peu d'entraînement et si quelqu'un voulait entendre un peu. Quand je suis avec mon groupe, nous jouons habituellement au surf upbeat et au type grungy, mais quand je serai solo, je jouerai encore un peu de ce truc, mais je jouerai généralement plus de trucs moelleux comme J Mascis, ou Mac DeMarco, ou Elliot Smith. Mais si tu veux entendre un Springsteen, je pense que je pourrais jouer quelques-uns de ses trucs." Il a dit avec un sourire. Quand Dai est entré à l'air paniqué, Rich a décidé qu'il devrait aider d'une façon ou d'une autre. Bien que les seules choses qu'il savait cuisiner étaient des macaronis, des ramens instantanés et des toasts pour qu'il n'ait pas beaucoup d'aide sur le front de la cuisine. Quand P-J est revenu de Dai, Rich l'a lu de derrière lui avant de lui demander : "Tu vas avoir besoin d'aide pour ça? Ou devrais-je essayer de trouver autre chose pour aider?" Il ne semblait pas vraiment que c'était tout ce qu'il fallait porter, mais Rich ne voulait pas vraiment avoir l'air d'un poids trop lourd, et il se sentait mal de s'être simplement barbouillé avec une invitation douteuse, même s'il n'était pas la seule personne à le faire.

Name: Richard "Rich" Masters Age: 19 Height: 5'9" Weight: 135 Sex: Male Gender: Male Identifying Orientation: Homosexual Handedness: Right Appearance: A bit lanky as he is underweight for his age. He's almost never seen without sunglasses on and he's usually wearing some kind of band or media related t-shirt. General Personality: Layed back and relaxed mostly. What a lot of people would describe as having the personality of a stoner, even if he does not do any drugs. It's not like he could afford a drug habit anyway, being a music major doesn't really facilitate a lot of steady income. --- Hope this is alright and I didn't leave anything out.

P-J a regardé la note et a entendu l'offre de Rich d'aider. P-J l'a regardé et a dit, "Oui, ces escaliers ont l'air un peu délicats. Je ne dirai pas non à une offre. Allons-y." Comme P-J a commencé à aller chercher les bagages, il a dit, "J'ai grandi dans une famille avec 10 d'entre nous dans la maison, donc ce n'est pas trop mal. En ce qui concerne la cuisine, maman est professeur d'école et papa est inspecteur de police, donc une chose mes parents ont fait en sorte que nous sachions comment cuisiner parce que nous ne savions pas toujours quand ils seraient à la maison. Certaines nuits, il nous est tombé pour préparer le dîner." P-J a hurlé et a dit avec une note de fierté », je fouette une jolie sauce spaghetti maison. Eh bien, sauf pour le temps il y a environ 3 ans, j'ai oublié de brunir le Saucisson Italien tout le long et donné juste à peu près tous les empoisonnements alimentaires." P-J secoua la tête et dit que la note d'orgueil était partie, « Mon père me menaça de me jeter en prison, et avec celui qui n'est jamais une menace oisive non plus. Bien que ma 3ème sœur aînée ait eu une mi-parcours Trig le lendemain, elle n'était donc pas trop contrariée avec moi." Il s'est serré les épaules et a dit : « Le reste de la famille s'est bien passé en février, et ce n'est qu'à Pâques que tout le monde a recommencé à me parler. Surtout parce que le père Moore avait un message de Pâques sur le pardon." Quand P-J a entendu Rich mentionner Springsteen qui a fait sourire P-J. Il m'a dit : "C'est bon! C'est mon gars jusqu'au bout. Il l'a vu quatre fois et mon père m'a même eu son autographe. Papa était encore un flic battu faisant la circulation une nuit, et il est venu en vitesse à travers la ville. Papa l'a arrêté et a réalisé qui c'était, alors mon père m'a dit que pour un autographe, il le laisserait partir avec un avertissement. Le reste, c'est l'histoire." P-J a pris un des sacs et a dit, "Allons-y", avec ce P-J a commencé à se déplacer à l'étage et à la chambre.

Name: Peter Jason McCabe (Goes by P-J) Age: 19 Height: 6' 2" Weight: 220 Sex: Male Gender: Male Orientation: Hetero HandedNess (dominance): Right Appearance Also has a scar on his left hand. General Personality: P-J is sizable and is going to the University of Pittsburgh on a football scholarship, but don't let that fool you. He is an easy going guy who likes hanging out with his friends and enjoys having a good laugh. P-J doesn't believe in using his size to intimidate others and likes helping others. P-J has a sarcastic wit and at times doesn't know when to turn it off. If he goes over the line with it he will be the first to apologize for it and do what he can to have someone forgive him. However do not EVER mistake P-J's kindness for weakness, and if you ever do cross him or hurt one of his friends P-J is not above hurting you.

Rayne a riposté à la question de Dai. Rayne avait beaucoup de compétences et presque toutes étaient inutiles. La cuisine n'était malheureusement pas l'un d'entre eux. Ses repas se composaient généralement de pizzas livrées, de nouilles instantanées et de soupe à micro-ondes. Cela faisait quelques semaines qu'il n'avait pas mangé correctement. Vivre seul sans savoir faire de la maison a été fastidieux après un certain temps. Il est resté là pendant une minute, en contemplant si les nouilles instantanées étaient un bon aliment de base, avant d'entendre le bruit de Dai parler dans le téléphone. La conversation semblait ébranlée et quelque peu absente de cette fin. Ce n'était pas longtemps avant que Rayne s'ennuie de se tenir debout dans le silence, alors il se tourna vers Raven et sourit. Qu'est-ce qui t'amène à ce cou des bois? » Il demanda alors qu'il se dirigeait vers une chaise et s'asseyait, glissant jusqu'à ce qu'il soit à peine assis dessus. J'ai été invité par Faith et je me suis dit: «Pourquoi pas?» Il a dit alors qu'il regardait autour de la pièce. Il a vu P-J et Rich aller chercher les bagages près de la porte. Vous faites déjà du bon travail. Je vous aiderais, mais je ne voudrais pas voler votre tonnerre. Il a dit avec un petit sourire. Il s'est penché sur sa chaise et s'est un peu détendu. S'ils lui demandaient de l'aider, il le ferait, mais il s'y opposerait probablement. Il n'est pas le gars le plus fort, donc porter des choses n'est pas exactement sa tasse de thé.

Name: Rayne Maxwell Age: 18 Height: 5’7 Weight: 115ibs Sex: Male Gender: Male Orientation: A bit of this and a bit of that. (Bisexual) HandedNess (dominance): Right Appearance (description &/or image): Rayne is a fairly skinny guy with long arms and legs. Favourite clothes include jeans and long sleeved shirts when it’s cold, and a normal shirt and still jeans when it’s hot. General Personality (description): In a word, eccentric would be the most fitting for Rayne. He is fun loving and very active, always running around and playing. He is always smiling, doing his best to lighten the mood, even if he is sad or depressed. When asked as a kid ‘What is the one thing you want the most?’ His answer was ‘I want everyone in the world to smile’. This is the motto he lives by every day, doing his best to be happy with his friends. (Side note, he is rather flirtatious with almost everyone he meets)

J'aime les chats. Ça ne me dérangerait pas de partager une sieste ou deux avec le petit gars, Kevin sourit à Calliope, se levant les pieds et les mettant sur la table. Il tendit les mains sur la tête, libérant la tension de ses épaules endoloris avant de remonter les manches de sa chemise bleu foncé. Il s'est posé doucement la tête sur le coussin encombrant du canapé, permettant à son cadre d'être avalé par le canapé luxueux. Tilting légèrement la tête, Kevin affronta et sourit à la jeune fille située de son côté du territoire à sa gauche. "Tu ne ronfles pas, n'est-ce pas?" Kevin s'est taquiné, laissant rire. Enlevant la casquette de sa tête, le garçon courut ses doigts minces à travers ses cheveux foncés, qui étaient généralement droits et de style, mais est devenu plat et indiscipliné à cause des cheveux de chapeau, massant les touffes de racines tordues qui tiraient sur son cuir chevelu. Il a donné un petit bâilleur poli, inclinant son corps de sorte que sa bouche n'était pas visible pour la fille à côté de lui, avant de reprendre le chapeau de baseball. Kevin a jeté un coup d'œil sur ses épaules et n'a pas pu s'empêcher de sourire à la vivacité du décor. Il semblait qu'un autre invité était arrivé, une jeune fille aux cheveux noirs coulants, ajoutant un autre nombre à leur divers et spontané groupe. Mais parce qu'il semblait que le nouveau venu était occupé par Rayne, Eleanor, et l'hôte gratuit lui-même, Kevin a décidé qu'il valait mieux se présenter plus tard. Il aurait tout l'été, après tout. En retournant à son « colocataire », Kevin laissa tomber ses pieds sur le sol et s'appuya vers l'avant, grimpant les coudes sur ses cuisses et reposant son menton sur les mains serrées. Le jeune homme la regardait doucement, ses yeux sombres étaient chauds et analytiques. "Huh. Je ne t'avais jamais vu porter tes cheveux comme ça, » a dit Kevin, s'inclinant la tête et portant ses lèvres par curiosité. Ses yeux suivaient les cernes dorées de ses longs cheveux, admirant la douce lueur produite par son reflet de l'ambiance intérieure. Les seuls fois où les deux se sont parlés étaient à la base d'un mur de rochers, les cheveux de Callie étant enveloppés ou attachés d'une manière non distrayante alors qu'elle se préparait à grimper, comme toutes les autres femmes qui faisaient partie de leur groupe d'escalade. En fait, il n'avait jamais vu d'autre face à elle que son portrait athlétique. Les deux ne se considéraient pas comme des amis proches en dépit de leur activité congruente, et donc, seulement jamais parlé l'un à l'autre par politesse, n'ayant pas vu l'autre où d'autre, mais. Cependant, elle était maintenant, parmi un groupe d'étrangers, à quelques mètres de lui. C'était assez bizarre, quoique rafraîchissant, de la voir dans un état autre que compétitif. Le monde est petit, en effet. Kevin sourit en entendant l'optimisme éclater de Rayne alors qu'il s'engageait avec le groupe derrière lui.

Name: Kevin Sinnet Age: 19 Height: 5'9 Weight: 135 lbs Sex: Male Gender: Male Orientation: Heterosexual HandedNess: Left Appearance: A slender, young man with a slightly toned build due to the many physical activities he used to participate in years prior from entering uni. His frame, although thin, can be described as lithe but sturdy. His hair is of medium length, stark under normal lighting conditions but glows a soft golden-brown if presented under the radiance of the sun. The tone of his skin is slightly tan, just a step or two darker than fair. His eyes are pools of chocolate; dark and piercing but warm and comforting. The most defining characteristic about Kevin Sinnet is his smile - slightly crooked, but in a charming, unique manner. General Personality: Charismatic and sociable, Kevin is an optimistic individual who's not afraid to speak his mind. He's well mannered and understanding, as his public self seems to radiate a certain charm. He tends to get along easily with people, as he puts himself out there and is usually the first one to introduce himself. He's the type of person that accepts everyone equally as he is not a person that judges. Kevin Sinnet's cheerful personality is not over the top, but rather refreshing and genuine. As a private individual, however, Kevin Sinnet is selfish and stubborn. Everything has to be his way, though he hides these hidden desires pretty well. If angered to the point where these values may become vulnerable, he usually becomes silent, distant, and aloof. Light, gentle, respectable and understanding are keywords to describing his refreshing character. Boom! Here's mine. Can't wait to see all of yours. I'm excited for all of the mingling, drama, and fun. :)

«C'est un été bondé...» Eleanor a glissé en se parlant, touchant l'énorme meurtrissure sur son front, heureusement couvert de ses cheveux et pas aussi visible. Ne voulant se joindre à aucune des conversations qu'elle a commencé à porter son sac à l'escalier. "Je crois que je partage" Elle s'est dit avant d'atteindre le bas de l'escalier. "Excusez-moi, P-J et Rich?" Elle a répété ces noms du jeune homme qui flirtait autrefois avec Diana, bien qu'elle n'avait absoloutley aucune idée qui était qui. "Pouvez-vous soulever mon sac à l'étage? Je sais que si j'essaie, je finirai par avoir plus de contusions sur moi. " Elle a maladroitement glissé, étant à moitié sérieuse. Ellie se sentait un peu plus froide autour de tous ces gens, ils semblaient tous authentiques et gentils. Comme si elle pouvait se faire d'autres amis cet été. Elle est passée au frigo et a pris une bouteille d'eau, alors qu'elle fermait le frigo avec une balançoire de ses hanches, elle dévêchait déjà la bouteille et prenait une gorgée, maintenant qu'elle était un peu affamée. Elle n'avait eu qu'une pomme aujourd'hui parce qu'elle était trop pressée de prendre une minute et d'écouter son estomac gronder. « J'espère que Diana est au téléphone à une compagnie de pizza », a-t-elle médité, mettant sa bouteille sur le côté qui déborde un peu en raison de son esprit se concentrant sur la pensée du fast-food et tout ce qui est malsain. Ses deux parents étant des monstres de la santé depuis qu'elle était une enfant lui faisant faire des séances d'entraînement tous les soirs, et ne mangeant que ce dont elle avait besoin, puisqu'elle a été invitée elle a toujours pensé à des aliments malsains et de l'alcool.

Name: Eleanor/Ellie Dove Age: 17 (just turned last week) Height: 5"5 Weight: 116lb Sex:Female Gender: Female Orientation: Hetero/experimental HandedNess (dominance): Right Appearance (description &/or image): lots of images (i got carried away shiina is too pretty) General Personality (description): If you do not know her Eleanor is a quiet girl-not shy just quiet. She will speak her mind but not in the strongest fashions and always has something to say but she will keep it under her breath. The first impression of Eleanor is a pushover girl considering her scholarship in art and speaking a different language (french). However once you get to know her she is quirky, confident, excited, hyper and down right annoying, Although she seems calm at all times.She enjoys winding people up and being sarcastic.

Rich est allé avec P-J à l'entrée, voyant un seul sac là-bas, il a été un peu déçu. Bien que tout le monde l'appelait un laïc de retour sur le campus, il voulait vraiment aider même un peu ici, mais il semblait qu'il obtiendrait le label de poids mort encore une fois. Il a décidé de rester pour voir si P-J aurait besoin d'aide de toute façon. Il a écouté attentivement P-J raconter son histoire. La première chose qui l'a frappé était la quantité de frères et sœurs qu'il avait. "Votre famille est énorme. Je n'ai qu'une sœur, Kathrin. Elle est vraiment intelligente, et méchante à la basse." Il a dit avec un petit ronchon. Il a ensuite entendu parler du temps de prison et de l'ostracisme et s'est senti mal pour lui. "Tu es sérieux? Je ne pense pas que quelqu'un serait aussi dur à cause d'un empoisonnement alimentaire. Comme je comprends, l'empoisonnement alimentaire est mauvais et tout, mais, je ne pense pas que cela justifie vraiment la prison ou 1-2 mois du traitement silencieux. Je sais pas, c'est une erreur pour moi." Bien que Rich ait ri quand P-J a élevé Springsteen. "Je dois dire, si j'arrêtais Springsteen, je le laisserais partir avec un avertissement aussi, ne semble pas comme le genre de gars que vous voudriez en colère contre vous." C'est alors que Rich vit une femme qu'il n'avait pas encore vue, bien qu'elle semblait connaître son nom. Elle demandait s'il pouvait porter ses affaires et il savait finalement que c'était là qu'il pouvait s'éloigner de l'étiquette plus lâche au moins un peu. "Bien sûr, pas de soucis." Il a dit avec un sourire qu'il descendait l'escalier et l'a ramassé. C'était un peu lourd, mais rien qu'il n'ait pu traverser. Et bien sûr, ce n'était probablement que lourd pour lui parce qu'il n'a pas vraiment travaillé du tout ou quoi que ce soit. Pour la plupart des autres, ça ne les faiblirait pas du tout. Il est revenu jusqu'à P-J et a continué à monter les escaliers.

Name: Richard "Rich" Masters Age: 19 Height: 5'9" Weight: 135 Sex: Male Gender: Male Identifying Orientation: Homosexual Handedness: Right Appearance: A bit lanky as he is underweight for his age. He's almost never seen without sunglasses on and he's usually wearing some kind of band or media related t-shirt. General Personality: Layed back and relaxed mostly. What a lot of people would describe as having the personality of a stoner, even if he does not do any drugs. It's not like he could afford a drug habit anyway, being a music major doesn't really facilitate a lot of steady income. --- Hope this is alright and I didn't leave anything out.

Raven était occupée à regarder autour et à obtenir nostalgique sur l'endroit avant qu'elle a réalisé que deux gars qu'elle n'a pas encore été présenté à, porté ses bagages à l'étage. Comme elle ne connaissait même pas leurs noms, elle était un peu réticente à vous remercier, étant la personne fermée qu'elle était. Un merci bourdonné était la seule chose qu'elle pouvait rassembler. L'état de faim a eu son corps se sentir faible et elle est passée au bar et a pris un siège une des chaises.

Age: 17 Height: 5'5 Weight: 105lbs Gender: Female Orientation: Heterosexual Handedness: Right hand is dominant but she is able to write with her left hand slowly Appearance: Long black hair, hazel brown eyes, petite General Personality: -Might seem mean and closed off at first but starts to open up and become more friendly after getting to know her -Blunt and can be harsh with words. -Cares deep inside. -Neat freak. Makes sure every corner of the house is clean and spotless. -Mischievous with a wicked sense of humor

Soupirant audiblement, bien qu'à lui-même, Dai se tourna alors qu'il terminait l'appel et faillit laisser tomber le téléphone, un peu surpris par l'apparition de Ravens. Il s'en est emparé pendant quelques secondes, puis il a réussi un petit sourire embarrassé avant de revenir en arrière et de le placer sur son stand. "Compte tenu du court préavis, apparemment nous avons des pizzas." Il a donné une explication, ce n'était pas le premier repas le plus élégant pour commencer l'été... mais peut-être, avec le groupe dans son ensemble à l'esprit, il a pensé que c'était approprié. Diana se tourna et commença vers la porte au bord de la petite cuisine, mais, même à l'approche, il commença à s'inquiéter malgré son état d'esprit antérieur. Se levant de quel courage il avait, sachant tout le temps qu'il était très stupide, il se dirigea vers la porte et l'ouvrit si légèrement avant de le soupirer et de le refermer à nouveau; "Ray, veux-tu m'aider à les sortir du congélateur?" Ils se connaissaient depuis un moment, et comme dans la plupart des amitiés, on raconte des secrets d'heures supplémentaires, et l'un de ses était qu'il avait terriblement peur d'être seul. Même si seulement une minute ou deux dans une salle de stockage.

Name: Diana "Dai/Dye" Monroe Age: 19 Height: 5'11 Weight: 120ibs Sex: Male Gender: Cis Male Orientation: Homosexual Handedness: Right Appearance: He's very thin, and relatively tall with spindly arms and legs, but everything about him is gentle, save for his thick-framed glasses. He wears primarily baggy sweaters in soft colours and tight-fitting skinny jeans with his black shoes. General Personality: He's relatively quiet and mild mannered, though often quite sarcastic and dark humored. Overall, people tend to gravitate toward him because he's honest, kind and incredibly loyal.

La tête d'Eleanor branlée alors qu'elle entendait la phrase "nous avons une pizza" Diana n'avait pas autant d'excitation dans sa voix qu'Ellie le ferait, si elle pouvait dire cette phrase. "PIZZA!" Elle a dit inconsciemment avec un énorme sourire sur son visage, alors qu'elle se rendait compte à quel point elle était ouverte elle s'est rapidement calmée et a pris une gorgée de sa bouteille désirée, "Oui, la pizza a l'air bien." Elle a parlé d'un ton calme et relaxant. "Voulez-vous que je l'aide à cuisiner?" Elle a dit vite, sa bouche arrosant à la pensée. "Comme.. vous savez obtenir du fromage supplémentaire dans le frigo?" Elle parlait beaucoup et elle le savait. Elle se leva, ne s'attendait pas à une réponse et marcha vers une fenêtre, c'était le soir et le soleil se couchait, elle la regardait tomber derrière la terre, pour ne plus être vue avant le lendemain matin. Après le coucher du soleil, elle regarda le paysage à l'extérieur. Un lac? Elle s'est interrogée : « Je n'ai pas apporté de costume de natation... devrais-je aller en acheter un? On peut nager dedans?C'est ce que j'ai dit.

Name: Eleanor/Ellie Dove Age: 17 (just turned last week) Height: 5"5 Weight: 116lb Sex:Female Gender: Female Orientation: Hetero/experimental HandedNess (dominance): Right Appearance (description &/or image): lots of images (i got carried away shiina is too pretty) General Personality (description): If you do not know her Eleanor is a quiet girl-not shy just quiet. She will speak her mind but not in the strongest fashions and always has something to say but she will keep it under her breath. The first impression of Eleanor is a pushover girl considering her scholarship in art and speaking a different language (french). However once you get to know her she is quirky, confident, excited, hyper and down right annoying, Although she seems calm at all times.She enjoys winding people up and being sarcastic.

Je vais bien avec n'importe quelle nourriture.. Je le veux juste maintenant.. Elle gémissait faiblement alors que son estomac commençait à gronder à nouveau. Elle ferma les yeux et se pencha la tête contre la table, ne se souciant plus vraiment de son poise. Elle avait trop faim pour s'en soucier. Elle écouta Eleanor en parlant du lac et n'ayant apporté aucun maillot de bain. Elle voulait lui dire qu'elle a apporté une paire supplémentaire et elle pourrait l'avoir car ils étaient tous les deux de la même taille mais elle était trop faible et fatiguée pour parler. Elle a pris une note mentale pour lui dire plus tard.

Age: 17 Height: 5'5 Weight: 105lbs Gender: Female Orientation: Heterosexual Handedness: Right hand is dominant but she is able to write with her left hand slowly Appearance: Long black hair, hazel brown eyes, petite General Personality: -Might seem mean and closed off at first but starts to open up and become more friendly after getting to know her -Blunt and can be harsh with words. -Cares deep inside. -Neat freak. Makes sure every corner of the house is clean and spotless. -Mischievous with a wicked sense of humor

Rayne a lâché un bâillement fort alors qu'il se penchait en arrière. Le long voyage l'avait fatigué jusqu'à ce qu'il puisse s'endormir à tout moment. Maintenant que la ruée des réunions était terminée, la privation de sommeil s'était finalement installée. Il sentait ses yeux proches et son esprit s'enfonce dans son propre monde. Il était sur le point de tomber de sa chaise quand il a été frappé à la vie par un mot tout familier, mais très bien accueilli. Il bourdonnait dans une brume endormie alors qu'il regardait autour de lui et essuyait ses yeux. Apparemment, il n'avait pas été espacé pendant longtemps, mais il était temps pour lui d'avoir apprécié le sentiment de sommeil. Son estomac grondait alors qu'il réalisait enfin ce qui se passait. Il a essayé de retenir ses rires de la réaction d'Eleanor, mais laisse un peu rire en l'écoutant. Il a dit qu'il se frottait l'arrière de la tête. Il est allé se lever et a trébuché, ne se rendant pas compte que ses jambes s'étaient endormies. Il s'est pris sur le bar et s'est redressé avant de se secouer les jambes pour essayer de les réveiller. Il a dit avec un sourire nerveux qu'il riait et se penchait contre le bar. Il a dit, comme il a essayé de cacher son embarras. Il rougissait visiblement, mais il essayait d'attirer l'attention en riant.

Name: Rayne Maxwell Age: 18 Height: 5’7 Weight: 115ibs Sex: Male Gender: Male Orientation: A bit of this and a bit of that. (Bisexual) HandedNess (dominance): Right Appearance (description &/or image): Rayne is a fairly skinny guy with long arms and legs. Favourite clothes include jeans and long sleeved shirts when it’s cold, and a normal shirt and still jeans when it’s hot. General Personality (description): In a word, eccentric would be the most fitting for Rayne. He is fun loving and very active, always running around and playing. He is always smiling, doing his best to lighten the mood, even if he is sad or depressed. When asked as a kid ‘What is the one thing you want the most?’ His answer was ‘I want everyone in the world to smile’. This is the motto he lives by every day, doing his best to be happy with his friends. (Side note, he is rather flirtatious with almost everyone he meets)

Raven reposait encore la tête sur le bar, se plaignant intérieurement de sa faim. Elle se branla de haut en haut par surprise du mouvement soudain de la barre et la chaise devint déséquilibrée, ce qui la fit reculer dans un mouvement lent. Son cœur s'est arrêté une seconde jusqu'à ce qu'elle tienne sur le bar pour s'empêcher de tomber. "Quoi." Elle l'a dit en respirant. Elle a pris une profonde respiration pour calmer son rythme cardiaque rapide et elle est descendue sur la chaise, maintenant trop paranoïaque pour s'asseoir dessus. "Oh, c'est juste toi." Elle a dit de façon nonchalante qu'elle s'était rendu compte que Rayne était celle qui avait causé le mouvement. Elle a mis une paume sur son visage et a soupiré.

Age: 17 Height: 5'5 Weight: 105lbs Gender: Female Orientation: Heterosexual Handedness: Right hand is dominant but she is able to write with her left hand slowly Appearance: Long black hair, hazel brown eyes, petite General Personality: -Might seem mean and closed off at first but starts to open up and become more friendly after getting to know her -Blunt and can be harsh with words. -Cares deep inside. -Neat freak. Makes sure every corner of the house is clean and spotless. -Mischievous with a wicked sense of humor

Se rendant compte que Raven ne l'avait pas entendu, Dai étouffa un soupir vaincu et poussa la porte ouverte sans autre plainte. À l'intérieur, il a glissé sans but pendant quelques secondes avant de trouver l'interrupteur dans l'obscurité, il faisait relativement froid, du moins par rapport au reste de la cabine, mais il faisait encore plus froid alors qu'il entrait dans la salle de congélation et scintilleait sur une autre lumière sans esprit. Il était fatigué, déraisonnablement, peut-être de tout le stress des événements récents, mais aussi du moins en partie parce qu'il y avait un sentiment agaçant dans le fond de son esprit, malgré la façon dont il a essayé de le réprimer, que quelqu'un était dans la pièce à le regarder à travers ce bref processus. Diana a essayé de garder son dos au mur aussi souvent qu'il le pouvait, tirant quatre pizzas (deux fromages et deux légumes) de l'étagère, et faisant son chemin de retour vers la cuisine. Il se déplaçait rapidement, luttant un peu pour équilibrer les pizzas en boîte et tentait de faire marche arrière, d'éteindre les lumières et de fermer/ouvrir les portes. "J'espère que ça ne vous dérange pas, je ne mange pas de viande... mais j'ai demandé à Lau- quelqu'un d'en apporter demain... heu."

Name: Diana "Dai/Dye" Monroe Age: 19 Height: 5'11 Weight: 120ibs Sex: Male Gender: Cis Male Orientation: Homosexual Handedness: Right Appearance: He's very thin, and relatively tall with spindly arms and legs, but everything about him is gentle, save for his thick-framed glasses. He wears primarily baggy sweaters in soft colours and tight-fitting skinny jeans with his black shoes. General Personality: He's relatively quiet and mild mannered, though often quite sarcastic and dark humored. Overall, people tend to gravitate toward him because he's honest, kind and incredibly loyal.

Rayne a regardé la fille aux cheveux noirs et a ri. Il était un peu plus maladroit que la plupart des gens et avait l'habitude de se tromper. Désolé, il a dit avec un sourire, la voyant presque tomber. C'est alors qu'un grand sourire s'est formé sur son visage. Il avait toujours eu un esprit rapide et quand une réponse claquante vint à l'esprit, il ne pouvait pas aider mais brouiller. Bien que je ne pensais pas que tu tomberais pour moi si vite, il a dit qu'il s'était jeté d'un coup d'œil, essayant de cacher le regard ridicule qui apparaissait chaque fois qu'il parvenait à être plein d'esprit. C'est alors que Dai est rentrée avec des boîtes à pizza. Oui! Pizza! » Rayne a dit, changeant le sujet comme le sentiment finalement de lui rendre les jambes. Il écoutait que Dai parlait de ne pas manger de viande et souriait alors que des blagues venaient à sa tête. C'était leur première réunion cependant, donc il a décidé qu'il pourrait les garder à l'esprit pour une utilisation ultérieure. Il m'a dit qu'il s'était déplacé et qu'il avait vérifié les boîtes à pizza. Il a dit avec un sourire alors qu'il regardait Dai. Tout comme Rayne avait l'intention de faire une autre blague, son estomac lâchait un grognement fort. Sa confiance a immédiatement disparu alors qu'il rougissait un peu et reculait. Il a dit qu'il se frottait la tête et souriait.

Name: Rayne Maxwell Age: 18 Height: 5’7 Weight: 115ibs Sex: Male Gender: Male Orientation: A bit of this and a bit of that. (Bisexual) HandedNess (dominance): Right Appearance (description &/or image): Rayne is a fairly skinny guy with long arms and legs. Favourite clothes include jeans and long sleeved shirts when it’s cold, and a normal shirt and still jeans when it’s hot. General Personality (description): In a word, eccentric would be the most fitting for Rayne. He is fun loving and very active, always running around and playing. He is always smiling, doing his best to lighten the mood, even if he is sad or depressed. When asked as a kid ‘What is the one thing you want the most?’ His answer was ‘I want everyone in the world to smile’. This is the motto he lives by every day, doing his best to be happy with his friends. (Side note, he is rather flirtatious with almost everyone he meets)

Raven lui a donné un éblouissement qui a presque dit que vous souhaitiez. Dai est entrée dans la chambre et elle s'est levée à la vue des boîtes à pizza.Elle s'est déplacée vers lui et l'a aidé à porter deux des boîtes à pizza au comptoir de la cuisine, ignorant Rayne dans le processus comme elle était tellement absorbé par la nourriture. " J'appelle des dibs sur la pizza au fromage." Elle a dit qu'elle avait placé les boîtes à pizza, espérant qu'une d'entre elles serait aromatisée au fromage.

Age: 17 Height: 5'5 Weight: 105lbs Gender: Female Orientation: Heterosexual Handedness: Right hand is dominant but she is able to write with her left hand slowly Appearance: Long black hair, hazel brown eyes, petite General Personality: -Might seem mean and closed off at first but starts to open up and become more friendly after getting to know her -Blunt and can be harsh with words. -Cares deep inside. -Neat freak. Makes sure every corner of the house is clean and spotless. -Mischievous with a wicked sense of humor

Alors que P-J a posé le sac, il a regardé Rich et a dit, "Eh bien, je dois donner le crédit Springsteen bien qu'il était vraiment cool à ce sujet quand il a été arrêté par mon père. Quand mon père a suggéré le marché, la première chose qu'il a demandé, c'est que tu vas avoir des ennuis pour ça? Parce que si vous êtes je prends le billet, et je vous donne toujours l'autographe." P-J secoua la tête en souriant : « Papa n'aime toujours pas sa musique, mais c'est un fan de M. Springsteen en tant que personne. » P-J a serré les épaules et a dit, "Mon père est une sorte de gars complexe, et il porte une arme et sait comment cacher un corps. La plupart du temps, on a juste hoche la tête et on sourit poliment quand on a affaire à lui. Bien que lorsque les puces sont en bas, il n'y a personne d'autre sur cette planète que je préférerais avoir dans mon coin alors lui." P-J sentait alors l'arôme incomparable de la pizza qui flottait dans la cabine. Il regarda Rich et dit : « Je crois que la nourriture est arrivée. Allons-y." P-J est revenu à l'étage principal et quand il a entendu les options, il a hurlé et a dit, "C'est bon pour moi, mais il faut d'abord faire quelque chose." P-J est allé aux armoires, a sorti les assiettes, et il les a placées à côté des pizzas. Il a dit, "Je vais m'occuper de la vaisselle depuis que je les ai fait sortir. Je sais qu'on a un lave-vaisselle, mais j'ai l'habitude de faire ça. Laisse-les dans l'évier et je les ferai charger." P-J s'inclina alors la tête pendant un moment, puis se croisa. Une fois qu'il a fini, il a dit, "D'accord, allons-y, je dis qu'on devrait laisser Dai partir en premier."

Name: Peter Jason McCabe (Goes by P-J) Age: 19 Height: 6' 2" Weight: 220 Sex: Male Gender: Male Orientation: Hetero HandedNess (dominance): Right Appearance Also has a scar on his left hand. General Personality: P-J is sizable and is going to the University of Pittsburgh on a football scholarship, but don't let that fool you. He is an easy going guy who likes hanging out with his friends and enjoys having a good laugh. P-J doesn't believe in using his size to intimidate others and likes helping others. P-J has a sarcastic wit and at times doesn't know when to turn it off. If he goes over the line with it he will be the first to apologize for it and do what he can to have someone forgive him. However do not EVER mistake P-J's kindness for weakness, and if you ever do cross him or hurt one of his friends P-J is not above hurting you.

Diana n'a réussi qu'un petit sourire inconfortable vers Rayne alors qu'il s'est arrêté devant eux, en veillant à éviter de frapper quelqu'un, car il était constamment conscient qu'en dépit de son mince cadre, il était assez grand et maladroit. "Je suis sûr qu'il y aura assez de Ray-" il a clignoté une seconde, s'arrêtant alors que Raven lui prenait les boîtes alors qu'il se tenait là en silence en regardant à la fois entre Rayne et Raven. "-ven." Il a finalement terminé, bien que le retard n'ait pas eu lieu du tout dans son propre esprit. Il s'est rendu compte qu'il avait besoin d'un nom différent pour chacun d'eux, puis il s'est rendu au comptoir, en renonçant à travers un petit tiroir, avant de monter avec un coupe pizza qu'il a mis de côté, et deux casseroles. Le travail était relativement simple, et il n'a pas pris la peine avec les boîtes à pizza laissées sur le bord du comptoir, jetées et presque hors de la pensée. Un peu de temps s'est écoulé, entre l'ouverture des boîtes et l'enlèvement des emballages, la mise des pizzas elles-mêmes dans leurs casseroles et la préchauffage du four avant même de les cuisiner (merci tous en même temps avec un poêle particulièrement grand). Encore plus de temps passa bien sûr et un buzzer calme sonna, en cette fois les deux petits Rayons (du soleil, et peut-être quelque chose de plus sombre) avaient repris leur place sur les tabourets, en face de Diana lui-même qui reposa ses coudes sur le comptoir et s'équilibre un peu confortablement pour converser avec eux sur rien en particulier. Comme le buzzer sonnait, il clignait distrait, perdant son train de pensée, et se tournait pour sortir les pizzas, tout en glissant sur une paire d'envois de fours rouges génériques. Il lui a fallu un moment, et beaucoup d'expérience précédente pour amener les quatre en toute sécurité au comptoir lui-même. Il a dit d'une voix calme mais encore audible, non différente de son ton habituel sauf pour sa lassitude apparente ; « Cheese ou Légume heh.... » et il a rapidement coupé chacun avec une précision connue après avoir enlevé les mitaines. Il prit une tranche pour lui-même et se hailla vers l'intérieur, se penchant de nouveau contre le comptoir bien qu'il restait debout, et espérant que les deux étaient maintenant bien distrait, prit une bouchée maladroite de sa propre tranche. C'est là qu'il a failli s'étouffer. Tout d'un coup, le plus grand garçon nommé P-J est venu se précipiter dans la cuisine, stupéfiant Diana momentanément de sorte qu'il a dû étouffer une toux étouffante soudaine, accompagnée de beaucoup de clignements rapides pendant quelques secondes. L'autre garçon s'est précipité devant lui et, tout en disant quelque chose, principalement à lui-même, a atteint l'une des étagères voisines, et a fait descendre une dizaine de plats lourds à la fois avec facilité. À l'écoute de plus près de sa propre réponse initiale, Dai ne pouvait que regarder ses pieds et murmurer en désaccord sur la suggestion de laver les plats à la main, car il savait assez bien qu'il n'était pas presque aussi efficace, et a été quelque peu repoussé par la connaissance qu'ils seraient laissés sans hygiène. "-laissez Dai partir d'abord." "Oh, euh, j'ai déjà eu une tranche moi-même... Je sais Ray-" il a fait un geste aux deux vaguement, "déjà su ce qu'ils voulaient."

Name: Diana "Dai/Dye" Monroe Age: 19 Height: 5'11 Weight: 120ibs Sex: Male Gender: Cis Male Orientation: Homosexual Handedness: Right Appearance: He's very thin, and relatively tall with spindly arms and legs, but everything about him is gentle, save for his thick-framed glasses. He wears primarily baggy sweaters in soft colours and tight-fitting skinny jeans with his black shoes. General Personality: He's relatively quiet and mild mannered, though often quite sarcastic and dark humored. Overall, people tend to gravitate toward him because he's honest, kind and incredibly loyal.

Rayne avait pris son siège au tabouret, bourdonnant et attendant avec impatience la nourriture qui allait bientôt arriver. Il a bavardé heureux, toujours excité d'être hors de son appartement désordonné pour tout l'été. Il aurait dû le nettoyer à son retour, mais il a décidé d'oublier ça jusqu'à ce qu'il doive s'en occuper. Au fur et à mesure que les pizzas étaient cuites, leur odeur commençait à se déplacer autour de la maison. Ce serait un euphémisme de dire qu'ils ont envoyé son appétit en excès. Il a dû s'empêcher de baver en prévision. Le buzzer était surprenant, et Rayne a sauté un peu, étant libéré de sa transe alimentaire. Il a regardé de près que Dai a coupé la pizza, prêt à prendre un morceau à tout moment. Il n'a presque pas remarqué P-J entrer, mais la figure beaucoup plus grande a attiré son attention. Il a commencé à prendre la vaisselle et même offert de les nettoyer avant même qu'ils aient été utilisés. Vous êtes vraiment un travailleur dur. Rayne a dit avec un sourire. P-J était juste ce type de gars, fidèle et travailleur. Il regarda Dai faire un geste vers eux, en généralisant avec un « Ray ». Il n'a pas pu s'empêcher de rire un peu pendant qu'il s'approchait et attrapait un morceau de pizza au fromage. Pensons que je vais commencer avec du fromage.Il a dit avec un sourire qu'il a pris une grosse bouchée de la tranche, obtenant un peu de sauce sur le côté de sa bouche. Il l'a essuyé avant de laisser un soupir satisfait. Il a dit avant de prendre une autre bouchée, souriant tout le temps.

Name: Rayne Maxwell Age: 18 Height: 5’7 Weight: 115ibs Sex: Male Gender: Male Orientation: A bit of this and a bit of that. (Bisexual) HandedNess (dominance): Right Appearance (description &/or image): Rayne is a fairly skinny guy with long arms and legs. Favourite clothes include jeans and long sleeved shirts when it’s cold, and a normal shirt and still jeans when it’s hot. General Personality (description): In a word, eccentric would be the most fitting for Rayne. He is fun loving and very active, always running around and playing. He is always smiling, doing his best to lighten the mood, even if he is sad or depressed. When asked as a kid ‘What is the one thing you want the most?’ His answer was ‘I want everyone in the world to smile’. This is the motto he lives by every day, doing his best to be happy with his friends. (Side note, he is rather flirtatious with almost everyone he meets)

Rich suivit P-J dans les escaliers, il put aussi sentir l'arôme de pizza. C'était maintenant qu'il se rendait compte à quel point il avait vraiment faim, oui il avait mangé quelques barres de bonbons dans la voiture sur le chemin de la cabine, mais ce n'est en aucune façon la nourriture pour un homme comme lui, un homme a besoin de vraie nourriture pour rester en forme et devenir fort, ou alors sa grand-mère lui a dit. Rich est entré dans la cuisine où tout le monde semblait se rassembler. Quand il est entré, il a fait une petite vague à personne en particulier et est allé à l'endroit où Rayne était assis. "Hé" Rich dit alors qu'il se penchait contre le comptoir, encore une fois juste pour dégager l'air autour de lui. Il était un peu déçu de ne voir aucune forme de viande sur les pizzas, mais c'était encore de la pizza, donc il ne pensait pas que ce serait mauvais d'aucune façon, à moins qu'il y ait de l'ananas dessus. Il a ramassé une tranche de légume, en décidant que ce serait le moins fade des deux et il a commencé à manger. Il a laissé sortir un long et contenu "Mmm" bruit comme si pour signifier à la fois qu'il a apprécié la nourriture, et de faire savoir à tout le monde qu'il n'avait pas mangé de vraie nourriture toute la journée.

Name: Richard "Rich" Masters Age: 19 Height: 5'9" Weight: 135 Sex: Male Gender: Male Identifying Orientation: Homosexual Handedness: Right Appearance: A bit lanky as he is underweight for his age. He's almost never seen without sunglasses on and he's usually wearing some kind of band or media related t-shirt. General Personality: Layed back and relaxed mostly. What a lot of people would describe as having the personality of a stoner, even if he does not do any drugs. It's not like he could afford a drug habit anyway, being a music major doesn't really facilitate a lot of steady income. --- Hope this is alright and I didn't leave anything out.

P-J a entendu le compliment de Rayne et a dit avec un sourire, "Merci, juste essayer de faire ce que je peux pour aider. Je dois tout à mes parents." P-J secoua la tête et dit avec "sadness" : "Ça me brise encore le cœur qu'ils sont restés là sur Krypton." Il a regardé en arrière à Rayne a tiré un clin d'oeil rapide avec un autre sourire. P-J a remarqué que Dai semblait un peu mal à l'aise quand il a proposé de prendre soin de la vaisselle. Il est passé et a dit, "Hé, j'essaie juste d'aider. Ne t'inquiète pas si j'ai dit que je chargerais la vaisselle dans le lave-vaisselle. C'est tout. A moins que tu ne veuilles que je laisse assez tranquille. Dans quel cas je peux le faire aussi." Avec ce P-J est passé et s'est acheté une tranche de la pizza végétarienne et a dit, "Maintenant, si cela a un goût moitié aussi bon que ça sent ça va être une bonne tranche." P-J s'est fixé un soda et a vu qu'il y avait des sièges sur le pont arrière. Il a décidé que c'était l'endroit idéal pour regarder le coucher du soleil et profiter d'une grande tranche de pizza. P-J, fait son chemin à l'extérieur assis sur l'une des chaises à bascule, a mis ses pieds sur la rampe, et a commencé à apprécier la vue et sa pizza.

Name: Peter Jason McCabe (Goes by P-J) Age: 19 Height: 6' 2" Weight: 220 Sex: Male Gender: Male Orientation: Hetero HandedNess (dominance): Right Appearance Also has a scar on his left hand. General Personality: P-J is sizable and is going to the University of Pittsburgh on a football scholarship, but don't let that fool you. He is an easy going guy who likes hanging out with his friends and enjoys having a good laugh. P-J doesn't believe in using his size to intimidate others and likes helping others. P-J has a sarcastic wit and at times doesn't know when to turn it off. If he goes over the line with it he will be the first to apologize for it and do what he can to have someone forgive him. However do not EVER mistake P-J's kindness for weakness, and if you ever do cross him or hurt one of his friends P-J is not above hurting you.

Raven était assis sur l'un des tabourets à côté de Rayne alors qu'elle regardait Dai faire le tour de la cuisine pendant qu'il cuisinait la pizza. Elle sentit une vague de soulagement se laver sur elle quand elle entendit le buzzer du four, signifiant qu'il était déjà cuit. Elle regarda avec attention Dai qui ouvrit le four et sortit la pizza. Sa bouche arrosée comme l'odeur savoureuse du fromage remplissait son nez. Quand Dai a commencé à couper la pizza en tranches, elle a sauté dans le tabouret et a rapidement fait son chemin vers l'évier pour se laver les mains. Elle n'a pas perdu de temps à essuyer ses mains avec une serviette et s'est plutôt serré les mains dans l'air pour se débarrasser des gouttelettes d'eau. Elle est revenue et a pris place sur le tabouret sur lequel elle s'était assise auparavant, en face de Dai's, et a trouvé une tranche de pizza qui avait beaucoup de fromage dessus. Le sentiment de satisfaction qu'elle ressentait en prenant la première morsure était écrasant et son estomac grondait à nouveau. Elle a rapidement fini la tranche de pizza et n'a pas hésité à y aller pour une seconde. Elle était trop attirée par la nourriture qu'elle n'écoutait ni ne prêtait attention à personne dans la pièce.

Age: 17 Height: 5'5 Weight: 105lbs Gender: Female Orientation: Heterosexual Handedness: Right hand is dominant but she is able to write with her left hand slowly Appearance: Long black hair, hazel brown eyes, petite General Personality: -Might seem mean and closed off at first but starts to open up and become more friendly after getting to know her -Blunt and can be harsh with words. -Cares deep inside. -Neat freak. Makes sure every corner of the house is clean and spotless. -Mischievous with a wicked sense of humor

Bonjour et bienvenue.L'homme allemand bien habillé s'adressait aux recrues qui s'asseyaient autour de la longue table en chêne dans la salle de conférence moderne. Je m'appelle Alexander Biermann, je dirige le SND - la Division surnaturelle du Bureau. Contrairement à ce que le nom suggère, nous résolvons généralement les cas qui sont trop complexes pour que d'autres services de police puissent les traiter. Vous remarquerez les ordinateurs portables en face de vous avec une mallette. À l'intérieur, vous trouverez une ceinture, une collection de cinq téléphones mobiles - éteints - une montre et un assortiment d'autres gadgets d'émission standard, avec l'aimable autorisation du département d'ingénierie ici dans les bureaux du Bureau de New York. Je vais permettre à M. Osamu d'expliquer leur fonction et d'autres usages. Pour l'instant, je vais demander que votre attention soit dirigée vers l'écran.Un écran s'est abaissé électroniquement du toit, derrière lui. J'aimerais commencer l'enquête dès que possible. Lorsque l'écran a finalement cliqué en position, Biermann a appuyé sur un bouton sur une télécommande qu'il possédait et un écran s'est effondré. Tout le monde aurait dû reconnaître le logo LIVE - l'Arbre le mot LIVE en arrière-plan. "Je crois que vous avez tous entendu parler de LIVE, le rival multinational de la Croix-Rouge..." Il regarda autour de lui, attendant des questions et quand personne n'est venu, il continua. "Récemment..." Il a appuyé sur un autre bouton et l'écran a changé. Il y avait une trentaine de photos, certaines étaient des portraits, d'autres des photos de famille et un assortiment d'autres. Ils étaient disposés sur l'écran d'une grande forme carrée. « Au cours des cinq derniers mois, ces gens ont tous disparu, ils ont tous été retrouvés en quelques jours... Ils se sont tous suicidés en se pendant. Certains avec des familles ont été trouvés plus tôt. Alors que d'autres avaient des semaines ou des mois à passer avant que quelqu'un les trouve... Glancing au photographe médico-légal dans la pièce, "À ce moment-là leurs corps étaient presque ou entièrement en décomposition." Il regarda de nouveau la salle des nouveaux agents avant de continuer : « Ils avaient tous deux choses en commun... Ils étaient tous des journalistes à certains égards et ils se sont tous exprimés contre LIVE en quelque sorte. Qu'est-ce que tu en penses? "Si vous avez des compétences déductrices, et vous le faites, alors vous diriez qu'ils ont été tués par LIVE ou un associé, mais comment pourraient-ils causer un suicide? Nous avons examiné les vidéos de sécurité des environs de leur résidence et nous avons confirmé que personne n'avait forcé leurs suicides. » Il était sûr qu'ils pourraient trouver quelque chose, il a regardé Garret Foster, l'enquêteur principal de cette équipe, "Any thoughts Mr. Foster? Je serais très intéressé par ce que vous avez à dire sur cette affaire... J'ai mes propres soupçons, mais j'aimerais d'abord entendre votre analyse préliminaire. Et j'aimerais entendre vos pensées avant l'arrivée de M. Osamu... ça devrait être dans une dizaine de minutes. » Il s'assit, dans l'un des fauteuils chargés de coussins, et attendit que l'un des membres de l'équipe prenne la parole.

Name: Garrett Foster Appearance: Age: 32 Sex: Male Strengths and Weaknesses: Photographic memory: Can remember names, places, and events in extreme clarity. Persuasive Easily irritated if outsmarted by an opponent Coratin V (will be explained throughout the RP; what it is, and what its effects are) Brief Biography: Notable for his charisma and an extreme knack for discovering clues hidden to most people, Garrett is one the foremost detectives in international crime. Due to his nature, he has connections with the underworld, and has his own small information brokering ring that travels the globe, trading cash and intel for information on the whereabouts of criminals. Due to his connections, though, he has used his skills to protect his more valuable informants from the eyes of other world detective organizations. Special Skills: (Rated on scale of 1-10) Global information network. Able to bargain for info on criminals that the regular detective force is unable to obtain. Crack shot with a Dan Wesson .357 revolver (8/10) Able to use charm to sweeten a deal in his favor (7/10) Point assignment: 10 points are available to you. Each category must have at least 1 and a max of 10. Strength: 2 Dexterity: 3 Intelligence:3 Fortitude: 2

Il avait été occupé matin pour Lucie, une course de tapis de course de 30 minutes puis yoga pour s'étirer, remplissant le petit déjeuner et son ultime indulgence - café, la seule différence avec sa routine habituelle était son emplacement. Lucie a pris l'avion pour The Big Apple tard hier soir et l'hôtel Upper Eastside le S.D.B réservé pour elle était un bon changement par rapport à l'habituel 70 $ un motel de nuit qu'elle était habituée à quand elle voyageait pour le travail et elle allait en profiter. Pourquoi elle n'est pas venue juste douze jours de service d'ON-CALL et elle a sacrément bien mérité tous les petits avantages de l'hôtel fourni. Mais comme toujours les affaires d'abord. Lucie s'est déplacée dans sa chaise de style Chesterfield en cuir surdimensionnée, le gentleman à accent allemand s'est présenté. Lucie espérait que l'un des autres mécènes de la salle parlerait d'abord, mais après quelques minutes son accent irlandais coupé dans le silence épais "C'est un appel assez grand....Les chiffres d'approbation de LIVE sont dans les centaines de milliers de dollars et ils ont suffisamment de représentants de haut niveau que je doute que quelques opinions mécontentes auraient autant d'effet" Elle s'arrêta alors qu'elle sentit les yeux du monsieur dans la pièce tomber sur elle lui donnant le sentiment comme elle parlait de tour à tour. Lucie se tenait debout, redressant son costume de jupe en tweed gris d'acier alors qu'elle faisait quelques pas vers la mosaïque des photographies à l'écran et continua : « Les suicides statistiques sont la dixième cause de décès dans ce pays et trente-cinq pour cent de ceux sont causés par l'asphyxie » elle se tenait les bras croisés étudiant chaque personne dans le patchwork « et un peu plus d'un pour cent de ceux-ci sont considérés comme un homicide... » Elle a souligné sur la dernière statistique. Lucie n'était pas détective mais, tout au long de sa carrière, elle avait photographié de nombreux suicides pour divers services d'application de la loi, mais elle n'avait que deux cas à examiner comme homicide. Lucie a jeté une mèche de cheveux turquoise derrière son oreille et s'est tournée directement vers M. Biermann "Qui était la victime la plus récente?"

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La taverne appelée "Le luth bleu" n'accepte pas les gobelins en tant qu'invités. Baxxink le savait et avait attaché ses faux cheveux du visage bien avant qu'il n'ait poussé la porte. La taverne elle-même n'était pas imaginative, comme le font les tavernes. Fait tout en bois, il semblait qu'il n'avait pas été correctement pris en charge depuis de nombreuses années. À l'intérieur, il y avait une grande pièce pour manger, boire et danser. Une plate-forme surélevée à l'extrémité la plus lointaine où un joueur de harpe solitaire a sorti un air, un espace vide entre lui et les deux rangées de tables. Chaque table était ronde et faite de bois épais, l'air lourd. Autour de chaque table, il y avait deux tabourets, trois ou quatre au plus. Il y avait déjà quelques visiteurs là-bas, blottis autour des tables avec des pintes de bière ou des assiettes de nourriture devant eux. Aucun d'entre eux n'était d'un grand intérêt pour Baxxink pour l'instant. Sur le mur le plus proche était une porte, et par l'odeur de elle seulement deux choses pouvaient être de l'autre côté, un monticule de poubelles ou la cuisine. Un gros homme de 40 ans, vêtu d'un tablier teinté, est entré dans la grande pièce alors qu'il entendait la porte extérieure ouverte. Sa grosse bouche s'ouvrit pour parler, mais Baxxink le coupa. Bonjour Govenor! Une ronde de pintes pour moi et mes potes, hein?

Name: Baxxink Hagglepocket. Title/Nickname: Often known as “That bastard who stole my money”, but it’s a bit long for a nickname. Age: 36. Gender: Male. Race: Goblin. Profession: Thief. Trope/Archetype: The sneaky guy Equipment: Clothes - for wearing. Dagger - for stabbing. Short bow + quiver of arrows - for long distance stabbing. Fake beard - (special item) for camouflage. Background: Baxxink was born into a goblin community like most goblins, and like most goblin communities it was violently destroyed by a troupe of adventurers that passed by looking for treasure. As one of few survivors Baxxink had to use his natural gifts of stealth and agility to fill his stomach and set out on the path he’s been on until now. Pros: Stealthy - can move silently and stick to the shadows very well. Quick and agile - clawed fingers (and toes), low weight, long limbs and a greater range of movement compared to humans means that Baxxink has a lot of options for movement. Cunning - not clever, smart or intelligent, Baxxink’s mind is focused on finding and exploiting weaknesses. Cons: Soft - doesn’t wear a lot of padding, things will hurt. Hated race - have you ever heard someone say “Oh, please come in mister Goblin, how nice to meet you, would you like some pie?” Didn’t think so. Remember, no magic - goblins are magically retarded. Other: Things will go missing around Baxxink. Goblins are by far the most unimportant so called “threat” to the kingdom that I could ever imagine. They are far beneath humans on all accounts and to even classify them as sentient is an insult to the higher species. Mentally they are easier to compare with rats than humans. No intelligence, most can’t read or write and their language capabilities are almost zero if you don’t count the screeching noises they make when they’re hungry. Physically they can be compared to a child. Standing fully erect they may reach a grown man somewhere between the navel and chest, but with not even half of the girth. Indeed one has many times wondered if they are not only skin and bone. Their limbs are elongated as are their ears and noses and their skin is green much like orchs. Their fingers and toes end in claws, but much like the goblins themselves these are small and insignificant, their only use seems to be in aiding the goblin when climbing. Wild goblins gather in communities, either out in the wilderness or inside ruins and other abandoned structures. They gather valuable (revise) items which is why groups of adventurous people willingly keep the goblin count down. The goblin society is hundreds, if not thousands of years behind our own, they have only barely mastered the art of farming, no craftsmanship to speak of and no written language. Even the goblins that have managed to sneak into our cities prefer to live in the sewers like rats, which is why most larger cities have elimination crews that goes below once a month to clear them out. How are they a threat? As mentioned, they really are not. Not to the civilised world at least. Their fragile bodies cannot stand up to punishment or exert great force. They don’t wear armour and tend to prefer smaller weapons like daggers instead of more capable weaponry. Indeed, the only area where they surpass humanity lies in their animalistic instincts and movements, they are quick and can squeeze through a hole as tiny as their head. But as long as they are cornered or trapped even a group of goblins should not be a threat to human soldiers. Goblins are really only a threat to unprepared travellers and small farming communities that are based too far from the outposts. As soon as armed and trained people are around the goblins are no longer a threat. Beards: Goblins are incapable of growing beards, which makes it odd that we tend to find false beards made of straw, fur or actual stolen facial hair around their communities. Perhaps it has some form of ritual importance. According to my researchers many of the beards are well worn, like they’ve been used almost daily for some time, yet no one has ever seen a goblin wearing one of these fur masks. Perhaps they wear them to make fun of dwarves.

Le ventre de l'homme était suspendu au-dessus de sa ceinture tendue, touchant presque la tête du goblin alors qu'il était approché par le propriétaire de la taverne. Un gros doigt, son côté supérieur partiellement recouvert d'une quantité assez dense de poils de peau, était dirigé vers Baxxink. "Peux-tu même boire une seule bière? J'espère que vos compagnons compenseront votre taille non existante." L'homme a riposté, puis est retourné à sa place derrière le comptoir et a commencé à préparer les boissons. Vekyzz semblait être le match parfait pour cette taverne : son équipement avait l'air aussi éclaboussé que le bâtiment, mais l'homme qui la portait était sans aucun doute impressionnant. La façon dont il a essayé d'entrer n'était cependant pas: La corne du démon a gratté le long de la partie supérieure du cadre de la porte et ses bras et épaules sur les côtés. En griffant les dents, il a claqué la porte fermée avec un certain degré d'ennui dans ses mouvements. Vekyzz a signalé à l'homme gras juste en disant "Beer s'il vous plaît, rapide!" et a saisi la première chaise disponible. Il n'a pas passé beaucoup de temps à inspecter à quel point c'était solide.

Name: Vekyzz Title/Nickname: - Age: 26 Gender: Male Race: He's an Oiosyyiathaom, that is... a demon. The expression is not used for the class of demons in general, but for a very special subset of them. The knowledge about how to summon them is commonly assumed to be lost, though this could very well only be the result of it being a very dangerous and difficult process that very rarely is executed. The realm they come from is named Qu'Nor. The term is the human transcription of what it is called in their own tongue. Little is known about it because the inverse process of getting a human there and letting him return alive is even more difficult. Those very few who managed to do this weren't very fond of openly sharing the knowledge gained. It can be assumed that the majority of what common mages know about it has its origin in torture chambers that have seen members of Vekyzz' race. It is said that there exist a multitude of creatures, not only demons, but the Oiosyyiathaoms being the dominating race. Not all of them are flat-out hostile to everything and everyone, but most are however. Vekyzz is a tad in the middle: Not willing to kill on sight, but easy to push into a decent rage that can become quite violent. This raises the question: Why would anyone be interested in summoning such a creature ? The standard answer would be 'because he can', but there are other reasons. One of his kind, once succesfully forced into submission, would be a formidable asset for both personal protection and boosting one's ego: The average individual stands well above a large human male and usually weighs at least twice as much. They feature a very dense skeletal frame and pick up large amounts of similar muscle even with hardly any training at all. There is some inherent magic in them, but they can't purposefully control it. It virtually 'leaks' out of them as raw energy. It is assumed that this phenomenon is not natural and only appears in the foreign environment they are torn into when summoned. In fact, some of his kind have been subjected to experiments trying to artificially trigger and harvest it. The outcomes were rather mixed: While it turned out to be possible to release large amounts of magical power, the price in terms of killed test subjects that needed to be replaced by performing new summonings outweighed this benefit. It is not known how many individuals are currently present in the world, but it is fair to assume that their number is very, very small. Their lifespan is dramatically reduced by the leakage effect and is estimated at no more than 50 years if not sent back in time. However, as long as their inner pool doesn't run out and they are sufficiently supplied, bodily degradation is virtually unknown to them.Appearance: As an individual he is an imposing figure: The man stands about 7 feet 2 inches tall (excluding the horns) and is packed with dense, voluminous muscles. The Big Guy Profession: He doesn't really have one. He's basically become a survivalist capable of living off the wild land. He still seldomly accepts more or less shady jobs, but more for fun than out of necessity. Background: Vekyzz has never experienced the freedom of having parents that keep you nourished and well-kept during your childhood. He hasn't even experienced the luxury of never having to switch the world one's living in, allowing as much time as possible to adapt. He was thrown into this realm by a mage craving for power, but the first thing that happened is another case of the scientist-runs-an-experiment-without-preparation-for-the-case-it-yields-exactly-the-outcome-he's-hoping-for trope. The summoner doesn't live anymore, killed in an instantaneous act of outrage. Unfortunately, Vekyzz thereby has also slain his only hope of returning - or at least the only one he knows about. Being doomed to continue living the life that had just started to exist, the demon started roaming the land. Equipment:What would he be without his trusty, colossal, vintage looking sword ? Technically it isn't even really a sword, but merely an outstanding piece of mechanical butchery consisting of a thick piece of sheet metal that was ground to have a sharp edge on one side while the other was bolted to a large handle. It's purely makeshift.An equally impressive collection of... one might be tempted to say 'garbage', but let's just call it an armor consisting of pieces of leather, fur and cloth stacked upon another and combined and held together with chains. It covers most of his body.A cheap, but complete set of 'civil' clothing. Pros: + Very strong and tough. He's capable of moving and lifting things an ordinary human couldn't dream of. + Rather intelligent, though not outstandingly. Cons: - His appearance. When people see him, prices go up, and when he leaves, they go down again as if by magic. He's really not far from being an outcast and scorn can be achieved by a wide variety of methods. - He's lean and wouldn't consider himself particularly tall or heavy. By human standards however he is a crushing, walking tower and thereby prone to more or less embarrassing accidents. Furniture, badly maintained buildings and the like aren't exactly designed for him.- He's inexperienced with this world and the habits, traditions and reasoning of its inhabitants. The negative impact of this has considerable lessened since his 'arrival', but is still noticeable. Other: -

Gregory a regardé le béhémoth avec deux parties de surprise: L'une était parce que quiconque a choisi de rejoindre la moitié de l'orc à la table. La seconde était que celui qui était assis avec lui était en fait plus grand que lui par près d'un pied assis avec ces cornes sur sa tête; et trois fois plus large dans les épaules. Le tusked une fois sourit largement et gestuait à la place déjà prise comme il avait maintenant la compagnie hoche la tête à la petite fourrure qui offrait une ronde. "Fortune nous favorise tous, une tournée d'achat et un titan avec une soif de rois. Venez, petit, joignez-vous à nous!" "Maintenant, fais gaffe au bois que t'es un grand galoot!" C'est alors qu'une femme bien usée lui a giflé un chiffon. Elle était clairement la serveuse et très probablement la femme cuisinière, bien qu'elle ressemblait à la grand-mère cuisinière, mais a essayé de s'habiller comme la fille cuisinière. Dans l'ensemble pas une image agréable à moins que vous avez des goûts très spécifiques ou des normes très bas. La chaise s'écoulait pour protester contre le traitement impitoyable qui est devenu un gémissement crépitant de l'effort pour soutenir la masse. Même le noyer noir a ses limites.

Name: Gegory Greyrose Title/Nickname: Lord Age: 24 Gender: Male Race: half-Orc Profession: Wealthy lord looking for experience rather than riches Trope/Archetype: Often mistaken for a necromancer, he is actually the charmer. Appearance: 6'6" and 150 lbs, he is a willowy thing compared to most. Equipment: After being cut-off, the only thing he was allowed to take with him is a scepter fitted with dragons teeth which he uses to focus his magic for greater power. Otherwise he has his fine quality clothing and the horse he rode in on sidesaddle. Background: Being a half-orc in a human land is difficult to say the least, being the bastard son of a noble is even harder. His mother was Lady Greyrose, former knight of the silver wheel order. His father was an orc warrior who fought alongside her order to stem back a giant invasion. One night of far too much vidali (onion wine) to drink she had a moment of weakness and nine months later her son was born. He was an ugly baby and lady greyrose was reluctant to nurse him with those tusks of his already in his mouth when he was born, not unlike a wild boar. As much as she might blame his orc father, in truth, the real darkness comes from the greyrose family line. Lord Archibald Grey, Grgory's great grandfather, was given his title for his services to the crown in the great war of his time against a vampire coven from the black forest. He had suffered a bite to his leg in that time and was doing all he could to keep the change at bay. He drank only holy water and prayed in the church for three months before he changed. During that time, he fell into passion with a nun in the church and married her properly before he became a monster. Their wedding night, lady grey's father, Gregorio was conceived and Lord Grey turned to ash with the morning light. That undead bloodline would manifest itself many years later as the boy was surrounded by strange happenings, things falling from shelves and an unnatural amount of dead animals on the property. Lady greyrose sent for specialists of arcane and divine to see if they were besieged by ghosts or the like; what they came back with is that Gregory was a sorcerer, a type of mage that did not study dusty old tomes but drew on his own natural arcane talents. Not being something he could be taught, it made the random happenings even more stressful as he came into his own over the years. In order to keep his mother happy, he tried to focus on making her happy, magically. His powers focused on manifesting charms and enchantments. As well intended as it was, when Lady grey discovered his magical focus could lead to the speculation that he could manipulate her into doing his bidding, she chose to exile him for one year so that he could adventure to gain real experience far away from her. Pros: Placating: he is silver tongue into telling people what they want to hear even without magic, Magic: Focused on enchantment and charm spells (friendship, sleep, flaming weapon) Undead heritage: Being the great grandson of a vampire, his magic can effect undead as well (usually undead are either too mindless or caught up in their own ordeals to be a valid target) Cons: Sycophant: He is a bit submissive to help others, lacking self-confidence even with his powerful will to manifest magic. The easeist way to break him is to make him question himself and others. Squishy: Most mages are glass cannons, fragile yet devastating, but he is more like a fireworks display with his most harmful spells causing an enemy to fall fast asleep in the middle of combat for someone else to finish off.

Alors que la chaise grinçait plus fort et plus fort, le volume même de celle-ci finit par rivaliser non seulement, mais nainait aussi celui du joueur solitaire de harpe. Enragé, le musicien a posé son instrument et a appelé de l'autre côté de la taverne. "Hé! Lardarse! Vas-y doucement sur le paysage, Willya? J'essaie de créer de l'art ici! » L'opération s'était bien déroulée jusqu'à ce moment-là. L'aubergiste n'avait pas vu à travers le déguisement de Baxxink et ses compagnons s'étaient bien installés, même le démon n'avait pas eu beaucoup de mal à entrer, bien que Baxxink ait estimé que cela avait quelque chose à voir avec sa taille. En regardant autour de la grande pièce, il a fait le bilan des autres invités. Les ivrognes habituels qui fréquente les tavernes, un marchand ou deux, mais pas du genre riche. S'il devait payer pour le verre, il avait besoin d'argent. Vite. La barmaid était une solution possible, elle devrait savoir où un peu d'argent a été gardé, mais il aurait dû la soumettre pour cela, et il ne préférerait pas. Il se leva de la table qu'il partageait avec ses deux camarades, et s'excusa comme il avait un appel de la nature à s'occuper de lui. Il a quitté la grande pièce par la porte arrière et a été accueilli par un arbre solitaire qui sentait beaucoup plus l'urine que le pin. Il s'est retourné et a regardé la taverne. Les chambres où les invités pouvaient rester étaient généralement à l'étage supérieur, il comptait quatre fenêtres là-haut. Son plan était simple, monter le pisse-tree, sauter sur le toit, trouver une fenêtre si une pièce occupée et se faufiler dedans, il devrait y avoir quelque chose de valeur.

Name: Baxxink Hagglepocket. Title/Nickname: Often known as “That bastard who stole my money”, but it’s a bit long for a nickname. Age: 36. Gender: Male. Race: Goblin. Profession: Thief. Trope/Archetype: The sneaky guy Equipment: Clothes - for wearing. Dagger - for stabbing. Short bow + quiver of arrows - for long distance stabbing. Fake beard - (special item) for camouflage. Background: Baxxink was born into a goblin community like most goblins, and like most goblin communities it was violently destroyed by a troupe of adventurers that passed by looking for treasure. As one of few survivors Baxxink had to use his natural gifts of stealth and agility to fill his stomach and set out on the path he’s been on until now. Pros: Stealthy - can move silently and stick to the shadows very well. Quick and agile - clawed fingers (and toes), low weight, long limbs and a greater range of movement compared to humans means that Baxxink has a lot of options for movement. Cunning - not clever, smart or intelligent, Baxxink’s mind is focused on finding and exploiting weaknesses. Cons: Soft - doesn’t wear a lot of padding, things will hurt. Hated race - have you ever heard someone say “Oh, please come in mister Goblin, how nice to meet you, would you like some pie?” Didn’t think so. Remember, no magic - goblins are magically retarded. Other: Things will go missing around Baxxink. Goblins are by far the most unimportant so called “threat” to the kingdom that I could ever imagine. They are far beneath humans on all accounts and to even classify them as sentient is an insult to the higher species. Mentally they are easier to compare with rats than humans. No intelligence, most can’t read or write and their language capabilities are almost zero if you don’t count the screeching noises they make when they’re hungry. Physically they can be compared to a child. Standing fully erect they may reach a grown man somewhere between the navel and chest, but with not even half of the girth. Indeed one has many times wondered if they are not only skin and bone. Their limbs are elongated as are their ears and noses and their skin is green much like orchs. Their fingers and toes end in claws, but much like the goblins themselves these are small and insignificant, their only use seems to be in aiding the goblin when climbing. Wild goblins gather in communities, either out in the wilderness or inside ruins and other abandoned structures. They gather valuable (revise) items which is why groups of adventurous people willingly keep the goblin count down. The goblin society is hundreds, if not thousands of years behind our own, they have only barely mastered the art of farming, no craftsmanship to speak of and no written language. Even the goblins that have managed to sneak into our cities prefer to live in the sewers like rats, which is why most larger cities have elimination crews that goes below once a month to clear them out. How are they a threat? As mentioned, they really are not. Not to the civilised world at least. Their fragile bodies cannot stand up to punishment or exert great force. They don’t wear armour and tend to prefer smaller weapons like daggers instead of more capable weaponry. Indeed, the only area where they surpass humanity lies in their animalistic instincts and movements, they are quick and can squeeze through a hole as tiny as their head. But as long as they are cornered or trapped even a group of goblins should not be a threat to human soldiers. Goblins are really only a threat to unprepared travellers and small farming communities that are based too far from the outposts. As soon as armed and trained people are around the goblins are no longer a threat. Beards: Goblins are incapable of growing beards, which makes it odd that we tend to find false beards made of straw, fur or actual stolen facial hair around their communities. Perhaps it has some form of ritual importance. According to my researchers many of the beards are well worn, like they’ve been used almost daily for some time, yet no one has ever seen a goblin wearing one of these fur masks. Perhaps they wear them to make fun of dwarves.

Bien sûr, on pouvait grimper n'importe quel arbre aussi longtemps qu'on avait le rapport approprié entre sa propre puissance physique et son poids, ce qui dans le cas de Baxxink était clairement vrai. Cependant aussi clairement vrai était que chaque arbre que vous avez grimpé a généralement laissé quelques traces de son écorce derrière vous comme vos pieds et les mains creusées dedans. Dans le cas de l'arbre pisse, eh bien... ces traces étaient bien infusées avec la puanteur de pipi et d'autres choses dégoûtantes aussi bien. Le saut sur le toit a été réussi et il y avait une fenêtre ouverte - qui soupçonnait que quelqu'un escaladerait l'arbre pisse en premier lieu?. Il y avait des voix entendues derrière la porte fermée, indiquant que deux personnes parlaient devant elle dans le couloir. Le propriétaire actuel de la chambre ou était-ce juste une coïncidence? Qui pouvait le savoir, mais celui qui avait loué cette chambre de classe supérieure devait avoir des biens. Plusieurs objets pas super précieux, mais encore assez précieux comme un stylo richement décoré, des feuilles de parchemin de haute qualité et la clé d'un coach qui se tenait quelque part près de la taverne attendait l'intrus s'il était assez audacieux. Vekyzz a noté que la chaise semblait être à peu près au bord de ses limites, mais il ne s'en souciait pas tant que la chose tiendrait. Cependant, ce qui l'a perturbé, c'était d'être appelé un 'galoot'. Et avant même d'avoir fini d'éclore un plan approprié de représailles contre une seule cible, cette petite excuse d'un vrai musicien s'est ajoutée à la file d'attente! Vekyzz' a décidé que 'laard asse' demandait une priorité plus élevée que 'galoot'. Sa main a claqué sur la table et a été rétractée lentement avec une certaine pression délibérée appliquée à ses griffes de sorte qu'il y aurait des rayures superficielles laissées derrière. Ensuite, l'homme s'est levé. Ses yeux grimaçants étaient concentrés sur le joueur solitaire de harpe et avec le rythme d'un zombie, mais avec beaucoup, beaucoup plus de simplicité et de détermination, celui-ci a été approché. Vekyzz n'avait pas prévu de détruire la harpe, mais simplement de la confisquer pendant un moment. Vekyzz n'a pas dit un mot alors qu'il se rapprochait, ouvrant et fermant ses paumes lentement comme s'il voulait couper de la chair avec eux.

Name: Vekyzz Title/Nickname: - Age: 26 Gender: Male Race: He's an Oiosyyiathaom, that is... a demon. The expression is not used for the class of demons in general, but for a very special subset of them. The knowledge about how to summon them is commonly assumed to be lost, though this could very well only be the result of it being a very dangerous and difficult process that very rarely is executed. The realm they come from is named Qu'Nor. The term is the human transcription of what it is called in their own tongue. Little is known about it because the inverse process of getting a human there and letting him return alive is even more difficult. Those very few who managed to do this weren't very fond of openly sharing the knowledge gained. It can be assumed that the majority of what common mages know about it has its origin in torture chambers that have seen members of Vekyzz' race. It is said that there exist a multitude of creatures, not only demons, but the Oiosyyiathaoms being the dominating race. Not all of them are flat-out hostile to everything and everyone, but most are however. Vekyzz is a tad in the middle: Not willing to kill on sight, but easy to push into a decent rage that can become quite violent. This raises the question: Why would anyone be interested in summoning such a creature ? The standard answer would be 'because he can', but there are other reasons. One of his kind, once succesfully forced into submission, would be a formidable asset for both personal protection and boosting one's ego: The average individual stands well above a large human male and usually weighs at least twice as much. They feature a very dense skeletal frame and pick up large amounts of similar muscle even with hardly any training at all. There is some inherent magic in them, but they can't purposefully control it. It virtually 'leaks' out of them as raw energy. It is assumed that this phenomenon is not natural and only appears in the foreign environment they are torn into when summoned. In fact, some of his kind have been subjected to experiments trying to artificially trigger and harvest it. The outcomes were rather mixed: While it turned out to be possible to release large amounts of magical power, the price in terms of killed test subjects that needed to be replaced by performing new summonings outweighed this benefit. It is not known how many individuals are currently present in the world, but it is fair to assume that their number is very, very small. Their lifespan is dramatically reduced by the leakage effect and is estimated at no more than 50 years if not sent back in time. However, as long as their inner pool doesn't run out and they are sufficiently supplied, bodily degradation is virtually unknown to them.Appearance: As an individual he is an imposing figure: The man stands about 7 feet 2 inches tall (excluding the horns) and is packed with dense, voluminous muscles. The Big Guy Profession: He doesn't really have one. He's basically become a survivalist capable of living off the wild land. He still seldomly accepts more or less shady jobs, but more for fun than out of necessity. Background: Vekyzz has never experienced the freedom of having parents that keep you nourished and well-kept during your childhood. He hasn't even experienced the luxury of never having to switch the world one's living in, allowing as much time as possible to adapt. He was thrown into this realm by a mage craving for power, but the first thing that happened is another case of the scientist-runs-an-experiment-without-preparation-for-the-case-it-yields-exactly-the-outcome-he's-hoping-for trope. The summoner doesn't live anymore, killed in an instantaneous act of outrage. Unfortunately, Vekyzz thereby has also slain his only hope of returning - or at least the only one he knows about. Being doomed to continue living the life that had just started to exist, the demon started roaming the land. Equipment:What would he be without his trusty, colossal, vintage looking sword ? Technically it isn't even really a sword, but merely an outstanding piece of mechanical butchery consisting of a thick piece of sheet metal that was ground to have a sharp edge on one side while the other was bolted to a large handle. It's purely makeshift.An equally impressive collection of... one might be tempted to say 'garbage', but let's just call it an armor consisting of pieces of leather, fur and cloth stacked upon another and combined and held together with chains. It covers most of his body.A cheap, but complete set of 'civil' clothing. Pros: + Very strong and tough. He's capable of moving and lifting things an ordinary human couldn't dream of. + Rather intelligent, though not outstandingly. Cons: - His appearance. When people see him, prices go up, and when he leaves, they go down again as if by magic. He's really not far from being an outcast and scorn can be achieved by a wide variety of methods. - He's lean and wouldn't consider himself particularly tall or heavy. By human standards however he is a crushing, walking tower and thereby prone to more or less embarrassing accidents. Furniture, badly maintained buildings and the like aren't exactly designed for him.- He's inexperienced with this world and the habits, traditions and reasoning of its inhabitants. The negative impact of this has considerable lessened since his 'arrival', but is still noticeable. Other: -

La pauvre chaise semblait s'évanouir une fois que la monstruosité surgissait avec de grands théâtres, grincant à allumer sous ses propres jambes. Évitant les représailles, la jeune fille a fait un pas en arrière et a pivoté autour d'un patron avec la grâce de la répétition plutôt que de marcher à la légère alors qu'elle s'éloignait d'une portée de dos. Le minsterel, cependant, s'est trouvé rapide en place comme le béhémoth a fait un mouvement de bébés « mains de griffe » et a tenu son bras derrière lui pour protéger sa capuche vivante précieuse dans une forme futile de retenue. "De retour, bête!" Les mots étaient aussi faibles et creux que la terreur empoignait le cœur du harpiste. Aussi vite qu'ils sont venus, ils sont repartis. Laisser l'orc plutôt confus quant à l'endroit de la situation. Pour le moment, il sourit alors qu'on lui apportait un verre, mais il mit sa main sur le plateau pour l'arrêter. "Si ça ne vous dérange pas, il m'est interdit de boire. Je vais prendre la générosité dans les rondes valant, verser un tankard de moins et m'apporter les cuivres, s'il vous plaît." C'était un simple mensonge, mais être coupé de ses finances signifie qu'il avait besoin de toutes les pièces qu'il pouvait dans son sac. En regardant autour de lui, ses yeux orcissaient jusqu'au balcon où deux se tenaient à l'extrémité du hall devant la porte avec un débat houleux. L'un portait un manteau de marine et l'autre était couvert de fourrures. Ils semblaient passer un sacoche en allers et retours comme s'ils ne le voulaient pas, et ils ne voulaient pas non plus que d'autres l'aient. Enfin, le plus grand des deux a prononcé un mot dwarven et est allé jeter sa porte dans la salle de classe supérieure.

Name: Gegory Greyrose Title/Nickname: Lord Age: 24 Gender: Male Race: half-Orc Profession: Wealthy lord looking for experience rather than riches Trope/Archetype: Often mistaken for a necromancer, he is actually the charmer. Appearance: 6'6" and 150 lbs, he is a willowy thing compared to most. Equipment: After being cut-off, the only thing he was allowed to take with him is a scepter fitted with dragons teeth which he uses to focus his magic for greater power. Otherwise he has his fine quality clothing and the horse he rode in on sidesaddle. Background: Being a half-orc in a human land is difficult to say the least, being the bastard son of a noble is even harder. His mother was Lady Greyrose, former knight of the silver wheel order. His father was an orc warrior who fought alongside her order to stem back a giant invasion. One night of far too much vidali (onion wine) to drink she had a moment of weakness and nine months later her son was born. He was an ugly baby and lady greyrose was reluctant to nurse him with those tusks of his already in his mouth when he was born, not unlike a wild boar. As much as she might blame his orc father, in truth, the real darkness comes from the greyrose family line. Lord Archibald Grey, Grgory's great grandfather, was given his title for his services to the crown in the great war of his time against a vampire coven from the black forest. He had suffered a bite to his leg in that time and was doing all he could to keep the change at bay. He drank only holy water and prayed in the church for three months before he changed. During that time, he fell into passion with a nun in the church and married her properly before he became a monster. Their wedding night, lady grey's father, Gregorio was conceived and Lord Grey turned to ash with the morning light. That undead bloodline would manifest itself many years later as the boy was surrounded by strange happenings, things falling from shelves and an unnatural amount of dead animals on the property. Lady greyrose sent for specialists of arcane and divine to see if they were besieged by ghosts or the like; what they came back with is that Gregory was a sorcerer, a type of mage that did not study dusty old tomes but drew on his own natural arcane talents. Not being something he could be taught, it made the random happenings even more stressful as he came into his own over the years. In order to keep his mother happy, he tried to focus on making her happy, magically. His powers focused on manifesting charms and enchantments. As well intended as it was, when Lady grey discovered his magical focus could lead to the speculation that he could manipulate her into doing his bidding, she chose to exile him for one year so that he could adventure to gain real experience far away from her. Pros: Placating: he is silver tongue into telling people what they want to hear even without magic, Magic: Focused on enchantment and charm spells (friendship, sleep, flaming weapon) Undead heritage: Being the great grandson of a vampire, his magic can effect undead as well (usually undead are either too mindless or caught up in their own ordeals to be a valid target) Cons: Sycophant: He is a bit submissive to help others, lacking self-confidence even with his powerful will to manifest magic. The easeist way to break him is to make him question himself and others. Squishy: Most mages are glass cannons, fragile yet devastating, but he is more like a fireworks display with his most harmful spells causing an enemy to fall fast asleep in the middle of combat for someone else to finish off.

Les deux hommes se disputaient audiblement et attiraient l'attention non seulement de l'orc, mais presque tout le monde dans la pièce qui n'était pas trop ivre pour ouvrir les yeux. le cartable qu'ils passèrent entre eux avait l'air lourd et plein, mais son contenu était un mystère. Quand le plus grand d'entre eux éclata soudain en nain, son compagnon fit de même, déchargeant une série de bruits aigus et de consonnes lourdes dans la direction de son camarade. Le grand gars s'est tourné vers la porte pour partir, a appuyé sur la poignée vers le bas et sans autre cérémonie a marché directement dans le bois massif de la barrière. Verrouillé. "Key, espèce de salaud!" Il a crié sur son ami, qui a enragé a jeté la satchel dans les airs. "Je n'ai pas de clé, babouin, tu m'as moi-même!" La satchel s'est envolée dans l'air avec toute la grâce d'un aigle, paralysée du cou vers le bas et n'a vraiment besoin d'une merde. Par une coïncidence miraculeuse, il vola droit vers l'orc et avec les réflexes étonnants de quelqu'un qui n'était pas mort depuis des centaines d'années, il ouvrit les mains et l'attrape presque silencieusement. Presque. La faible "puce" d'une pièce frappant une autre s'est échappée. Tous les yeux étaient sur la cartable. Baxxink a décidé de prendre le risque, il devrait être assez rapide. Le stylo a été empoché presque avant que ses pieds frappent le sol, la clé est venue deuxième. Il a regardé le parchemin pendant une seconde, mais il l'a laissé. Trop grand, ne vaut que quelque chose en bon état et même alors seulement pour le bon type d'acheteur qui adorerait s'en aller à bas prix. Quelque chose de lourd a claqué contre la porte et Baxxink a immédiatement abandonné toute pensée de fouiller la pièce plus loin. Il sortit de la pièce comme un cygne en pisse et s'accroupit de l'autre côté. Il n'avait pas eu d'argent, c'était ce qu'il cherchait, il aurait dû échanger le stylo quelque part... La clé. Il y avait peut-être de l'argent dans l'entraîneur. Baxxink a fait son chemin vers le bas de l'arbre rapidement, vers le bas était la partie facile après tout. Il n'a pas aimé se frotter contre l'écorce de couleur pisse, mais a pensé qu'il pouvait commander un bain et laver ses vêtements en même temps s'il ne trouvait que de l'argent. Il a arrondi l'auberge et est arrivé à l'endroit où les entraîneurs ont été retenus. Il y avait beaucoup d'entre eux, différentes tailles et formes pour diverses quantités d'occupants riches. Baxxink regarda à nouveau la clé, mais il n'y avait aucun moyen de déterminer à quel entraîneur il appartenait. Il devrait tous les essayer un par un et espérer que les entraîneurs ne l'ont pas trouvé suspect.

Name: Baxxink Hagglepocket. Title/Nickname: Often known as “That bastard who stole my money”, but it’s a bit long for a nickname. Age: 36. Gender: Male. Race: Goblin. Profession: Thief. Trope/Archetype: The sneaky guy Equipment: Clothes - for wearing. Dagger - for stabbing. Short bow + quiver of arrows - for long distance stabbing. Fake beard - (special item) for camouflage. Background: Baxxink was born into a goblin community like most goblins, and like most goblin communities it was violently destroyed by a troupe of adventurers that passed by looking for treasure. As one of few survivors Baxxink had to use his natural gifts of stealth and agility to fill his stomach and set out on the path he’s been on until now. Pros: Stealthy - can move silently and stick to the shadows very well. Quick and agile - clawed fingers (and toes), low weight, long limbs and a greater range of movement compared to humans means that Baxxink has a lot of options for movement. Cunning - not clever, smart or intelligent, Baxxink’s mind is focused on finding and exploiting weaknesses. Cons: Soft - doesn’t wear a lot of padding, things will hurt. Hated race - have you ever heard someone say “Oh, please come in mister Goblin, how nice to meet you, would you like some pie?” Didn’t think so. Remember, no magic - goblins are magically retarded. Other: Things will go missing around Baxxink. Goblins are by far the most unimportant so called “threat” to the kingdom that I could ever imagine. They are far beneath humans on all accounts and to even classify them as sentient is an insult to the higher species. Mentally they are easier to compare with rats than humans. No intelligence, most can’t read or write and their language capabilities are almost zero if you don’t count the screeching noises they make when they’re hungry. Physically they can be compared to a child. Standing fully erect they may reach a grown man somewhere between the navel and chest, but with not even half of the girth. Indeed one has many times wondered if they are not only skin and bone. Their limbs are elongated as are their ears and noses and their skin is green much like orchs. Their fingers and toes end in claws, but much like the goblins themselves these are small and insignificant, their only use seems to be in aiding the goblin when climbing. Wild goblins gather in communities, either out in the wilderness or inside ruins and other abandoned structures. They gather valuable (revise) items which is why groups of adventurous people willingly keep the goblin count down. The goblin society is hundreds, if not thousands of years behind our own, they have only barely mastered the art of farming, no craftsmanship to speak of and no written language. Even the goblins that have managed to sneak into our cities prefer to live in the sewers like rats, which is why most larger cities have elimination crews that goes below once a month to clear them out. How are they a threat? As mentioned, they really are not. Not to the civilised world at least. Their fragile bodies cannot stand up to punishment or exert great force. They don’t wear armour and tend to prefer smaller weapons like daggers instead of more capable weaponry. Indeed, the only area where they surpass humanity lies in their animalistic instincts and movements, they are quick and can squeeze through a hole as tiny as their head. But as long as they are cornered or trapped even a group of goblins should not be a threat to human soldiers. Goblins are really only a threat to unprepared travellers and small farming communities that are based too far from the outposts. As soon as armed and trained people are around the goblins are no longer a threat. Beards: Goblins are incapable of growing beards, which makes it odd that we tend to find false beards made of straw, fur or actual stolen facial hair around their communities. Perhaps it has some form of ritual importance. According to my researchers many of the beards are well worn, like they’ve been used almost daily for some time, yet no one has ever seen a goblin wearing one of these fur masks. Perhaps they wear them to make fun of dwarves.

En adoptant une approche mathématique-théorique primitive, on pourrait affirmer que la densité de probabilité de rencontrer la serrure correcte était une ligne plate à travers le nombre d'entraîneurs déjà essayés. La chance du dernier entraîneur d'être la bonne était égale à la chance du premier ou du milieu d'être la bonne. Cependant, cette statistique n'a pas considéré certains facteurs plus subtils, l'un d'entre eux étant le wantbe-thief étant un peu nerveux, hâtive et donc pas très doux ou même précis avec la paire de clés. Il n'y avait pratiquement aucun entraîneur (qui voulait attendre dehors quand il y avait une taverne?), mais après près d'une douzaine de rebonds durs, de confitures et de frottements contre des cylindres plus ou moins lubrifiés, la foutue clé vient de se casser. Cela ne signifiait pas nécessairement que le plan devait être abandonné. Il y avait d'autres façons d'entrer : Brisez le verre mince, par exemple. Ou prenez cette grande tige de fer qui s'appuyait sur la paroi extérieure du dos de la taverne et utilisez-la comme une barre à corneilles de fortune. Ou emmenez l'autre entraîneur qui avait encore deux chevaux attachés et éloignez-le. Ce serait la propre décision du goblin s'il voulait partir pour l'avidité sans ses amis ou non. Vekyzz s'est collé à son approche lente. Son ombre commença de plus en plus à englober le joueur de harpe, et comme il était si grand, il savait qu'il était très bientôt à sa portée. Le démon ne se souciait pas beaucoup des autres personnes actuellement présentes. Il se passait quelque chose au niveau supérieur, mais le premier à traiter encore était M. Lard Arse. Il verrait bientôt pourquoi Vekizz était si grand et lourd! Comme s'il ne pesait presque rien, le musicien a été pris au col de sa chemise et a levé le sol au bout du bras gauche tendu de Vekyzz. Avec ses biceps enflammés sous sa peau sombre, le démon tira l'homme vers lui, le tenant assez haut pour qu'ils puissent se regarder les uns dans les autres. "Maintenant... qu'en dites-vous? Dois-je faire quelques tests de force pour voir qui d'entre nous vaut le plus son poids? » En parlant de ça, Vekyzz a permis que ses grandes dents soient clairement visibles.

Name: Vekyzz Title/Nickname: - Age: 26 Gender: Male Race: He's an Oiosyyiathaom, that is... a demon. The expression is not used for the class of demons in general, but for a very special subset of them. The knowledge about how to summon them is commonly assumed to be lost, though this could very well only be the result of it being a very dangerous and difficult process that very rarely is executed. The realm they come from is named Qu'Nor. The term is the human transcription of what it is called in their own tongue. Little is known about it because the inverse process of getting a human there and letting him return alive is even more difficult. Those very few who managed to do this weren't very fond of openly sharing the knowledge gained. It can be assumed that the majority of what common mages know about it has its origin in torture chambers that have seen members of Vekyzz' race. It is said that there exist a multitude of creatures, not only demons, but the Oiosyyiathaoms being the dominating race. Not all of them are flat-out hostile to everything and everyone, but most are however. Vekyzz is a tad in the middle: Not willing to kill on sight, but easy to push into a decent rage that can become quite violent. This raises the question: Why would anyone be interested in summoning such a creature ? The standard answer would be 'because he can', but there are other reasons. One of his kind, once succesfully forced into submission, would be a formidable asset for both personal protection and boosting one's ego: The average individual stands well above a large human male and usually weighs at least twice as much. They feature a very dense skeletal frame and pick up large amounts of similar muscle even with hardly any training at all. There is some inherent magic in them, but they can't purposefully control it. It virtually 'leaks' out of them as raw energy. It is assumed that this phenomenon is not natural and only appears in the foreign environment they are torn into when summoned. In fact, some of his kind have been subjected to experiments trying to artificially trigger and harvest it. The outcomes were rather mixed: While it turned out to be possible to release large amounts of magical power, the price in terms of killed test subjects that needed to be replaced by performing new summonings outweighed this benefit. It is not known how many individuals are currently present in the world, but it is fair to assume that their number is very, very small. Their lifespan is dramatically reduced by the leakage effect and is estimated at no more than 50 years if not sent back in time. However, as long as their inner pool doesn't run out and they are sufficiently supplied, bodily degradation is virtually unknown to them.Appearance: As an individual he is an imposing figure: The man stands about 7 feet 2 inches tall (excluding the horns) and is packed with dense, voluminous muscles. The Big Guy Profession: He doesn't really have one. He's basically become a survivalist capable of living off the wild land. He still seldomly accepts more or less shady jobs, but more for fun than out of necessity. Background: Vekyzz has never experienced the freedom of having parents that keep you nourished and well-kept during your childhood. He hasn't even experienced the luxury of never having to switch the world one's living in, allowing as much time as possible to adapt. He was thrown into this realm by a mage craving for power, but the first thing that happened is another case of the scientist-runs-an-experiment-without-preparation-for-the-case-it-yields-exactly-the-outcome-he's-hoping-for trope. The summoner doesn't live anymore, killed in an instantaneous act of outrage. Unfortunately, Vekyzz thereby has also slain his only hope of returning - or at least the only one he knows about. Being doomed to continue living the life that had just started to exist, the demon started roaming the land. Equipment:What would he be without his trusty, colossal, vintage looking sword ? Technically it isn't even really a sword, but merely an outstanding piece of mechanical butchery consisting of a thick piece of sheet metal that was ground to have a sharp edge on one side while the other was bolted to a large handle. It's purely makeshift.An equally impressive collection of... one might be tempted to say 'garbage', but let's just call it an armor consisting of pieces of leather, fur and cloth stacked upon another and combined and held together with chains. It covers most of his body.A cheap, but complete set of 'civil' clothing. Pros: + Very strong and tough. He's capable of moving and lifting things an ordinary human couldn't dream of. + Rather intelligent, though not outstandingly. Cons: - His appearance. When people see him, prices go up, and when he leaves, they go down again as if by magic. He's really not far from being an outcast and scorn can be achieved by a wide variety of methods. - He's lean and wouldn't consider himself particularly tall or heavy. By human standards however he is a crushing, walking tower and thereby prone to more or less embarrassing accidents. Furniture, badly maintained buildings and the like aren't exactly designed for him.- He's inexperienced with this world and the habits, traditions and reasoning of its inhabitants. The negative impact of this has considerable lessened since his 'arrival', but is still noticeable. Other: -

Le musicien, les yeux bourdonnants, respirant lourd, transpirant littéralement, n'ont rien dit du tout. La terreur de ce qui se trouvait devant lui avait surchargé son cerveau, il n'avait pas compté sur quelque chose comme ça pour arriver et il craignait vraiment pour sa vie. Soudain, quelque chose a frappé Vekyzz dans le dos. le jet soudain de bois de différentes tailles et formes, ainsi que l'empreinte douloureuse de l'objet avait dit au démon qu'il était l'un des nombreux fauteuils de la taverne de standard douteux, celui-ci avait évidemment vu de meilleurs jours. Comme Vekyzz tourna les yeux sur la pièce pour trouver qui avait besoin d'un coup rapide à l'aine le plus il a pris le bout de quelque chose de bleu vif comme si balancé par la porte de fermeture rapide. Le reste de la pièce était rempli de gens trop stupéfaits pour bouger, certains pensant peut-être qu'ils seraient en sécurité s'ils restaient parfaitement immobiles. Dehors, le goblin connu sous le nom de Baxxink a fait de son mieux pour regarder à l'intérieur de tous les entraîneurs. Il était trop court pour certains, et a dû se tenir sur ses orteils ou sauter pour obtenir même le plus faible des regards. Bien sûr, il pouvait les grimper comme rien, mais ses mains griffées et ses pieds tendaient à laisser quelques marques de griffes et ce n'était pas la marque d'un bon voleur. La clé s'était cassée, et un con malchanceux aurait dû trouver un serrurier avant qu'il puisse retrouver son entraîneur, Baxxink espérait seulement que le gars était très à l'aise à l'intérieur de la taverne encore. Les entraîneurs avaient pris soin d'enlever les bagages du toit et de l'arrière des autocars, le seul endroit où il trouverait quelque chose de valeur serait à l'intérieur des compartiments verrouillés. Il s'est levé à l'arrière et a regardé à l'intérieur. Bien qu'il n'y ait pas de bagages visibles, les sièges des autocars s'ouvrent souvent pour permettre aux gens de planter des trucs là-bas. Le coach qu'il avait choisi avait l'air d'appartenir à quelqu'un d'assez riche pour planter de l'argent là-dedans, mais toujours pas assez riche pour mettre un piège. C'est une sorte très spécifique de riche. Baxxink a tiré son bras droit en arrière, enroulé sa main dans un poing, dirigé vers le centre de la feuille de verre et y a pensé. Le verre est dur, fragile, mais plus dur que le poing moyen. Briser le verre comme ça, même si c'était possible par un gobelin faible, ferait mal comme l'enfer et lui ferait probablement peur pour la vie et drainerait son sang. Il a sauté et a regardé autour de lui, il avait juste besoin de quelque chose de plus dur que du verre, une pierre, une bonne branche, une tortue... quelque chose qu'il pouvait utiliser et puis jeter loin...

Name: Baxxink Hagglepocket. Title/Nickname: Often known as “That bastard who stole my money”, but it’s a bit long for a nickname. Age: 36. Gender: Male. Race: Goblin. Profession: Thief. Trope/Archetype: The sneaky guy Equipment: Clothes - for wearing. Dagger - for stabbing. Short bow + quiver of arrows - for long distance stabbing. Fake beard - (special item) for camouflage. Background: Baxxink was born into a goblin community like most goblins, and like most goblin communities it was violently destroyed by a troupe of adventurers that passed by looking for treasure. As one of few survivors Baxxink had to use his natural gifts of stealth and agility to fill his stomach and set out on the path he’s been on until now. Pros: Stealthy - can move silently and stick to the shadows very well. Quick and agile - clawed fingers (and toes), low weight, long limbs and a greater range of movement compared to humans means that Baxxink has a lot of options for movement. Cunning - not clever, smart or intelligent, Baxxink’s mind is focused on finding and exploiting weaknesses. Cons: Soft - doesn’t wear a lot of padding, things will hurt. Hated race - have you ever heard someone say “Oh, please come in mister Goblin, how nice to meet you, would you like some pie?” Didn’t think so. Remember, no magic - goblins are magically retarded. Other: Things will go missing around Baxxink. Goblins are by far the most unimportant so called “threat” to the kingdom that I could ever imagine. They are far beneath humans on all accounts and to even classify them as sentient is an insult to the higher species. Mentally they are easier to compare with rats than humans. No intelligence, most can’t read or write and their language capabilities are almost zero if you don’t count the screeching noises they make when they’re hungry. Physically they can be compared to a child. Standing fully erect they may reach a grown man somewhere between the navel and chest, but with not even half of the girth. Indeed one has many times wondered if they are not only skin and bone. Their limbs are elongated as are their ears and noses and their skin is green much like orchs. Their fingers and toes end in claws, but much like the goblins themselves these are small and insignificant, their only use seems to be in aiding the goblin when climbing. Wild goblins gather in communities, either out in the wilderness or inside ruins and other abandoned structures. They gather valuable (revise) items which is why groups of adventurous people willingly keep the goblin count down. The goblin society is hundreds, if not thousands of years behind our own, they have only barely mastered the art of farming, no craftsmanship to speak of and no written language. Even the goblins that have managed to sneak into our cities prefer to live in the sewers like rats, which is why most larger cities have elimination crews that goes below once a month to clear them out. How are they a threat? As mentioned, they really are not. Not to the civilised world at least. Their fragile bodies cannot stand up to punishment or exert great force. They don’t wear armour and tend to prefer smaller weapons like daggers instead of more capable weaponry. Indeed, the only area where they surpass humanity lies in their animalistic instincts and movements, they are quick and can squeeze through a hole as tiny as their head. But as long as they are cornered or trapped even a group of goblins should not be a threat to human soldiers. Goblins are really only a threat to unprepared travellers and small farming communities that are based too far from the outposts. As soon as armed and trained people are around the goblins are no longer a threat. Beards: Goblins are incapable of growing beards, which makes it odd that we tend to find false beards made of straw, fur or actual stolen facial hair around their communities. Perhaps it has some form of ritual importance. According to my researchers many of the beards are well worn, like they’ve been used almost daily for some time, yet no one has ever seen a goblin wearing one of these fur masks. Perhaps they wear them to make fun of dwarves.

Les pierres étaient l'option la plus évidente. En fait, depuis l'endroit où Baxxink se tenait jusqu'à plusieurs kilomètres, l'objet n'était que omniprésent. La route menant à la taverne a été renforcée avec du gravier pressé dans le sol plus doux par des années de personnes marchant et des véhicules conduisant sur elle. Le problème, c'était qu'il s'agissait de petites pierres. Très confortable à saisir pour la main d'un petit goblin, mais aussi pas très puissant et encore moins protecteur. Des tortues? Eh bien... l'option de la comédie n'était nulle part où être vu. Une branche cependant était disponible - cassé de l'arbre pisse qui pouvait être vu d'où Baxxink était. La plante était en train de mourir lentement, sa vie étant énervée par tant de pisse. Mais peut-être que le goblin se souviendrait d'une option plus intelligente? Le verre pourrait être affaibli sélectivement en le griffant profondément. C'était un travail, même un peu des petits cailloux de la route serait suffisant pour. Peut-être qu'une partie du verre pourrait être enlevée avec moins de brutalité (et donc de bruit) nécessaire qu'avec la méthode de force brute. En parlant de force brute - Vekyzz était occupé à se souvenir de ce qu'il était vraiment bon. Le musicien a été frappé à nouveau sur le sol plus dur que la gravité seule l'aurait fait. Les yeux du démon semblaient brûler, de même que la blessure que l'impact avait laissée sur son dos au sens métaphorique. Il était jonché d'attelles et aurait besoin d'un peu d'attention si on ne voulait pas le risquer de devenir encore plus atroce. Mais ce n'était pas le moment pour de telles choses. Le démon se retourna complètement furieux, la porte qu'il avait vue la chose bleue brillante passant par fixe au milieu de sa vue. Avec une grande colère, Vekyzz a claqué une table qui s'est avérée bloquer sa façon directe de sortir de la même. Il a donné un coup de pied à la porte et une fois de plus, des progrès rapides ont été entravés par le fait qu'il ne s'y installait pas. Une fois dehors, il a crié : « Quel bâtard a fait ça? Venez ici tout de suite!" Pourtant, apparemment, il ne s'attendait pas à ce que le lâche se montre. Vekyzz s'éloignait plus loin de la porte vers la zone d'attente des autocars et des chevaux. C'est là qu'il s'attendait à ce que la personne en question cherche refuge en raison des nombreux obstacles et possibilités de s'échapper rapidement. Sans intention, son chemin le mène presque directement vers Baxxink, mais la créature furieuse n'avait pas le goblin sur sa liste de suspects. Vekizz avait déjà décidé de partir et il se dirigeait donc vers un cheval en selle près de l'entraîneur. Le démon ne se souciait pas de son propriétaire - il voulait juste partir d'ici.

Name: Vekyzz Title/Nickname: - Age: 26 Gender: Male Race: He's an Oiosyyiathaom, that is... a demon. The expression is not used for the class of demons in general, but for a very special subset of them. The knowledge about how to summon them is commonly assumed to be lost, though this could very well only be the result of it being a very dangerous and difficult process that very rarely is executed. The realm they come from is named Qu'Nor. The term is the human transcription of what it is called in their own tongue. Little is known about it because the inverse process of getting a human there and letting him return alive is even more difficult. Those very few who managed to do this weren't very fond of openly sharing the knowledge gained. It can be assumed that the majority of what common mages know about it has its origin in torture chambers that have seen members of Vekyzz' race. It is said that there exist a multitude of creatures, not only demons, but the Oiosyyiathaoms being the dominating race. Not all of them are flat-out hostile to everything and everyone, but most are however. Vekyzz is a tad in the middle: Not willing to kill on sight, but easy to push into a decent rage that can become quite violent. This raises the question: Why would anyone be interested in summoning such a creature ? The standard answer would be 'because he can', but there are other reasons. One of his kind, once succesfully forced into submission, would be a formidable asset for both personal protection and boosting one's ego: The average individual stands well above a large human male and usually weighs at least twice as much. They feature a very dense skeletal frame and pick up large amounts of similar muscle even with hardly any training at all. There is some inherent magic in them, but they can't purposefully control it. It virtually 'leaks' out of them as raw energy. It is assumed that this phenomenon is not natural and only appears in the foreign environment they are torn into when summoned. In fact, some of his kind have been subjected to experiments trying to artificially trigger and harvest it. The outcomes were rather mixed: While it turned out to be possible to release large amounts of magical power, the price in terms of killed test subjects that needed to be replaced by performing new summonings outweighed this benefit. It is not known how many individuals are currently present in the world, but it is fair to assume that their number is very, very small. Their lifespan is dramatically reduced by the leakage effect and is estimated at no more than 50 years if not sent back in time. However, as long as their inner pool doesn't run out and they are sufficiently supplied, bodily degradation is virtually unknown to them.Appearance: As an individual he is an imposing figure: The man stands about 7 feet 2 inches tall (excluding the horns) and is packed with dense, voluminous muscles. The Big Guy Profession: He doesn't really have one. He's basically become a survivalist capable of living off the wild land. He still seldomly accepts more or less shady jobs, but more for fun than out of necessity. Background: Vekyzz has never experienced the freedom of having parents that keep you nourished and well-kept during your childhood. He hasn't even experienced the luxury of never having to switch the world one's living in, allowing as much time as possible to adapt. He was thrown into this realm by a mage craving for power, but the first thing that happened is another case of the scientist-runs-an-experiment-without-preparation-for-the-case-it-yields-exactly-the-outcome-he's-hoping-for trope. The summoner doesn't live anymore, killed in an instantaneous act of outrage. Unfortunately, Vekyzz thereby has also slain his only hope of returning - or at least the only one he knows about. Being doomed to continue living the life that had just started to exist, the demon started roaming the land. Equipment:What would he be without his trusty, colossal, vintage looking sword ? Technically it isn't even really a sword, but merely an outstanding piece of mechanical butchery consisting of a thick piece of sheet metal that was ground to have a sharp edge on one side while the other was bolted to a large handle. It's purely makeshift.An equally impressive collection of... one might be tempted to say 'garbage', but let's just call it an armor consisting of pieces of leather, fur and cloth stacked upon another and combined and held together with chains. It covers most of his body.A cheap, but complete set of 'civil' clothing. Pros: + Very strong and tough. He's capable of moving and lifting things an ordinary human couldn't dream of. + Rather intelligent, though not outstandingly. Cons: - His appearance. When people see him, prices go up, and when he leaves, they go down again as if by magic. He's really not far from being an outcast and scorn can be achieved by a wide variety of methods. - He's lean and wouldn't consider himself particularly tall or heavy. By human standards however he is a crushing, walking tower and thereby prone to more or less embarrassing accidents. Furniture, badly maintained buildings and the like aren't exactly designed for him.- He's inexperienced with this world and the habits, traditions and reasoning of its inhabitants. The negative impact of this has considerable lessened since his 'arrival', but is still noticeable. Other: -

Le cavalier, quelque peu ignorant des aventures de Baxxink, était gelé en place, tout comme le musicien à l'intérieur de la taverne. Il est seulement allé boiteux quand Vekyzz l'a sorti de la selle, et s'est plié dans un tas d'humains sur le sol. Le cheval d'autre part n'aurait rien de tout ça. Dès qu'il a senti son cavalier quitter la selle, il a commencé à gémir et a essayé de s'échapper. Tandis que le démon saisit les rênes pour tenir la bête encore cette foutue chose paniquait et tirait comme un éclair sur la route, laissant un vekyzz perplexe avec une légère sensation de brûlure dans sa main. Tandis que le cheval courait pour sa vie au-delà du mur lointain de la taverne quelque chose de bleu brillant tiré de l'ombre, s'est monté sur le cheval et est allé loin à la vitesse du col de rupture. Baxxink, d'autre part, s'était lassé de chercher des outils de masquage de verre appropriés et s'était installé sur la branche revêtue d'urine de l'arbre infâme derrière la taverne. Il a balancé le truc brun jaunâtre au-dessus de sa tête et a brisé la fenêtre en un million de morceaux tout comme un cheval est entré dans le galop complet juste quelques entraîneurs plus loin. Bien que la bête n'ait pas couvert le son du verre, il était susceptible d'attirer l'attention de quiconque à proximité, chanceux. Le goblin a rampé dans le trou sans trop de tracas et a commencé à fouiller là-bas dès qu'il le pouvait. Comme l'habitacle était assez petit, il ne lui a pas fallu longtemps. Alors qu'il regardait ses découvertes quelque chose se déplaçait à l'extérieur de la fenêtre et que le démon Vekizz devenait clairement visible, il n'avait évidemment plus l'intention de rester à la taverne. En sortant de l'entraîneur aussi vite qu'il le pouvait, il sauta immédiatement dans le siège de l'entraîneur du suivant et commença à crier et à agiter les bras pour attirer l'attention de son compagnon.

Name: Baxxink Hagglepocket. Title/Nickname: Often known as “That bastard who stole my money”, but it’s a bit long for a nickname. Age: 36. Gender: Male. Race: Goblin. Profession: Thief. Trope/Archetype: The sneaky guy Equipment: Clothes - for wearing. Dagger - for stabbing. Short bow + quiver of arrows - for long distance stabbing. Fake beard - (special item) for camouflage. Background: Baxxink was born into a goblin community like most goblins, and like most goblin communities it was violently destroyed by a troupe of adventurers that passed by looking for treasure. As one of few survivors Baxxink had to use his natural gifts of stealth and agility to fill his stomach and set out on the path he’s been on until now. Pros: Stealthy - can move silently and stick to the shadows very well. Quick and agile - clawed fingers (and toes), low weight, long limbs and a greater range of movement compared to humans means that Baxxink has a lot of options for movement. Cunning - not clever, smart or intelligent, Baxxink’s mind is focused on finding and exploiting weaknesses. Cons: Soft - doesn’t wear a lot of padding, things will hurt. Hated race - have you ever heard someone say “Oh, please come in mister Goblin, how nice to meet you, would you like some pie?” Didn’t think so. Remember, no magic - goblins are magically retarded. Other: Things will go missing around Baxxink. Goblins are by far the most unimportant so called “threat” to the kingdom that I could ever imagine. They are far beneath humans on all accounts and to even classify them as sentient is an insult to the higher species. Mentally they are easier to compare with rats than humans. No intelligence, most can’t read or write and their language capabilities are almost zero if you don’t count the screeching noises they make when they’re hungry. Physically they can be compared to a child. Standing fully erect they may reach a grown man somewhere between the navel and chest, but with not even half of the girth. Indeed one has many times wondered if they are not only skin and bone. Their limbs are elongated as are their ears and noses and their skin is green much like orchs. Their fingers and toes end in claws, but much like the goblins themselves these are small and insignificant, their only use seems to be in aiding the goblin when climbing. Wild goblins gather in communities, either out in the wilderness or inside ruins and other abandoned structures. They gather valuable (revise) items which is why groups of adventurous people willingly keep the goblin count down. The goblin society is hundreds, if not thousands of years behind our own, they have only barely mastered the art of farming, no craftsmanship to speak of and no written language. Even the goblins that have managed to sneak into our cities prefer to live in the sewers like rats, which is why most larger cities have elimination crews that goes below once a month to clear them out. How are they a threat? As mentioned, they really are not. Not to the civilised world at least. Their fragile bodies cannot stand up to punishment or exert great force. They don’t wear armour and tend to prefer smaller weapons like daggers instead of more capable weaponry. Indeed, the only area where they surpass humanity lies in their animalistic instincts and movements, they are quick and can squeeze through a hole as tiny as their head. But as long as they are cornered or trapped even a group of goblins should not be a threat to human soldiers. Goblins are really only a threat to unprepared travellers and small farming communities that are based too far from the outposts. As soon as armed and trained people are around the goblins are no longer a threat. Beards: Goblins are incapable of growing beards, which makes it odd that we tend to find false beards made of straw, fur or actual stolen facial hair around their communities. Perhaps it has some form of ritual importance. According to my researchers many of the beards are well worn, like they’ve been used almost daily for some time, yet no one has ever seen a goblin wearing one of these fur masks. Perhaps they wear them to make fun of dwarves.

Vekyzz regarda sa main et regarda en arrière pour voir l'animal s'enfuir à la vitesse de flambage. Puis il s'est concentré à nouveau sur sa main juste pour reconnaître à quel point elle était devenue meurtrie dans ces fractions d'une seconde. Et puis il a regardé en arrière pour vérifier à nouveau le cheval, mais seulement pour voir le bleu... peu importe ce que c'était... encore. Puis l'homme qu'il venait d'écraser s'est remis en action en présentant Vekyzz le sourire le plus énervant que le démon ait vu depuis des semaines. Il n'a pas été amusé du tout. Quelqu'un ne l'a pas agité? Grappe et lui barre les dents, Vekyzz s'éloigne de l'homme sans regarder en arrière. Il a dû se concentrer afin de localiser le bruit fort (et un peu ennuyeux) au milieu du désordre cette 'zone de stationnement' était. Seulement un nombre considérable de secondes plus tard Baxxink est finalement venu à la vue du démon et il a ajusté sa trajectoire. "Qu'est-ce que c'est? En bref? Tu n'aurais pas pu choisir quelque chose de plus petit? Vekyzz a critiqué personnellement le petit gobelin. Le problème était que l'utilisation d'un certain ton ou d'un certain libellé pouvait trop souvent amener d'autres personnes à se montrer résistantes. Cela s'est avéré particulièrement vrai pour les amis - et ils l'étaient au moins. L'entraîneur a développé une liste massive quand Vekyzz s'est placé à côté du goblin. Le démon émettait une quantité importante de chaleur malgré le fait qu'il ne s'était guère engagé physiquement. "Je suggère qu'on y aille." Bien sûr que ce n'était pas leur canapé, ou n'est-ce pas?

Name: Vekyzz Title/Nickname: - Age: 26 Gender: Male Race: He's an Oiosyyiathaom, that is... a demon. The expression is not used for the class of demons in general, but for a very special subset of them. The knowledge about how to summon them is commonly assumed to be lost, though this could very well only be the result of it being a very dangerous and difficult process that very rarely is executed. The realm they come from is named Qu'Nor. The term is the human transcription of what it is called in their own tongue. Little is known about it because the inverse process of getting a human there and letting him return alive is even more difficult. Those very few who managed to do this weren't very fond of openly sharing the knowledge gained. It can be assumed that the majority of what common mages know about it has its origin in torture chambers that have seen members of Vekyzz' race. It is said that there exist a multitude of creatures, not only demons, but the Oiosyyiathaoms being the dominating race. Not all of them are flat-out hostile to everything and everyone, but most are however. Vekyzz is a tad in the middle: Not willing to kill on sight, but easy to push into a decent rage that can become quite violent. This raises the question: Why would anyone be interested in summoning such a creature ? The standard answer would be 'because he can', but there are other reasons. One of his kind, once succesfully forced into submission, would be a formidable asset for both personal protection and boosting one's ego: The average individual stands well above a large human male and usually weighs at least twice as much. They feature a very dense skeletal frame and pick up large amounts of similar muscle even with hardly any training at all. There is some inherent magic in them, but they can't purposefully control it. It virtually 'leaks' out of them as raw energy. It is assumed that this phenomenon is not natural and only appears in the foreign environment they are torn into when summoned. In fact, some of his kind have been subjected to experiments trying to artificially trigger and harvest it. The outcomes were rather mixed: While it turned out to be possible to release large amounts of magical power, the price in terms of killed test subjects that needed to be replaced by performing new summonings outweighed this benefit. It is not known how many individuals are currently present in the world, but it is fair to assume that their number is very, very small. Their lifespan is dramatically reduced by the leakage effect and is estimated at no more than 50 years if not sent back in time. However, as long as their inner pool doesn't run out and they are sufficiently supplied, bodily degradation is virtually unknown to them.Appearance: As an individual he is an imposing figure: The man stands about 7 feet 2 inches tall (excluding the horns) and is packed with dense, voluminous muscles. The Big Guy Profession: He doesn't really have one. He's basically become a survivalist capable of living off the wild land. He still seldomly accepts more or less shady jobs, but more for fun than out of necessity. Background: Vekyzz has never experienced the freedom of having parents that keep you nourished and well-kept during your childhood. He hasn't even experienced the luxury of never having to switch the world one's living in, allowing as much time as possible to adapt. He was thrown into this realm by a mage craving for power, but the first thing that happened is another case of the scientist-runs-an-experiment-without-preparation-for-the-case-it-yields-exactly-the-outcome-he's-hoping-for trope. The summoner doesn't live anymore, killed in an instantaneous act of outrage. Unfortunately, Vekyzz thereby has also slain his only hope of returning - or at least the only one he knows about. Being doomed to continue living the life that had just started to exist, the demon started roaming the land. Equipment:What would he be without his trusty, colossal, vintage looking sword ? Technically it isn't even really a sword, but merely an outstanding piece of mechanical butchery consisting of a thick piece of sheet metal that was ground to have a sharp edge on one side while the other was bolted to a large handle. It's purely makeshift.An equally impressive collection of... one might be tempted to say 'garbage', but let's just call it an armor consisting of pieces of leather, fur and cloth stacked upon another and combined and held together with chains. It covers most of his body.A cheap, but complete set of 'civil' clothing. Pros: + Very strong and tough. He's capable of moving and lifting things an ordinary human couldn't dream of. + Rather intelligent, though not outstandingly. Cons: - His appearance. When people see him, prices go up, and when he leaves, they go down again as if by magic. He's really not far from being an outcast and scorn can be achieved by a wide variety of methods. - He's lean and wouldn't consider himself particularly tall or heavy. By human standards however he is a crushing, walking tower and thereby prone to more or less embarrassing accidents. Furniture, badly maintained buildings and the like aren't exactly designed for him.- He's inexperienced with this world and the habits, traditions and reasoning of its inhabitants. The negative impact of this has considerable lessened since his 'arrival', but is still noticeable. Other: -

De quoi tu parles? C'est énorme, toute ma famille pourrait vivre dans celui-ci! Le goblin s'est exclamé et a frappé le cheval devant lui dur dans le dos. La bête somnolente est immédiatement entrée en action et a amené les deux aventuriers inattendus et l'entraîneur avec elle. Ce n'est que lorsqu'ils ont commencé à aller vite que le goblin a réalisé qu'il n'avait aucune idée de la façon de diriger un entraîneur et a rapidement remis les rênes à son ami plus grand que la moyenne, tout comme les entraîneurs sont sortis de la taverne avec leurs arbalètes. Quelques boulons ont passé ou frappé l'entraîneur, mais aucun des deux ou le cheval n'a été touché. L'un d'eux, un gars avec une grande moustache a couru après l'entraîneur pendant un court moment avant d'abandonner. Baxxink, n'étant pas habitué au genre de vitesse qui a fait sécher ses yeux et l'estomac couler dans son pantalon, tenu sur pour la vie chère comme le démon tâché et tiré sur les bandes de cuir apparemment minuscules qui relient le cheval à l'entraîneur. De temps en temps, il a risqué un regard par-dessus son épaule juste pour s'assurer qu'ils n'étaient pas suivis. Après tout, les autres entraîneurs étaient tout aussi prêts à partir que celui-ci, et les gars qui les pilotaient étaient habitués à voyager plus vite que le son. Peu de temps après, on entendit le bruit de sabots sur de la terre pleine et Baxxink se tourna pour regarder qu'il voyait clairement une demi-douzaine d'humains à cheval. Apparemment, ils avaient déconnecté les bêtes de leurs fardeaux pour les faire aller encore plus vite, fous. "Ils sont derrière nous! Qu'est-ce qu'on va faire?" Il criait aussi fort que possible, mais craignait que l'air qui tenait ses paroles fût bien derrière leurs poursuivants quand il atteignit l'air qui avait tenu les oreilles de Vekyzz. Pour s'assurer que son compagne encombrante savait sur les poursuivants, il a plutôt ramassé un doigt tranchant griffé dans le côté du démon, ce qui lui ferait sûrement se tourner pour vérifier d'une manière gentlemanly afin que Baxxink puisse signaler le danger.

Name: Baxxink Hagglepocket. Title/Nickname: Often known as “That bastard who stole my money”, but it’s a bit long for a nickname. Age: 36. Gender: Male. Race: Goblin. Profession: Thief. Trope/Archetype: The sneaky guy Equipment: Clothes - for wearing. Dagger - for stabbing. Short bow + quiver of arrows - for long distance stabbing. Fake beard - (special item) for camouflage. Background: Baxxink was born into a goblin community like most goblins, and like most goblin communities it was violently destroyed by a troupe of adventurers that passed by looking for treasure. As one of few survivors Baxxink had to use his natural gifts of stealth and agility to fill his stomach and set out on the path he’s been on until now. Pros: Stealthy - can move silently and stick to the shadows very well. Quick and agile - clawed fingers (and toes), low weight, long limbs and a greater range of movement compared to humans means that Baxxink has a lot of options for movement. Cunning - not clever, smart or intelligent, Baxxink’s mind is focused on finding and exploiting weaknesses. Cons: Soft - doesn’t wear a lot of padding, things will hurt. Hated race - have you ever heard someone say “Oh, please come in mister Goblin, how nice to meet you, would you like some pie?” Didn’t think so. Remember, no magic - goblins are magically retarded. Other: Things will go missing around Baxxink. Goblins are by far the most unimportant so called “threat” to the kingdom that I could ever imagine. They are far beneath humans on all accounts and to even classify them as sentient is an insult to the higher species. Mentally they are easier to compare with rats than humans. No intelligence, most can’t read or write and their language capabilities are almost zero if you don’t count the screeching noises they make when they’re hungry. Physically they can be compared to a child. Standing fully erect they may reach a grown man somewhere between the navel and chest, but with not even half of the girth. Indeed one has many times wondered if they are not only skin and bone. Their limbs are elongated as are their ears and noses and their skin is green much like orchs. Their fingers and toes end in claws, but much like the goblins themselves these are small and insignificant, their only use seems to be in aiding the goblin when climbing. Wild goblins gather in communities, either out in the wilderness or inside ruins and other abandoned structures. They gather valuable (revise) items which is why groups of adventurous people willingly keep the goblin count down. The goblin society is hundreds, if not thousands of years behind our own, they have only barely mastered the art of farming, no craftsmanship to speak of and no written language. Even the goblins that have managed to sneak into our cities prefer to live in the sewers like rats, which is why most larger cities have elimination crews that goes below once a month to clear them out. How are they a threat? As mentioned, they really are not. Not to the civilised world at least. Their fragile bodies cannot stand up to punishment or exert great force. They don’t wear armour and tend to prefer smaller weapons like daggers instead of more capable weaponry. Indeed, the only area where they surpass humanity lies in their animalistic instincts and movements, they are quick and can squeeze through a hole as tiny as their head. But as long as they are cornered or trapped even a group of goblins should not be a threat to human soldiers. Goblins are really only a threat to unprepared travellers and small farming communities that are based too far from the outposts. As soon as armed and trained people are around the goblins are no longer a threat. Beards: Goblins are incapable of growing beards, which makes it odd that we tend to find false beards made of straw, fur or actual stolen facial hair around their communities. Perhaps it has some form of ritual importance. According to my researchers many of the beards are well worn, like they’ve been used almost daily for some time, yet no one has ever seen a goblin wearing one of these fur masks. Perhaps they wear them to make fun of dwarves.

Énorme? Tu appelles ça énorme? C'est une foutue, pourriture! Vekyzz a arraché les rênes des petites mains de Baxxink les lui présentant. Eh bien... le démon savait comment éviter toute imperfection à la surface de la route. Le démon a apparemment été beaucoup plus intéressant à optimiser la rectitude de leur chemin qu'à les sauver et à l'entraîneur de tout choc. Puis il y eut une douleur soudaine dans le flanc du démon. Est-ce qu'un des boulons a pénétré le mur de l'entraîneur et l'a frappé? Alors sa tête ne serait pas en sécurité non plus malgré le fait qu'il fuyait si fort que seulement ses cornes atteignaient au-dessus du toit... Un regard vers le bas et il a découvert la vérité. C'est... greddy, petit... goblin inutile! Vekyzz a barré ses dents et a atteint le poignet de Baxxink en un mouvement rapide. Il s'est arrêté pour être visible sous les doigts du démon et il a certainement appliqué une poignée vice de l'enfer. "Vous..." était le seul mot qu'il a forcé à sortir entre ses lèvres, sa voix tremblant avec seulement la colère à moitié réprimée. Avant de pouvoir enfin décider et écraser l'os dans sa main cependant, leurs poursuivants ont réussi à attirer l'attention de Vekyzz. Ils avaient des ennuis. D'énormes problèmes. Deux contre beaucoup étaient une situation qui pouvait devenir critique très rapidement et espérons qu'il n'avait pas besoin de le dire à son compagnon. "Plongez sur le cheval et laissez-moi un peu d'espace! Je déconnecterai ce tas d'ordures pour qu'on puisse aller plus vite!"

Name: Vekyzz Title/Nickname: - Age: 26 Gender: Male Race: He's an Oiosyyiathaom, that is... a demon. The expression is not used for the class of demons in general, but for a very special subset of them. The knowledge about how to summon them is commonly assumed to be lost, though this could very well only be the result of it being a very dangerous and difficult process that very rarely is executed. The realm they come from is named Qu'Nor. The term is the human transcription of what it is called in their own tongue. Little is known about it because the inverse process of getting a human there and letting him return alive is even more difficult. Those very few who managed to do this weren't very fond of openly sharing the knowledge gained. It can be assumed that the majority of what common mages know about it has its origin in torture chambers that have seen members of Vekyzz' race. It is said that there exist a multitude of creatures, not only demons, but the Oiosyyiathaoms being the dominating race. Not all of them are flat-out hostile to everything and everyone, but most are however. Vekyzz is a tad in the middle: Not willing to kill on sight, but easy to push into a decent rage that can become quite violent. This raises the question: Why would anyone be interested in summoning such a creature ? The standard answer would be 'because he can', but there are other reasons. One of his kind, once succesfully forced into submission, would be a formidable asset for both personal protection and boosting one's ego: The average individual stands well above a large human male and usually weighs at least twice as much. They feature a very dense skeletal frame and pick up large amounts of similar muscle even with hardly any training at all. There is some inherent magic in them, but they can't purposefully control it. It virtually 'leaks' out of them as raw energy. It is assumed that this phenomenon is not natural and only appears in the foreign environment they are torn into when summoned. In fact, some of his kind have been subjected to experiments trying to artificially trigger and harvest it. The outcomes were rather mixed: While it turned out to be possible to release large amounts of magical power, the price in terms of killed test subjects that needed to be replaced by performing new summonings outweighed this benefit. It is not known how many individuals are currently present in the world, but it is fair to assume that their number is very, very small. Their lifespan is dramatically reduced by the leakage effect and is estimated at no more than 50 years if not sent back in time. However, as long as their inner pool doesn't run out and they are sufficiently supplied, bodily degradation is virtually unknown to them.Appearance: As an individual he is an imposing figure: The man stands about 7 feet 2 inches tall (excluding the horns) and is packed with dense, voluminous muscles. The Big Guy Profession: He doesn't really have one. He's basically become a survivalist capable of living off the wild land. He still seldomly accepts more or less shady jobs, but more for fun than out of necessity. Background: Vekyzz has never experienced the freedom of having parents that keep you nourished and well-kept during your childhood. He hasn't even experienced the luxury of never having to switch the world one's living in, allowing as much time as possible to adapt. He was thrown into this realm by a mage craving for power, but the first thing that happened is another case of the scientist-runs-an-experiment-without-preparation-for-the-case-it-yields-exactly-the-outcome-he's-hoping-for trope. The summoner doesn't live anymore, killed in an instantaneous act of outrage. Unfortunately, Vekyzz thereby has also slain his only hope of returning - or at least the only one he knows about. Being doomed to continue living the life that had just started to exist, the demon started roaming the land. Equipment:What would he be without his trusty, colossal, vintage looking sword ? Technically it isn't even really a sword, but merely an outstanding piece of mechanical butchery consisting of a thick piece of sheet metal that was ground to have a sharp edge on one side while the other was bolted to a large handle. It's purely makeshift.An equally impressive collection of... one might be tempted to say 'garbage', but let's just call it an armor consisting of pieces of leather, fur and cloth stacked upon another and combined and held together with chains. It covers most of his body.A cheap, but complete set of 'civil' clothing. Pros: + Very strong and tough. He's capable of moving and lifting things an ordinary human couldn't dream of. + Rather intelligent, though not outstandingly. Cons: - His appearance. When people see him, prices go up, and when he leaves, they go down again as if by magic. He's really not far from being an outcast and scorn can be achieved by a wide variety of methods. - He's lean and wouldn't consider himself particularly tall or heavy. By human standards however he is a crushing, walking tower and thereby prone to more or less embarrassing accidents. Furniture, badly maintained buildings and the like aren't exactly designed for him.- He's inexperienced with this world and the habits, traditions and reasoning of its inhabitants. The negative impact of this has considerable lessened since his 'arrival', but is still noticeable. Other: -

Benjamin Graham se leva normalement de son lit au coucher du soleil. Son métier a commencé quand beaucoup d'autres ont fermé leurs portes, se pensant en sécurité. Aujourd'hui cependant était différent, il avait besoin de quelque chose d'important de la ville. Alors il laissa les stores dingy ouverts dans sa maison pour que la lumière du jour coule dans son visage. Benjamin ouvrit les yeux ternes avec un sifflement. Ils avaient autrefois été une noisette colorée, mais ses nombreuses années et longues heures de travail la nuit les avaient réduits à un brun filmé. Il est sorti du lit, son corps grincait et éclatait de chaque mouvement. Une fois qu'il s'est levé et que la douleur de l'âge s'est évanouie... la plupart du temps. Il est allé faire une tentative futile de se peigner les cheveux. Dans sa jeunesse, il avait été corbeau noir. Maintenant, c'était un gris gras et non kempt. Benjamin a donné, mais il a réussi à sortir la tombe de ses cheveux de la nuit dernière. Il cherchait quelque chose à porter, mais réalise que tous ses vieux vêtements normaux étaient pour un homme plus jeune. Benjamin grogne, peut-être que c'était pour le mieux. Il a jeté son uniforme Grave Keeper. Bottes de longueur de genou d'une marque imperméable, pantalon gris terne, une chemise chaude pour le bouton vert, une cape commençant à l'épaule et se terminant à la taille, enfin un large chapeau bordé. L'uniforme a été conçu pour éviter la pluie, fournir de la chaleur, la protection, et effrayer les autres. Habillé, Benjamin sortit de sa maison et entra dans l'un de ses chefs d'accusation, le cimetière du centre-ville. Il était lié à une vieille rue poussiéreuse dans le quartier de Bracken. Le cimetière était situé dans le quartier de Wilted Rose, un peu à pied. Alors qu'il descendait dans la rue, il a pu voir la réaction terrifiée des gens d'Ashtyn. Les jeunes enfants se cachaient derrière leur mère, les prêtres priaient une fois qu'il passait, les mendiants abandonnaient leurs squats, et les gens traversaient la rue pour être loin de sa terrible présence. Benjamin était habitué à ça, il ne les a pas écoutés. De nombreuses rumeurs ont été racontées au sujet de 'Old Ben'. Qu'il n'a mangé que de la terre tombale et des vers de cercueil. Qu'il savait quand et comment vous alliez mourir. Et qu'il avait 150 ans. Ne demande jamais à un jeune homme de ton âge! Il n'avait que 114 ans. La plupart de ces autres trucs n'étaient que des rumeurs, il n'était qu'un homme, a accordé un têtu. Il avait fait son travail pendant près d'un siècle, et il pouvait sentir dans ses os son temps était à court. Tout au long des années, Ben avait vu beaucoup d'universités et d'apprentis réduire, mourant prématurément, les morts grièvement. On ne sait jamais, peut-être que ce prochain lot a eu de la chance. Benjamin a été réveillé, de son repos nocturne la veille par la vieille dame qui dirigeait le bureau de Grave Keeper. Elle lui a dit qu'un jeune homme et une jeune femme venaient de s'inscrire pour Grave Keeping. Cela a porté le total de Grave Keepers dans la ville à trois. Compter lui-même. Il est arrivé au bureau. Un bâtiment poussiéreux et sale, qui n'avait pas vu de peinture depuis des années. Ben soupira et entra, ignora la dame du bureau qui criait sur lui pour récupérer son salaire, et dans le petit salon. Il a dégagé sa voix, et d'une voix de grille qui n'est pas habituée à être utilisée, demande aux gens assis là, "Alors, vous êtes les deux qui ont ruiné leur vie."

Name:Benjamin Graham Age:114 Appearance: Benjamin is a mostly silent, bitter man. His voice is raw and gravaly from lack of use. Thus hair is a long filthy unkempt gray. His eyes are a filmy half blind brown. He would stand at 5' 8'' if he stood up straight, yet with his slouch he is closer to 5' 5'' He almost perpetually wears his GraveKeeper uniform. Knee length boots of a waterproof make, dull gray trousers, a warm forrest green button up shirt, a cloak starting at the shoulder and ending at the waist, finally a wide brimmed hat. The uniform was designed to keep of the rain, provide warmth, protection, and scare of unsavory sorts. Gender: Male Backstory: Benjamin Graham has worked as a Ashtyn Grave Keeper for nearly 95 years stubbornly refusing to retire or die until he is certain that his charge will remain safe after his death. In his youth he was a wild man, squandering his families fortune on drink, women, fine clothes, but most often cards and games of chance. He found himself deeply in debt as he had wasted the wealth his dead family left him. Benjamin was left with a choice, rot in prison for the rest of his days, or become a Grave Keeper as Ashtyn had been left without one for nearly 3 years. Despite long he ago paying away his debts, Ben buried himself in his work devoting his entire life to keeping the graveyards safe, and the dead at rest. He is unofficially recognized as the head Grave Keeper of Ashytyn and takes it upon himself to train the new Grave Keepers. He has no life outside of Grave keeping, and is only seen outside his cemetery cottage while working, or buying supplies. Equipment: Grave Keeper uniform, well worn and older than most Grave Keepers careers. Shovel kept razor sharp and ready. A pike like blade is on the butt end of the handle. A rail splitting axe, for the dangerous undead. A satchel filled with trinkets and mementos to help the peaceful dead find the life, includes coins, tinker toys, a silver mirror, a holy book, paper and pen for writing messages, and a match book. A belt with many flasks and bottles tied to it. Some are potions and concoctions necessary for his trade, others are medicine for his age and health, and one or two are simply alcohol. Other: Thinks helping the benign dead pass on to be the most enjoyable part of the job. Hasn't collected his pay in over 12 years, it's all waiting for him at the office, and when he purchases something they just collect it from there.

Hogarth avait attendu dans le salon toute la journée, donnant parfois à la fille près de lui quelques regards étranges errants. Il ne voulait vraiment pas être en retard. Non pas qu'il ait pensé à l'attente, la vieille structure décrépite avait tout à fait l'atmosphère agréable, ou alors il pensait de toute façon, et son enthousiasme écrasant l'occupait et l'ignorait de la plupart de ses environs. Ses rêves les plus fous se réaliseraient peut-être à tout moment. Le seul inconvénient de cette attente était qu'environ trois heures de sourire constant avaient laissé son visage dans une grande douleur. Pas qu'il s'en soucie, de toute façon. Il a ajusté son bandolier pour la millième fois, s'est assuré que toutes ses coupes étaient à leur place, pour la centième fois, et a couru ses doigts sur l'un de ses axes, qu'il avait non réchauffé, et l'a fouetté dans sa main, car les dieux savent combien de fois. L'entraînement a payé. Même s'il n'était pas formellement formé, le jeune homme, parmi ses innombrables heures d'études isolées, avait rencontré un bon nombre de manuels d'armes, et avec une répétition constante avait réussi à saisir plus que les bases, devenant finalement tout à fait l'utilisateur de la hache de lancer. Cependant, n'ayant pas d'instructeur pour le guider, la plupart des armes, surtout les plus lourdes, sont restées bien au-delà de sa portée. Mais, comme il l'a dit encore et encore dans l'un de ses monologues intérieurs presque inarrêtables, pratique rendu parfait, et il était absolument déterminé à maîtriser la fameuse pelle Grave Keeper, même si cela voulait dire qu'il devait faire face à une centaine de malfaiteurs. Un bruit a brisé la rêverie d'Hogarth. Ça se pourrait? Ce n'était rien d'autre que le fameux vieux Ben qui parlait. Ici, dans la chair. Rapidement, il s'est levé aux pieds et, en cliquant sur les talons de ses bottes massives ensemble, a donné à l'homme un salut militaire, et après s'est tenu à l'attention. Mais sa discipline était courte. En un instant, il retourna à son slouch habituel et rassembla ses mains, se blottit les pouces dans la nervosité et regarda le vieil homme, portant encore ce sourire large aux yeux, en silence total.

Name: Hogarth Nethayr Age: 20 Gender: Male Appearance: Hogarth is a cheerful, wiry young man, dressed exclusively in black. He looks nearly emaciated, and stands about two meters tall, despite his slouchy, s-shaped posture. His choice of attire, however, slightly hides his thin frame. Namely, he is never seen wearing anything other than thick, ankle length coats, knee high steel reinforced leather boots and light plate gauntlets. A large hat with a sown-in strap is commonly seen atop his head. Hogarth is rather thin in the face, and posesses a snow-white complexion. His features are sharp and slightly sunken while his hair reaches just below his shoulders. Lastly, the most common expression his face takes is that of a wide eyed, teeth clenched grin. Backstory: Hogarth's early years have been utterly uneventful, if somewhat dull. Born to a family of simple merchants, he has never experienced the ravages of poverty, nor the comforts of wealth. Being interested in scholarly matters from an early age, his father eagerly supplied the young boy with any tomes he could procure, eventually creating an impressive library. The more the boy grew and read, however, the more he developed an interest in the macabre and morbid. In fact, the only thing slighty unconventional about Hogarth's life was Hogarth himself. Even though the boy was joyful and well-mannered, he would, occasionally isolate himself from his peers and family, and would lock himself in the house's cramped reading quarters for hours on end. He'd fill these quarters with notes upon notes on increasingly disturbing subjects, casually adorning them with sketches depicting death's heads, wights, and other ghoulish creatures. Other times, he'd sink into mirth filled monologues regarding unpleasant matters, most common being the dead, both walking and not. When he was finally of age, it came to no one's surprise when he cheerfully proclaimed that he was joining the Grave Keepers. Now, he is most commonly seen wandering about the outer graveyard with a smile on his face, even when off duty. Other: Equipment: Bandolier: A tanned leather bandolier consisting of a torso and belt part helps Hogarth store numerous vials of potions and his weapons. Axes: Hogarth is not the best when it comes to handling meelee weapons, with the exception of his two small throwing axes, used to quickly incapacitate hostile undead, or humans. Stake thrower: A medium to short range repeater crossbow customized by Hogarth, it is small enough to be fired from one hand if the need arises.

Nova s'assit silencieusement dans son siège, en attendant l'arrivée de l'infâme Grave Keeper Ben. C'était un nom qu'elle avait entendu plusieurs fois quand elle était enfant, un nom à craindre... un nom à respecter. Il était le plus compétent à son travail, bien que je suppose que la seule mesure de cela était combien d'autres qu'il avait réussi à sortir en dernier. La fillette a dû étouffer un peu de rire, sa blague privée transformant ses traits cachés en un sourire tordu. Malgré cela, Nova s'est retrouvée à l'avant du capot de son manteau, en s'assurant que son expression ne pouvait pas être vue. Après tout, elle signait pratiquement sa propre vie au service des morts. Pas le plus glamour des emplois, mais on ne pouvait pas dire que c'était ennuyeux du tout. Elle avait entendu les histoires et son père en avait fait partie, donc ce n'était pas comme si elle s'était inscrite sans absolument aucune idée de ce qui se passait devant elle. S'en prendre à l'homme assis à côté d'elle, Nova ne savait pas quoi en faire. Son visage, surtout son sourire, criait appât vivant, mais l'équipement qu'il portait laisse entendre le contraire. Elle s'est dit qu'elle s'abstiendrait de porter un jugement jusqu'à ce qu'elle le voie au travail, après tout, qui devait-elle juger? Nova s'habillait légèrement, littéralement comme tous ses vêtements ont été choisis spécifiquement pour ne pas la peser... sauf pour ses pieds, mais on ne pouvait jamais être trop prudent pour protéger ce qui est le plus proche de la moitié de l'ennemi. Enflé de la femme assistante l'a alertée de la présence de l'homme que la paire attendait depuis un certain temps. Encore une fois, l'homme à côté d'elle l'a surprise en sautant de son siège. Nova prit son temps debout, saisissant son arme bien-aimée dans sa main droite avant de se tourner lentement pour affronter le mystérieux Ben. Elle l'avait déjà vu une fois, mais il faisait noir à l'époque... Le voir dans la lumière était tout aussi effrayant pour elle maintenant qu'elle l'avait été quand elle l'avait vu enfant. Sourire à elle-même, Nova a pris l'initiative de remplir le silence laissé après le commentaire de l'homme. "D'une manière ou d'une autre, je doute que ça me manque autant." Nova a dit d'atteindre sa main gauche pour tirer son capot. Enfermant les yeux sur l'homme, elle l'a regardé quiziquement comme s'il était confus par quelque chose. "Mon père a parlé avec un peu d'affection de vous, M. Graham. J'espère sincèrement que vous durerez assez longtemps pour que je sache pourquoi. »

Name: Nova Blake Age: 21 Gender: Female Appearance: With most of her height being in her legs, Nova stands at an average height of 5'10". For obvious reasons she keeps herself toned and combat-ready, however she naturally retains a meatier curve especially in her hip and thigh areas. She has long blonde hair that reaches to the small of her back if she kept it down, but for the most part she keeps the bulk tied back in a bun or ponytail. Not caring much for her outward appearances, Nova can be found wearing the same thing in public that she would wear when working: All black and rather menacing. This include light-weight and form fitting cloth material that more often than not has tears from previous fights, and a hooded cloak that covers her face when drawn. The only thing metallic she wears are a pair of boots, which makes her approach just as intimidating as her glare. In addition to a rather dark choice in color pallet, Nova's night shifts have led to her having a rather pale complexion that somewhat resembled the creatures she's sworn to fight. Backstory: Nova's very existence is considered a bit of an "embarrassment" to the image of the City Guard. The son of one of their prominent members fell in love and eloped with a witch by the name of Salahyna. Planning to take advantage of this situation, the witch began plotting a robbery of the cemetery hidden beneath the city with her coven. These plans changed however when she found herself pregnant with Nova. Double crossing her partners in crime, Salahyna begged for asylum and protection but before her lover could explain the situation to his father, the man was murdered by her former comrades. Blowing the wistle on her abilities, Salahyna had to go into hiding from both the city's soldiers and her angry pursuers until Nova was born. Seeing no other choice, Salahyna left her newborn child in the care of a family who had been struggling to have a child. Leaving in a hurry, Salahyna gifted but a single necklace and a name to the girl before departing, never to be seen or heard from again. Growing up with her foster family, Nova's only clue to her past was the odd necklace her mother gave her. Despite its creepy nature, Nova still wore it every day to stay close to a life she had never know. Her foster family wasn't rich by any means, but they got by somehow, maintaining their long-lived traditions as Grave Keepers. Having no son of their own, her foster father raised her as if she had been a boy, training her in preparation for a job that no one wanted. Like many a Grave Keeper her foster father eventually passed away in an attack leaving Nova to take his place to support her foster mother, whose health had been declining over the years. Ever since Nova started actually going into town to get groceries and medicine for her foster mother, she's found herself facing the ridicule of actual City Guardsmen despite having no idea why. Equipment: Necklace: She always wears her mother's necklace despite how creepy it is. She'll hide it when in public but doesn't bother when working. The green gem set in the design will start to glow if Nova is near the effects of magic, specifically a Necromancer's work. The brighter the light, the closer the source. Weapons: Nova is partial to a long scythe, feeling it sets the mood better for her line of work. That and it scares the hell out of the living. She also keeps a dagger sheathed in her right boot. City Required: A shovel kept in perfect shape (cause what come's up must eventually return to its grave...) and the standard uniform (that she'll wear like once in her life). Other: Fastened around her waist is a satchel that she houses sweets in. She has a bit of an addiction to candies of all types. She's a work in progress at the moment, got asked to stay a little longer than usual while babysitting. Possibly thinking about making another character as well too, but we'll see after she's complete. EDIT: Ready for Review.

C'est drôle, j'allais dire la même chose. Ben l'a dit à la femme. Il regarda alors vers l'homme debout à l'attention, il commença à les tailler tous les deux. Alors que la femme semblait confiante, l'homme semblait... avide. Ça l'a mis à l'aise. Dans son travail, le courage imprudent était tout aussi dangereux que la lâcheté absolue. Il a dit à l'homme "Assieds-toi. Nous avons beaucoup à discuter." N'attendant pas une réponse, il prit le siège de l'autre côté, s'appuya vers l'avant et prit un profond reniflement de l'air. Les deux sentaient propre, et comme une sorte de savon, normalement quand il rencontrait des gens qui voulaient le travail, ils sentaient pire que les morts. Normalement, seuls les pauvres désespérés voulaient le travail. Il continua: «Vous devez être Nova, et vous devez être le garçon de Nethayr.» Ben a dit de pointer chacun d'eux à tour de rôle. "Je vais vous dire ceci, je ne peux pas vous refuser de prendre ce travail. Je ne peux pas te virer. Mais je suis votre patron, si vous ne suivez pas mes règles, je vous jetterai hors des cimetières d'Ashtyn, avant que vous ne vous retrouviez sous eux. Avant d'aller plus loin, j'ai besoin de savoir. Pourquoi voulez-vous être un gardien de tombes? » Ben serre les mains en attendant qu'ils répondent.

Name:Benjamin Graham Age:114 Appearance: Benjamin is a mostly silent, bitter man. His voice is raw and gravaly from lack of use. Thus hair is a long filthy unkempt gray. His eyes are a filmy half blind brown. He would stand at 5' 8'' if he stood up straight, yet with his slouch he is closer to 5' 5'' He almost perpetually wears his GraveKeeper uniform. Knee length boots of a waterproof make, dull gray trousers, a warm forrest green button up shirt, a cloak starting at the shoulder and ending at the waist, finally a wide brimmed hat. The uniform was designed to keep of the rain, provide warmth, protection, and scare of unsavory sorts. Gender: Male Backstory: Benjamin Graham has worked as a Ashtyn Grave Keeper for nearly 95 years stubbornly refusing to retire or die until he is certain that his charge will remain safe after his death. In his youth he was a wild man, squandering his families fortune on drink, women, fine clothes, but most often cards and games of chance. He found himself deeply in debt as he had wasted the wealth his dead family left him. Benjamin was left with a choice, rot in prison for the rest of his days, or become a Grave Keeper as Ashtyn had been left without one for nearly 3 years. Despite long he ago paying away his debts, Ben buried himself in his work devoting his entire life to keeping the graveyards safe, and the dead at rest. He is unofficially recognized as the head Grave Keeper of Ashytyn and takes it upon himself to train the new Grave Keepers. He has no life outside of Grave keeping, and is only seen outside his cemetery cottage while working, or buying supplies. Equipment: Grave Keeper uniform, well worn and older than most Grave Keepers careers. Shovel kept razor sharp and ready. A pike like blade is on the butt end of the handle. A rail splitting axe, for the dangerous undead. A satchel filled with trinkets and mementos to help the peaceful dead find the life, includes coins, tinker toys, a silver mirror, a holy book, paper and pen for writing messages, and a match book. A belt with many flasks and bottles tied to it. Some are potions and concoctions necessary for his trade, others are medicine for his age and health, and one or two are simply alcohol. Other: Thinks helping the benign dead pass on to be the most enjoyable part of the job. Hasn't collected his pay in over 12 years, it's all waiting for him at the office, and when he purchases something they just collect it from there.

Nova s'est replacée avec un sourire avant de revenir à une expression plus sérieuse, en écoutant attentivement chaque mot de l'homme. Elle pensait que c'était logique, vu qu'il était le plus âgé des Grave Keeper que le travail ait jamais connu... Mais il était aussi le seul officiel de la ville, il était donc évident qu'ils avaient vraiment besoin des corps. Elle ne s'attendait pas à une explication de leurs raisonnements. Elle n'y avait pas vraiment pensé, ayant toujours su qu'elle finirait là-bas. Absentement, sa main s'approchait de son décolleté, où sa nacelle se cachait derrière le tissu de son manteau. Profitant du silence momentané du gars à côté d'elle, Nova a pris sur elle de répondre d'abord. "Toute ma vie, on m'a dit que ma vie est du temps emprunté, du temps que Thomas et sa femme m'ont donné quand ils m'ont prise. Je leur dois une dette à vie et j'ai l'intention de la rembourser intégralement. » Elle a déclaré qu'elle traversait les bras alors qu'elle s'appuyait sur son siège. Nova avait dit la vérité sur son intention de rejoindre les rangs des Gardiens de la rave, mais elle a dû admettre que ce n'était pas la raison complète. Récemment, elle avait posé de plus en plus de questions sur ses origines... Les questions qui ne pouvaient être répondues que par les morts, ou pire encore, ceux qui les ont ressuscités. Elle savait que le travail serait dangereux, prête à mettre sa vie dans le plus grand danger qu'elle ait jamais eu dans toute sa vie, mais elle n'était pas sur le point de se laisser choisir avant qu'elle n'ait eu l'occasion de découvrir la vérité de son passé. « Je ne peux pas trouver une meilleure façon d'honorer cet homme que de suivre ses traces, après tout je suis un Blake. C'est dans mon éducation."

Name: Nova Blake Age: 21 Gender: Female Appearance: With most of her height being in her legs, Nova stands at an average height of 5'10". For obvious reasons she keeps herself toned and combat-ready, however she naturally retains a meatier curve especially in her hip and thigh areas. She has long blonde hair that reaches to the small of her back if she kept it down, but for the most part she keeps the bulk tied back in a bun or ponytail. Not caring much for her outward appearances, Nova can be found wearing the same thing in public that she would wear when working: All black and rather menacing. This include light-weight and form fitting cloth material that more often than not has tears from previous fights, and a hooded cloak that covers her face when drawn. The only thing metallic she wears are a pair of boots, which makes her approach just as intimidating as her glare. In addition to a rather dark choice in color pallet, Nova's night shifts have led to her having a rather pale complexion that somewhat resembled the creatures she's sworn to fight. Backstory: Nova's very existence is considered a bit of an "embarrassment" to the image of the City Guard. The son of one of their prominent members fell in love and eloped with a witch by the name of Salahyna. Planning to take advantage of this situation, the witch began plotting a robbery of the cemetery hidden beneath the city with her coven. These plans changed however when she found herself pregnant with Nova. Double crossing her partners in crime, Salahyna begged for asylum and protection but before her lover could explain the situation to his father, the man was murdered by her former comrades. Blowing the wistle on her abilities, Salahyna had to go into hiding from both the city's soldiers and her angry pursuers until Nova was born. Seeing no other choice, Salahyna left her newborn child in the care of a family who had been struggling to have a child. Leaving in a hurry, Salahyna gifted but a single necklace and a name to the girl before departing, never to be seen or heard from again. Growing up with her foster family, Nova's only clue to her past was the odd necklace her mother gave her. Despite its creepy nature, Nova still wore it every day to stay close to a life she had never know. Her foster family wasn't rich by any means, but they got by somehow, maintaining their long-lived traditions as Grave Keepers. Having no son of their own, her foster father raised her as if she had been a boy, training her in preparation for a job that no one wanted. Like many a Grave Keeper her foster father eventually passed away in an attack leaving Nova to take his place to support her foster mother, whose health had been declining over the years. Ever since Nova started actually going into town to get groceries and medicine for her foster mother, she's found herself facing the ridicule of actual City Guardsmen despite having no idea why. Equipment: Necklace: She always wears her mother's necklace despite how creepy it is. She'll hide it when in public but doesn't bother when working. The green gem set in the design will start to glow if Nova is near the effects of magic, specifically a Necromancer's work. The brighter the light, the closer the source. Weapons: Nova is partial to a long scythe, feeling it sets the mood better for her line of work. That and it scares the hell out of the living. She also keeps a dagger sheathed in her right boot. City Required: A shovel kept in perfect shape (cause what come's up must eventually return to its grave...) and the standard uniform (that she'll wear like once in her life). Other: Fastened around her waist is a satchel that she houses sweets in. She has a bit of an addiction to candies of all types. She's a work in progress at the moment, got asked to stay a little longer than usual while babysitting. Possibly thinking about making another character as well too, but we'll see after she's complete. EDIT: Ready for Review.

Hogarth écouta attentivement la réponse de Nova, après s'être tourné vers le vieux Ben et avoir hurlé positivement au son de son nom de famille. Le temps emprunté, les dettes de vie, et surtout, une forme d'adoption? Tout semblait si pittoresque et il se sentait presque mal parce qu'il n'avait pas de motifs aussi profonds, ou une histoire semblable à sa propre à partager. Son enthousiasme avait certainement doublé, sachant qu'il travaillerait à côté de personnes aussi colorées et variées. Ce n'est que lorsque la jeune fille a fini de parler qu'il s'est rendu compte qu'il devait lui aussi répondre à la question de Ben. Son discours a mis Hogarth dans l'humeur pour sûr, bien que dans un moment tellement émouvant émotionnellement, il a trouvé difficile de former des phrases cohérentes. Non pas que ses raisons de se joindre à lui étaient assez complexes pour avoir besoin d'une description détaillée, cependant. Après quelques instants de regards à blanc, d'abord à Nova, puis de retour à Ben, son sourire est revenu dans un petit sourire honnête alors qu'il baissait la tête, regardant le sol. Il se blottit sur son siège, et, frottant le dos de son cou, il proclama, d'une voix qui réussit d'une manière ou d'une autre à être à la fois lisse et shrill. "J'aime vraiment les morts et tout ce qui ne va pas."

Name: Hogarth Nethayr Age: 20 Gender: Male Appearance: Hogarth is a cheerful, wiry young man, dressed exclusively in black. He looks nearly emaciated, and stands about two meters tall, despite his slouchy, s-shaped posture. His choice of attire, however, slightly hides his thin frame. Namely, he is never seen wearing anything other than thick, ankle length coats, knee high steel reinforced leather boots and light plate gauntlets. A large hat with a sown-in strap is commonly seen atop his head. Hogarth is rather thin in the face, and posesses a snow-white complexion. His features are sharp and slightly sunken while his hair reaches just below his shoulders. Lastly, the most common expression his face takes is that of a wide eyed, teeth clenched grin. Backstory: Hogarth's early years have been utterly uneventful, if somewhat dull. Born to a family of simple merchants, he has never experienced the ravages of poverty, nor the comforts of wealth. Being interested in scholarly matters from an early age, his father eagerly supplied the young boy with any tomes he could procure, eventually creating an impressive library. The more the boy grew and read, however, the more he developed an interest in the macabre and morbid. In fact, the only thing slighty unconventional about Hogarth's life was Hogarth himself. Even though the boy was joyful and well-mannered, he would, occasionally isolate himself from his peers and family, and would lock himself in the house's cramped reading quarters for hours on end. He'd fill these quarters with notes upon notes on increasingly disturbing subjects, casually adorning them with sketches depicting death's heads, wights, and other ghoulish creatures. Other times, he'd sink into mirth filled monologues regarding unpleasant matters, most common being the dead, both walking and not. When he was finally of age, it came to no one's surprise when he cheerfully proclaimed that he was joining the Grave Keepers. Now, he is most commonly seen wandering about the outer graveyard with a smile on his face, even when off duty. Other: Equipment: Bandolier: A tanned leather bandolier consisting of a torso and belt part helps Hogarth store numerous vials of potions and his weapons. Axes: Hogarth is not the best when it comes to handling meelee weapons, with the exception of his two small throwing axes, used to quickly incapacitate hostile undead, or humans. Stake thrower: A medium to short range repeater crossbow customized by Hogarth, it is small enough to be fired from one hand if the need arises.

Ben écouta les deux explications, levant un sourcil à la seconde. "Je peux vous dire maintenant fils, il vaut mieux que ce soit vrai. Tu verras beaucoup d'entre eux. Et quant à vous..." Ben a dit de se tourner d'abord d'Hogarth à Nova, "Thomas était un bon Grave Keeper, et plus rare encore un bon homme. Je commencerais par travailler plus dur pour rester en vie et l'imiter. L'honneur est pour les forts et les morts. Souviens-toi de ça." Avec plus de cricks et de protestations de ses conjoints Benjamin s'est levé avant de se lever. "Encore, la plupart des gens qui viennent ici n'ont aucune idée comment répondre à cette question. Je suppose que c'est aussi bon signe que vous deux. D'accord, vous deux, suivez-moi!" Avec ce Ben a commencé vers la porte disant à la dame du bureau de garder les portes déverrouillées par la nuit. Ne attendant pas de voir s'ils suivaient, Benjamin sortit dans la soirée d'Ashtyn.

Name:Benjamin Graham Age:114 Appearance: Benjamin is a mostly silent, bitter man. His voice is raw and gravaly from lack of use. Thus hair is a long filthy unkempt gray. His eyes are a filmy half blind brown. He would stand at 5' 8'' if he stood up straight, yet with his slouch he is closer to 5' 5'' He almost perpetually wears his GraveKeeper uniform. Knee length boots of a waterproof make, dull gray trousers, a warm forrest green button up shirt, a cloak starting at the shoulder and ending at the waist, finally a wide brimmed hat. The uniform was designed to keep of the rain, provide warmth, protection, and scare of unsavory sorts. Gender: Male Backstory: Benjamin Graham has worked as a Ashtyn Grave Keeper for nearly 95 years stubbornly refusing to retire or die until he is certain that his charge will remain safe after his death. In his youth he was a wild man, squandering his families fortune on drink, women, fine clothes, but most often cards and games of chance. He found himself deeply in debt as he had wasted the wealth his dead family left him. Benjamin was left with a choice, rot in prison for the rest of his days, or become a Grave Keeper as Ashtyn had been left without one for nearly 3 years. Despite long he ago paying away his debts, Ben buried himself in his work devoting his entire life to keeping the graveyards safe, and the dead at rest. He is unofficially recognized as the head Grave Keeper of Ashytyn and takes it upon himself to train the new Grave Keepers. He has no life outside of Grave keeping, and is only seen outside his cemetery cottage while working, or buying supplies. Equipment: Grave Keeper uniform, well worn and older than most Grave Keepers careers. Shovel kept razor sharp and ready. A pike like blade is on the butt end of the handle. A rail splitting axe, for the dangerous undead. A satchel filled with trinkets and mementos to help the peaceful dead find the life, includes coins, tinker toys, a silver mirror, a holy book, paper and pen for writing messages, and a match book. A belt with many flasks and bottles tied to it. Some are potions and concoctions necessary for his trade, others are medicine for his age and health, and one or two are simply alcohol. Other: Thinks helping the benign dead pass on to be the most enjoyable part of the job. Hasn't collected his pay in over 12 years, it's all waiting for him at the office, and when he purchases something they just collect it from there.

Hogarth est resté aux yeux larges et dans l'admiration jusqu'à ce que Ben quitte le bâtiment avant de se lancer pratiquement de son siège. Prenant de grands pas presque comme de la danse, il se prosterne rapidement vers la porte, en remuant une chanson hurlante. Alors qu'il prenait de la vitesse et qu'il allait quitter la salle d'attente, il s'est figé et s'est retourné. Le vieux Ben n'a certainement pas eu le temps d'épargner quelques nouvelles recrues, mais le jeune homme a trouvé qu'il était tout à fait impoli de partir sans attendre son collègue. Il s'appuya sur la porte de la salle d'attente et, regardant la Nova assise, tenta de frapper une conversation. "Vous semblez avoir toute l'histoire. Je suis Hogarth, content qu'on travaille ensemble." Il a croisé les bras, se préparant à offrir une poignée de main et à la suivre. "Allez maintenant." Il a dit avec légèreté, avec un sourire sur le visage. "Le vieux Ben attend... Probablement." Il a lâché un petit ronchon.

Name: Hogarth Nethayr Age: 20 Gender: Male Appearance: Hogarth is a cheerful, wiry young man, dressed exclusively in black. He looks nearly emaciated, and stands about two meters tall, despite his slouchy, s-shaped posture. His choice of attire, however, slightly hides his thin frame. Namely, he is never seen wearing anything other than thick, ankle length coats, knee high steel reinforced leather boots and light plate gauntlets. A large hat with a sown-in strap is commonly seen atop his head. Hogarth is rather thin in the face, and posesses a snow-white complexion. His features are sharp and slightly sunken while his hair reaches just below his shoulders. Lastly, the most common expression his face takes is that of a wide eyed, teeth clenched grin. Backstory: Hogarth's early years have been utterly uneventful, if somewhat dull. Born to a family of simple merchants, he has never experienced the ravages of poverty, nor the comforts of wealth. Being interested in scholarly matters from an early age, his father eagerly supplied the young boy with any tomes he could procure, eventually creating an impressive library. The more the boy grew and read, however, the more he developed an interest in the macabre and morbid. In fact, the only thing slighty unconventional about Hogarth's life was Hogarth himself. Even though the boy was joyful and well-mannered, he would, occasionally isolate himself from his peers and family, and would lock himself in the house's cramped reading quarters for hours on end. He'd fill these quarters with notes upon notes on increasingly disturbing subjects, casually adorning them with sketches depicting death's heads, wights, and other ghoulish creatures. Other times, he'd sink into mirth filled monologues regarding unpleasant matters, most common being the dead, both walking and not. When he was finally of age, it came to no one's surprise when he cheerfully proclaimed that he was joining the Grave Keepers. Now, he is most commonly seen wandering about the outer graveyard with a smile on his face, even when off duty. Other: Equipment: Bandolier: A tanned leather bandolier consisting of a torso and belt part helps Hogarth store numerous vials of potions and his weapons. Axes: Hogarth is not the best when it comes to handling meelee weapons, with the exception of his two small throwing axes, used to quickly incapacitate hostile undead, or humans. Stake thrower: A medium to short range repeater crossbow customized by Hogarth, it is small enough to be fired from one hand if the need arises.

Compris, monsieur. Nova s'est évanouie, déjà consciente que sa première priorité était de passer la nuit. Aucune histoire que son père lui a racontée allait la préparer à la vraie chose; elle avait fait sa paix avec cela il y a longtemps. Cela à l'esprit, elle était assez impatiente de tester ses limites contre ce qui va littéralement bosser dans la nuit. Elle a pris son temps debout comme Ben se leva et a quitté la pièce, son homologue mâle rapidement quitter son siège mais hésitant à quitter la pièce sans elle. Avec un sourcil surélevé Nova marchait vers la porte, s'arrêtant pour serrer la main de l'homme. "Nova... et seul le temps dira à quel point cette déclaration est vraie." La jeune femme sourit avec un petit chanfrein, révélant la nature épouvantable derrière ses mots. Vers l'avant, Nova s'en alla dans la lumière qui s'évanouissait des yeux du soir se fermant immédiatement à la forme de Ben qui s'éloignait sans cesse d'eux. "L'ancien Ben, comme vous l'appelez, n'attend pas beaucoup de lui encore moins de nouveaux recrues. Il vaut mieux se dépêcher avant qu'on ne soit laissés pour compte." Elle s'est limitée à quelques pas, ses longues jambes lui permettant de rattraper assez facilement alors que Nova tombait dans l'étape derrière le gars.

Name: Nova Blake Age: 21 Gender: Female Appearance: With most of her height being in her legs, Nova stands at an average height of 5'10". For obvious reasons she keeps herself toned and combat-ready, however she naturally retains a meatier curve especially in her hip and thigh areas. She has long blonde hair that reaches to the small of her back if she kept it down, but for the most part she keeps the bulk tied back in a bun or ponytail. Not caring much for her outward appearances, Nova can be found wearing the same thing in public that she would wear when working: All black and rather menacing. This include light-weight and form fitting cloth material that more often than not has tears from previous fights, and a hooded cloak that covers her face when drawn. The only thing metallic she wears are a pair of boots, which makes her approach just as intimidating as her glare. In addition to a rather dark choice in color pallet, Nova's night shifts have led to her having a rather pale complexion that somewhat resembled the creatures she's sworn to fight. Backstory: Nova's very existence is considered a bit of an "embarrassment" to the image of the City Guard. The son of one of their prominent members fell in love and eloped with a witch by the name of Salahyna. Planning to take advantage of this situation, the witch began plotting a robbery of the cemetery hidden beneath the city with her coven. These plans changed however when she found herself pregnant with Nova. Double crossing her partners in crime, Salahyna begged for asylum and protection but before her lover could explain the situation to his father, the man was murdered by her former comrades. Blowing the wistle on her abilities, Salahyna had to go into hiding from both the city's soldiers and her angry pursuers until Nova was born. Seeing no other choice, Salahyna left her newborn child in the care of a family who had been struggling to have a child. Leaving in a hurry, Salahyna gifted but a single necklace and a name to the girl before departing, never to be seen or heard from again. Growing up with her foster family, Nova's only clue to her past was the odd necklace her mother gave her. Despite its creepy nature, Nova still wore it every day to stay close to a life she had never know. Her foster family wasn't rich by any means, but they got by somehow, maintaining their long-lived traditions as Grave Keepers. Having no son of their own, her foster father raised her as if she had been a boy, training her in preparation for a job that no one wanted. Like many a Grave Keeper her foster father eventually passed away in an attack leaving Nova to take his place to support her foster mother, whose health had been declining over the years. Ever since Nova started actually going into town to get groceries and medicine for her foster mother, she's found herself facing the ridicule of actual City Guardsmen despite having no idea why. Equipment: Necklace: She always wears her mother's necklace despite how creepy it is. She'll hide it when in public but doesn't bother when working. The green gem set in the design will start to glow if Nova is near the effects of magic, specifically a Necromancer's work. The brighter the light, the closer the source. Weapons: Nova is partial to a long scythe, feeling it sets the mood better for her line of work. That and it scares the hell out of the living. She also keeps a dagger sheathed in her right boot. City Required: A shovel kept in perfect shape (cause what come's up must eventually return to its grave...) and the standard uniform (that she'll wear like once in her life). Other: Fastened around her waist is a satchel that she houses sweets in. She has a bit of an addiction to candies of all types. She's a work in progress at the moment, got asked to stay a little longer than usual while babysitting. Possibly thinking about making another character as well too, but we'll see after she's complete. EDIT: Ready for Review.

Benjamin attendait qu'ils rattrapent tous les deux. Une fois qu'ils ont quitté le bureau, il s'est mis à parler alors qu'il les conduisait dans la rue. "Nous devons nous dépêcher, si nous partons, c'est beaucoup plus difficile d'entrer dans le noir." il a dit simplement les conduire hors des bidonvilles et dans un simple quartier de classe moyenne. Il s'arrêta brusquement dans une maison au bout de la rue. "Vous êtes debout à l'extérieur de la maison la plus souvent hantée dans tout Ashtyn. À ma connaissance, il a été visité par pas moins de 46 fantômes tout au long des années." La maison en question n'était vraiment pas présomptueuse. C'était un simple bâtiment à deux étages, que malgré l'apparence d'être inhabité était en bonne forme. C'est de la peinture qui pelait dans de nombreux endroits et la cour était envahie, mais les fenêtres n'étaient pas montées et tout le verre était dans le cadre. « Si vous allez devenir Grave Keepers, j'ai besoin de savoir si vous avez les talents pour le métier. La plupart des gens peuvent sentir un fantôme, mais seuls les doués peuvent vraiment les sentir, les entendre et les guider. J'ai besoin de voir à quel point vous pouvez faire cela, et si vous pouvez suivre des directions simples. Tu dois rester jusqu'à minuit, sans que je te tienne la main. Si c'est trop pour que tu partes maintenant. Sinon, suivez-moi à l'intérieur pour recevoir des instructions." Et avec cela Ben prit les marches de pierre un à la fois ouvrant la porte, et entra dans la maison la plus hantée à Ashtyn.

Name:Benjamin Graham Age:114 Appearance: Benjamin is a mostly silent, bitter man. His voice is raw and gravaly from lack of use. Thus hair is a long filthy unkempt gray. His eyes are a filmy half blind brown. He would stand at 5' 8'' if he stood up straight, yet with his slouch he is closer to 5' 5'' He almost perpetually wears his GraveKeeper uniform. Knee length boots of a waterproof make, dull gray trousers, a warm forrest green button up shirt, a cloak starting at the shoulder and ending at the waist, finally a wide brimmed hat. The uniform was designed to keep of the rain, provide warmth, protection, and scare of unsavory sorts. Gender: Male Backstory: Benjamin Graham has worked as a Ashtyn Grave Keeper for nearly 95 years stubbornly refusing to retire or die until he is certain that his charge will remain safe after his death. In his youth he was a wild man, squandering his families fortune on drink, women, fine clothes, but most often cards and games of chance. He found himself deeply in debt as he had wasted the wealth his dead family left him. Benjamin was left with a choice, rot in prison for the rest of his days, or become a Grave Keeper as Ashtyn had been left without one for nearly 3 years. Despite long he ago paying away his debts, Ben buried himself in his work devoting his entire life to keeping the graveyards safe, and the dead at rest. He is unofficially recognized as the head Grave Keeper of Ashytyn and takes it upon himself to train the new Grave Keepers. He has no life outside of Grave keeping, and is only seen outside his cemetery cottage while working, or buying supplies. Equipment: Grave Keeper uniform, well worn and older than most Grave Keepers careers. Shovel kept razor sharp and ready. A pike like blade is on the butt end of the handle. A rail splitting axe, for the dangerous undead. A satchel filled with trinkets and mementos to help the peaceful dead find the life, includes coins, tinker toys, a silver mirror, a holy book, paper and pen for writing messages, and a match book. A belt with many flasks and bottles tied to it. Some are potions and concoctions necessary for his trade, others are medicine for his age and health, and one or two are simply alcohol. Other: Thinks helping the benign dead pass on to be the most enjoyable part of the job. Hasn't collected his pay in over 12 years, it's all waiting for him at the office, and when he purchases something they just collect it from there.

Nova se tenait au pied des marches en pierre, regardant le bâtiment. C'était l'un de ces endroits où les gens sont allés hors de leur chemin pour éviter. Diverses rumeurs et légendes flottaient autour de la ville à propos de cette maison, mais une chose que tout le monde pouvait d'accord était que l'endroit était définitivement hanté. Une histoire dit que les nuits où la mousson est pleine et le voile est mince, hordes de fantômes habitent le bâtiment, errant sans but, criant à jamais perdu. La vue de l'endroit a envoyé un frisson dans sa colonne vertébrale, ce qui lui a fait serrer son arme de façon significative. En inhalant lentement, Nova limita les marches deux à la fois jusqu'à ce qu'elle eût atteint la porte de la maison et entra après Benjamin. L'intérieur n'était pas très différent de l'extérieur, évidemment vieux et un peu bas mais il manquait le sentiment d'abandon. C'était une chose curieuse qui faisait que Nova se demandait si quelqu'un visitait l'endroit régulièrement pour s'assurer que l'endroit se tenait debout, et quelle raison ils auraient pour une telle tâche. Secouant la tête Nova scannait l'intérieur de la pièce, sa main libre planait sur l'endroit où son amulette se cachait pour le confort. "Jusqu'à minuit? Qu'est-ce que tu veux qu'on fasse?" Elle s'interroge, sentant la tâche trop facile jusqu'à présent. Tout simplement durer la nuit ne serait pas un vrai test de leurs compétences, si Ben voulait savoir de quoi ils étaient capables ou comment compatible avec le travail qu'ils étaient, il aurait besoin pour rendre cela beaucoup plus difficile que l'os d'un homme ivre. Nova n'était pas heureuse d'avoir à passer la nuit dans cette maison particulière, mais elle n'était pas sur le point de laisser son nouveau mentor la changer et sa coéquipière parce qu'elles étaient nouvelles.

Name: Nova Blake Age: 21 Gender: Female Appearance: With most of her height being in her legs, Nova stands at an average height of 5'10". For obvious reasons she keeps herself toned and combat-ready, however she naturally retains a meatier curve especially in her hip and thigh areas. She has long blonde hair that reaches to the small of her back if she kept it down, but for the most part she keeps the bulk tied back in a bun or ponytail. Not caring much for her outward appearances, Nova can be found wearing the same thing in public that she would wear when working: All black and rather menacing. This include light-weight and form fitting cloth material that more often than not has tears from previous fights, and a hooded cloak that covers her face when drawn. The only thing metallic she wears are a pair of boots, which makes her approach just as intimidating as her glare. In addition to a rather dark choice in color pallet, Nova's night shifts have led to her having a rather pale complexion that somewhat resembled the creatures she's sworn to fight. Backstory: Nova's very existence is considered a bit of an "embarrassment" to the image of the City Guard. The son of one of their prominent members fell in love and eloped with a witch by the name of Salahyna. Planning to take advantage of this situation, the witch began plotting a robbery of the cemetery hidden beneath the city with her coven. These plans changed however when she found herself pregnant with Nova. Double crossing her partners in crime, Salahyna begged for asylum and protection but before her lover could explain the situation to his father, the man was murdered by her former comrades. Blowing the wistle on her abilities, Salahyna had to go into hiding from both the city's soldiers and her angry pursuers until Nova was born. Seeing no other choice, Salahyna left her newborn child in the care of a family who had been struggling to have a child. Leaving in a hurry, Salahyna gifted but a single necklace and a name to the girl before departing, never to be seen or heard from again. Growing up with her foster family, Nova's only clue to her past was the odd necklace her mother gave her. Despite its creepy nature, Nova still wore it every day to stay close to a life she had never know. Her foster family wasn't rich by any means, but they got by somehow, maintaining their long-lived traditions as Grave Keepers. Having no son of their own, her foster father raised her as if she had been a boy, training her in preparation for a job that no one wanted. Like many a Grave Keeper her foster father eventually passed away in an attack leaving Nova to take his place to support her foster mother, whose health had been declining over the years. Ever since Nova started actually going into town to get groceries and medicine for her foster mother, she's found herself facing the ridicule of actual City Guardsmen despite having no idea why. Equipment: Necklace: She always wears her mother's necklace despite how creepy it is. She'll hide it when in public but doesn't bother when working. The green gem set in the design will start to glow if Nova is near the effects of magic, specifically a Necromancer's work. The brighter the light, the closer the source. Weapons: Nova is partial to a long scythe, feeling it sets the mood better for her line of work. That and it scares the hell out of the living. She also keeps a dagger sheathed in her right boot. City Required: A shovel kept in perfect shape (cause what come's up must eventually return to its grave...) and the standard uniform (that she'll wear like once in her life). Other: Fastened around her waist is a satchel that she houses sweets in. She has a bit of an addiction to candies of all types. She's a work in progress at the moment, got asked to stay a little longer than usual while babysitting. Possibly thinking about making another character as well too, but we'll see after she's complete. EDIT: Ready for Review.

Combien? Oh, mon Dieu! Hogarth tacheté dans l'incrédulité, regardant la façade de l'édifice légèrement décrépite de haut en bas. Il a essayé de garder ses pieds sur le sol quand il est venu à des hantements et son travail en tant que gardien de tombes, car il savait que les morts agités n'étaient pas du tout quelque chose de commun à voir, la plupart des observations présumées étant de grandes histoires et des événements ordinaires vus à travers l'objectif d'une imagination suractive. Mais, si la légende lui-même a déclaré une telle chose pour être vrai, alors son jugement peut certainement être fait confiance. Il était excité au-delà de la pensée, mais rapidement, un nuage de doute lourd est tombé sur lui. "Gifted", a dit le vieux Ben. Il avait étudié la tradition occulte aussi longtemps qu'il s'en souvenait, en enfer, il était pratiquement élevé par elle. Pourtant, un « don » n'est pas quelque chose qui vient ni avec l'étude, ni avec la bonne volonté. Et s'il ne les voyait pas du tout? Il secoua la tête, comme pour chasser de telles pensées. Laissez le présent au présent, et l'avenir à lui-même, pensa-t-il. Il n'y avait pas de place ni d'utilisation pour un tel mordant ridicule. Il était sur le point d'entrer dans le site le plus hanté d'Ashtyn. C'était pour lui une grande expérience. Il récupéra une fiole de son bandoulière, et, la décomposant de ses dents, versa son contenu sur la lame de sa main. Il a remis la fiole, lui a soufflé la poitrine et a suivi Nova. Dès qu'il est entré dans la vieille maison, son visage s'est de nouveau éclairé.

Name: Hogarth Nethayr Age: 20 Gender: Male Appearance: Hogarth is a cheerful, wiry young man, dressed exclusively in black. He looks nearly emaciated, and stands about two meters tall, despite his slouchy, s-shaped posture. His choice of attire, however, slightly hides his thin frame. Namely, he is never seen wearing anything other than thick, ankle length coats, knee high steel reinforced leather boots and light plate gauntlets. A large hat with a sown-in strap is commonly seen atop his head. Hogarth is rather thin in the face, and posesses a snow-white complexion. His features are sharp and slightly sunken while his hair reaches just below his shoulders. Lastly, the most common expression his face takes is that of a wide eyed, teeth clenched grin. Backstory: Hogarth's early years have been utterly uneventful, if somewhat dull. Born to a family of simple merchants, he has never experienced the ravages of poverty, nor the comforts of wealth. Being interested in scholarly matters from an early age, his father eagerly supplied the young boy with any tomes he could procure, eventually creating an impressive library. The more the boy grew and read, however, the more he developed an interest in the macabre and morbid. In fact, the only thing slighty unconventional about Hogarth's life was Hogarth himself. Even though the boy was joyful and well-mannered, he would, occasionally isolate himself from his peers and family, and would lock himself in the house's cramped reading quarters for hours on end. He'd fill these quarters with notes upon notes on increasingly disturbing subjects, casually adorning them with sketches depicting death's heads, wights, and other ghoulish creatures. Other times, he'd sink into mirth filled monologues regarding unpleasant matters, most common being the dead, both walking and not. When he was finally of age, it came to no one's surprise when he cheerfully proclaimed that he was joining the Grave Keepers. Now, he is most commonly seen wandering about the outer graveyard with a smile on his face, even when off duty. Other: Equipment: Bandolier: A tanned leather bandolier consisting of a torso and belt part helps Hogarth store numerous vials of potions and his weapons. Axes: Hogarth is not the best when it comes to handling meelee weapons, with the exception of his two small throwing axes, used to quickly incapacitate hostile undead, or humans. Stake thrower: A medium to short range repeater crossbow customized by Hogarth, it is small enough to be fired from one hand if the need arises.

Ben n'a pas manqué l'ennui de la voix de Nova et l'appréhension de Hogarth. Il les a ignorés un moment perdu dans les souvenirs, à la fois amers doux et douloureux. Dans sa jeunesse, il a essayé de le faire ici plus souvent et de mettre les bâtiments habitants à l'aise. Pourtant, il n'était pas là depuis plus de 9 ans, il était silencieux alors qu'il s'efforçait de les sentir. Les fantômes n'étaient pas encore actifs et il doutait que les deux autres les sentiraient encore. Finalement, il leur répondit : « Ce que vous devez faire, c'est suivre mes instructions, je dois savoir que vous pouvez le faire. Cette zone tire dans la forme la moins dangereuse de morts-vivants, les fantômes perdus et confus. Il y a des chances que la plupart d'entre eux ne sachent même pas qu'ils sont morts. Je veux que vous les sentiez ce soir. Laissez-les être et pratiquez-les en les sentant, si vous savez ce que je veux dire quand ils viendront. Si vous faites du bien, nous aurons peut-être plus de travail à faire. Avant qu'il ne fasse nuit et que je parte, j'ai quelques règles que vous devez suivre. 1 restez ensemble, 2 il y a un piano à queue et une paire de gants blancs à l'étage ne touchent pas non plus! 3 votre ici pour observer ne parlez pas aux fantômes, s'ils se battent violemment ou s'ils s'en vont. 4, et c'est le plus important, peu importe ce que vous entendez, n'entrez pas dans la cave! Des questions?"

Name:Benjamin Graham Age:114 Appearance: Benjamin is a mostly silent, bitter man. His voice is raw and gravaly from lack of use. Thus hair is a long filthy unkempt gray. His eyes are a filmy half blind brown. He would stand at 5' 8'' if he stood up straight, yet with his slouch he is closer to 5' 5'' He almost perpetually wears his GraveKeeper uniform. Knee length boots of a waterproof make, dull gray trousers, a warm forrest green button up shirt, a cloak starting at the shoulder and ending at the waist, finally a wide brimmed hat. The uniform was designed to keep of the rain, provide warmth, protection, and scare of unsavory sorts. Gender: Male Backstory: Benjamin Graham has worked as a Ashtyn Grave Keeper for nearly 95 years stubbornly refusing to retire or die until he is certain that his charge will remain safe after his death. In his youth he was a wild man, squandering his families fortune on drink, women, fine clothes, but most often cards and games of chance. He found himself deeply in debt as he had wasted the wealth his dead family left him. Benjamin was left with a choice, rot in prison for the rest of his days, or become a Grave Keeper as Ashtyn had been left without one for nearly 3 years. Despite long he ago paying away his debts, Ben buried himself in his work devoting his entire life to keeping the graveyards safe, and the dead at rest. He is unofficially recognized as the head Grave Keeper of Ashytyn and takes it upon himself to train the new Grave Keepers. He has no life outside of Grave keeping, and is only seen outside his cemetery cottage while working, or buying supplies. Equipment: Grave Keeper uniform, well worn and older than most Grave Keepers careers. Shovel kept razor sharp and ready. A pike like blade is on the butt end of the handle. A rail splitting axe, for the dangerous undead. A satchel filled with trinkets and mementos to help the peaceful dead find the life, includes coins, tinker toys, a silver mirror, a holy book, paper and pen for writing messages, and a match book. A belt with many flasks and bottles tied to it. Some are potions and concoctions necessary for his trade, others are medicine for his age and health, and one or two are simply alcohol. Other: Thinks helping the benign dead pass on to be the most enjoyable part of the job. Hasn't collected his pay in over 12 years, it's all waiting for him at the office, and when he purchases something they just collect it from there.

Traversant ses bras, Nova soupira de sa démission. Si ce soir était censé être un test de leur patience, elle ne s'en sortait pas très bien jusqu'à présent. La présence de la mort la rendait toujours un peu anxieuse, non pas qu'elle les craignait à coup sûr, mais il y avait quelque chose de familier dans la façon dont ça se sentait. Comme une épaisse couverture de brouillard qu'elle pouvait atteindre et saisir de ses propres mains, juste l'idée qu'il envoya des frissons dans sa colonne vertébrale. "Et qu'attendez-vous exactement que nous entendions venir de la cave?" Tirer une écharpe de sa ceinture, fixer chaque extrémité à un crochet désigné sur son arbre d'arme. En le grimpant sur sa tête, Nova a déplacé le poids familier de son faux sur son dos afin que ses mains puissent être libres pour la soirée. Si tout ce qu'ils faisaient était de sentir les esprits dans la maison, elle n'allait pas avoir besoin de son arme pour ça... En fait, elle était sûre qu'elle finirait par offenser quelqu'un avec elle et causerait des ennuis inutiles à sa nouvelle coéquipière. Avec une secousse de la tête, Nova leva la main droite et la agita dédaigneusement. "En second lieu, je ne veux pas savoir. Ce sera plus intéressant de cette façon." Se blottir les mains dans les poches, Nova commença à errer sur le chemin d'entrée pour donner à Hogarth un peu de temps pour poser ses propres questions avant qu'elle ne tape son épaule. "Allez, je pense que nous devrions jeter un oeil autour de l'endroit avant qu'il ne devienne trop sombre. Familiarisez-vous avec l'espace et tout ça, vous savez?"

Name: Nova Blake Age: 21 Gender: Female Appearance: With most of her height being in her legs, Nova stands at an average height of 5'10". For obvious reasons she keeps herself toned and combat-ready, however she naturally retains a meatier curve especially in her hip and thigh areas. She has long blonde hair that reaches to the small of her back if she kept it down, but for the most part she keeps the bulk tied back in a bun or ponytail. Not caring much for her outward appearances, Nova can be found wearing the same thing in public that she would wear when working: All black and rather menacing. This include light-weight and form fitting cloth material that more often than not has tears from previous fights, and a hooded cloak that covers her face when drawn. The only thing metallic she wears are a pair of boots, which makes her approach just as intimidating as her glare. In addition to a rather dark choice in color pallet, Nova's night shifts have led to her having a rather pale complexion that somewhat resembled the creatures she's sworn to fight. Backstory: Nova's very existence is considered a bit of an "embarrassment" to the image of the City Guard. The son of one of their prominent members fell in love and eloped with a witch by the name of Salahyna. Planning to take advantage of this situation, the witch began plotting a robbery of the cemetery hidden beneath the city with her coven. These plans changed however when she found herself pregnant with Nova. Double crossing her partners in crime, Salahyna begged for asylum and protection but before her lover could explain the situation to his father, the man was murdered by her former comrades. Blowing the wistle on her abilities, Salahyna had to go into hiding from both the city's soldiers and her angry pursuers until Nova was born. Seeing no other choice, Salahyna left her newborn child in the care of a family who had been struggling to have a child. Leaving in a hurry, Salahyna gifted but a single necklace and a name to the girl before departing, never to be seen or heard from again. Growing up with her foster family, Nova's only clue to her past was the odd necklace her mother gave her. Despite its creepy nature, Nova still wore it every day to stay close to a life she had never know. Her foster family wasn't rich by any means, but they got by somehow, maintaining their long-lived traditions as Grave Keepers. Having no son of their own, her foster father raised her as if she had been a boy, training her in preparation for a job that no one wanted. Like many a Grave Keeper her foster father eventually passed away in an attack leaving Nova to take his place to support her foster mother, whose health had been declining over the years. Ever since Nova started actually going into town to get groceries and medicine for her foster mother, she's found herself facing the ridicule of actual City Guardsmen despite having no idea why. Equipment: Necklace: She always wears her mother's necklace despite how creepy it is. She'll hide it when in public but doesn't bother when working. The green gem set in the design will start to glow if Nova is near the effects of magic, specifically a Necromancer's work. The brighter the light, the closer the source. Weapons: Nova is partial to a long scythe, feeling it sets the mood better for her line of work. That and it scares the hell out of the living. She also keeps a dagger sheathed in her right boot. City Required: A shovel kept in perfect shape (cause what come's up must eventually return to its grave...) and the standard uniform (that she'll wear like once in her life). Other: Fastened around her waist is a satchel that she houses sweets in. She has a bit of an addiction to candies of all types. She's a work in progress at the moment, got asked to stay a little longer than usual while babysitting. Possibly thinking about making another character as well too, but we'll see after she's complete. EDIT: Ready for Review.

Après avoir entendu les instructions de Old Ben, Hogarth était extatique. Pianos hantés, caves sombres, toiles d'araignées, danger imminent de l'extérieur de la tombe. Toujours fermement empoignant sa main, il souleva un sourcil de curiosité à la question de son camarade, et se retourna vers son patron une fois qu'elle s'éloigna. "Je dois dire, je partage aussi la curiosité de Mlle Nova. Qu'est-ce qui est lié exactement à cet instrument, et qu'est-ce qui peut habiter dans la cave? Oh! C'est pas vrai! Peut-être un poltergeiste au piano et un hôte spirituel au-dessous de nous? Au moins, c'est ce que je pense. Peut-être un Spectre? Non, pas du tout. La plupart des hôtes spirituels sont, après tout communément situés à l'intérieur-" Il a brusquement cessé de parler et a livré un sourire plutôt embarrassé, se rendant compte qu'il avait presque commencé à ramper. Il doutait qu'une démonstration de connaissance, même si spontanée ne serait pas froncée sur. Secouant la tête dans une tentative de jeter sa manie de côté, il a dégagé sa gorge avant de reformuler. "Alors... Oui. Qu'est-ce qu'on fait ici? Oh- et, est-ce que l'extrait de Graveroot distillé est un bon choix pour faire ma hache spirit-wounding? Ou devrais-je avoir utilisé araignée-moss à la place?" **** Après avoir entendu ce que Old Ben avait à offrir, le barrage supplémentaire de questions de Hogarth a été arrêté avant même qu'il ne puisse commencer par un coup sur l'épaule. Se rendant compte qu'il avait beaucoup plus de travail à faire, et que Nova ne devrait plus attendre, il a demandé au revoir à Old Ben avec la plus grande solennité et l'a suivie, se sentant un peu coupable. "En effet. Bonne pensée. Pardonnez la longue attente, j'ai juste tendance à... Perdre une trace du temps à l'occasion." Il a lâché une petite toux comme un ronflement et a momentanément évité ses yeux ailleurs. "Ouh, au fait, c'est n'importe quoi."

Name: Hogarth Nethayr Age: 20 Gender: Male Appearance: Hogarth is a cheerful, wiry young man, dressed exclusively in black. He looks nearly emaciated, and stands about two meters tall, despite his slouchy, s-shaped posture. His choice of attire, however, slightly hides his thin frame. Namely, he is never seen wearing anything other than thick, ankle length coats, knee high steel reinforced leather boots and light plate gauntlets. A large hat with a sown-in strap is commonly seen atop his head. Hogarth is rather thin in the face, and posesses a snow-white complexion. His features are sharp and slightly sunken while his hair reaches just below his shoulders. Lastly, the most common expression his face takes is that of a wide eyed, teeth clenched grin. Backstory: Hogarth's early years have been utterly uneventful, if somewhat dull. Born to a family of simple merchants, he has never experienced the ravages of poverty, nor the comforts of wealth. Being interested in scholarly matters from an early age, his father eagerly supplied the young boy with any tomes he could procure, eventually creating an impressive library. The more the boy grew and read, however, the more he developed an interest in the macabre and morbid. In fact, the only thing slighty unconventional about Hogarth's life was Hogarth himself. Even though the boy was joyful and well-mannered, he would, occasionally isolate himself from his peers and family, and would lock himself in the house's cramped reading quarters for hours on end. He'd fill these quarters with notes upon notes on increasingly disturbing subjects, casually adorning them with sketches depicting death's heads, wights, and other ghoulish creatures. Other times, he'd sink into mirth filled monologues regarding unpleasant matters, most common being the dead, both walking and not. When he was finally of age, it came to no one's surprise when he cheerfully proclaimed that he was joining the Grave Keepers. Now, he is most commonly seen wandering about the outer graveyard with a smile on his face, even when off duty. Other: Equipment: Bandolier: A tanned leather bandolier consisting of a torso and belt part helps Hogarth store numerous vials of potions and his weapons. Axes: Hogarth is not the best when it comes to handling meelee weapons, with the exception of his two small throwing axes, used to quickly incapacitate hostile undead, or humans. Stake thrower: A medium to short range repeater crossbow customized by Hogarth, it is small enough to be fired from one hand if the need arises.

Oksana Les cieux, l'endroit le plus beau et le plus brillant du monde. Rien ne pouvait se comparer à sa majesté dans les terres des Mortals, l'ivoire blanc brillant qui composait chaque colonne, et le piédestal, les statues magnifiques, et l'art qui composait le décor dans chaque pièce. Les incrustations d'or délicatement placées qui s'est enfilée en continu à travers le plafond en dôme à lui très noyau où un grand cristal a rempli un vide dans le plafond filtrant en faisceaux de lumière du soleil. Ce lieu a été magnifiquement construit, et chaque détail soigneusement conçu par le roi lui-même, aucun détail n'est resté intact, et même s'il y avait un air de présage, encore ce lieu brillait comme une étoile dans une mer d'obscurité par rapport à ce que ses enfants avaient fait dans les pays ci-dessous. Situé au milieu de la pièce était une boîte unique, claire, chatoyante, faite de diamant pur, et à l'intérieur était le corps du roi, à jamais congelé dans le temps par son beau cercueil. Faire un demi-cercle autour du tombeau est une série de trônes, chacun sculpté, et décoré pour le Dieu qui lui serait assigné, plusieurs bien que serait bien sûr aller vide comme leurs propriétaires n'étaient plus vivants. Pendant ce temps, un grand trône assis à la tête, vide il resterait, plusieurs centres de puissance scellés dans son cadre, vibrant et attendant que quelqu'un le revendique. Le ciel clignait à l'extérieur pendant un moment, un seul boulon de foudre striant à travers une fenêtre, et de l'autre côté de la chambre s'écrase contre le sol en marbre lisse. Un éclair de lumière aurait aveuglé n'importe qui là avant de révéler Oksana pour se tenir là où le flash de la foudre avait une fois tenu. Plutôt que son armure, elle portait une robe lisse de soie pure, elle s'accrochait à son corps comme un chiffon humide bien qu'il fût léger comme de l'air. Chaque contour de son corps se distinguait en détail qui ne pouvait être plus révélateur que si elle était partie nue. Se tournant vers les chambres du conseil, elle vit que personne d'autre n'était arrivé, et fit un soupir. Elle murmura alors qu'elle se déplaçait sur son trône, qui était littéralement des nuages d'orage flottant dans l'air, avec des éclairs d'éclairage apparaissant à l'intérieur des nimbus denses et sombres. Elle s'est installée sur le trône. Un rectangle de lumière coupa soudain son chemin près du coin de la pièce. Du rectangle de lumière s'élève un grand homme à peau foncée, vêtu d'une armure d'or, et portant un bâton avec un œil sur la fin. Je vois que vous êtes le premier à arriver comme toujours Oksana. J'ai envoyé des messages aux esprits de tous vos frères et sœurs. Tous, et même tes nièces et tes neveux.Lentement, l'homme marcha vers le milieu de la pièce, debout devant le cercueil en diamant, les mains criblées qui traversaient le couvercle du tombeau. J'étais jaloux que votre père vous ait tous nommés, sauf moi. Je suis simplement Gardien, ou le Gardien. Bien que j'aie vieilli et que je comprenne que mon but est plus grand que je l'ai réalisé à ce moment-là. Nous avons peut-être quelques années... avant tout. Je suppose que je devrais attendre que les autres arrivent.Le Gardien agita sa main, et une chaise plus petite apparut à côté du trône du Roi, le Gardien prenant place. Oksana écoutait le Guardian, avec des lèvres coulissantes, parler d'émotions qui n'avaient jamais été exprimées à haute voix auparavant. Vous avez été le plus précieux pour le Roi, Gardien. Vous êtes aussi précieux pour nous tous. » Elle regarda son Père, regardant son cadavre, ses cheveux blancs longs et censurés dans sa poitrine. Une seule larme a roulé sur sa joue et est tombée sur sa robe. Elle regarda alors vers les autres trônes, ils étaient vides pour l'instant, mais bientôt la plupart seraient pleins. Seuls les Dieux majeurs avaient des trônes, ceux qui étaient des dieux mineurs seraient forcés de se tenir debout, et d'écouter, leurs paroles susceptibles d'être ignorées par les autres assistants. J'espère que nous pourrons en arriver à une issue paisible... Ses yeux se levèrent errant vers les fenêtres, se souvenant de la rébellion alors qu'elle regardait les trônes qui resteraient vides, se souvenant de ceux qui sont morts. Son esprit a commencé à errer vers ses filles, et Hilde, comment elle a manqué Hilde... Une autre déchirure a roulé sur sa joue. Zadia Les pays d'Éperus sont un endroit chaud, sec, vide, plein de sang et de colère. Une grande figure féminine armée de quatre se tenait seule, le sang trempant les sables sous ses pieds alors qu'elle regardait un ver assez grand comme une créature à moitié proéminente du sable. Zadia s'est légèrement fléchie alors qu'elle a raccroché sa lance libre de la tête de la créature, les yeux se rétrécissant alors qu'elle souriait un peu glorieusement à l'effusion de sang. Aujourd'hui avait été une bonne chasse, elle pensait à elle-même en marchant sur le cadavre. Son corps scintille d'un léger éclat de sueur, sa tenue simple, bretelles, shin gardes, et la couverture la plus insignifiante sur ses seins sous la forme de pièces d'or moulées et en forme de son corps. C'était plus que normal pour la course dont elle était issue, car ils ne portaient généralement rien du tout. Alors qu'elle s'imprégnait de sa victoire, une voix retentit soudain par son esprit, la voix du Gardien, lui parlant, à celui qui fut banni de tous les autres pays de Dieu après qu'elle eut fait la guerre contre tant de gens, même après la rébellion. "Venez maintenant fille de la guerre, fille de Kovar. Le temps est venu pour vous de rejoindre les autres dieux, de prendre votre place parmi eux. Le temps de choisir un nouveau roi est sur nous.... Pendant longtemps Zadia ne pouvait rien faire que de rester là, en regardant au loin, son corps tendu. Elle s'est dit plus à elle-même que n'importe qui d'autre.D'un coup, ses jambes se sont fléchies et elle a sauté dans l'air, son corps s'est étourdi en se transformant en une boule d'énergie rouge qui a tourné vers le ciel. Il est temps pour moi de prendre ma place, de réclamer le trône pour mon père!

Name: Zadia Gender: Female Appearance: Personality: Major Domain: None|Minor Goddess Minor Domains: Amazons, Hate Your Avatar: 143 feet in length, Zigrit is and imposing sight, her body pure muscle powerful and coiling. She has six arms and each of those arms carries a weapon forged for her size though crude in comparison to what someone much smaller would wield they are deadly nonetheless. She is capable of biting and inflicting a venom quite deadly, or simply spraying it from her fangs at those who she would face. Stance: Zadia believes she is the true heir to the throne, as her father was Heir to the throne, so she would come next. Loyalty During the Rebellion: She sided with her father War of course, there would be no other choice. She in that war killed Ahru’s daughter, and near the end was captured by Di’Myria who held her within a prison till her her father Kovar was killed. Center of Power: None, Minor God Relations: Friends with Naqqash as they are both Orphans from the same side of the Rebellion Hated by Ahru after killing Ahru’s daughter Powers: She is extremely strong, capable of feats of strength four times that of an average god. She is capable of going into a state of rage where her skin becomes as tough as steel, and her need to destroy her enemies knows no bounds. She is also capable of instilling in her Amazons a fearlessness in battle making them all capable fighters who never give up. Godly Equipment: Spear of Kovar: Her Father’s spear it is a Gods Bane weapon made of pure bronze, and capable of punching through armor rather easily. It releases a powerful blast of energy capable of cracking most armor and obliterating the enemy wearing it if struck with a direct hit. Axe of Ruin: The axe of Ruin is a terrible weapon to behold, whenever it strikes it leaves behind a trail of rust that begins to grow sapping armor of it’s endurance. This weapon used to be Zadia’s brother’s own axe. Blade of Feth: It appears to be a normal sword, but that would be deceiving, whenever it cuts flesh it begins to sap the energy of whoever it had cut after so many it could leave someone extremely weak. This is a God’s Bane Weapon. Shield of Kovar: Her father’s shield, its indestructible against anything to crash against it, even dragons fire. Demi Gods: None yet Name of your Land: Illiosis Lands: Illiosis is a enormous wasteland of sand, and rock, filled with extremely poisonous cacti, and deadly creatures including, but not limited to enormous sandworms that dive in and out of the desert devouring whatever they come across. Packs of wild creatures known as Ushra by the Amazons look like feline reptiles, their teeth sharp, claws long and deadly. Any who might have gotten cut off from their group can quickly fall prey to these beasts. Hundreds of other creatures roam these lands all of them just as dangerous as the last in their own ways. People: The Fushwari (Known to outsiders are Amazons) are powerfully muscled ten foot tall four armed women. There doesn’t seem to be any males among the, that being because they procreate rather oddly. One month out of the year is considered mating season where approximately half of the population will grow male genitalia as to impregnate the other half, wherein four months and each baby will be carried to term. They’re stronger than the average person easily capable of throw several hundreds pounds more than the Average human. Their skin is tougher as well, more akin to leather than that of actual human skin. Culture: The Fushwari are a primitive culture, with dated ideas, but Zadia only insists on this as she believes it keeps them strong, and easier to control. They live in houses built into the side of cliff faces as to keep away from the sandworms. They believe firmly in war, and combat, that this will lead them to an afterlife where they will reside forever with the War God. They frequently hunt down their own when they worship any deities that are not Zadia, and brutally murder them. They also once a year have a sacrifice in which they kill one of their own for Zadia. They believe strongly in combat, and so they have created a huge stone pit in which the sandworms cannot enter, it is here that they have Gladiatoral competitions, the Fushwari fighting each other, and other beasts to prove their strength. They also drag prisoners captured in raids to this place, to fight as well. Technology: The Fushwari are very tribal, their weapons primitive, but strong made from the sands they us a lot of Glass weapons. Though they are glass they are as strong as steel with the way they are made. The Fushwari also use shields made from the local trees, though they are more scarce and only rewarded to the elite. They tend to not wear any armor, or any clothes at all really and would typically be found in such a way, unashamed of their nudity. Capital: None Beings: WIP

Ferrum Les coups lourds de son marteau contre le métal chauffé actuellement sous ses soins, la frappe lourde avec un placement expert pour façonner le métal à sa volonté, la Forge sonnant avec chaque impact, le son presque musical à ses oreilles, noyant la haine qu'il ressentait pour la raison pour laquelle il faisait cette arme. La reconstruction serait une meilleure formulation, car cette arme était celle qu'il avait fabriquée plusieurs siècles auparavant, avant la dévastation de la rébellion de Kovar, une arme qu'il avait brisée et presque tuée. Vatra s'élança sur sa tête, un lavage de chaleur fraîche et vivifiante coulant sur le hêtre pendant qu'il travaillait, son avatar s'envolant pour prendre sa perche au sommet de la Forge elle-même. Il sourit, ses mains n'arrêtaient jamais le travail avant elles, il avait passé près de six mois à restaurer cette arme, son esprit courait à travers les innombrables armes forgées par ses mains dans sa vie, fixées sur la longue lance, l'arme presque nagatine, c'était une arme mortelle, la cicatrice sur sa poitrine équivalait à cela, et ici il faisait une arme qui pouvait le tuer, et d'autres de sa famille quelque peu argumentative. Avec un soupir calme, il repoussa le métal de refroidissement dans la forge, la lame dut être à nouveau parfaite, le haft fut achevé, jusqu'aux gravures soigneusement gravées avec le même détail qu'il y avait placé tous ces siècles auparavant. "Père," vint la voix douce de sa fille, Siani, en entrant dans son sanctuaire des mondes de dieux et de mortels, personne ne pouvait entrer sans sa permission, le caractère de la Forge elle-même n'était pas quelque chose à prendre à la légère, et à la violation était une forte tentation du destin. "Qu'est-ce que c'est, fille?" dit-il en tirant le métal de la Forge et en le plaçant sur l'enclume. Le Gardien nous appelle, pour choisir un nouveau Roi, tous sont convoqués, dit-elle, en gardant sa distance avec son père. "Trouvez votre frère, je vous retrouverai à la bouche de la Forge," dit-il, continuant à battre le métal dans ce qu'il pensait l'être. C'était une chose rare qui ferait arrêter Ferrum ce qu'il faisait, et Siani savait dans son cœur, en dépit de toute la haine et de la mort infligées pendant la guerre, la perte du roi, le propre père de Ferrum, coupé profondément en lui, perçant plus profond que n'importe quelle lame ne pouvait, une blessure qu'aucune armure ne pouvait empêcher. Il se concentrait sur quelque chose pour en garder la douleur loin, malgré le côté qu'il a choisi pendant la Rébellion, il aimait son père. Le coup lourd a été un peu beaucoup, même elle a vu ce bouillonnement de frustration dans la tension de ses muscles est devenu, le sifflement du métal lui disant qu'il l'a repoussé dans la chaleur pour le corriger. Elle partit sans autre mot, mais Ferrum put sentir les yeux de Vatra sur son dos, le grand oiseau de feu était encore perché au-dessus de lui, le regardant quand il la regarda. Elle étendit ses ailes et le laissa prendre toute sa gloire avant de s'installer de nouveau et de regarder vers le ciel en haut. Ferrum sourit alors qu'il tirait l'acier de sa Forge, en battant l'imperfection rapidement et précisément, la sonnerie des frappes devenant rapide et presque musicale pendant qu'il travaillait, oubliant le monde autour de lui alors qu'il finissait de forger le métal à sa volonté, se penchant quelques heures plus tard avec la pièce finie à sa portée. Il passa à la haft qu'il avait refaite pour elle, au moment où la base de l'acier toucha la haft, il sentit la charge presque choquante de la connexion, d'une arme qui savait qu'elle serait à nouveau entière. Il n'avait pas besoin de fixer la paire ensemble, l'acier a glissé facilement dans le haft, le cou se constrictant soudainement pour la maintenir en place, une vague de feu en cascade sur la lame et vers le bas le haft comme les pouvoirs qu'il tenait autrefois étaient une fois de plus retenus dans la création. Père! Nous devons y aller! » appelé Siani de la grande porte à la Forge, Krixis, son frère barbu debout à ses côtés, un plein deux pieds plus haut que son frère. Je sais, finissait juste une vieille erreur, a dit Ferrum, enveloppant l'arme dans une feuille de tissu portant le sigil de sa Forge et royaume. Il portait l'arme comme s'il la vénérait, la passant à Krixis quand il les atteignait. La Dent est une créature d'orgueil, elle ne m'a pas permis de tenir sa forme complète pour longtemps, pas après la dernière fois, a-t-il dit, voyant Krixis prendre l'arme soigneusement dans ses mains. L'arme était presque aussi grande qu'il l'était. Ferrum tourna et saisit son arme, God-Smiter, un immense marteau de guerre fabriqué par son frère, Aesis, l'arme était parfaitement équilibrée, un chef-d'œuvre créé par un autre que le Dieu de la Forge, un fait que Ferrum accepta facilement. Avec son arme à la main, il conduit ses enfants à l'embouchure de la vallée de la Forge, un silence presque fou entre eux, car Siani voulait aussi tenir l'arme. J'ai quelque chose pour vous à porter à l'avenir, ma fille, mais les feux dans cette arme sont même hors de votre contrôle, je ne veux pas tenter le destin avec votre vie, il a dit comme il a remarqué les regards Siani donné à son frère aîné. A l'embouchure de la vallée, négligée par les fortifications de Corinthe, ainsi que par les deux plus grands golems que Ferrum n'avait jamais fabriqués, était une petite dais, relevée de la pierre qui menait à travers la vallée, et avec quatre grands piliers placés sur une place parfaite, la dais était le choix de Ferrum pour quitter son royaume pour un autre, c'était une conception ancienne, avant que les nains n'avaient maîtrisé l'utilisation du marteau et du ciseau, placé là par le roi lui-même quand Ferrum a commencé à forger sa terre et les gens des sauvages qu'ils avaient été. Il regarda vers le ciel en plaçant la tête de son Dieu-Bane dans la fente, en la tordant et en regardant les feux de la Forge remplir subitement les légères lacunes dans le travail de pierre, les grandes flammes jetant un tourbillon de sigils et de mots anciens. Avec un son presque tonnerre, le monde autour du trio a changé. Ils n'étaient plus debout à Corantha, les grandes montagnes qui les entourent, le ciel au-dessus et les grands golems qui les surveillent. La position dans le royaume du roi maintenant, la belle architecture était quelque chose que même le Dieu de la Forge n'était pas capable d'égaler sur une telle échelle, Ferrum hissé son Dieu-Bane à son épaule, courir sa main le long des grandes colonnes pendant qu'il passait, entrer dans la grande salle, deux personnes étaient déjà présentes, l'ancien Gardien, et l'exécuteur des Dieux, un sentiment momentané de haine bouilli dans son cœur, l'humiliation de la punition qui lui a été donnée pour sa part dans la rébellion, et la perte d'un de ses frères les plus proches menaçant son contrôle de sa nature ardente. "Oksana, d'abord comme toujours je vois," il grondait, une voix comme le granit, s'étalant de sa poitrine alors qu'il passait devant son trône, le monstre de fer et de pierre en forme, sans dossier, c'était pratiquement une grande enclume, avec des bras reposes de marbre sur les côtés. Ses enfants n'ont rien dit alors qu'ils marchaient de part et d'autre du trône, le tempérament de Siani s'élançant presque magnifiquement aux yeux de Ferrum, tandis que Krixis était aussi froid que le métal, son expression ne donnant rien des sentiments qu'il portait à la Déesse des Tempêtes. Il marcha vers sa sœur, martela encore à son épaule, inclinant lentement la tête avant de regarder le corps de son père. Même dans la vie, il avait l'air paisible, a-t-il dit, soupirant à la légère. Tu penses qu'il dormait, Il s'en alla à son siège, plaçant son arme dessus, ses mains d'argent déterrées par n'importe quel signe qu'il avait travaillé une Forge à n'importe quel moment. Il regarda les autres trônes vides, ses yeux s'installant sur le trône de Dieu de la guerre, Kovar ne reprendrait jamais ce trône, il resterait vide jusqu'à ce que les péchés du père aient passé de la mémoire, mais avec cette famille, ces péchés brûleraient encore longtemps.

Name: Ferrum Gender: Male Appearance: (Ignore the mechanical arm on his back though) Ferrum stands at the full 14’ height. His arms are the color of silver, with which he crafts the metals within the Forge. Personality: Where once Ferrum’s temper was as easy to ignite as a fire was to consume dry grass, his commitment to the Forge had moulded his temper with patience, allowing him to work to perfecting his creation with little effort or frustration. And while some are able to break the wall of iron-will he has cast upon himself, he never allows it to come out in large amounts. The disaster of the rebellion has changed him from seeking to improve his creations of war and death, instead, following the punishment meted out against him for his part in the forty years of battle has reinforced his desire to create things once more, his once fiery temper now embers within his heart. Major Domain: The Forge Minor Domain(s): Fire, Metal Your Avatar: Called Vatra, standing at 261 feet, and around 400 feet from wingtip to wingtip, Vatra burns near constantly, the flames only hurting those not being honest of their intent and deeds. Vatra is rarely away from Ferrum, and often aids him around his own forge, keeping the fires burning endlessly to provide just the right temperature to create wonders of peace, of weapons of war. Stance: Ferrum honestly cares little for who sits on the throne as King anymore, and simply wishes to tend to his people and his forge. Because of this stance, he will provide weapons to those he feels are worth the effort, regardless of their views on the current political situation. Loyalty During Rebellion: Ferrum unexpectedly sided with Kovar the War during the rebellion, won over by the praise given for his work on Kovar's God Bane. It was not unexpected that the two were friends of sorts, for Wars always needed weapons to fight them, the two domains overlapping and a kind of symbiotic relationship kept the two on more even terms than Ferrum ever felt towards their father. Center of Power: Ferrum’s center of power is an simple iron ingot, one of the first he made with the Forge in his youth, it is always moved throughout the Forge, but regardless of where he puts it, or even if he places it in the largest pile of exact ingots, he knows where it is for the power of the Forge is within that unadorned ingot, the sigil of the Forge stamped into the bottom of it, as with any other ingot. Relations: Ki’ivara: Becoming something of a friend to the Goddess of Lust, Ferrum gifted her a palace unlike anything he had constructed in the past as an apology for deeds created in the midst of the rebellion, keeping the details and secrets of it between himself and the Goddess of Lust herself. Aesis: Ferrum considers Aesis the closest thing to a brother he can with his sibling gods, finding a similar heart in the fury of the ocean’s master. The pair challenged one another to forge a weapon, and the greater shall be the victor. This challenge lasted a full week in length, with Ferrum’s creation of the Riptide trident, and Aesis’ forging of the God-Smiter. Ahru: Ferrum finds Ahru’s constant meddling an enjoyable way to change the more methodical aspects of his life and work, although there are times when her antics draw his ire, and he knows she actively tries to pull this moments from him.. Di’Myria: During the rebellion, Ferrum had several engagements with Di’Myria, which leveled the lands of their battles, but neither could get that decisive victory over the other. With the rebellion dragging out, War redirected Ferrum to another front, leaving Di’Myria to the Murder God, Loshtar. At the rebellions end, and seeing just what he had allowed his fiery temper to blind him to, Ferrum apologised to the Time Goddess, and now the two regularly meet to discuss various things, with Ferrum learning patience most of all from their meetings. Kilgarrah: Ferrum and Kilgarrah fought hard during the rebellion, with a somewhat pyrrhic victory landing in Ferrum’s hands after the destruction of one of Ferrum’s many vaults dotted throughout the mountains of Corantha, this battle saw to the breaking of Wyrm Tooth, and the entrapment of Kilgarrah towards the end of the rebellion. Ferrum has held onto the broken remains of Wyrm Tooth, wondering if the weapon would help fix the hatred born from the rebellion. Powers: Temperature Control, Metal. While not capable of creating fire out of thin air, Ferrum can bring the temperature around him up to intense level, and also back down to near freezing levels, he uses this to aid in his forging, while crafting things with his hands has given him a deep affinity for whenever a metal touches his skin, capable of bending it to his will the longer he has touched it. With this affinity his skin naturally hardens against strikes, making him extremely durable, especially with weapons he created. Godly Equipment: Fate’s Anvil: The primary anvil in which Ferrum forges the God Banes, combined with the Destined Hammer it allows Ferrum to transfer the power of the God in question into their weapon or item of choice. Destined Hammer: The Hammer is the key part to forging God Banes and their items. The Hammer must be held by the God in question to allow a transfer of power into their item, before Ferrum physically beats the item with the God’s power. This is not a long process, the Hammer required to be carried for maybe a full day before Ferrum retrieves it for his Forge. God-Smiter: This immense Warhammer is Ferrum’s God-Bane, favouring the power of destruction it holds of the speed of smaller and more elegant weapons, it captures Ferrum’s strength easily, each blow capable of cracking open mountains. This is a God Bane. Demi Gods: Krixis was born to one of the few mortals to actually enter the Forge itself, his mother a lady of royalty and eager enough to bed the God of the Forge. Krixis rose to station as his affinity of metal became clear, moulding it in many ways and showing an ever increasing need to know more about how to craft and mould ever more complex patterns. He came to his father simply to learn of metalcraft, but after seeing the truth of the Forge, has stayed with his father, crafting his own smaller forge next to the Forge itself. His proudest creation were his Forgekin, at the moment they are lifeless suits of armor in marshalled ranks across his domain of his father’s mountain fortress. Siani was the second child born to Ferrum, the mother an acolyte of his temple and during one of his few times walking with his people, Ferrum found himself attracted to this woman, while not exactly love, he felt deeply for her, and mourned her loss some years after the birth of Siani. Siani is the more unpredictable of his children, living to her affinity of fire, she can manifest flames from the thin air, and often her tempar is shown by this ability, she bears no weapon other than those she makes from her own flames. It was Siani who went to war with Ferrum during the rebellion, leaving Krixis to protect and govern the people of Corantha. Name of Land: Corantha Lands: The lands of Corantha are mostly mountains with forests surrounding the outer edges, and great rivers of fresh water pour down the mountains in large numbers. The lands teem with game and predators, few of which approach the larger mountains. People: Corantha is mostly filled with settlements of Dwarfs, with the odd human settlement nestled somewhere in the forests along the main routes into and out of Corantha. Culture: Corantha’s culture is one that is not its own, for their God does not impose his will on them, and instead teaches them the art of forge-work and metalcraft, allowing them to grow as they wish. This in turn has led many of the dwarf communities to focus on metalcraft and mining for the materials required to forge. The scattered human settlements primarily focus on food production, trading with the dwarfs for their metalcraft in exchange for their produce. The homes of the dwarfs, built into the mountains themselves are strong and built to last, while the human settlements are dotted around the foothills and forests, with only a couple of large, developed coastal towns. Corantha’s armed forces are a mixed breed, with the dwarfs preferring to stay on the defensive, constructing fortifications and defences, while the humans provide the bulk and strength of the army with powerful, well-armored cores of heavy infantry, supported by wings of cavalry and lines of skirmishers. Technology: Roman Era Capital: Corinth, largest Dwarf city built before the Valley of the Forge, which leads directly to Ferrum’s forge. The city is built into the mountain, going deep and far, with masterfully crafted halls and walkways mapping the length of their work. The entrance to the city is lined with statues of dwarf warriors watching the road, and the entrance to the Valley has two large guardians crafted into the rockface. Beings: The Mountains are home to many creatures, the largest of which are the cyclopean giants, which mainly stick to their caves, but on occasion venture close to the towns and cities in search of fresh food in the form of meat. While he does not interfere directly against them in roaming from their caves, Ferrum has made it clear they are not to enter the boundaries of the cities and towns, those foolish enough to remain outside the boundaries when a cyclopean giant nears are not his concern. While not a being in a sense, the golems now dotting the length and breadth of Corantha have become a strong part of the everyday occurrences, with people giving praise to Ferrum and creating altars of a sort at their feet. These Golems were originally a pass time for Ferrum, during his century long punishment for his part in the rebellion, but became one of his more favoured creations.

Le propriétaire mondial, Earthshaker, King Kraken Des tambours de guerre ont frappé le rivage d'or dans les morts de la nuit et la lumière du jour. Lumière où aucun homme ne pouvait voir, sonne où aucun homme ne pouvait entendre, vie où aucun homme ne pouvait respirer. À l'ouest, il avala toute lumière, à l'est, il naquit de nouveau. Jamais calmé, mais toujours immobile. Toujours en mouvement, jamais la même chose. Modification constante, restant inchangée. Aucune description ne pouvait vraiment capturer sa majesté mystérieuse, mais seulement quelques mots pouvaient exprimer sa beauté. Jack savait que ce serait dur de rentrer chez lui. La mer était trop placide pour une lune sanguine. Il y a eu une tempête. Le bateau a commencé à rouler d'un côté à l'autre et la température a chuté tout d'un coup. Des nuages sombres ont obscurci la lune. Ils se cramponnaient dans le ciel nocturne, aussi noir qu'une sorcière Sabbat. La lueur de mercure de la lune a été peinte en argent par les têtes de tonnerre, jetant des frissons de lumière avec une lueur fantomatique. Sous la lune, la pluie se déplaçait vers lui comme un voile de chagrin. Un vent de winnow fermenté et soupirant, déchirant la surface du corps mer calme. Sa barque s'est entaillée et jetée dans la houle montante et il a saisi la tabourière avec ses doigts nus. Il pouvait juste distinguer la figure de sa femme debout sur la plage bombée, lampe levée à l'éloft pour le guider à la maison. Puis elle disparut alors que le ciel voûté effaçait la lumière de la lune. La pluie s'écoulait, crachant sur lui avec ses larmes non mortes. Il a mis ses boucles de hobbit dans un mop et a trempé son brancard à travers. La pluie s'est renversée comme des clous de cristal et la foudre striée a emblabré le ciel. La mer se lève et son temps de barbe s'est gelé comme le vent du nord soufflait et l'a envoyé à sa mort. Des pluies lacérantes lui berçaient les bras nus comme des brûlures de glace et la mer grimaçait de malheurs. Son bateau bourdonnait comme un bouchon sur la mer capacieuse et pour la première fois, il ressentait sa propre mortalité. La saumure sifflait et criait, lâchant son visage, et il sentait une fièvre dans ses yeux. Son petit bateau s'inclinait comme le flop de mort d'un maquereau. Les planches de bois se fermaient et se renversaient, puis criaient et tremblaient, mais le bateau se redressait une fois de plus. Le chevet de la mer causa une agitation dans son sang, mais il pouvait jurer qu'un vieil homme, visage spectral était fixé dans le ciel où la lune devait être. Il portait un masque de haine et de désir et il transfixait complètement Jack. Il l'a regardé dans l'horreur, comme un lunaire regarderait le ciel de nuit. Les yeux du vieil homme semblaient éblouir la mer sur son côté tribord. Jack's lui-même les yeux suivit et s'élargit lentement en regardant vers le bas dans une ouverture tourbillonnante et tournant sous le bateau. Les paroles de son père lui sont venues sans encombre alors: «Il n'y a rien de pire que l'horrible malédiction logée dans l'œil d'un homme mort». Jack s'est mis en colère, essayant de se souvenir du reste des conseils. Il savait que c'était important, mais il ne pouvait pas penser avec le tumulte et la tempête. Jacks deux mains s'emparèrent de la talle et refusèrent de lâcher prise. Les paroles de son père sont revenues inobservées ; un vrai marin ne déserte jamais un navire qui coule. Une vague montagneuse se leva devant lui, balayant le ciel. Le vent hurlait de sa mort, le tourbillon s'étendait plus vite et plus blanc et le visage du vieil homme s'éteignait en triomphe. Le bateau se leva avec la houle, s'inclinant vers le haut jusqu'à sa destruction. Il a été propulsé sur la lèvre et a plané là-bas, une mouche-speck sur les lignes cobwebbed de la vague. Le temps semblait suspendu. Le tourbillon s'est glissé sous lui avec de terribles mâchoires blanches. Il roulait et filait, invitant Jack à entrer. Puis le bateau s'écroula dans ses profondeurs laiteuses, avala tout entier dans une finale, terrible, grincante de bois. Écoutez, Aesis, chef de la mer profond, dont la saisie liquide engendre le sol solide; qui, au fond du principal orageux, sombre et profond-bosomed tiennent le règne aqueux. Le boom de l'Aesis, le rire chargé, ébranlait les fondements mêmes du monde, la mer répondant à sa frénésie avec des vagues agitées et une pluie incessante. Il tirait le plaisir des petites choses dans son royaume. Chaque bateau qui coule, chaque marin hurle, chaque vague qui s'écrase, chaque cri de joie enfantin quand la marée fraîche se lave sur ses petits orteils. Pendant des centaines d'années, le roi de la mer s'est gardé de lui-même, en observant et en séduisant. La Rébellion l'avait fatigué, le ramenant dans une stupeur silencieuse, donnant aux mortels le repos de ses vagues enflammées. Seule la mort l'a réveillé. La mort n'était pas gentille. Aesis le savait. Il s'est emparé là où il le pouvait, emmenant des gens beaucoup trop jeunes, bien trop bons. Il n'a pas fait semblant de s'en soucier, il n'a pas fait semblant de distinguer. La vale de la mort à capuche s'est accrochée au-dessus du monde depuis longtemps, toujours menaçante. Il n'avait jamais touché Aesis si près. La mort avait arraché une partie de tous ses frères, la partie de celui qui était le plus aimé. Maintenant, Aesis était assis pendant des heures, le bonheur s'imprégnant de ses os. Il ferma les yeux et savoura le sentiment, mais ne lâcha jamais son emprise sur la réalité apparemment sans conséquence qui allait maintenant décider de son avenir. Pour la première fois dans l'éternité, son corps et son esprit se sont détendus. Père était mort. Il laissa soudain un rire bruyant, la pluie tomber dans des gouttes chaotiques folles, le vent raflant les transportant dans des tourbillons sauvages un moment et dans des feuilles diagonales l'autre au-dessus de la maison du roi. Des torrents d'eau ont traversé et pénétré dans la salle du trône, des vagues qui ont fracassé et encerclé la salle, gardant ses habitants au sec. Un cyclone de vagues tourné et tordu dans le trône massif de corail de couleur arc-en-ciel, une bulle d'eau l'entourent perpétuellement comme le corps d'Aesis condensé et formé. Le corps musculaire teinté bleu de l'Aesis s'installa dans le trône, sa barbe blanche s'imprégnant de sa piscine de fortune. Il considérait son frère-bouclier Ferrum, et son ennemi aimant, Oksana. Un sourire blanc immaculé sur son visage en voyant ses soeurs mouiller, déchirer le visage taché. "Tu pleures, ma sœur?" Il s'est moqué. "Et toi, frère bouclier, la tristesse gronde-t-elle sur ton âme? Ce n'est pas une nuit de deuil." Il s'est cogné la tête comme un piranha qui lui a griffé les doigts avec amour.

Name: Aesis Gender: Male Personality: Just like there are two sides to every story, there are two sides to every being. Aesis' duality comes in the form of how the public perceives him and who he is on a personal level. Furthermore; Aesis, like many of those who consider themselves to be a divine, has three sides of themselves. Not truly three distinct personalities, nevertheless, he has three ways of looking at things: contemplative, direct, or dubious. His emotional set consists of a phlegmatic disposition, generally unemotional and stolidly calm. Which usually leads to assumptions of a depressed, cynical god, but bitterness and hate has yet to taint his soul. He still has an optimistic view of the world, harbors idealistic dreams, and naively believes that other gods can be trusted. Aesis maintains no disillusion about the state the world is in, however. But it’s a testament to his integrity and nobility, how he has remained an honest and responsible being. In combat, Aesis is: controlled, focused, steady, and conscientious of his surroundings. Every decision is made cautiously and pragmatically; he's vigilant in his efforts and never impulsive. He strives to apply the same manner of thinking to every facet of his immortal life. This is why he doesn't interfere in every dispute and is content with watching until needed. When it comes to Aesis' ability to handle sudden changes and disagreement, his open-mind enables a high degree of adaptability. Because of that, he's able to be tolerant and forgiving of ignorance; whether he's willing to, differs from scenario-to-scenario. But to avoid any interactions outside of his guardianship, he projects a rough, cold exterior. He even goes as far as exiling himself, which further lends to the mysterious lone wolf persona he has adopted. This facade is obviously a guise however, as evident in his altruistic behavior. Once his icy shell has been broken, his warm nature will shine through and the courteous, cultured being with a unique sense of humor and charm will be revealed. Major Domain: Oceans/Seas Minor Domains: Water/Rivers/Rain/Streams/Lakes/Marine Life Your Avatar: A massive beast standing more than five-hundreds feet tall, it is the epitome of the seas unstoppable rage and destruction. Capable of traveling the world in mere seconds at speeds in which are unfathomable. Nothing can go on in his waters without him knowing, and it often preys on ships and sailors who enter his territory without paying tonnage. Stance: Chaotic Neutral; the kingship has little meaning to him, but since his natural order is being disturbed, he will and has lashed out. Loyalty During the Rebellion: War Center of Power: Pearls are smooth and white with a silky look, and silky feeling. They are milky white and lovely; and this is what describes his Center of Power. A massive pearl that is juxtaposed into his for head with pulses with the power of the ocean. Relations: TBA Powers The domain of the Sea is a tricky one to describe. It is both a loving and a cruel mistress; water is a giver of life to those who drink from it, growth to the plants it rains on, and certain death to those who fall between it's crushing waves. Likewise, the sea may bring peace to those who swim in it's luxurious shores and a full belly to those who gather fish from it, but to drink too much sea-water is to embrace death for most mortals. At times the sea will provide, and at times it may rise up in a vengeful, inescapable tsunami and crash itself against shores or cities. The sea is home to life too abundant and diverse to comprehend, but with this life comes danger. Sailors may bring home stories of monsters lurking in the depths; humongous, shadowy creatures stalking them for days before suddenly vanishing as they pulled towards the safety of the shore. As the God of Oceans, Aesis embraces both sides of the sea. He has power over it's strong waves and it's playful shores. He breaths it's cool, soothing touch and the painful, fatal suffocation to those who fall too deep beneath it, and both are in his sphere of power. He embodies waters itself, and lords over it confidentially. Godly Equipment: A weapon that cuts with the destructive force of the ocean, Riptide is capable of ripping about the earth at a single swipe; commanding the oceans at its slightest movement. Standing at 9'0 feet, it is the god of the seas weapon of war. Demi-Gods: The first born of Aesis, and an Admiral of the Aesisian Fleet, Triton is the exemplary warrior that his father raised him to be. From birth, he has been trained to raid and kill, battle strategies and navigational patterns imprinted into his brain. As a child he was sent to work under the supervision of a raid ship captain who forced him to work his way up the ranks to where his his now. Triton is a warrior not to be challenged. Aesis' second born who inherited his fathers pragmatic disposition and kindness. While his elder brother is a powerful warrior, Neptune is much more subtle, a tactical mastermind who has earned his place as Admiral next to his brothers through playing chess master. The dimwitted warmonger of the family, Hapi inherited his father random and unpredictable rage. The seas destructive power incarnated, Hapi his straightforward to a fault and lacks the intelligence or foresight to form strategies, and simply wishes to pillage. Despite his lack of intellect, he happens to have sense of leadership, which justifies his rank of Admiral. Delphin, the last born of Aesis, inherented her father cunning and otherworldly beauty. Despite his brother warmongering and non-stop campaigning, she has managed to fly under the radar of her siblings through manipulation and subduction to gain a foothold in her fathers army as the final Admiral. Name of your Land: The UnderSea Lands: The ocean was formed by the God of Seas as both a way to show their power and to serve as a catalyst of their divine will in this world. Waves are often seen rippling their way across the surface of the water, and below you'll find an infinite mass of blue (which will be filled with fish, eels, and sea life of all sorts imaginable). Deeper down, the bottom is covered in a thick layer of sand and the occasional loose rock; no sunlight reaches this far into the depths, and as such most life that makes it's way here is strange and hardly pleasing to the eye. Only the most beloved creatures of Aesis have the power to survive so far from the hated surface. Any god may enter these seas, but they should be aware that they are descending into the territory of Aesis. But the UnderSea is Aesis' abode. When Aesis smashed himself into the barren crust of the world directly following it's creation, he shattered it with such power that a massive mark was left forever in the earth. It is the descends deeper than any crater, trench, or canyon. When it was filled with water by Aesis it became the lowest point of the ocean- at one point going as far down as 50,300 feet (or 15,331 meters). The length by longitude is roughly 9,400 miles (15,127 kilometers) and the width by latitude is 8,100 miles As one descends, they fall more and more into the Ocean's dark realm. No god has a hold here, and as such there is no peace for trespassers. Even god's may find reason to fear this place, and only the most beloved of the World-Drowner are allowed to enter. It is rumored that here Aesis has built a massive palace from which to command his armies that will rise up from the sea and conquer the world. The Sun does not cast light in the furthest depths of earths Scar, and as such it is home to some of the strangest life the world- and Aesis in particular- has to offer. The creatures who inhabit this realm are monstrosities of the most eldritch fashion, and must be explained in another place. People: Intelligent and malevolent entities of chaotic and peaceful creation that are a living embodiments of the oceans power. Commonly known as Mermen, they are collectively the greatest servants of Aesis and are potentially a worldly force. They are created at the whim of the seas turbulent power and act as an extension of his will. A Mermen's appearance and intrinsic character reflect the seas true nature, and very constantly due to mutations. This also affects it power and physical and or mental capabilities. However, the sea is fickle and often bestow gifts of change without rhyme or reason. These gifts include mutations such as extra arms, tougher, coloured skin, larger fines, claws and fangs, often decided by the seas power and effect. But one intrinsic ability has been gifted them all; feet and lungs. With thier ability to walk onto land and breath air, raids on sea coasts regularly take place. Mer are a highly emotional and surprising people. Although they can, at times, exhibit crushing logic and reason, they are primarily ruled by their emotions. This is especially true for Mer in large groups, as they telepathically sense each other's feelings and that, in turn, arouses similar feelings in them. This means that thoughts in Mer society work almost like a virus. If a Merman is angry, and he goes home to his wife, she will telepathically pick up on that and become angry too (even if she does not know why). The wife may then go outside and meet a stranger, who will become angry from her anger, and he will go home and cause his family to be angry simply with his presence. Therefore, the emotion spreads like a disease until many, many people have been "infected" with anger, even if nothing valid technically happened to trigger that emotion, other than meeting someone already exhibiting it. Culture: Almost half of the Mer population live in the great city Deep Coral- the capital of the UnderSea. Mer in the city, like the fish in an ecosystem, all work for themselves while still benefiting the greater whole- often without noticing it. The rest of the Mer live outside of the city, in small villages or, although somewhat rare, alone along the massive walls of the crater. Deep Coral is much to big and heavy to easily move around, but these smaller towns are often built on semi-buoyant submerged platforms that may be pulled by domesticated Giant Squid or sharks. A Mer will build the platform from a mix of coral, sand, biral (of course), and fish scales. Then they will build their home on top of it and have animals pull it to achieve locomotion. The reason they go through all this trouble to keep themselves mobile is simple: fish. They often follow schools of fish so that they have a constant supply of prey items, and some Mer have even rigged giant baited nets on the exterior of the homes, so that fish will get caught inside as the platform floats along, removing the need for hunting or even leaving the construct. But Mer aren't to be mistaken for the peaceful type. Everything in the UnderSea has power that can be absorbed by the Mer and fish alike. Power is everything and if often tossed around to assert dominance. But the Mer's favorite past time is raiding; be it ships or coastal cities, they often s destroy and take whatever that want. Just as thier homes are built on sea creatures, so do they build their raid and siege engines, ships. Ships that are submersible and are built on the backs of sharks are the fear of every sailor, often signaling a raid. While on land they are viewed as monsters, pirates who make up a massive fleet and navy loyal to Aesis, Mer are quite intelligent and efficient while governed by the 12 Laws of the UnderSea: -Law One: Lost -Law Two: Lost -Law Three: Oaths May Not Be Broken Oaths sworn upon sea may not be broken unless both members agree mutually to break the oath. If an oath is broken, otherwise, then the fury of the land, sea, and sky will be cast upon them at the mercy of Aesis. -Law Four: Lost -Law Five: Gifts May Be Only Used for the Purpose Given Gifts may only be used for the purpose they are given until that purpose is no longer suitable or needed, in which case, the gift can be used for a different purpose. -Law Six: All Favors Must Be Repaid Favors, gifts, and handouts will acquire debt and can be repaid in any way the giver desires unless the giver themselves waves away that right. -Law Seven: Consuming the Nectar of the UnderSea Binds One to the UnderSea If a human consumes the nectar of the UnderSea for it's nourishment or healing property they will be bound to the UnderSea . The bond can only be broken by the one who gives the nectar. -Law Eight: If Two or More People Enter into a Conflict then the Winner will Gain Immunity if any Law is Broken If two or more people enter into a conflict, the winner of the conflict is immune to any punishment if any Law of The UnderSea is broken. -Law Nine: Iron is Banned from the UnderSea on the Pain of Death Those found carrying iron in the UnderSea may be punished with death unless they are in occurrence with Law Eight. -Law Ten: The Winner of a Conflict Will Gain the Loser's Power If the Winner of a Conflict kills their opponent, then they gain the power that the opponent has. -Law Eleven: The Winner of a Conflict Inherits the Loser's Property If the Winner of a Conflict kills their opponents, then they gain and inherit the loser's property. -Law Twelve: Magic Must Not Be Used to Alter the Events of Time Upon the pain of death, magic may not be used to alter the events of time either in the past or future. These Laws govern all Mer in all thier dealings, such as transferal of rank or civil squabbles. Technology: Late Egyptian/Mid Roman Capital: Deep Coral- a massive city in the deepest trench of the UnderSea where most of the Mer live in unity under the massive coral castle of thier god king; Aesis. Beings: Devourer Fish are one of the most well-known breeds of "sea monsters". They- along with StormHunters, Terrorfish, and Mighty Sharks- were created by Aesis to terrorize mortals who entered his domain. Devourer Fish are close relatives to the Angler Fish, and have many of the same habits (including the unusual mating habits). Angler Fish have a natural "lantern" on their head, the light of which lures prey into their waiting jaws. Devourer Fish, on the other hand, have a similar natural lantern- the main difference being that Devourer Fish are imbued with a strong magical element. Their lanterns are able to create any illusion needed to pull in their prey; someone lost in the bottom of the ocean may see it as a light to lead them out, a sailor with a sinking boat will believe it's another ship coming to rescue them from a watery grave, a dying man sees it as a healing force of the gods, and so on. Devourer Fish are very dangerous in this manner, anything one desires they will imitate until you swim right into their grasp. It's far too late by the time the trap that's been set is discovered. Like the Devourer Fish, StormHunters are closely tied to mystical forces, which they use for hunting their prey. Unlike the Devourer, StormHunters do not wait and lure their prey in. Instead, they actively hunt their prey at the absurd speed of ninety miles-per-hour (one-hundred-and-fifty KPH) by invoking the sea to push them faster, and they have been granted the powers to stir up the forces of water at will. They possess an extra organ molded on to the back of their brain, which forms a bond with the elemental forces of the world (particularly that of the ocean and air) and is used at will to spin the waters into a whirlpool, cause lightning to strike it's prey during a storm, or bring rain down from already cloudy skies. It should also be said that they are normally among the most difficult creatures to slay (to kill one of these is to be hailed as a hero by many), and are several times worse during storms. StormHunters serve the purpose of guarding those parts of the ocean furthest from land. They are Aesis' last resort to terrify mortals, and they are generally considered to be the most fatal of his monsters, even more so than the ever-dreaded Mighty Shark. Only a select few brave men and fools approach them willingly. Terrorfish are perhaps not as dangerous as a StormHunter, but they are nearly as terrifying. There is no magical elemental powers to these creatures, there is no cunning lure, there is simply brute strength. Terrorfish swim at an average speed of thirty miles per hour (fifty KPH). They have no known mystical powers, but they do not need them. The lack of magic is easily made up for by an impeccable sense of vision above and below water, the strength to crush iron with their tentacles, an ability to smell prey from over almost a hundred miles away, and a merciless attitude. There is no room in their mind for anything more than eating and destroying, and they favor land-creators who enter the sea. They were created with the express purpose of attacking sailors or deep-sea fishermen. Aesis desires people to enter the water, of course, but he does not want them to do so without certain knowledge of the dangers that may be waiting for them. He is, after all, an embodiment of the sea's bipolar force and rage. All fear the Mighty Shark. They are in many ways identical to "Great White Sharks", with the obvious exception being that they can grow up to be several miles long. They feed their massive bodies by inhaling the water around them (as whales do), sucking in whole schools of fish, squid, eels and whatever or whoever is unfortunate enough to be near them. Like the Terrorfish, they have no mystical powers, but they do have a taste for human flesh and blood. Leviathan are in many ways the dukes of the sea, capable of growing hundreds of miles long. Unlike Mighty Sharks, they simply chow down on thier prey with thier massive maws that can devour whales whole. Leviathans are the apex predators of the sea.

IlyonaDéesse de la Lumière du Soleil Avec une dernière balançoire de son faux, la Déesse du Soleil envoya l'âme finale, libre de son vaisseau, vers l'au-delà, pour être jugée par le Dieu de la Mort. Le corps tombant à terre, ses gémissements bestiaux maintenant silencieux, la Lady Reaper soupira. Une telle douleur, une telle œuvre terrible, mais telle était sa punition pour son péché de la Malheur de la Malheur. L'ironie d'avoir à tuer ses propres enfants comme punition pour les avoir créés toujours accrochés au fond de son cœur, mais elle a fait son devoir, ce n'était que juste. « Adieu mon enfant, que la mort t'embrasse enfin et libère ta malédiction. » Ilyona a couru sa main à travers ses serrures, la lumière éclatant de ses cheveux. D'un toucher doux, la main de la divinité planait sur le Scythe de Soulset, elle brillait trop, mais elle ne brillait pas l'or éthéré que tant de ses autres biens faisaient, mais au lieu c'était un améthyste profond avec un frisson troublant; même Ilyonas innée chaleur ensoleillée ne pouvait pas dissiper le bord frissonnant. Lady Malicia s'est agenouillée devant le Herald of Dawn, ses compagnons de chasse vêtus d'une tenue similaire à la suite des actions du Chasseur de Vie, je crois que nous avons effacé cette localité........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................... Tu as raison, je crois, cette chasse a pris fin. Tu as bien fait. » Ilyona a levé la main, un halo brillant a commencé à tourbillonner autour d'elle. En quelques secondes, une orbe s'est formée alors qu'elle fermait le poing avant qu'il n'explose avec une touche de poignet. Que la lumière purifie les ombres par les bénédictions les plus divines.Lady Malicia et ses chasseurs murmuraient dans la prière dévot alors que la sphère de lumière s'étendait avec le plus doux brillance des cloches lointaines. Enflammés par les rayons du soleil à l'achèvement, la zone avait été purifiée par la lumière des bénédictions d'Ilyona, la chasse était officiellement terminée, Nous nous retirons à Lindenhold, mes enfants me demandent encore une fois. Se concentrant sur son esprit, la déesse a transformé son faux en un bâton d'accord en un bâton, peut-être une moquerie de son ancien bâton, la Grande Bannière de l'Aube. Infusant les brumes violettes de la lame avec le brouillard doré, Ilyona a frappé l'air une tête d'elle, coupant un portail à sa salle du trône à Kharstav, en utilisant sa grande balise de lumière pour la guider. Avec ses loyaux chasseurs, ses pieds passèrent de la douce saleté de l'extérieur à la pure tuile de marbre ciselée tracée en or fin sur les sols de son donjon royal. C'était un superbe autorium, digne d'une mère reine avec assez de place pour un public pour la rencontrer. Quelques hauts fonctionnaires choisis s'emparèrent et s'emparèrent, faisant tout ce qu'ils devaient pour que le Haven des allows soit en marche. Une patrouille de garde de Spartans Solaris marchait dans leur armure ambre polie et leurs boucliers circulaires illuminés, prenant un moment pour s'agenouiller tandis que leur déesse sortait de son portail. Au loin, les cloches dorées dansaient dans les vents de haute montagne qui apportaient de la chaleur étincelante au lieu des vents de crête frigides habituels de la plupart des montagnes. Grâce à de grandes fenêtres enflammées de rayons de soleil, parfaitement alignées par les ingénieurs et les mages du Soleil pendant des années de bricolage pour accorder juste la bonne quantité du soleil éternel Lindenhold à travers pour apporter juste assez de lumière pour illuminer la salle déjà illustre sans qu'elle soit aveuglante. Et au centre se tenait un grand ensemble d'armures angéliques recouvertes d'un tabard à capuche blanc pur, des courants de rayons bleus flottaient dans l'air derrière lui. Ilyona est le deuxième champion de l'époque, Talvyrn la Garde de l'Aube, a mis sa main sur son cœur et a légèrement hoche la tête, Comment a été ta récolte de purification? Lady Malicia et ses chasseurs ont fait un beau travail en aidant., Ilyona sourit légèrement et fit signe à Talvyrn de reprendre une posture droite,, Avez-vous des nouvelles pour moi? Je le fais, l'un des Gardiens des Cieux t'a donné une convocation au palais céleste. Et ils ne m'en ont pas envoyé personnellement? Je ne suis pas sûr, mais je le suppose. Eh bien, les chasses aux bêtes sont isolées, les actifs solitaires, il pourrait facilement être que j'ai oublié ou ne l'ai jamais reconnu. Avec des pas de grâce, Ilyona se dirigea vers l'une des nombreuses fontaines et regarda le reflet qui la regarda. Tandis que le spigot versait des eaux cristallines à lui-même, la déesse se regardait dans un moment d'introspection. Quels péchés elle portait, c'était ses enfants non-morts, nés d'un cœur trop gentil et bienveillant, qu'elle pensait être son plus grand, mais à partir de tard c'était la rébellion ou plus précisément la guerre. Non pas l'acte de conflit, mais le Dieu de la guerre qu'elle avait frappé avec son Scythe d'âme, l'esprit s'attardant encore dans son vide tourbillonnant, incapable de passer en raison de sa nature autrefois sainte et divine. "Ma Maiden, peut-être devrions-nous partir." Talvyrn apparut sur l'épaule accroupie d'Ilyona, seulement plus grand que la déesse. En dirigeant la lumière de la Beacon de l'Ascention, un rayon de lumière bénie pure qui s'étendait des cieux à la terre a été pris dans la déesse, scythe-staff comme une lumière aveuglé la Mère de la Chance et ses deux champions. Une fois de plus en utilisant son Beacon comme une étoile du nord, les trois se retrouvèrent dans le palais des dieux, à côté du trône éblouissant de pierre blanche finement sculptée avec des détails ambrés dorés, de petites figures atteignant un symbole d'un soleil avec un nombre infini de rayons. Il semblait que trois autres étaient déjà arrivés, deux des anciens rebelles, prêtaient serment aux frères dans les bras des Dieux de la Forge et des mers, puis à la déesse sœur Oksana. Ilyona a hissé vers eux tous, Ilyona a voulu voir deux d'entre vous continuer sur, mais qu'est-ce qui vous tracasse Oksana?Radiant sa chaleur douce normale, elle s'est approchée de l'autre déesse, espérant que Ferrum et Aesis ne l'ont pas tenue à la façon dont elle était celle qui a traité le souffle de mort au Dieu de la guerre.

Name: Ilyona (Ill-ee-own-ah), the Sun Goddess, Maiden of Dawn, Mother of Hallows, Lady Reaper Gender: Female Personality: Ilyona was once a bubbling girl with a heart open to the world, but it would be such that would cause her downfall from being the pure deity of the solar star. Legend has it that the endless cycle of death had constantly caused her pain since her earliest days and sought to if not remove it, at least alleviate and let people live just a bit longer. With determination, she dabbled in magics and powers she was not supposed to even be able to handle and ended up creating Hallows, undead beings with all the sentience of mortals but with an immortal lifespan. However, her magic was not perfect and through repeated death or extreme mental trauma, her creations could go "Feral", driven mad by their new cycle of undeath and suffering. As you would expect, this did not resonate well with many of the other gods, especially the Gods of Life and Death. As punishment, she would have to harvest the souls of the fallen and deliver them to the God of Death. Since then, the goddess has lost a good deal of her bubbly nature and replaced by a more serious attitude. There's always a notion of personal repenting as even now her sin as there are some gods which still do not completely forgive her. However, even if she had created Hallows from a mistake, she acts as a motherly figure to them none the less, caring for them as they are her own creation. Much of her efforts is put into making a home for the often outcasted undead as well as protecting them from those who wish them harm or exploit them. Major Domain: Sun Minor Domain: Harvest & Shadows Avatar: Ilyona appears as a firebird phenix with glorious red and feathers, embers constantly falling in her wake and a dazzling brilliance that surrounds her. However, she only wears this facade when going beyond her own people as she prefers not to be in avatar form, but a shorter more human like form in that case. Stance: Ilyona is currently neutral on who she believes deserves the throne. Part of her wants the throne but she does not believe that she is qualified or even allowed to claim it due to her past actions. Loyalty During Rebellion: Ilyona was on the side of the king, being the one to slay the traitorous War god in the rebellion's waning hours. Its said that the god's spirit is still trapped in her scythe to this day. Center of Power: A small medallion known as the Sunlight Medal serves as Ilyona's Center of Power, its an intricately engraved and decorated golden pendant with bronze detailing and the shinning symbol of a sun on it, it is always kept on her person. Relation: - She harvests souls of the dead for the God of Death - Once had the Minors of Light and Fire but was forced to give those away - Defied both the Gods of Life and Death to create Hallows, unbound undead. (Perhaps this is why she harvests souls for the god of Death) Powers: Ilyona is capable of various light and fire based spells although they are greatly diminished compared to both the powers of the respective gods and her own power long ago; she can only summon blinding light, floating orbs of light and set fire to certain objects amongst few other things. She of course has the supernatural strength that all gods have, and regeneration powers allowing her to come grow limbs, and heal faster than normal. Divine Arms: - Soulset Scythe - The tool to which she reaps the life of those next to die, it is by far Ilyona's less popular weapon but it is her most effective weapon, absorbing the souls of the fallen to empower it, and is also a God Bane weapon. Its actually her former staff, now forever twisted with a ehteral blade but she can still cast some spells with it. Demigod Champions: The glorious knight of sunlight, Talvyrn represents everything saintly about his patron goddess, blessed with wings of light and plate armor fit for legends and a flaming sword, he is Ilyona's noble and honorable face who fights with undaunting courage and bravery. For every light, there is a shadow and Malicia is Ilyona's shadow for she is the one who collects the death tithe for her patron when her patron cannot and hunt the beasts which dwell in the darkest recesses. With a pair of flaming swords, Malicia is the one to expunge the evils within the shadows and collect the due of the living. Lindenhold Lands: High in the mountains of the North lays the haven of those living undead who flee from places which prosecutes them. At the base of the mountains are snowy swamps and frozen boreal forests, beautiful places but poor farming soils; however, Hallows don't really eat much so its of little concern to them. Winding roads and cliff face ramps, flanked by villages and settlements all along the path, lead up the toward the great peaks of the mountains that house impressive cities of white stone and grand citadels. Constructed of brilliant masonry work, the aqueducts and roads of these cities are beautiful, cared for by the Hallows who view them as the property of Ilyona herself. It is through the Sun Goddess's blessings that their towns do not freeze in such high altitudes, ceiling mounted windows are as such a common feature in many buildings with some even having open villas. Epic arches, columns and bridges decorate and connect buildings and even the mountains themselves, all carved with great detail that clearly takes a great deal of time, something that the inhabitants of the Lindenhold Mountains have. People: Hallows, the creations and children of Ilyona, are the ones who live in the high mountains of Lindenhold, as close to the sun as possibile. Although many are human, Hallows refers to any once living sentinent creature that has died and since been brought back with a factured soul not bound to the will of anyone else. At one point, Hallows were raised by Ilyona herself but even she would have never expected the curse which will sometimes bring back those who have fallen to life once more. Being undead, Hallows in other lands are often scorn and hunted, but their immortal nature means that they cannot be killed and many go "feral" after they have died many times or suffer great mental trauma. Once Feral, Hallows can never turn back; it has become one of Ilyona's duty to hunt these Feral Hallows as penitence for creating them. Whatever life these people may have lived in the past, its often wiped away by their new status as undead who bleed a pale milky white ichor. Their appearance can range from looking almost exactly like any normal member of their race to a rotting skeletal frame on dark green flesh. To combat the fact that they can go feral, many look to some great duty in unlife to keep them busy as well as pious prayer to their God Mother who can bless Hallows with light to return their appearance to "normal" once more after they have died or simply decayed. However, all of Ilyona's creations are destinte to turn feral one day meaning that they will be hunted down by their patron goddess and her servants but this is not seen as a terrible thing as many Hallows view it as a "true death" which they will finally be delivered to peace by their own Goddess. Culture: The Hallows are dedicated to the worship of Ilyona as she is the one who created them and one of the few gods who do not show indifference or disgust at them. She protects her creations and cares for them and in return it is the Hallows that support the sun. In addition, it is her blessings which can reverse their appearance back to more normal looking forms. Beyond the pious nature, there's also a focus on perfection and seeing unlife as an eternal journey to experience new things and perfect subjects. As such, master craftsmen from Lindenhold are without parallels and veteran soldiers are without rivals. Death is a tricky subject as some wish to die as soon as they can but cannot be killed by most normal means and their goddess will only end those who have turn Feral. There's two main school of thoughts amongst the Hallows of Lindenhold, both stemming from the champions of Ilyona, Talvyrn and Lady Malicia. Talvyrn is associated with the "Dawn" school of thought and that to best serve is to be righteous and noble and faithful like knights, protecting and defending while also being reserved and more passive. Malicia's "Dusk" school of thought is much the opposite encouraging aggressive hunting of those who have fallen, speed and aggression is key and many subscribers are categorized by being energetic and opportunistic for it is the followers of the sun who must drive back the shadows by fighting in the shadows. Technology & Atheistics: Imperial Roman with a bit of Greek Capital: Kharstav - The Ascension Beacon Of the settlements and locations of Lindenhold, Kharstav is without a doubt the most notable with a light that pierces the central pillar of the city, the Beacon. Its long said that it is this ray of eternal light which guides lost souls to the afterlife under normal circumstances, ironic as most of its inhabitants are those few whose souls have come back to them. With intricately carved bricks and sparkling gems and polished gold, bronze and brass, Kharstav lays claim to the most ornate city in the world with Ilyona making her throne room at the heart of the pillar. No one knows if the beam comes from the sky and came down or was from the earth and shot up, but it is impossible to miss and a breathtaking sight from amongst snowy mountain peaks. Of course, the light also goes below the city and into the catacombs below where the hunters of the shadows reside, ever vigilant in their watch. Beings: Hallows of all races make their home although there are still a few other beings within the realm of Ilyona. Perhaps the most numerous and dangerous are the Feral Hallows and the Soul Beasts, beings fused of multiple souls and bodies that have become horrid amalgamations of all things unholy who came about as Ilyona's creation of the Hallows; her hunters rentlessly seek out these monsters lest they threaten anyone. While only rumors exist of the following, its said that once a race of ogres lived in the mountains before the rise of Lindenhold but were purged to the last by the Goddess and her Knights and Hunters and their bodies have been buried in the mountains.

Naqqash Un son familier dérive à travers la forêt tordue d'Elkesis, un bruit de respiration laborieuse et de lourdes chutes de pas. Un bon rampant entre les tress, profond dans son esprit méditant la souffrance du monde. Il pensait à ceux qui étaient encore dans l'esclavage qu'il ne pouvait sauver, aux misérables perdus et seuls dans le monde qui lui rendaient hommage. Il a versé des larmes de sang pour les âmes qu'il ne pouvait conduire à son oasis à Elkèse. Ses pas étaient la douleur car il se concentrait sur lui-même comme sur les autres, les éperons cruels et les pointes sur ses os griffant et coupant sa peau à l'intérieur et à l'extérieur. Le sentiment d'os déformés grincant et se penchant avec le stress comme sa tête a souffert du casque cruel fusionné à elle... et pourtant il marchait. À travers des brambles et des vignes bordées d'épines, il traque, apparemment ignorant de leur existence. Après tout, c'était sa terre. Aucune bête n'oserait nuire à leur Dieu, à leur gardien, à leur créateur. Elkesis prospérait à son sujet, les sorciers filés s'éloignaient de lui pour trouver d'autres proies. Les plus grands d'entre eux s'inclinèrent la tête avant de tourner, sachant que c'était eux qui devaient rendre hommage. Il gémit tranquillement dans la douleur et l'angoisse, écoutant les âmes dans la douleur dans ses oreilles qu'il ne voulait que soulager leur souffrance. Les arbres semblaient se séparer devant lui et les plantes se prosternaient presque devant ce roi des épines. Eventualy il a entendu les sons d'un de ses groupes folk libres dans une clairière. Ils dansaient autour d'un grand feu, chantaient des louanges et se réjouissaient même dans cette terre dévastée. Les enfants nés ici riaient et jouaient, et les plus anciens d'entre eux racontaient des histoires de leurs cicatrices et du grand dieu de la douleur, de Naqqash qui marchait parmi eux. le dieu vivant du peuple libre. Un sourire a trouvé sa place sur Naqqash alors que ces âmes chantaient pour lui, se réveillant dans leur force et devant leurs grandes douleurs qu'ils dansaient à son image. À travers les arbres, il vint à un grand nombre de gorgés de son peuple, alors qu'ils s'inclinaient devant leur dieu. Il marcha vers un grand arbre abattu, les gens libres se précipitant autour de lui dans l'admiration comme leur dieu tournait devant eux. On entendait le bruit des os qui grinçaient et des déchirures de la peau comme le dieu pâle qui avait la peau s'asseyait lourdement sur le bois noir, un soupir de douleur qui échappait à ses lèvres. Il s'est adressé à son peuple pour lui demander de s'asseoir. Tout le monde l'a fait, les oreilles et les yeux ouverts à leur seigneur, leur sauveur. Il n'était pas un à perdre de vue. "Un conte, un bon peuple, des chaînes que j'apporte et le clash qui est assis au-dessus. Un grand vieil homme qui se flétrissait en dessous, et qui priait les étoiles d'en haut. Non pas pour la miséricorde non, pour cela il n'y avait pas de plaidoyer, mais pour la strngth dans ses bras et l'amour dans son cœur à répandre à d'autres comme lui. Il dit au ciel: «N'enlève pas mes cicatrices, car tu vois le bon ciel, c'est eux que je dois remercier pour la force en moi.» Nos cicatrices ne font que nous rendre tous plus forts, car sans elles nous serions moins. N'oubliez jamais vos cicatrices de bons gens, car ils ne partiront jamais.", c'était alors l'appel du gardien qui sonnait dans sa tête, et Naqqash soupirait une fois de plus alors qu'il se tenait et faisait ses adieux à son peuple. En un éclair de lune, il avait disparu, ne laissant que les yeux étonnants de son peuple, et l'histoire qu'il avait laissée derrière lui. Naqqash est arrivé dans le hall peu après Ilyona. Quelle dichotomie, pour que le soleil rayonnant soit suivi par des épines grotesques du dieu inférieur. Il ne gémit plus dans la douleur ou l'angoisse, car maintenant cela n'a plus d'importance. Il ne réfléchissait pas à la souffrance, et sa force l'emportait, et il ne ressentait aucune douleur. Il regarda la pièce à tous ceux qui étaient arrivés. Oksana, tueuse de son père et de celui qui a tellement obité le retour de son centre. Ferrum, un homme qui s'était opposé à la guerre dans la rébellion mais que Naqqash n'avait rencontré que brièvement. Puis il y eut Aesis, le dieu de la mer qui semblait encore se moquer de la mort de son propre père, le grand-père de Naqqash. Il avait l'air... paisible pour un roi mort, pensait Naqqash. Bien sûr, Ilyona n'était pas loin de Naqqash, mais il n'avait jamais rencontré la déesse du soleil, ne sachant pas quoi penser d'elle ou du Gardien qui était assis à la tête de la table à côté du trône. Naqqash prit tranquillement sa position près de l'extrémité de la table, un peu derrière ses pères vieux fauteuil, où il ne pouvait pas s'asseoir... un autre léger pour lui à porter. Il regarda seulement à Ferrum long wenough pour donner un clin d'oeil de la légion d'achnol, avant de finalement parler. Sa voix lourde portait bien, mais était étrangement soumise néanmoins, "Bonjour. Je suis humble de me retrouver ici une fois de plus, même si les circonstances sont... douloureuses. La perte des grands-pères est un autre fardeau à supporter, et je la supporterai, comme nous le devons tous. »

Name: Naqqash Gender: Male Appearance Naqqash was born a grotesque. Were he not a demigod he no doubt what have been born dead. His bones were warped and many fused together, great spiky growths ripped free of his skin and his skeleton was dotted with cruel bone spurs. His skin was rent and torn, tougher than leather by the time he reached adult hood. His face was so rictus and terrible his father had it hidden beneath a thick helm... through which the spines grew and eventually fused it to his skin like the rest of his armour. He stands at about 13 feet tall, and is well muscled despite his twisted form. Personality: Naqqash is a serious God, he is slow to jest or joke as he believes such things can be distracting. However, despite what you'd expect, Naqqash is neither dowre nor depressed. Indeed, he carries himself with a poised since of hope and determination. He is never idle or lazy, intent on making his hopes and the hopes of his followers a reality. He lets not his pain stop or hinder him, turning it into his strength, a cross to bear turned into tool rather than a crutch or hindrance. He practices what he preaches, he accepts his suffering and moves on, keeping it from hurting him more than it absolutely must. So, while not jovial or seemingly happy, he is kind and understanding. He wishes ill will on very few, only the holders of the lash who do so without thought or remorse. His amiable nature gives way to endless determination when the need arises, stubbornness is a trait he keeps from his father. Major Domain: None Minor Domains: Pain and Loss Your Avatar: A massive three headed dog,large as many other avatars standing several hundred feet tall. Stance: Naqqash is yet to declare an alleigance, too afraid of making the same mistake as his father and backing the wrong Gods. But, suffice to say he hopes to find a side to back that gets him his fathers Center of Power, an item he longs for an believes is his by birthright. Loyalty During the Rebellion: Naqqash sided with his father, the God of Greed, who had sided with War. During the war Naqqash was his fathers principle warrior, being his only child. the Demi god was a talented warrior, said to be able to outlast any opponent in a fight. Some claimed he could not tire, and that no amount of pain could stop him. That his thick skin, dull reaction to pain and thick bones made him nearly un-beatable. While simply a myth made during war, he remained unbested until the very end. Once his father was slain by the Goddess of the storm Oksana, Naqqash immediately surrendered. It was no longer his fight. After that he bent the knee to the King once more, his stake gone with his fathers death. Center of Power: Naqqash has no center of power... his father did. But that is lost to him, or rather kept from him, by the King of the gods so he cannot become a full god. This is due to the fear of the King and Oksana that greed is untrustworthy inherently and would inevitable betray them again. Naqqash is convinced he would do no such thing, and deserves his fathers center. Relations -a good friend and spiritual son of Sekh, god of pestillence (Obscene) -Under the suspicion of the Goddess of time, andd trying to prove himself to her and others (Kit kat) -enemy of Oksana, slayer of his father and one of the primary people keeping his fathers Center of Power out of his hands -Ahru is a friend and positive influence on Naqqash, who is often happy to see the trickster even when neing the subject of jokes and pranks - Powers Naqqash is a dangerous combatant, though his grotesque form could suggest otherwise. Though slower than many other Gods, almost none can match his resilience. In fighting Naqqash relies on his strength and ability to take damage and keep fighting. Though taslented in his own right, the strength he has gained from his life of pain and hardship is his greatest tool. Rare is the fighter who has even a chance to outlast Naqqash. Godly Equipment Golden thorn: Naqqash's personal weapon, it is a fusion of his own old blade and his father's Gods-bane sword. Fused armour: His armor has long since fused with his body, meaning unlike many others who wear armour he is far less slowed down by it. In addition, the armour is nearly impossible to seperate from his body. Bone Spines: His body is covered in cruel, sharp protrusions that torment his form, and are extremely sharp and make fighting him up close exrtremely hazardous. Demi Gods: Naqqash's one and only child, his daughter Scylla is quite young compared to many other demigods having been sired and born shortly after the rebellion. She, like her father, was born a monstrosity though in quite a different way. She is composed of two bodies, one of a monstrous beast below, and her more human but still warped half placed atop its shoulders. Her face is rumoured to carry the marks of a beast as well. She dotes on her father, even taking a mask like his own to cover he face, and seeks to support him in all endeavours. Name of your Land: The followers of Naqqash and indeed Naqqash himself have no lands, being the dispossessed and enslaved. His worshippers are the cults beneath the lash, the gatherings of slaves in the night and the grotesques in the gutters. Those who are lost, in pain, who see no end to their own suffering. These are his worshippers. The young god has far less than others, but thhey are truly fanatical. His priests are the ones who whisper frantically in the night about hope, about freedom and prosperity. He likes it this way. To help the desperate and destitute, and give them hope when it seems there is none. The closest to a land he has are the wilds of Elkesis, a place of deep gnarled woods and disturbing beasts. The beasts and wilds like their creator are twisted and warped and in much pain. Some shoulder it like their master, others are cruel and ornery predators. Also in these woods are his only 'organized' churches. Escaped slaves and grotesque pilgrims dance amongst the trees, embracing their pain and celebrating it together. It is their home, and Naqqash loves it this way. Lands: The Wilds of Elkesis are like something out of a terrifying tale or painting. The trees are blackened and twisted, their trunks gnarled and made up of extremely tough wood. The branches have deep red leaves or no leaves at all, creating a desditute and dark look. The beasts are little better, often large and as disturbing in appearance they prowl the woods fighting eachother or seeking food and always in pain or with some other suffering. Massive hairless dogs with black and cracked skin and a mouth filled with rock like teeth seemingly placed happhazardly along their jaws. Long reptiles with wrinkled scales and pained expressions, beasts stranger still prowl the thick woods with dead foliage that seems to always grow. Gnarled roots and vines seem to try and drag the inhabitants down... but still people live here. The free folk as they call themselves are all quite alike. All have suffered greatly in one way or another, and bear their scars happily. Former slaves and grotesques, shunned children and bastards, victims of abuse at the hands of loved ones or others, prisoners unjustly imprisoned and tortured. All have suffered in their own way, and live together now in the great cults of their lord. They walk through the wilds, often armed and armoured to survive, but exalting their freedom. At night they will build great pyres and dance about them, the scars of life apparent on their flesh in all their own unique ways. Sometimes one of the cults will be visited by their god, whi will join them in revelry, or tell great stories of his suffering, or even set them on a mission to bring more like themselves to this holy land. Here all are free. People: The people of Elkesis were by and large not born their. Most are runaways and wanderers, pilgrims and oasis seekers. They say in order to find his land as a mortal you must have experienced a great pain in their life, and that the gnawing ache will lead there as scars throb and even bleed as they get closer. They are from everywhere and it shows, sking colors of every range are seen and members of many different races find salvation here. And all kinds are welcome, for we all seek a place where we suffer no longer. Culture: Nomadic, the people of Elkesis move where the food is in the wilds, unable to farm the top soil. But they do not do so with frowns, and complain very little. they are stoic and determined to survive in their new lives of freedom, free from thie old pains. All worship Naqqash here, for only his worshippers would ever stay in such a place, let alone find it. Technology: The technology is largely primitive or mix and matched as the populace simply brings whatever they can with them to this oasis. Capital: The closest thing to a capital is the great thicket. A massive patch of briars, thorns, and downed trees. Its said if you can get to the middle it is where Naqqash lives when he is not travelling. Beings

Ahru était assis dans la solitude, croisé au sommet d'une pile de caisses probablement remplies des fruits du travail de son peuple. Ci-dessous, elle regardait ses sujets danser, ses sujets qui ne savaient pas qu'ils étaient ses sujets, se vantant des délices de leur abondante moisson. Ahru a assuré qu'ils auraient des raisons de célébrer. Dans son esprit, ils célébraient la mort de son Père, même s'ils n'étaient pas les plus sages des événements célestes. Son cloque de nuit était drapé sur elle, rendant imperceptible pour tous. D'habitude elle était là à danser parmi eux, ils n'étaient pas plus sages que leur patron Dieu était à leurs côtés, mais malgré elle elle n'avait pas d'appétit pour leur fête. Une voix sonnait à côté d'elle, "Mère, je sais que tu es ici." Le renard pouvait la sentir, elle le savait. Il s'était faufilé sur elle sans le savoir pendant qu'elle était prise dans les travers de sa propre pensée, prenant un siège à côté du Dieu du Détachement. Elle serait tout aussi heureuse de l'ignorer jusqu'à ce qu'il parte, mais elle savait qu'il ne cesserait pas de la piéger. Elle n'a pas voulu éviter la conversation qu'elle avait redoutée. "Reynard, qu'est-ce que tu veux?" Le Dieu a demandé, irritation se faufilant dans sa voix. Le renard soupirait. "Pourquoi êtes-vous là? Tu ne devrais pas fêter ça avec eux? Après tout, vous avez eu tout le mal à organiser leur fête. Ne devriez-vous pas être heureux? Je sais que la mort de Grand-père est une cause de fête pour vous. » Reynard a parlé de sa pièce, et Ahru espérait que c'était tout ce qu'il avait à dire. Ahru soupirait en retour. "Vous avez raison, la mort du vieil homme est une occasion joyeuse... mais elle représente aussi... comment dire cela... une occasion perdue. Es-tu heureuse? Je t'ai demandé de ne pas me déranger, donc j'espère que tu as plus de raisons d'être ici que de me surveiller. » Le renard se contentait de se râler; il commençait à la râper et il le savait. "Il y a autre chose, maman. Várlil... tu sais que tu ne peux pas le laisser ramper pour toujours. Il faut l'arrêter." Ahru secoua la tête en réponse : « Je ne vois pas comment les préoccupations des mortels sont les miennes. Laissez Várlil la Vile faire ce qu'il veut, ce n'est pas mon travail d'arrêter tout humain rampant." Le renard était prompt à revenir, la colère commençant à s'élever dans sa voix, "Mère, tu ne peux pas prétendre pour toujours. C'est votre fils, comme moi. C'est un demigod et c'est notre responsabilité de l'arrêter. Les gens de Jarenhold reconnaissent qu'il n'est pas un humain ordinaire, ils trouveront cause à blâmer leur déesse pour sa création assez tôt. De plus, vous devez vous pardonner pour Ort-" Ahru l'a coupé. "Ne me dites pas ce nom, Kitsune. Si vous voulez arrêter Várlil, alors partez, je vous fais attention à faire ce que vous voulez. Cette conversation est beaucoup trop sérieuse pour le Dieu du Malice, alors je vous dis d'adieu. » La colère d'Ahru était claire. Le Dieu du Malice n'était pas souvent en colère, et ce n'était pas une vue agréable quand elle était. Reynard a froncé. "Très bien. Je crains de ne pas pouvoir le faire au mieux par moi-même et demander votre aide, mais il est clair que je ne vais pas l'obtenir... il y a encore une chose, cependant. » La patience de la déesse était mince. "Parle vite, alors." Le renard cria : « Je suis sûr que vous serez bientôt appelés au Ciel pour siéger au Concile des Dieux. Vous n'avez pas de suite à venir avec vous, pas de serviteurs ou de sujets qui suivraient, permettez-moi de vous accompagner, mère. Les autres Dieux apportent sûrement des disciples, il me plairait beaucoup si vous permettez que je vienne." La Déesse regarda le renard. Elle a retiré une partie de son manteau, ne laissant que son visage visible. Ses yeux ont brûlé de colère. C'est ce que tu devais me dire? Allez-vous-en. Tout de suite." Le renard a hurlé. Il suivrait toujours les ordres de sa mère malgré lui. Reynard s'est permis de tomber au sol, s'enfuyant rapidement dans la foule. Quel spectacle inadapté pour un Dieu comme moi. Un tel sérieux n'est pas comme moi. Elle savait dans son cœur que c'était à cause de sa propre culpabilité qu'elle s'était permise de manifester une telle colère; elle préférait prétendre qu'elle n'avait pas d'enfants du tout. L'appel aux Cieux est venu peu de temps après. Elle était impatiente de voir le vieil homme mort, au moins. Désireux encore plus pour la chance de danser sur sa pierre tombale, mais qui attendrait que ses frères et sœurs soient hors de vue afin de ne pas attirer leur fureur. Tout d'un coup, comme elle avait été à Alarah, elle était partie, apparaissant dans les cieux avec un grand épanouissement, une suite de papillons bleus brillants apparaissant à côté d'elle, s'éloignant dans le néant. Elle aimait faire une entrée. Elle a regardé de l'autre côté de la pièce. Certains de ses frères et sœurs étaient déjà arrivés. Elle a appelé chacun d'eux à son tour "Ferrum! L'Aessie! Ilyona! C'est bon de te voir. Et... Oskana aussi, hein... quelle... "Le plaisir?" Sa voix adoucit clairement en voyant Oskana, mais s'éclaircit bientôt : « Naqqash! Nephew, quel plaisir de vous voir à notre conseil." Elle se promène vers le garçon, rencontrant facilement ses yeux. Beaucoup d'entre eux se moquaient de son apparence grotesque, mais elle ne l'a pas fait. Elle lui a demandé de s'abaisser à son niveau pour qu'elle puisse murmurer : « Je suis sûr que tu feras un grand Dieu, neveu. » Les paroles d'encouragement étaient assez basses pour que les autres ne puissent pas entendre. Elle avait un point mou non caractéristique pour le Dieu nouvellement créé. Elle a ensuite roulé autour pour faire face au cercueil en diamant qui se trouvait au centre de la pièce. "Et comment pourrais-je oublier de dire bonjour à l'invité d'honneur?" Elle s'est dit, assez bas pour que les autres ne l'entendent que comme un murmure. Elle s'est promène dans le cercueil. Pour penser, il est vraiment mort. Quel jour fortuit aujourd'hui. Elle pensait à elle-même. Elle devait supprimer son sourire ; elle avait fait un bon travail pour garder son irritation envers son père un secret des autres et elle ne le révélerait pas maintenant, de peur qu'ils ne se retournent sur elle. Elle se retourna pour faire face à son trône, qui était beaucoup plus petit que les autres dans la pièce, fait pour correspondre à sa forme mortelle. Il s'agissait d'une chaise en bois sculptée de façon complexe, présentant un savoir-faire artisanal, mais simple par rapport à d'autres.

Gender: More often than not Ahru manifests as a female, although the benefits of shape changing for a legendary prankster such as herself are clear. Almost all traditional depictions reflect her preferred female form, however. Appearance: Ahru is an oddity among her fellow Gods. Despite most of them preferring their imposing immortal form Ahru instead appears as a mere mortal woman at almost all times. After all, it's easier to trick mortals when you look like them. Moreover as a mortal her Godly peers take her less seriously, which she quite honestly prefers. In her mortal form she stands far below other Gods, a mere 5'6". She is a lithe women, possessing a slender and quick frame. The girl is pale with a face alight with freckles. She is beautiful, as most Gods are, which proves to be an asset in her pranks. It's easier for her to manipulate someone attracted to her, after all. Ahru maintains an air of jolliness and informality, a guise that has long become effortless for her. She has a predisposition to mindlessly space out, playing with her hair or swinging her legs to and fro as she sits, giving the impression that she is carefree even in the most dire situations. She hasn't felt the need to call upon her godly form for some time and as such few Gods but those she favors greatly can claim to have seen it in person. Personality: Ahru is undoubtedly the most carefree of the Gods. She cares not for their politics unless, of course, she has the opportunity to make things more 'interesting'. She is a being in constant search of a new distraction. She is fickle, rash, and most of all mischievous. She is known as the Trickster of the Gods for good reason. While her peers may be interested in establishing order in the world she is the source of chaos. She revels in disrupting the plans of her fellow Gods and inflicting her whims on the mortal world. One should not be mistaken, she is not 'evil' as one would traditionally define it, but is merely interested in creating situations that in turn interest her. Perhaps the most dangerous aspect of dealing with her is the fact that she is quick to change her mind, constantly acting on her first impulse. Of course she derives entertainment from far more baser activities as well- dancing, singing, anything that might sate her desire for a good time. Most of all she enjoys playing simple pranks on the Gods themselves- while creating chaos in the world may be fun the thought of Aesis sitting on a whoopie cushion greatly appeals to her as well. Despite her comical personality Ahru is deceptively shrewd and intelligent, traits that make her a natural deceiver. Her licentious attitude causes many to underestimate her, a mistake that has caused the downfall of many. If one can put up with Ahru's antics they may find a valuable albeit annoying friend, but many of her fellow immortals find her insufferable. Major Domain: Ahru is the God of Mischief, holding dominion over tricks, pranks, and more sinister acts of deception. Minor Domains: Fortune, Secrets Avatar: The Jabberwock stands at nearly 150 feet, smaller than most Godly avatars but making up for the disparity in agility and ferocity. The Jabberwock is a fearsome creature, imperceptibly fast with strength to boot. Despite its vicious appearance and aptitude for combat The Jabberwock reflects the disposition of Ahru: It has not interest in fighting. It will not attack unless it or Ahru is attacked. Instead it is content with playing games with mere mortals and, occasionally, the Gods if they are so interested. The Jabberwock is a master of all games, approaching humans with a promise: Those that can beat it in any game will receive whatever their heart desires, but those that lose will be cursed to die in a painful and premature fashion. Stance: Ahru, of course, has absolutely no interest in ruling the Gods. That would be, by her estimation, incredibly boring. She does not strongly support anyone, preferring to keep her allegiance for whoever proves to be most interesting. Loyalty During the Rebellion: Who needs to pick a side? Ahru is on every side and no side. She had no allegiance, instead going from one side to another to ensure things stayed as interesting as possible. Center of Power: Most Gods objects of power are something that's important to them or something that represents their power. Ahru's center of power is a mouse. A live mouse. Her more serious siblings have admonished her for pestering the King of Gods to give her such an obviously terrible Center of Power. Her response? She did it because it was fun. Having a living Center of Power was just so much more interesting! Luckily her mouse, whom she has named Puck, has grown fond of her and is reluctant to make an escape attempt. Puck will try to find its way back to her if lost as well/ To be quite frank Ahru likes the mouse as well, and considers making her Center of Power her pet one of her better decisions. Relations: Aesis: Living on an island Ahru shares a border with Aesis, God of the Seas. Ahru revels in pranking the serious God, who gets some measure of amusement from her antics. She also knows that if she isn't on his good side he'd cause trouble for Jarenhold, which probably wouldn't be good for her. Donavall: The former God of Family was good friend of Ahru's. Kovar, God of War, gave Ahru the ultimatum to kill Donavall or be destroyed. Ahru choose the former but regrets her actions and hates Kovar for making her murder her friend. Di'Myria: The Goddess of Time and Ahru are like-minded, both out for their own amusement. They get along well and are close friends. Ferrum: The God of the Forge is amused by Ahru's pranks, but Ahru constantly tries to go a little too far with him. She makes a game of trying to arouse his well hidden anger. Ki'ivara: Ahru enjoys the company of the Goddess of Lust, one of the few Gods that like her antics. Ahru can appreciate someone who knows what they want, in addition to her other 'assets' as the personification of lust. Lacetris: Ahru totally abuses the God of Darkness' good nature. She ropes him into her schemes constantly causing him to neglect his own duties. Naqqash: Naqqash is the son of Prephistes, God of Greed. Ahru was good friends with Prephistes before his premature death, and her affection for him has inspired her to protect his son. She makes sure he's getting along well with the whole 'becoming a God' thing while in the process of playing one of her practical jokes on him. Sekh: Sekh might not consider the God of Mischief a friend, but she considers him one. He is one of her favorite targets because she knows that he hates when she makes fun of him. Xsar and Janin: Ahru forms a triumvirate of sorts with the God's of Alcohol and Madness. The share similar interests and are drink together often. Killgarh: Ahru enjoys inflicting her mischief upon the God of Dragons, but he does not enjoy her japes. Additionally he is a close ally of Oskana and Ahru considers him a little too honorable. Kovar: To put it lightly Ahru is glad that War is dead. Although she at first appreciated his rebellion since it made things a little bit more interesting she resents the Rebel's leader for making her kill Donavall, the God of Family. He's dead now so she doesn't worry about him too much, however... Oskana: The Goddess of Storm represents order in the Sphere of the Gods- a natural enemy for the God of Mischief. She also killed Ahru's friend Greed during War's rebellion. Ahru greatly resents Oskana. Oskana in turn dislikes Ahru because of her actions during the war. Zadia: Ahru harbors a deep hate for Zadia. The newly made God stuck her spear through Ahru's firstborn daughter Orthia during War's Rebellion, an act that Ahru will surely never forgive her for. Powers: Ahru is a highly capable archer, said to never miss her mark. Being a trickster she is naturally very agile and hard to get a hold of. She has little skill in a melee to speak of, preferring to keep her distance and stay out of direct combat. Her greatest skill is that of guile, the ability to sneak and steal. Even without her Skeleton Key it is said that she can pick any non-magical lock. Ahru has the ability to peer into the mind of mortals and discover their darkest secrets; this ability does not work when used upon immortals. Despite her prowess in combat it is rare to see her in a battle; fighting simply does not match her definition of fun. Ahru's power lies truly in her ability to trick and deceive even the Gods. To this end while she is in mortal form she can change her shape at will, although is unable to exceed the size of her typical form. Godly Equipment: Sunstrike- Legend hold's that Ahru's bow, Sunstrike, has the power to pierce even the Sun, hence its name. She has yet to test this particular feature for fear of how she may alter existence as she knows it... and the wrath of Ilyona. However it is certain that an arrow shot from Sunstrike is very hard to stop, able to pierce shields, armor, and just about everything in the mortal world. Each arrow shot from the bow is rendered nigh unstoppable. Despite the great urge to wreak havoc with the weapon Ahru does demonstrate an uncharacteristic restraint with it, for fear that her peers will take it from her if she gets too eager. The bow is crafted from the light of the Moon itself, the limbs of the weapon having an ethereal quality, seemingly made of moonlight but nigh unbreakable. The string is taken from a lock of Ahru's own hair- not that of her mortal form, but of her godly form. It is a weapon greatly treasured by the trickster. It is a God's Bane weapon, although she has yet to try to claim an immortal life with it. The Dagger That Does Not Cut- One of the most curious weapons in the God's arsenal is her dagger. As the name implies the dagger is incredibly dull and is unable to cut even the softest of cheese. Despite this it is completely unbreakable no matter how much force is applied to it. The dagger has another curious property: All who touch its blade are destined to misfortune. Their plans will fail, their loved ones will come to shun them, they will lose their wealth, and for the rest of their life, however long that may be, they will be shrouded by misfortune. She has yet to see how the dagger will affect a God, but it is not a God's Bane weapon, so it is unknown how much of the dagger's properties will work upon an immortal. Ahru suspects that while it is not able to kill a God it will give them a burst of bad fortune. Skeleton Key- Ahru's greatest tool, a key that can open any lock. Its head has the design of a skull, but the rest of the key is ever changing to match the lock it will fit into. Only Ahru knows the secret to creating a lock that will not yield to the key, but she of course refuses to share this knowledge. Cloak of Night- When one looks upon the cloak it seems to be night itself- the black canvas seemingly as dark as the night's sky filled with glowing points of light that look like stars. It is a beautifully crafted garment made from the wool of a winged black ram; a strange creature borne into the mortal world by Rieth himself. The cloak has the unusual ability of turning all who wear it completely invisible, undoubtedly a useful tool in the trickster's arsenal. Ahru's Slippers- The unfortunate result of Ahru's own attempts at making a tool worthy of her pranks. These ill fitting slippers are ugly; a craftsman Ahru is not. There are made of the leather taken from a centaur and blessed with her own power. They are an ugly shade of brown and the shoe is improperly glued together, threatening constantly to come apart but never committing to self-destruction. They are uncomfortable on Ahru's feet but she finds herself wearing them often, perhaps because she feels some semblance of pride in their design, or, more likely, because of their extra-ordinary properties. Those who wear produce no sound from their feet. That is to say the sound of footsteps or that of falling are imperceptible to all but the wearer. Demi Gods: Várlil is Ahru's first born son, spawn of one of the few able to beat the Jabberwock in a game. Várlil is a murderer, raper, and committer of many more vile deeds in the mortal world- he is like his mother in the fact that he commits acts of chaos for his mere amusement, although he is far more evil. He encompasses the darker side of her mischief. Quite frankly Ahru would prefer to ignore him, never having need to call upon him, embarrassed by his crassness and violent tendencies. He has the supernatural strength that Ahru possesses alongside all gods and her great skill with the bow. Reynard appears less a fox and more some creature of magic. Ahru is the father, not the mother, of Reynard. The result of one of her whims, an 'experiment' with her shape changing abilities, Ahru is content with pretending Reynard does not exist. If Várlil represents the dark of Ahru's domain then the fox represents the lighter side of the sphere of mischief. He is a playful prankster and well loved in the mortal world, more whimsy than malice. Much like his sibling Ahru does not call upon her spawn often, but Reynard is eager for the chance to appease his parent. Reynard has the agility of Ahru and the ability to turn into shadow at his whim. Orthia was Ahru's first child, and the only one she had ever cared for. The stories go that Orthia's father was a man of Jarenhold that the Goddess of Mischief met not long after she was created. As a newly born God she was eager to explore her lands, and her whims led her into one of her subject's beds. Orthia was the result of their union, and Ahru was eager to dote on the newly made demigod. Orthia was a capable warrior and possessed the better qualities of her younger siblings- Reynard's agility and charisma and Várlil's skill with the bow and great strength. Most importantly she possessed Ahru's sense of humor and her lively spirit. When Ahru entered War's Rebellion her daughter was not far behind, following her as she ping ponged between the two sides. She was ultimately struck down by War's daughter Zadia in battle, an act that Ahru will never forgive the newly made God for. Ahru arrived at the battle too late, routing Zadia's army but losing her daughter. Ahru never forgave herself, withdrawing form her two sons soon after, leaving them to their own devices. Name of your Land: Jarenhold (Pronounced Yar-en-hold) Lands: Jarenhold is an island entrenched in an eternal autumn, a surprisingly beautiful land considering the character of its ruler. It is covered in autumnal forests alight with the colors of fall,: red, orange, and brown hues of leaves that are nigh constantly falling. Despite this the trees are never bare, seemingly growing leaves as fast as they lose them. Besides the woods of Jarenhold one can find rolling fields that are canvased by flowers. Jarenhold is a temperate island, never overly hot or cold but maintaining a pleasant sunny atmosphere. Near the coast the forest and fields give way to beaches covered in white sand. The flora and fauna of Jarenhold are not peculiar- they are what you would expect from the mortal realm, overall an idyllic land that does not match its ruler. People: The people of Jarenhold are simple, ordinary humans. They are predispositioned to a pale white complexion and red hair, matching their God's chosen form. Culture: Men of Jarenhold are simple and hardworking- the land is known for the farms that dot its fields, storied as the source of the finest ale and produce in the mortal world. As the fields turn into the coast farming towns become smattering of fishing villages. Although they are a people that value labor their God ensured that they know how to have a good time. The towns of Jarenhold are alight with parties after the workday that will last well into the evening. Perhaps one of the greatest oddities in Jarenhold is the fact that Ahru can be found regularly joining in her people's revelry and, of course, playing tricks on them. For them she is less a God and more a whimsical spirit- in fact many in her land would not recognize her as the God of Mischief, more accustomed to worshiping depictions of her unfavored immortal form. Jarenhold is a simple land of simple people, although one must ask, why does a God such as Ahru hold dominion over such a seemingly unfitting land? The answer is simple: It's more fun for her to inflict her brand of mischief on ordinary mortals. For her the land of Jarenhold is less her domain and more a playground for her to find her jollies. Technology: The land of Jarenhold is best described as Medieval Era, although there is little technology to speak of besides that which may be applied to farming. That is to say that one might find water wheels and advanced farming techniques but innovations involving warfare and weaponcraft are much less commonplace, as Jarenhold's people are a peaceful breed. Capital: Jarenhold's capital, Alarah, is perhaps only distinguished from the other villages in that it is slightly larger and more centrally located. The architecture of Alarah, much like the rest of Jarenhold, is simple and wooden, the most formidable building in the village being a longhall dedicated to worship of their God. Beings: Jarenhold has a small population of Kitsune. They are ordinary foxes save for the capability to speak and an intellect matching a human. Their ideals fall more in line with that of Ahru's. They revel in inflicting her mischief upon the people of Jarenhold, and are disliked by their Human neighbors. The exception to this is Reynard, who is respected as Ahru's own offspring, a Half-Breed who possess the ability to walk on two legs as a Human would. He has become well liked by the people of Alarah, his particular brand of whimsy and fun injecting life into the town.

Di'Myria Déesse du temps "Eh bien oui, aha... Chane, je crois que tu m'as frappé. "Le dieu déguisé a regagné le boulanger une fois de plus, il a aussi continué son travail joyeusement. Tandis que le boulanger commençait à organiser des pains à mettre au four, un coup venait de la porte. Avant même qu'il ne puisse se retourner pour saluer celui qui était entré, une femme beaucoup plus grande vêtue d'armure est entrée dans la boulangerie. Chane a rapidement posé les pains dans sa main pour saluer le Demigod avec un pliage de ses mains et un arc rapide. "Madam Vespira, je n'ai pas ex- Pardonne mon caractère informel, mais j'ai peur de devoir emmener Ospira avec moi en dehors de la ville. Je m'assurerai que ma mère se réconcilie avec ma grossièreté et que je prenne votre compagnie.Le demi-dôme a été un peu essoufflé en raison de la hauteur du plafond, alors que son regard s'est déplacé vers sa mère déguisée. Elle a donné à sa mère un léger regard de déception avant de se tourner vers Chane. L'humble réponse du boulanger fut rapide, quelque peu respectueuse de l'un des gardiens de la ville. Bien sûr. Vous n'avez pas à, Ospira ici était juste m'aider à passer le temps. Oui, assez bien en fait. J'ai mentionné que je voyage beaucoup, je l'ai souvent rencontrée à Valas. » Ospira, comme elle était connue de Chane et d'autres personnes dans la capitale, s'est levée. L'épée berça et plongea sur son épaule, et Ospira se dirigea vers la porte. De toute façon, je reviens, Chane. Ce serait impoli de faire attendre un demi-démiède! ─ La déesse s'écria joyeusement, avant de faire des pas hors de la porte. Vespira a suivi de près derrière, donnant au boulanger une vague à mesure que les deux sortirent de la boulangerie. "Je vais avoir quelque chose pour vous prêt la prochaine fois!" Chane retourné à son pain, se demandant combien d'aventures Ospira avait laissé à partager. Tu n'avais pas besoin de m'éloigner, Ves.. Di..Myria a regardé le demi-dôme, secouant la tête si légèrement. Il était probablement un peu loin de deviner que cette forme était en fait la Déesse du Temps elle-même, bien qu'Ospira avait une ressemblance frappante avec Vespira. Oui, si me laisser en retard serait impoli, à quel point il serait impoli d'être en retard à une réunion de famille? ─ Les deux d'entre eux continuaient leur trek au Sanctuaire, ce qui leur donnerait assez de temps pour parler. S'ils n'ont pas beaucoup changé au cours des quatre cents dernières années, je pense que nous pourrions être parmi les premiers à être là. Ça va? Génial! Et en plus, Ves, laisse tomber. Nous allons être stressés pendant environ un mois pour ces réunions...Ospira a tiré ses cheveux en arrière avant de regarder vers le ciel. "Laisse-moi passer mon temps loin de mes pensées, est-ce que c'est bien l'enfant...?"La déesse de l'émotion de deuil avait glissé à travers la guise d'Ospira, et sa fille a remarqué. Oui, mère. Kiroas nous attend... Vespira avait assez de respect pour sa mère pour ne pas la critiquer dans un moment comme celui-ci, bien qu'en interne elle ait eu son dégoût. L'actualité de sa mère avait toujours été un problème, la fusion constante de sa mère avec les mortels... Bien que maintenant qu'elle était ici, il était temps d'un peu de respect. Je vous remercie. Une de vos tantes fait toujours de son mieux pour me rappeler de prendre un congé, et un de vos oncles vient toujours me voir pour m'aider à le faire. Maintenant, nous nous dirigeons vers le Sanctuaire, puis vers les Cieux. » Avec un éclair rapide dans sa propre sphère du temps, Di-Myria s'est déplacée dans sa propre forme de déesse, bien qu'au lieu de revenir instantanément en temps réel, Di-Myria a pris un moment pour respirer. Elle a pensé qu'il convenait de prendre un moment pour réfléchir avant de se diriger correctement vers le Sanctuaire, bien qu'elle soit maintenant coincée pour un moment de boucle. Son père et plusieurs de ses frères et sœurs lui avaient toujours dit que prendre trop de temps pour penser était ce qui allait finir par la tuer à la fin. Pendant la dernière moitié de sa vie, elle avait travaillé à prendre beaucoup, beaucoup plus de temps pour elle-même et profiter de son peuple. Grâce à la plupart de ses frères et sœurs, elle avait changé pour le mieux, mais maintenant elle ressentait la solennité la plus forte liée étroitement à son deuil. Elle pouvait épargner ces émotions fortes pour quand elle était à côté de son père lit de mort. C'était le moment de continuer, alors que Di-Myria retournait en temps réel. La Déesse poursuivit son pas, regardant vers le bas vers sa fille tandis que les deux d'entre eux poursuivirent leurs pas vers le haut. Le Sanctuaire était à peu près un quart du chemin vers le haut du sentier, bien que leur maison était au sommet du sentier, mais pas au sommet de la montagne. Juste assez haut pour oublier les villes interconnectées. Vespira regarda les yeux de Di-Myria, qui exprima un peu une courte douleur. Elle ne voulait pas tout à fait aborder le fait qu'elle a remarqué que sa mère prenait une seconde légèrement prolongée pour changer d'apparence, bien qu'à ce stade cela n'avait pas d'importance. Le reste de la promenade a été pris tranquillement, car les deux d'entre eux n'avaient qu'une poignée de marches. Leur rythme était passé de Myria à l'opposé de ses filles, Di-Myria se tournant ensuite vers sa fille alors qu'elles passaient dans le Sanctuaire. Le design de base du Sanctuaire était comme d'un très grand gazebo en marbre avec une horloge de plancher relativement petite au centre du sol, avec les mots ‘En Hommage à notre déesse, Di-Myria' gravé autour de l'horloge. Cette horloge en particulier avait des piliers beaucoup plus petits mais fonctionnait toujours parfaitement bien, comme a été conçu ma Di-Myria. En attendant leur arrivée, Kiroas se leva sur le bord du Sanctuaire, regardant vers le bas dans les villes en dessous. Mère, sœur, tu es en retard.Il s'est tourné vers les deux d'entre eux, s'inclinant la tête comme le son de ses armures mouvements était la seule chose entendue pour le moment. "Glad de vous voir en bonne forme, Kiroas. "Dio Myria a reconnu son fils sans reconnaître le retard, tirant le collier de son cou. Les plusieurs anneaux ont commencé à tourner l'un autour de l'autre, avant que Di-Myria ferme les yeux pendant quelques secondes. "Quelque chose, bien que vous ne pouvez pas me blâmer pour Mère." Vespira se tenait à côté de son frère alors que les deux d'entre eux partagent une expression à la fois de l'irritation et de la compréhension. C'est qu'ils se comprenaient tous les deux, pas Myria. Alors que l'air se déplaçait légèrement, le médaillon de l'horlogerie commençait à tourner, les trois marchaient au centre du Sanctuaire, Kiroas sur sa droite, Vespira sur sa gauche. Les grands piliers qui retenaient le toit avaient une faible lueur autour d'eux, avec la brise qui s'enfonçait et une petite sphère de distorsion qui les engloutissait tous. Les anneaux autour de la sphère ont rapidement disparu, la sphère elle-même se dispersant et ne laissant que les trois à sa place. Di-Myria s'est préparée aux formalités accablantes qui l'ont approchée, sachant que ce serait quelques jours solennels comme les choses étaient triées entre tous les dieux. Elle a fait ses pas en avant en regardant autour de ceux qui sont arrivés. À part les frères et sœurs, elle les voyait comme des amis, des alliés. De ceux qui étaient présents, elle voyait une ponctualité constante, une dispute entre frères ou sœurs ou deux, un sort laissé incontrôlable, un héritage dangereux et une plaisanterie légère. Des souvenirs distincts qu'elle a gardés proches, quelque chose sur toute sa famille. Il y en avait quelques-uns qu'elle aimerait saluer spécifiquement, bien qu'après que ses cotisations soient payées à son père. Ses deux enfants se tenaient à leurs côtés respectifs du trône de Di-Myria, qui était marbré et avec des contours d'or, des plans de pilier distincts faisant les bords du trône. Sur les deux coins supérieurs étaient des anneaux similaires au médaillon, bien que statique comme Di-Myria n'était pas assis. Une bizarrerie s'est présentée, au pied du trône était une horloge qui semblait à la fois plate mais qui fonctionnait parfaitement bien, illustrant ses propres ombres sur la surface plate. Di-Myria marcha vers le cercueil, bien qu'attendant derrière ceux qui étaient venus avant elle. Elle aurait son tour. Pendant qu'elle se tenait là, Myria murmurait un «merci» calme sous son souffle, puis s'adressait aux dieux autour d'elle. Bonne journée à vous tous. J'espère que vous vous êtes bien débrouillés. "Ferrum, mon frère, je pense que toi et moi devrions épargner une minute ou deux pendant une entracte."Elle avait l'air d'un des plus grands frères et sœurs, avec un doux clin d'œil de compassion envoyé à lui, avant qu'elle ne se tourne vers Ahru. Monsieur, pardonnez-moi si je pouvais être moins énergique pour le moment, et je ferai de même pour vous.Un sourire s'est tourné vers elle avant que Di=Myria recule du cercueil. D'autres auront leurs moments maintenant, mais Di-Myria aurait son temps donné assez d'espace. Elle n'aurait besoin que de quelques secondes, mais elle pourrait facilement transformer ça en une demi-heure. Pour l'instant, Di'Myria a déplacé son regard sur les autres chaises, voyant qui s'approcherait ensuite, et donnant à ceux qui entourent le cercueil leur temps et leur espace autour.

Name: Di’Myria, Goddess of Time, Patron of Navigation, Maiden of the Oracle. Ospiria Gender: Female Appearance: Standing at a 12’2, Di’Myria prefers to keep the formal clothing which she has donned for quite a while. She prefers shades of blue, and always has her shawl on her person. She does spend a lot of time in her mortal form, at about 5’6 without assistance of footwear. The gradient of her hair shifts to a solid color, and in this form she gives off the impression of being a traveler with a sword for defense and hunting. Personality: “Which would you prefer? Playful me or being spited by time itself. I personally think it’s a lot more fun this way, though I do have some sort of a reputation.” Di’Myria could be seen as a bit immature for a Goddess at some points, though when you have as much time as she does to be all serious, some things get boring. Her most outward impression is that she attempts to take as much amusement as possible out of most scenarios, except for those of serious matters. In which, she often goes into her own sphere of thought as need be. She often spends time disguised as a mortal just to see how things are doing, and enjoys it quite so. Generally, Di’Myria is benevolent, and attempts to have as close relations with the other gods and possible. Her intent has always been to keep order and do her best to create peace. She generally is one of trying to lighten up the mood, although when need be will push in authority. Her being serious is a bit of an odd sight though she does her best to enforce, but can easily flip the coin. Major Domain: Time Minor Domains: Oracles and Navigation Avatar: Resembling the Flying Felines in Magnus, De'Metus is a spectral looking feline who, spare for the glowing blue aura and claws, looks perfectly like a winged lion. Physically it's a bit smaller than an averaged sized avatar, however the glowing aura surrounding it makes it a lot more menacing and appear much larger than it is. Stance: “Not everyone can be trusted, especially after what’s happened in history.” Despite her relaxed attitude toward most things, Myria doesn’t trust anybody else at the moment to take the throne properly, being cynical even among the gods. Her response and resolution to this would be to go and defend the throne and take power if needed. Loyalty During the Rebellion: “Many rulers have problem, even our king. An attempted coup like so was not the way to address it. I had my moments fighting in the war, but I proved myself in battle and we all are better off now then we were centuries ago.” Center of Power: Clockwork Medallion - A small three golden necklace with several spinning rings, Di'Myria keeps this on her neck at all times, and it seems to shrink when she's disguised as a mortal. Relations: Ahru - The two of them have always been pretty close due to their similar nature of self-entertainment and somewhat messing with their people. Aesis - A bit of a cold shoulder experience after the war, the two of them were a lot closer before, though Di'Myria wishes for the closer relations to return. Loshtar - Put simply, Di’Myria has had to prove her capability once in history. The death of Murder. Powers: In combat, Di’Myria primarily uses her powers as a utility rather than primary use. Most of her abilities have a slight temporal effect on Myterias Prima. Her power is a lot weaker when being used on other Gods, because they all are anchored to time heavier than mortals are. Sphere of Thought - Not a combat ability, though in the need of making a very important decision or having a conversation with a person or two, Myria can isolate herself and others in a short sphere of highly sped up time to think or talk. This is where Myria spends most of her deliberation time and can spend a minute for an exchange lasting an hour. This sphere can be broken and disrupted if used in combat. Temporal Adjustment - This sums up the general specifics of her powers, creating distortions in time which affect mortals and most things in time. When used against Gods, it’s effect is severely limited. She creates a few events in time to either slow down others or speed herself up. The first two make it so that she can react faster or use her weapons in better timing than without. When used against Gods, their anchor to time makes it so that there’s an equilibrium Myria has to meet between speed and duration. One half second burst of highly sped up time for her or several seconds of time slightly sped up or slowed down for her opponents. When used against mortals, the equilibrium has a much wider range and she can use her power to the highest extent. Distortion Event - Between a handful of points, Myria can flash herself back or forward in time a few seconds during combat events. In the world, it’s applications are far more wide, although rarely used. Myria sees no purpose in altering timeflow by sending things forward or backward in time by large gaps, though she uses this to send short prophetic messages about the weather or seasons to help better her people. Godly Equipment: Continuity Blade - A dark metal broadsword, which when used in conjunction with Di’Myria’s abilities causes a bit of a repeated strike a half second afterwards. It creates an aura behind her blade which repeats the previous strike. This is a Gods Bane weapon. When used by a full-sized god, this sword’s guard extends and creates a glowing aura of a much larger blade, for proper use by said god. Perfectionist Pendulum - A small gilded pocketwatch and compass for navigation. The compass lines up with the stars and cardinal directions and is synced to time much more perfectly than The Great Clock of Prima using a small magical motor, fueled by Di’Myria’s power. Timewinder’s Shawl - Not quite a weapon or utility, but this shawl is imbued with protective energies. It also tends to glow when in combat, and if Di’Myria needs to make an entrance. Demi Gods: Kiroas - Kiroas stands at 9'5, usually donning his custom armor of the MHC. Far too serious for his mother, Kiroas is considered The Guardian of Myterias. Kiroas uses the fraction of Di’Myria’s power he inherited to repel borders from the slightly antagonistic packs of Winged Felines and enforce order throughout the land. He’s terribly stiff because of his mortal mother, Kirvan, trying to keep up expectations of him being a demigod and due to her family lineage. Kirivan herself was a member of the Prima Defense Army, which was mostly a volunteer army for times of invasion or defense though they were regarded as the keepers of the city. Kiroas is quite the perfectionist when it comes to combat and trying to keep up spirits of the people. Vespira - Vespira is a tad short at 7'11, though honestly doesn't mind too much. The daughter of Di’Myria is substantially less a stick in the mud, though both have their dilemma with their mother. Vespira was more of the scholarly type for the most of her childhood and into her teen years for education. The city Vespira was brought up was a coastal city known for it’s technological advancements, bringing the science to the capital. Up until her teenage years, she had never actually known about her mother, being raised by her father. Somewhat adopted under the care of Kiroas at the end of her schooling, it was his idea to teach her in the art of swordfighting, and among her understanding of science, she is nearly a match for her brother. Vespira was gifted a much slower version of her mother’s Sphere of Thought. Both of Di’Myria’s children share a handful of similar factors. Both are quite irritated with their mother and her escapades as a mortal, thinking that she’s somewhat been apathetic to the people, now knowing that it’s been the exact opposite. They both also haven’t seen the other side of the coin with Di’Myria, being born after the war. They also don’t seem to be able to trust her when she’s disguised, always lurking around her. Both also have been gifted special blades by Di’Myria. As her people have questionable defenses for invasion, the two of them are somewhat responsible for assisting protecting the cities. Name of your Land: Myterias Magnus Lands: Myterias Magnus is a temperate land which about all of it is inhabitable. A large portion of the plains are occupied with farmland, and many cities are founded around large geographical masses. The Capital, Myterias Prima, or just Prima, is dead center in the territory, was initially built around a large mountain. All around the plains are various animals which are mostly left all alone, with people hunting the cattle and the grazing animals for food around the main cities. There are a few mystical locations around the land, including a few bioluminescent forests with purple and blue leaves, a lake surrounded entirely by mountains, and rolling forested hills which seem to be eternally in a state of autumn. Birds seem to avoid this area but flock to the Spirit Forests. People: The people of Myterias Magnus are mostly human with various exceptions. Most of those exceptions are treated with high respect, as most locals approach most with open minds. Culture: Most of the food in Myterias Magnus are agricultural based though nomadic cattle farmers do strive. There are some conflict with some of the farmers property, though they usually exchange cattle in exchange for grazing rights. Most people live within the groups of cities bunched together, staying away from the borders. Most nearby cities have an interconnected series of aqueducts, carefully yet seamlessly blended into most official buildings. The people of Magnus are both of science and of culture. Most have a certain distaste for war and most forms of violence, only those in the MHC (Magnus Homeland Coalition, which acts as a defense force and a police, and whose armor resembles the Roman Legion minus the feathers) and the localized militaries have much taste for blood. Even then, they only choose to defend themselves in times of need, and historically have done a good job of doing so. They do have schools of practice for all of their training of warriors. Both their scientific endeavours and their literature have been staples of their culture, their science being closely tied into spirituality and worship for their goddess. Being guided by the Patron of Navigation makes quite a few stories. They take pride in their architectural advancements and their stories of times long, long ago. Politically each city is individualized with separate groups, the Capital Government only intervenes for homeland defense and stimulating trade across the land, all for the better of the people. Corrupt individuals in the government are either imprisoned or exiled, although their jail system is quite well kept. It does get lonely, though it’s humane to say the least. Technology: Roman/Byzantine-Era, plus a few hundred years for the clocks. Capital: Myterias Prima. Being the capital of Magnus, Prima has The Great Clock. It branches out into four other cities towards the outskirts, connected by roads and guided by the aqueduct system. The city itself is the biggest within the nation, and is situated next to a large mountain, on the side is where Di'Myria resides. The Great Clock of Prima: Every city and town in Myterias Magnus is built around a large circular platform with markings dividing it into 10 equal parts, signifying time. Towards the center of this platform are usually several pillars which are used to line up with the stars to tell the date relative to time of year. Using these and the sun, with some magic to align the trajectory properly, each town is properly synced in time. The inside of these are left exposed for easy reading of the time. These clocks are the centers of town, with the outer rim being lined with trading posts and the inner sides being set up for speeches and performances of whatever kind. Beings: There are a few different species of Winged Felines, some feral and some are quite peaceful. The feral ones tend to be bigger and bear much larger teeth. The peaceful types tend to be much smaller and are the size of a small child, not reaching larger than a teenager at full age. Those are In nightly invasions of these Felines assisted by marauding Thick-Skinned Bears, which are usually kept at bay due to both fire and their distaste for the clocks. Something about the magic makes it so they’re deterred from entering the cities inner boundaries. Bear meat is one of the few hunted wild animals which are good for eating, though those from far away seem to always cost more and are considered delicacies. In the Spirit Forests, as the name implies, some nature spirits inhabit the area and usually stay away from outsiders, though tend to be active at night.

Ki'ivara - Déesse de la Lust Des mots harcelants ont commencé à résonner dans son esprit. Elle gémissait à la distraction et se poussait à genoux sur le lit et s'éloignait de sous la couverture; essuyant les lèvres de la rosée d'automne. Se concentrant maintenant davantage sur la voix agaçante qui résonnait dans sa tête, elle a finalement pu comprendre ce qu'elle disait. "dans la salle du trône pour les funérailles des Rois. Tous doivent y assister." le message s'est terminé. Elle n'a pas tout compris, mais seulement les parties importantes. Elle gémit à elle-même alors qu'elle rampait complètement hors du lit, son corps repoussant naturellement de sa taille mortelle et à sa taille divine. "Allez à l'automne. Notre plaisir est fini pour l'instant." Ki'ivara a ordonné à la femme nue de traverser le lit Ki venait de partir. La petite fille a pleuré dans la déception avant de sortir du lit et de quitter la chambre. Avec une lueur de lumière apparaissant autour de son corps, sa tenue normale, minimale s'est soudainement formée autour de son corps ; la longue blanche et bleue accentuait le dos de sa robe en cascade vers le bas. Son corps se balançait magnifiquement à travers la pièce avec chaque pas vers le grand miroir. Elle s'est regardée, fixant ses cheveux de sexe dans son élégant drap sur ses épaules. C'était quelque chose qu'elle espérait éviter. Elle ne voulait pas parler de la mort de son père. Ki'ivara était une créature de plaisir. Elle ne s'intéressait pas aux rassemblements solennels. Elle a presque envisagé d'amener un peu de sa prêtresse pour égayer tout ça. Bien que ce serait presque impossible avec le Gardien autour. C'était un coup d'éclat qui l'a tué. Satisfaite de son apparence était correcte, elle a pris une profonde respiration, laissant son corps entier se détendre. De ses pieds en haut, ils ont commencé à dématérialiser en un mélange d'énergie bleue et blanche. À travers le sol à côté du trône d'Oksana, la même énergie bleue et blanche s'estompa et avec un éclat éclatant Ki'ivara s'est matérialisée; assis sur le bras de son trône, face à Oksana. Avec un sourire déviant sur ses lèvres rose pâle, elle se penchait vers elle avant de pouvoir réagir. Elle se penchait jusqu'au point où ses lèvres se trouvaient à quelques centimètres de l'oreille. "Bonjour, mon animal de compagnie." Elle respira dans un murmure sensuel, mettant fin à ses paroles avec une légère morsure à son lobe de l'oreille. Avant qu'Oksana ne puisse riposter, Ki était déjà parti. Ayant filé du bras et s'enfuyant gracieusement à chaque pas; prenant un regard en arrière à Oksana et donnant un sourire diabolique. Enfin, donnant un regard sur le reste de la salle, elle a pris note de tout le monde en présence. Tout le monde n'était pas là, se donnant un peu de soulagement de ne pas être le dernier à arriver. Sans perdre de temps, elle monta dans les escaliers jusqu'au cercueil où son père était couché, calmement stoïque. Elle y est restée silencieuse un moment, regardant sa stature inébranlable. C'était presque comme s'il était encore en vie; à l'exception de l'apparence faible de désapprobation - même si elle était sa création, il s'est toujours avéré désapprouver. Mais elle l'aimait toujours. Elle s'est penchée un peu dans son cercueil, en coupant doucement sa joue dans sa main douce. Elle s'est penchée plus loin et a mis un doux et aimant baiser sur son front. "Au revoir, père." Elle murmura doucement d'un ton doux et authentique. Sans caractère de la Déesse de Lust. Pour montrer une véritable émotion. Elle s'est essuyée les yeux avant de se tenir debout, se composant une fois de plus. Elle se retourna vers la chambre, faisant face à la petite Myria. Elle a brillé son sourire normal, brillamment beau. Elle est descendue vers elle, l'enveloppant dans ses bras bien serrés. "Bonjour, ma petite Myria!" Elle coulait doucement, se pressant agréablement et serrée dans l'autre fille, en s'assurant que chaque courbe s'appuyait sur Myria. Après un long moment, elle relâcha Myria de ses bras et sourit : « Nous devons nous rattraper plus tard. » Ki a insisté dans sa voix douce et en soie avant de s'éloigner et aussi son trône - un trône magnifiquement tordu de vignes et de fleurs. Elle s'assit parmi les belles fleurs et laissa les vignes conforter à sa figure dans un confort parfait.

Name: Ki'ivara. Gender: Female. (Though can shift appearances or even genders) Appearance: Ki'ivara when in her natural state stands at thirteen feet and four inches; holding a slender yet lightly curvaceous figure. Her entire body is flawlessly sculpted, not a scar or blemish in sight, and her attire leaves little covered or left for the imagination. Her hair is long and waved beautifully down her frame, nearly bleach blonde. Her eyes a bright crystal sky blue that glimmer like jewels in the sunlight. Personality: Being the Goddess of Lust she if very physically expressive. She seems to be completely unaware of personal boundaries or inappropriate social interactions. Though soft spoken verbally if she likes you it would be blatantly clear. She is unabashedly clear with any individuals standing in her eyes, though disdain may merely be conveyed by less affection. Ki'ivara's biggest desire is above all else is beauty and lust. She can be often seen as rather gluttonous with her desires, nearly incapable of letting go of something she finds beauty in. Major Domain: Lust. Minor Domains: Beauty and Prosperity. Your Avatar: Her Avatar is a large humanoid with blackened angelic wings. Her sharp spikes and edges scattered over her physique. She is very quick and agile, her slim figure able to weave and contort away from danger. With her large wings she can generate powerful gusts of winds to attack or even push herself or others away. Stance: Uninterested in becoming the new Ruler. She believes that would put to much responsible on her. Currently supports no one. Loyalty During the Rebellion: The Kings. Simply because she liked how it was, she was left alone in her domain to rule over her people. And she wanted to keep it that way. Center of Power: Ki'ivara's center of power is a small, bronze statuette. It is of a beautiful naked woman on her knees, displaying her natural beauty for those that would desire it. Relations: Ki has an almost unhealthy obsession with Oksana. After the rebellion Ki'ivara stole the weakened Oksana and took away to her country. She was Ki'ivara's little play thing and she adored her greatly. Though when Oksana's daughter rescued her and took her away was when her obsession really manifested. Ki'ivara didn't like losing her play things, in her eyes they were rightfully hers. And there was no better play thing than another God/Goddess. Now knowing Oksana is not weak enough to be seduced once again she has to simply chip away at her defenses until she can be hers again. She has a strange relationship with the God of Dragons. She has no real strong feelings either way for him. She simply enjoys teasing the God - seeing as he cares for her play thing. It's almost irresistible not to play with the Mighty Lizard. Ki'ivara gets tremendous joy from the God of Mischief. She is such a peculiar little thing she could simply sit back for hours and watch Ahru. Through this Ki'ivara has gained a great deal of affection for Ahru. Ki'ivara feels the most genuine kinship with Janin. Seeing as they are both creatures of carnal desires they have the most in common. She is nearly the only God that Ki'ivara won't outrightly tease or try to seduce - not to say she hasn't thought about it, being the Goddess of Lust is just bound to happen. But Ki'ivara just simply and truthfully enjoys Janin's company beyond her own carnal desires of lust. Not to mention it is literally always a party when Janine is involved. Powers: Shapeshifting - The Goddess of Lust can shift and transform herself into any shape or form. Beloved Visage - Ki'ivara naturally has this effect on those who look upon her. Those who lay their eyes upon the image of her get a huge Oxytocin (or the love hormone) dump into their system. They literally feel as if they are looking upon the person they love the most. This is often the reason those who look upon her feel the irresistible need to protect her and worship her. The stronger the mind the less this has an effect on them. Though this does work on other God's its effect is only 1/4 of that on mortals with weak minds. Toxic Lips - Though this may seem a bit misleading her lips don't actually cause harm. Her lips simply have a special chemical that they can release onto her targets skin that amplifies sensations. This is often used on her play things to increase euphoria and pleasure. Though they can work to increase feelings and sensations of fear and panic. They simply take the most prominent sensation and emotion and amplify them to a degree of Ki'ivara's choosing. So she has to make sure not to uses this power carefully. This also requires contact with bare skin; and the closer to the heart or brain the faster the effects work - so lips or chest are the best locations. Though well trained in combat she prefers not to fight if given the option. Godly Weapon: Luneth's Tear - A crystal blue tear drop shaped jewel places into an ornate golden collar necklace. This gem fills Ki'ivara with a radiant energy that protects her from harm. Not only that but boosts her natural capabilities. Demi Gods: Tyr was her second child. He was born with a bit of a complication... Tyr was born cursed by the mana spring, corrupting his very life blood. By no means is he evil but his mind is constantly tormented. Though despite this he is overall a good person though has a strange sense of humor. He is manic on occasions, often going out of his way to mess with people. Tyr is devastatingly gifted with magical power and physical prowess. If only he could keep focused longer than eleven minutes at a time. Luneth is her first child, named after Ki'ivara's first and only love. Luneth is very little like her mother. She is very serious and feeds little into her desires. Focusing entirely on the army, which she oversees and commands. Luneth is a brilliant fighter and tactician; equally gifted in all forms of combat though little magical capabilities. Luneth is actually the first born Succubus in the land of Hevalt. Since her more and more have began to be born and now there is a decent group of them scattered throughout the islands. Many have joined their army as they are quite devastating in combat. Not to mention their beauty and allure is quite distracting to opposing fighters. Name of your Land: Hevalt. Lands: Hevalt is made of of several large islands located not far off the main continent. Each island is beautifully unique with their own flora and terrain. Ranging from flower fields to jagged volcanic mountains and all in-between. Ki'ivara spent her life cultivating and creating the most diverse and beautiful region of the world. Scattered pieces of unique paradises crafted with her own hands. Not only is this country incredibly beautiful it is immensely wealthy, probably more so than any other. Each small island is filled with beautiful homes made of expensive materials. Her people receive only the best money can buy, and she certainly has the money to spare. People: The people of Hevalt are very elf like in most respects. They are naturally beautiful with a faint pale complexion and pointed ears and fair colored hair. This is the primary race of Hevalt and all else are often kept as servants in one sense or the other. Or even someone wealthy enough to purchase land in the beautiful island country. Culture: Hevalt is a strong matriarchy. Women have a higher social standing within this society. Women are often seen as more valuable then men, though men have their purpose. The men of Hevalt are care takers of the country either by joining the army or serving the women. Within Hevalt they have a thriving "service" trade. Being naturally beautiful the woman, and even some men, are heavily desired within the world and most will pay large amounts of money to spend the night with one. Though this is not a place to bring mistreatment. There is no mercy for those who mistreat Ki'ivara's children; and no one is exempt. Technology: Amazonian levels of technology. Capital: Ivara - Named after their Goddess (expected with how vain she can be) this is were Ki'ivara lives. Though it is the smallest island only Ki'ivara and her priestess' and children live. The environment is beautiful beyond imagination. Covered in rare flowers and beautiful trees. The priestess' keep the lands perfectly trimmed and groomed, the ornate statues and arts well kept and clean. There are no buildings or any form of housing structures on this island, they all sleep and live within the beauty of the island. She believes in no walls to cover her beautiful island. Beings: Wisps have started to appear at night across the islands. They've been popping up starting only a millennia ago. Though they could be found on any of the islands they are still rare to run across. Any male from any race in the country - aside from those who bought their way in - are kept as servants. Females of any race are welcome without question, though are socially equivalent to pure-blood male Elves. In recent years Succubi have began to sprout up. They are a near perfect personification of the Ki'ivara true identity.

Kilgarrah d'honneur C'était une autre chaude matinée dans la vallée de Drake, sur une grotte près du sommet sur la plus haute montagne, se trouve un tas d'or et de trésor, monstrueusement énorme, et empilé comme un tas de sable. Au-dessus de cette pile, le grand Dragon King s'assombrit lui-même, Vritant dans son sommeil sur des piles d'or et des pierres précieuses « Non.. » Il gémit les yeux fermés, roulant d'un côté dans une matière presque violente. "Non, non, non! Merde, Ferrum, ce n'est pas la fr-!" Il s'est coupé quand il s'est réveillé dans une sueur froide. Il y a si longtemps que ce malheur s'est produit, il y a si longtemps qu'il s'est réveillé de cette prison cruelle et ironique, mais sans un dieu que devait-il faire pour se venger? J'espère qu'il va s'en prendre à lui? Kilgarrah a frappé les cheveux sur son menton comme il était maintenant de retour dans la réalité, un autre jour sur son royaume de feu infernal et de jungle. Loin des villes les plus glorieuses de ses parents. Bien que les grandes quantités de richesse qu'il garde et dort, compense le manque de beaucoup de civilisation. Ses pensées étaient brisées quand il entendit un bruit fort. Instinctivement, Kilgarrah est devenu un dragon bipède massif, s'étendant sur son trésor à l'avidité protectrice. "Qui ose s'approcher de la tanière de Kilgarrah, la descendance des dragons?" Il souffle dans sa forme monstrueuse, soucieux de ne pas laisser les flammes s'accumuler à l'intérieur de ses veines pour faire fondre son précieux cercueil. Une approche familière, armurée et figurée. Équipé d'une lance et d'ailes sur le dos. "Père, pardonnez mon intrusion." La figure blindée parlait avec une attitude humble, s'inclinant devant son feu. Reconnaissant son demi-dieu, Kilgarrah s'éloigna de son trésor et se rapprocha de son fils, tout en conservant sa forme monstrueuse. "Ah, William! Il est bon de voir que vous avez rendu visite à votre créateur, quel est votre désir? La bête autrefois cruelle et sauvage est devenue plus compatissante et attachante en un instant. William regarda son père draconien et continua. "Il y a un conseil de vos semblables Dieux étant accueilli, il est obligatoire pour vous d'assister. Kilgarrah s'est penchée sur le dos. "Je dois le revoir" Abaissa ses yeux reptiliens brillants, sa queue se balançait sur un tas d'or comme des pensées désagréables à la fois de Ferrum et d'autres frères et sœurs qui étaient également haïs seraient naturellement là. La seule chose qu'il devait attendre avec impatience était de revoir la chère Oksana. Voyant son père en détresse, William Assured, « Je suis venu vous accompagner aussi, père. » "Viens donc, mon fils." Sa queue massive s'enroulerait autour de William avant qu'ils ne soient tous les deux convertis en une énergie cramoisi, qui décollait de la grotte avec une vague d'ailes brûlantes suivant la forme énergétique. ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Moments après l'arrivée de Ki'ivara, une flamme brillante pourpre boulonnait l'entrée de la salle des dieux. De la flamme, Kilgarrah se tenait aux côtés de William, blindé jusqu'aux dents. Pendant un bref moment, Kilgarrah a eu la silhouette d'une figure draconienne, mais qui s'est rapidement rétrécie dans son apparence normale et mortelle. William marchait à côté de son père, alors qu'il se dirigeait vers son trône. Avant cela, il s'arrêta pour donner un arc aux dieux actuels que là où il était présent, même en présence des dieux qu'il méprisait. Il a ensuite donné un sourire à Oksana. "Je suis venu dès que possible, quelles sont les nouvelles?" Pendant qu'il parlait, il prit place sur son trône. Le trône lui-même était un noir ébène, fabriqué à partir de ce qui semblait être du marbre noirci. Les bras ont dû squelettiquer les épines de dragons avec leurs crânes brûlant le feu de leurs orbites oculaires. Le haut de la chaise avait un crâne de dragon beaucoup plus grand qui s'accroche juste au-dessus de Kilgarrah. Deux épées croisées étaient intégrées à l'arrière du trône, les lames atteignant la hauteur de la chaise. William se tenait juste à côté du trône de Kilgarrah en possession vigilante, Lance maniait fermement et plantait dans le sol.

Kilgarrah, Father of Dragons, Patron of Knights, Lord of Gold Gender: Male Appearance: In his traditional armor, sword, and shield, Kilgarrah's glowing red eyes are an intimidating site through his helmet. Standing at 9' in height, Kilgarrah sports a mildly toned build despite his deceiptively powerful strength, having long black messy hair and sometimes sports facial hair. His skin is beige, and other then his crimson, glowing and reptilian eyes, there is nothing more remarkable about his initial form. a 180 ft tall behemoth of a dragon, bipedal with firey veins on his chest, wings, and elbows that glow when he is charging flames within him. Black scales, massive claws, and a somewhat sleek design. Personality: It is difficult to pin an exact alignment or personality for Kilgarrah. He is a being that values honor and other minute philosophies of a knight, respecting strength as well as mortals that rise to the occasion as warriors, regardless of alignment or affiliation with other gods. He also is supportive of the art of dragon slaying, that is mortals slaying his own creations. Despite this, he also is prideful of his very race he created, the dragons, which has also inspired a group of dragon cultists that also worship him. His pride and even greed are perhaps his most noteworthy of his flawed persona. Thinking of himself as the most powerful God, and his creations, the dragons, the ultimate race of creatures, even higher then angels or demons. He values treasures and rare artifacts, gold especially, a sacrifice commonly offered to him, and he guards his materialized hoard selfishly. Overall, it is difficult for him to work with other gods, but those that do forge a bond that can never be broken, as he does not tolerate betrayal and other dishonorable acts. His bipolar nature of being a savage, destructive monster, and a fervent harbinger of justice and honor are perhaps his most interesting features. Major Domain: Dragons Minor Domains: Gold, Knights (It should be noted that he doesn't necessarily own dragons and knights, and other gods may use them, but both knights and dragons often look to him for worship.) A massive, 600 foot long dragon, nicknamed by Kilgarrah as Smaug. This beast is the embodiment of Kilgarrah's destructive wrath and weapon of vengeance. Its strength alone could match the god himself, but it can create volcanic quakes with its greatest of firepower. It's third eye has psychic abilities, that can allow it to -Speak telepathically -Manipulate uncontrolled flames or molten rock/metal within sight -resist against psychic related effects/attacks and illusions Stance: He believes that he is the rightful heir to the throne. Though he is not against a favorable ally persay to take it either, but overall anyone that claims to also want the throne he will fight against for that right. Claiming that it can only be settled through an honorable duel, and demands to fight in such a manner to any and all that wish to claim this title, only then do they gain his respect and allowance to become King. Loyalty During the Rebellion: Kilgarrah views such rebellion as a dishonorable act, and to this day he holds a bit of a grudge to those that were against the King of the Gods. However, in his pride he secretly believes that he was destined to be the monarch of deities. Even still, he never wished for the God King to be slayed, and fought valiantly to secure his throne. Center of Power: A small golden skull of a dragon, approximately the size of a softball. Relations: At first he only hated Ferrum for sided more with the Rebels. But ever since he sealed him in gold the dragon only became more enraged at the god of fire. He swears revenge at his own hands, be it death or a brutal beating. To this day, he is very bitter of him. Being sealed under molten gold for hundreds of years would do that to anyone. Even if he gave him his weapon back. The relation between Kilgarrah and Oksana is of thousands of years of kinship and romantic bonds. They often spar, flirt, and even times of romantic affairs. Kilgarrah both admires and respects Oksana, and is willing for her to share a throne with him should she be interested. Every year they try to get together for a big event of Oksana's own capitol, where the Draconians and her own people get together for a grand festival of dancing, sparring, and other forms of entertainment to celebrate their relations. The grand event is of many aspiring performers wishing to please the Gods. Kilgarrah deeply despises Ki'vara for trapping Oksana on that lustful, accursed island, as well as repressing much jealousy all the same. Powers: Kilgarrah has an inhuman level of strength and speed. While untransformed, he can lift over four tons and can move as fast as a cheetah in fully clad armor. He cannot be burned by any degree of heat and has shown to be extremely skilled with almost any weapon. He can transform or grow from parts of his bodies into dragon-like features. Such as growing a pair of wings, transforming his hand into a head of a firebreathing dragon, transform his hands and/or feet into claws, or grow scales as hard as iron over his skin. Additionally he has minor pyrokinetic abilities, such as lighting his own body on fire, or creating fireballs in his hand. He also fabricated a form of magic that can allow him to summon and unsummon various equipment instantly. Fully transformed, his strength becomes so great that he can trample over hills, and can spew flames that can melt stone and most metal. At its most potent, he can fire projectile flames that can create an explosion powerful enough to create a 20 meter crater. Godly Equipment: The armor of the Scalelord is a steel armor that repairs itself over time from damage, it is also highly heat resistant and can protect users from extreme heat and fire. Additionally, the armor grants the wearer to be able to speak with dragons and improve strength and agility to a minor degree. The Shield of the Scalelord is a large shield that is also indestructible, and can reflect non-solid projectiles and magic. The metal shield has a dragon's head inscribed into it. The Wyrm Tooth is a large 12 ft long weapon with a steel 5 ft blade and a black hilt. The weapon is strong enough to pierce through a dragon's scales in addition to being able to slay gods. The Lance can also enhance pyromantic powers, natural to Kilgarrah. Such as igniting the blade on fire or shooting a ray or wave of fire. Demi Gods: A 60ft long hellkite born From Kilgarrah and another dragon in times soon before the the war started. Niddhoggr since birth has been the sole true and reliable protector of Drake Valley. A hero to the local Draconians as the white, four winged, four clawed dragon combats with all other scourges, mainly other dragons that seek the population as prey. His bladed horn is sharp enough to cut through their scales, and the dragon can produce a radiant, burning light, that while hotter then fire, it obviously isn't the heat that effects the dragon foes, it is the bright light that can temporarily blind and in some forms of attack can blast them back with brute force. Its rays of burning light that it can create from its wings and horn or breath from his mouth makes him far more dangerous in terms of ranged abilities for a dragon. He, like Fafnir, upholds honor and justice. Despite being a dragon he has a far less malice intent then his physical appearance. Unlike Fafnir though he rarely travels, and instead devotes his entirety to the Draconians. Niddhoggr rests under the Great Tree of Drake Valley, Yaggdrill, a 10 mile tall tree that's roots are so durable that they dig straight into pools of magma without damage. Fafnir was born from an affair between Kilgarrah himself and a draconian named Minerva, who died upon giving birth. Fafnir quickly grew to a surprising 30 feet in height, despite the draconian subtype rarely having any similar size in the part, likely due to his godhood. Fafnir was honored by the Draconians as a true blessing of the god, honoring him as a great warrior. He served his father directly and forged his own weapons from the molten lake of a volcano. Sporting a steel clad armor, massive lance, and a massive shield. He is somewhat agile despite his massive size, being able to fly as well, breath flames, and using the equipment magic his father has. After decades of being raised in Drake Valley, he would be the answer to the prays of mortal knights across the world that wish to praise the dragonlord himself. Becoming a teacher to aspiring individuals in both technique and magic. William was born for Annabelle Sigil and Kilgarrah. Born from a human, he was cursed to have glowing crimson eyes similar to his father, and a pair of white bat-like wings with plated scales. Both of these features have caused many of the residence of his local town attributed to him being a bad omen, aside from his mother's death. He has deathly pale skin and a tone but otherwise skinny build, standing 5'11, with messy black hair. His father eventually revealed his identity, and gifted him with His trusted spear and even crafted his son a special armor just for him, enchanted to be in tune with the electric properties of his spear William also naturally has some traits similar to a dragon's. His growth seemed to stop around the age of 18, and quiet possibly suggesting that he now has an indefinite lifespan just like a dragon. Which explains why he is as ancient as his more draconic brothers despite being mostly human. Additionally, he cannot be burned by any degree of heat as well, and being stronger and more durable then the average human, granted barely reaching superhuman level. his wings also gift him with flight. He has grown quiet skilled with his lance and armor, and was taught the equipment magic through his half-brother, Fafnir. Lands: Drake Valley is an island continent located in the southern region of an ocean. The entire region is an explosive jungle with high volcanic activity, aside from plateaus on certain mountains the terrain is mostly rugged and mountainous, with valleys stretching between vast tree covered mountains and volcanoes. The average temperature year-round fluxuates between 80-120 degrees, and molten lakes and rivers are just as common as rivers and streams. The hostile terrain is ideal for Kilgarrah's creations, the dragons, which are the apex predators of the region. People: Dragon cultists live in the slightly less hostile regions and costlines of the island, where they worship both Kilgarrah and the local dragons. They sometimes interact with the Draconians, a race of humanoid dragons that live further within the region. The cultists often make their homes in caves and stone structures along beaches, with primitive tools and technology. The draconians are more advanced, having proper metal tools and castles that could rival human design. However the wild dragons of Drake Valley terrorize the draconians often, there are few surviving cities of the race, namely three castles. Culture: The cultists live in unified tribes that worship the local dragons as gods, and Kilgarrah being the king of said gods. Individuals are either unaware of the other true gods, or simply do not acknowledge them as gods, believing that even the mortal dragons are a higher being to worship. They will sacrifice treasures and meats in large furnaces and volcanoes to appease kilgarrah, and will even have human sacrifices to a local individual wild dragon. The Draconians however are a knightly group of humanoid dragons. They value the honorbound side to kilgarrah, and often conflict with the dragon cultists. The draconians culture reflect that of medieval society. They live under a monarchy, with structures, armor, and tools reflecting that of knights from human society. Additionally, they have an almost mysterious and mystic connection with dracomancy, which they right down in both books or stone tablets and runes inscribed in walls. Dracomancy is a magic that both cultists and Draconians use that mimics that of dragons, particularly involving pyromancy and even shaman like abilities or charms of good luck. Technology: The cultists have a very primitive lifestyle. They have stone carved buildings and tools made of stone and weak metals like brass. Their most advanced equipment is paper and ink, which they use for their ceremonial rites. The draconians have the typical medieval technology with iron and even steel in their possession to craft. In addition to large castles they also have expansive cavernous tombs with walls inscribed in them runes of ancient dracomancy and egyptian-like tales of their history and the gods. Capital: Out of the three castles, Reijar is the most thriving. It should be noted that the Draconians are cut off with the rest of the world. Reijar has a high resource of iron in its location, as well as being on a massive plateau suitable for farming, raising cattle, and fishing. This makes it the most economically thriving city. Tunnels expanding over miles beneath the surface connect the other two castles, Avalon and Babary, to the capital. Beings: All dragons are reptiles, closely related to lizards and snakes (squamatas). Dragons have undefined lifespans, age itself has never claimed the life of a dragon, nor do dragons weaken with age, in fact its quiet the opposite. The elder the dragon, the more dangerous it tends to be. Every dragon, even those that relate with snowy environments or lack any sort of fire ability, have an innate affiliation with fire, and as such they cannot be burned or damaged by heat. All dragons have some sort of magical or spiritual aura, and their biology reflects much of that energy. not all dragons are intelligent, or capable of speaking. Many act like animals or even lack sentience altogether, while others while sentient are unable to speak or are knowledgeable of a language. Lastly, dragons are often born with at least 1 of the seven sins; greed, wrath, lust, sloth, envy, pride, and gluttony. Not all dragons are evil and there are plenty of dragons that could be considered good or benevolent, however they still suffer from at least one of these sins. Pride, wrath, greed, and gluttony are the most common sins. Dragons are rarely intelligent. Most are animalistic and are essentially savage monsters. Even the few that are sentient rarely are able to speak or communicate directly. Even with this limited intelligence their nature does reflect their natural sins. Dragons have varying traits and forms to the point that almost every dragon is unique. However all dragons can be classified as one of the following: Hellkites (typical six limb dragons, 4 legs and a pair of wings.) Hellkites are the most ideal of dragons, and bare in likeness to Kilgarrah's transformed state. Hellkites are named for being described as flying bringers of flames, they commonly possess the ability to have a breath weapon, fire being the most likely, and often attack farmlands or other civilizations regularly out of some primeval habit. They are quiet a handful of sapient Hellkites as well, they are typically one of the more intelligent subtypes, but usually are far from benevolent. Hellkites typically range between 20 to 120 feet long. Drakes (Wingless 4 legged dragons) Drakes are very close to hellkites, though some may resemble more of giant lizards then actual dragons. While it isn't likely for drakes to have a breath weapons, they are still dangerous for their fierce strength and speed, and while they cannot fly they are often well adapted to multiple terrains, some even tend to be semi-aquatic. the average size ranges between 20 to 80 feet long. There have been cases though of far more massive Drakes. Wyverns (Two legs and two wings) Wyverns are considered to be one of the most intelligent of all dragons, even non-sapient individuals tend to have a dog-like level of intelligence. They are the most easy to tame. Some wyverns may possess breath weapons, however they more commonly have various venoms and natural weapons such as a barbed tail or powerful, talon-like feet. They are also one of the fastest of all dragon sub-types. Wyverns can be seen either in small roosting groups or by themselves, and while some can be aggressive, others may be more docile and less likely to attack a mortal. Wyverns are much weaker physically then other dragons, and their scales are not as durable either. Most wyverns range in sizes from 10 to 30 feet long, though their are records of individual wyverns as long as a 100 feet. Basilisks (Often resemble lizards or snakes, usually having no more then 6 legs, and rarely do any have wings. However most basilisks have some form of toxic property such as acidic saliva or a venomous bite, and can turn people to stone by looking into their eyes.) The basilisk varies between either a snake-like or lizard-like form, sometimes somewhere inbetween. Rarely do they possess wings, however. Like drakes, they are more adaptive to land or water based terrain. Basiliks often have a wide variety of toxins such as venoms or poisons, even one to have said to have a green-tinted fire-breath that burned off a toxic and lethal gas in addition to the danger of the fire itself. basilisks are legendary for their petrifying gaze, though it is actually rare for one to possess the ability. Regardless, this magic trait is exclusive to the Basilisk and Cockatrice subgroups. The gaze itself is not passive either, their eyes will change color in response, usually a shade of yellow or green. Those that look into their eyes at this point will become petrified and turn into stone. The only way to be freed from being petrified is for their statue form to be broken, surprisingly this doesn't harm the victim, however this means little if the victim is already in the stomach of the basilisk. Cockatrices (bird-like dragons, often resembling a cross between a basilisk and a Wyvern) Cockatrices are very similar to Basilisks, both having tendencies for toxic traits as well as having the possibility of a petrifying gaze. They are also similar to wyverns in their weak bodies, fast speed, and size range. However they are not as intelligent, and their feathers often provide additional protection from the elements and sometimes even magic based factors. Wurms (serpentine dragons, rarely have any limbs, and many vaguely resemble reptiles. Often both gigantic in length and diameter, they are rarely sentient. Some resemble snakes.) Wurms are one of the more strange dragons. They are serpentine, and rarely have any sort of limbs to speak of. Some may resemble a snake, while others resemble a more insect or worm-like monstrosity despite being a reptile. While the most common type of wurms are sandwurms, wurms can inhabit a wide arrange of environments. Some can be sea serpents, slithering on land, volcanic lava, or even fly despite having no wings. Wurms are gigantic, ranging anywhere from 50 feet, to 500 feet. They are also the most primitive of dragons, seemingly only driven to consume, they act solely on primitive instinct and there has yet to be a sapient wurm. Tarragons (Like hellkites but are bipedal, some may have forms that could resemble a dinosaur.) Tarragons are similar to drakes, but are bipedal and may resemble something like a dinosaur or godzilla. They can range anywhere between 20 to 80 feet in height commonly. Tarragons do not often possess wings, and sometimes could be confused for bipedal hellkites. Drakkens/draconians (Dragons with a humanoid posture and build, often ranging between 5'11 to 9'10 in height, they are as varying in appearance as any other dragon, though all drakkens are sentient) Draconians are a specific race of dragons that are purely sapient and humanoid. These creatures can range in sizes varying between 6 to 15 feet in height, and can have a wide variety of color and design as well. They have four arms, and two legs, with the second pair of arms being wings. Some Draconians have been able to breath fire and do have other traits commonly associated with dragons. However they are not as cursed with sin as other dragons, and have a much for human-like freedom of personality. Longs (Asian styled dragons, serpentine and with 4 limbs, though wingless they can usually fly as if they defy gravity. Longs are often the most intelligent of dragons and usually are more involved with spiritual energy then magic.) Longs are the most intelligent of all dragons, almost always sapient, and are often mystical by their vary nature. They can vary in power and size, being serpentine and having no more then 4 limbs. Despite rarely having wings they can fly as if defying gravity itself, the typical size range varies between 20 to 60 feet in length. Their have been sightings of even larger individuals such as a 150 foot individual that rested in a volcano. While born of sin like most other dragons, longs often go out of their way to cleanse their spirit and innate sin through spiritual journeys and assisting those out of pure benevolence, very rarely are any truly susceptible to their original sin except for those that choose not to go on these spiritual journeys of travel and self discovery. Elemental, Fae and hydra dragons are mutation-like traits that happen within individuals regardless of type. Elementals often are more magical then biological, for example they may have a shell of ice over a frail naked body, or an armor of lava-flowing stone instead of scales. The weakness of an elemental are the opposing elements, for example fire can weaken the magic significantly of an ice elemental dragon, although dragons cannot burn the heat against those of ice can render them unconscious. Hydras are dragons with multiple heads, some can even regenerate new heads. The number can vary within 2 to a thousand, though it is rare for a hydra to have anymore then 20 heads. The heads of hydras are either each independent heads, or are all one conscience. Fae dragons tend to have butterfly-like wings and generally have fairy-like traits, they also are usually quiet small, they have various magical qualities that can be attributed to fairies as well. Being cold blooded, most dragons are vulnerable against cold conditions and attacks of the sort, with exceptions of dragons that have an affiliation with it. Dragons usually have tough scales that act as natural armor, though their bellies tend to be of soft scutes and scales that are the Achilles heel to their physical defense. Dragons have a hard time of overcoming their sins, affecting their personalities and decision making. Most dragons can regenerate naturally at great rates. They can regrow a loss limb or tail within a few months, large wounds can heal in weeks, however if they are fatally wounded something else must keep them alive in order for them to recover on their own. Some elemental dragons can regenerate certain factors seemingly instantly, and many hydras can also heal most wounds in minutes. While many dragons have access to magic, their breathe weapons are usually from biological factors instead of magic, though many have sort of blended or amplified their breathe attacks with magic. The most common breathe weapon for dragons is fire. While dragons are affiliated with fire, they are not completely immune to it. While they cannot be burned or damaged by heat alone, the force from flames can knock them back with enough force, and elemental dragons that are weak against fire will start to loose conscienceless and magical power against great amount of heat. Most dragons are capable of great strength and speed, attributing to their massive size. Dragons with forked tongues have a great sense of smell like most lizards and snakes. Dragonsbane, a rare flowing plant that grows in Drake Valley, has an aroma that wards off dragons like a repellent. It can make dragons that ingest the plant grow very sick and ill, and even to the point of great irritation sort of like a bear-spray for dragons.

Janin Les nuits d'été sur la côte de Tarren se prêtaient parfaitement aux soirées. La chaleur du désert s'accrochait à l'humidité du littoral tropical, laissant l'air chaud bien après le soleil. Même quand le froid est venu, les gens seraient remplis de suffisamment de joie et de boisson pour remarquer son arrivée. C'étaient les soirées préférées de Janin, la cour en pierre du palais était remplie de musique et de rire, les gens buvaient et jouaient sous les arbres fruitiers et la lumière du feu. La déesse elle-même est restée dans sa vraie forme, prenant plaisir dans les regards de la peur et de l'admiration l'apparence agitée dans ses invités. Elle a fait un beau spectacle, surplombant la plupart de ceux qui se tenaient même à côté de sa forme assise, un cercle d'or autour de sa tête et l'abondance de bijoux assortis qui clignotaient et criaient de chaque moment. Mon père croit qu'il peut y avoir des terres encore plus exploitables de l'autre côté de la montagne, non pas le désert bien sûr, mais juste sous les falaises... La fille poussée contre Janin a eu un beau sourire, mais la conversation avait grandi des moments fastidieux après qu'elle ait commencé. Janin regardait depuis longtemps un jeu de dés se déroulant à sa gauche en faveur de l'écoute. Ils étaient évidemment chargés pour les observateurs, mais l'homme perdant était devenu trop saoul pour le remarquer, et essayait de secouer la pièce de son sac vide. C'est un chat?La voix shrill de son compagnon a attiré l'attention à nouveau, sûr assez un petit chat noir reposait sur ses genoux. C'était un sentiment assez accoutumé qu'il était passé inaperçu, elle rempli à nouveau son verre, voyant l'animal. Le chat à son tour a commencé à pétrir sa cuisse, purifiant doucement. La femme a atteint pour elle et a fait gifler sa main avec ce qui était peut-être plus de force que nécessaire lorsqu'elle était utilisée sur un mortel. Janin se tenait avec son vin, griffant le chat par la nuque de son cou avec sa main libre, et marchait de la musique et du rire dans son palais. Les esclaves bordaient l'entrée, et seulement regardé comme leur maîtresse passait par les couloirs à ses chambres privées, ici il était assez silencieux le seul son était ses propres bijoux et pas nus sur la pierre. Sa chambre était grande et ouverte, trois murs qui s'ouvraient à une seconde cour beaucoup plus petite que celle d'où elle venait, blindaient seulement avec de minces rideaux, permettant à la brise de passer. Il y avait peu d'ameublement pour une pièce de cette taille, mais tous soigneusement décorés, et la plupart semblaient grandir du sol lui-même. Le bureau, l'armoire, le salon et le lit où tout était façonné à partir de grès, avec diverses images d'animaux, d'instruments et d'humains sculptés. Rouge et pendant que des tissus drapés du plafond, et des coussins assortis couvraient le salon et le lit. Les murs où le foyer de l'attention; tous ont été recouverts de peintures murales, représentant Janin, qui se mettent en place et ses diverses actions, certaines sorties plus exagérées que d'autres. Les murs est dépeint Janin apprivoisant le désert avec musique, charmant Desin dans son service et l'utilisant pour élever des montagnes pour protéger son peuple de l'exposition et les Scorpios redoutés. Janin s'assit sur le seul meuble en bois; une chaise en velours pour s'asseoir en face du bureau en pierre, et laissa tomber le chat au sol. Alors qu'Alek tomba, elle se retourna à sa forme humaine habituelle, frottant le dos de son cou alors qu'elle marchait vers le petit tas de vêtements au centre de la pièce, sa mère reprit à boire, la bonne humeur disparue. Je suis désolé mère, mais c'est important, Janin a regardé devant sa fille, verre frais pressé à nouveau ses joues bouffées. La pièce était vacillante et les peintures murales floue, ce qui rend plus difficile de se concentrer sur les mots de sa fille, elle a déjà manqué les sons forts et les distractions. Le gardien envoie des convocations.Alek a fini de s'habiller, Rieth est morte. Janin ferma les yeux, se sentant soudainement très ivre et très fatigué. C'était attendu, mais cela n'a pas rendu la nouvelle plus bienvenue. Les réunions avec les dieux pouvaient prendre des mois, et c'était avec Rieth's supervision. Elle a considéré un moment les conséquences de ne pas aller, manquant les premiers jours ou ainsi ne signifierait pas beaucoup, de renoncer aux préliminaires et les gentillesses polies que tout le monde jouerait avant de retomber à de vieux modèles et de revisiter de vieilles blessures. Des pas tranquilles s'approchèrent de la déesse, et un esclave vêtu d'une robe blanche vint se tenir à côté d'elle, regardant à terre. Quelqu'un avait frappé la fille, et la merveilleuse symétrie de son visage pour laquelle Janin l'avait choisie a été gâtée par un bleu violet gonflé juste au-dessus de l'œil. Nous partirons dans l'heure.La fille a hurlé et a quitté la pièce rapidement. Alek est resté debout au centre de la pièce, les mains serrées. Qu'est-ce qu'Alek? Olek, il devrait être avec nous, ça a gagné un ronflement de rire. Tu veux qu'il vienne? Bien sûr! Nous allons tous, en tenant la main et en rendant un grand respect au corps du vieil homme. Pleurerez-vous à la vue de l'enfant? Je sais qu'il a été des siècles depuis que vous avez vu votre cher grand-père..Alek est resté silencieux, mais n'a pas bougé. J'ai un cadeau pour vous.Janin a fini la dernière de sa boisson avant d'atteindre la bourse lourde sur sa hanche, et de se procurer une petite clé. Elle l'utilisa pour déverrouiller une petite boîte en or sur le bureau, qui s'ouvrit pour révéler une petite pièce en bronze en forme de médaillon. La mère I-. Alek s'arrêta, et s'agenouilla brusquement devant elle, la tête pliée. Il s'appelle une astrola-astro-. Janin clignotait, et abandonnait. C'est pour la cartographie par les étoiles ou quelques absurdités. Trop petite pour une utilisation fonctionnelle, mais c'est important pour moi que vous l'avez..Elle a pressé la bride dans la paume de la fille, qui l'a touché avec révérence. J'ai besoin que vous le gardiez en sécurité pendant que nous sommes partis. Bien sûr, elle ferma l'autre main autour d'elle et se tint à nouveau. Mais qu'en est-il d'Olek? Je ne sais pas où est ton frère et il a fait clairement comprendre que je ne suis pas pour le trouver. Il entendra parler du sommet et viendra s'il le veut. » Elle se tint debout, s'appuya sur le bureau pendant un moment, et agita la main de façon dédaigneuse, le sujet fut fermé pour l'instant. Je vais vous ramener ici pour le chercher si vous voulez, mais pour l'instant nous quittons Cai est rentré dans la pièce à ce moment-là, portant une épée, lyre, et calice avec un peu de difficulté; tout étant fait pour un être plus de deux fois la taille de la fille. Janin les prit sans rien dire et marcha au centre de la pièce avec sa fille. Alek hoche la tête, embrayant encore son nouveau cadeau dans une poignée assez serrée pour blanchir les doigts. Janin a mis l'épée sur son dos, a remis à Alek la lyre pour porter sous un bras et a pris un long verre du calice avant de prendre sa fille libre main avec la sienne. La téléportation après lourde n'a jamais été une idée particulièrement bonne. Quelle que soit l'entrée digne qu'elle espérait faire était perdue quand elle apparut directement derrière le siège très humide et occupé d'Aesis. Il y eut un bref moment de balancement, et de stabilisation de la part d'Alek avant qu'elle ne parvienne à se déplacer dans le cercle des trônes. Il y avait plus vide que plein, mais la plupart de ceux qui venaient étaient déjà arrivés, espacés entre les souvenirs des morts. Janin regarda à peine le cercueil avant de traverser la pièce. C'est trop long, elle sourit et s'arrêta pour embrasser brièvement sa sœur avant de passer à autre chose. Elle n'a épargné que le regard le plus bref sur Naqqash en passant devant sa forme tordue, sans se soucier de cacher sa répugnance à la vue. Son propre « throne » a été construit pour le confort plutôt que pour afficher la puissance, le siège était assez large pour qu'elle puisse s'asseoir et festonné d'oreillers rouges et dorés. L'accoudoir gauche s'étendait plus loin que la droite, un endroit parfait pour reposer son calice. "Arhu," elle a reconnu, levant le verre vers la déesse et buvant profondément comme elle s'est assise aussi confortablement que possible. La vue de deux de ses parents les plus favorisés était presque suffisante pour soulever à nouveau les esprits de Janin. De petits pieds rampaient le long de son dos pour se reposer autour de son cou, Alek avait choisi la forme d'un furet, apparemment ayant déjà trouvé un endroit approprié pour cacher l'astrolabe et les vêtements, la sainte lyre et l'arme reposaient déjà à nouveau la jambe du siège. Elle a balayé la créature loin de son visage, mais n'a fait aucun effort sérieux pour l'enlever de sa perche.

Name: Janin The Harbinger of Festivities Gender: Female Personality: Ignorance is bliss for Janin. She is lazy, indulgent, and aloof. Not quite the gifts anyone desires in their god, and certainly not a mother. Her mortal subjects amuse her and serve little other purpose, their own struggles and ‘morality’ itself has never been of interest to her, so she never learned about it; her people’s lives mean very little to her. Their feelings towards her vary from fear to love, but very few respect her for any reason more than her divinity. That said her apathy leads her to be rather joyous; none of her ignoble deeds are done out of spite, only to sate her eternal thirst for entertainment. Major Domain: Alcohol and inebriation Minor Domains: Dance and Music Avatar: Desin is said to never be far from his master, most believe he follows her under the sands of Tarren, a few meters below her feet. He trives of Janin’s darker pleasures, and most common use is killing warriors and slaves alike in fighting pits. The show delights his god, and the spoils go to her pet. Each head contains a different venom, the first headi, Jyn, is a paralyzing agent; numbing a person to the point of immobility but they remain completely conscious. Second is Nar, who’s venom can kill in gross amounts, but in normal dose is a powerful hallucinogenic which is sometimes kept in store for Janin and her favoured. Last of the heads is Bol, who’s venom is an exceedingly powerful toxin which can kill a human in a matter of seconds. Desin’s entire form reaches nearly two miles in length, but its enormity is often hidden, either underground or camouflaged by scales that change colour each time they are shedded. Stance: Janin would much rather no one take the role of leader. Apart from that she has no qualms about who leads so long she is left alone. Relations: Xsar, Arhu - The three form a group free of the judgement often placed upon them by the other gods. Their 'alliance' is formed mostly out of pleasure from drinking and causing trouble. Ki'ivara - Ki'ivara is a kindred spirit to Janin; a friendship with someone who not only does not scorn her practices but enjoys them along side her. While they do run in different circles for the most part, Janin will always find time to share wine, stories, and poor choices with the god of lust. Naqqash - Janin despises the demi-god, an emotion even few full-gods can provoke from her. His ideals threaten the entire base of her domain's power, and if he was to become a full deity could have influence and power enough to actually do something to end her reign. Powers: Shapeshifting; Janin can change into any form she wishes, so long as she has seen it before. This may include other gods or their avatars, thought she would obviously not gain any of their powers. The greater the difference in size between herself and the shape she takes, the greater effort she expels. Teleportation; Self-explanatory, Janin can shift herself in space without actually moving. She must know exactly where she is going less she find herself three miles in the side of a mountain. It requires less thinking of a place to teleport to, and more the direction and distance she must travel. Loyalty During Rebellion: War. In the beginning Janin was content to watch things unfold as they would; her domains small and easily dismissed. As time went on and it became clear the entire ‘family’ would be involved, she took sides with War as a small act of defiance against Rieth who had always frowned upon the way she leads her people. Center of Power: A wineskin typically worn at her hip, embroidered with red and gold images of celebrating humans. Center of Power (knowledge); Through scheming with Xsar, Janin possesses the center of power belonging to the domain of knowledge, a small bronze astrolabe, half the size of her palm. Godly Equipment: Infinite chalice; a glass that is forever brimming with strong wine, never empties or spills but may be poured. Crooked Lyre: A lyre that when she plays upon can tap into the emotions of mortals, and while not directly controlling them can ease a person into calmness or whirl them into a passion. The Wine Blade: A sword nearly the length of her arm, forged of red steel. Besides its colour, it's other oddity is the thin metal string of barbs wrapped and infused around its length. While this makes it a useless when it comes to properly tearing through an opponent, it requires only a light touch to pierce the skin, allowing the coating venoms procured from her avatar to enter the bloodstream. Demi-Gods: Demi-Gods: Twins; Olek and Alek Olek dislikes and distrusts Janin with anything and everything, not that his opinion has greater value to her than any mortal’s. The bulk of his life has been spent away from the settled coastline and instead traveling the wide deserts of Tarren, in an effort to become a warrior in a land that holds no value for strength or virtue in any form. He is one of the few beings to go into contact with the Scorpio tribes and survive. His hatred for his mother is no secret, nor is his desire to kill her avatar and take control of Tarren. Janin does not view him as a threat; having inherited only her divine strength and teleportation, and finds his thoughts of overpowering her wonderfully amusing. He views himself as a somber and noble lord, and wholly rejects ideas of his own cruelty which has led to destruction of entire settlements in his fits of rage. Where Olek is distant and cold to their mother, his twin can hardly be apart from her. Alek inherited Janin’s shape-shifting ability, along side god-like speed, and tends to prefer animal forms over her true shape. The people of Tarren have become so accustomed to seeing an animal beside their god, she is often portrayed more as a familiar than demi-god. Alek is quiet to the point of if being unsettling for many. Though centuries old, she remains dependent on her mother, clinging her not out of any love, but a straining need to be close. Her motives and thoughts are unknown too all except perhaps her brother, the only one who she both speaks too and who listens to what she has to say. Land: Tarren is a large nation, nearly stretching twice as far from north to south as it does east to west. Vast as it may be, it is mostly desert and only the north cost is properly inhabited and developed. People: Humans and Scorpios Culture: It would be easiest to say Tarren survives on the back of its slaves, the number of which is vastly greater than the rest of the human populace. Slaves can come from anywhere, occasionally traders come in from other nations, nomads found in the desert can be claimed if they have no waiting family to be found, or if someone where simply to fall out of favour with their fickle god they could find themselves in chains. While the slaves may not be happy, there has never been a proper uprising. The ‘master’ class find no need for education or personal betterment; the best and only way to gain favour with their goddess is to entertain her with lavish feasts, parties and shows. The upper-class lives in constant indulgence while their slaves tend to their farms and breweries. It comes as little surprise that that main trade in Tarren is wine-making, vineyards can be found less land two miles outside of the capital, and the people boast there are more types of drink to be had in Tarren then there are people who live there. Slaves in Tarren are treated in varying degrees. It is up to each slave-owner how their own business/household is run. For the most part, they are allowed to partake in monthly festivities and some are even offered small wages. Freeing a slave is possible in theory, though there are no documents in the mostly illiterate culture, and no records. So a freed slave without family, sufficient funds to begin his own trade, or a chance to get out of Tarren completely is likely to find himself/herself back on the market. The lack of proper government and rule leaves Tarren in an almost constant state of chaos. No cities are truly safe, or even all that clean. ‘Crime’ runs rampant, though what constitutes a crime isn’t very clear in the first place. It is a land of instability and gratification, held together by very thin strings in Janin’s hand. Tarren could probably be taken over by an opposing force very easily, if any outside force could see anything redeemable in such a ruin of an empire. Capital: Capri Bay, a colourfull city towards the east on the north coast, frequented by both traders and travelers. Where it is not surrounded by sea, it is saddled by fruit farms, reaching back to an encircling mountain-range shielding the tropical, humid land from the harsh desert winds. Estimated population; 3000 (roughly three times as many slaves occupy the area including the farmland). Technology: Ptolemaic Egypt/Ancient Rome Beings: Half giant scorpion half-man creatures that populate the inland of Tarren, mostly in small nomadic tribes. The humans have tried to enslave groups of them at a time, always failing and often falling to their venomous stingers and bone-shattering pincers. Lone stragglers have on rare occasions been found. In such cases slaves are sent to remove the stinger from the creature and bind its claws. These beings are prized possessions among the high class, and often put on display at parties. The removed stingers are given Janin, who uses the deadly venom in her own wine, such gifts are one of the few ways to assure favour with the goddess, for a time at least.

Xsar Xsar s'est assis sur une cage d'escalier qui courait entre les murs d'un coin ne va nulle part. Il s'assit sur le pas en haut, défiant la gravité, méditant les nouvelles qu'il venait d'entendre. Il avait l'impression que c'était vrai, mais là encore, c'était peut-être une autre hallucination, mais là encore, c'était peut-être un message, mais là encore... "oh, c'est juste trop déroutant" dit-il à voix haute surtout à lui-même, "mais- Non!" Il se tenait debout et marchait à gauche, ou ce qui serait en bas de l'escalier de sa perspective. Il a atteint le mur et s'est tenu là à plusieurs pieds du sol comme s'il essayait de se rappeler comment naviguer dans sa propre maison, ce qui est exactement ce qui se passait. Comme s'il était frappé par un coup, il semblait se rappeler qu'il utilisait les mauvaises directions, auxquelles il tombait les quelques pieds au sol. "à ce moment-là" dit-il en se tenant, et marcha vers la bibliothèque pour voir sa fille. Peu de temps après, en prenant plusieurs escaliers qui ignorent les règles comme, la gemométrie, ou la phsy, ou la santé mentale pour cette matière Xsar a atteint la Bibliothèque et a salué sa fille Quelana qui s'est assise derrière un grand bureau avec une servante lisant un épais tome poussiéreux à elle. Xsar a entendu parler des préférences d'accouplement du saumon... Il a hurlé, "Ma chère Quelana" "Père!" Elle a dit clairement mais faiblement, elle a téléporté dans sa direction générale incapable d'être entièrement sûre de la direction car elle était aveugle. "Nora me lisait à propos des poissons, ils sont si intéressants" Xsar s'est arrêté, il ne pouvait pas à distance penser à ce qu'il voulait savoir sur le poisson, "Où est ton frère?" "Il est dans les niveaux inférieurs de garde de la faille, comme toujours." Elle répond, toujours rayonnante. Xsar hoche la tête, et produit la petite sphère ambre pour se téléporter jusqu'à la faille. - Qu'est-ce qu'il y a? Xsar disparaît laissant une paire d'empreintes dans une légère poussière de sucre en poudre sur le sol de la bibliothèque... Il ne savait toujours pas pourquoi c'était arrivé. Le sucre n'était-il pas un réactif pour un sort de téléportation? - Qu'est-ce qu'il y a? Xsar apparaît directement devant le Gate Keeper, qui a maintenant des bottes en poudre avec du sucre. "Fils, nous devons..." "Aucun ne passera" dit-il franchement -- Oui, très bien. mais nous devons aller au service pour votre grand-père" Xsar dit Le Gate Keeper ne dit rien, ce qui était normal. L'étendue de sa folie était plutôt paralysante, croyant que dire n'importe quoi, sauf quand il devait vouloir dire qu'il serait à court de mots. Ce qui, après une brève explication, était parfaitement logique pour Xsar. Il s'approcha et toucha son fils sur l'épaule et téléporta de nouveau. - Qu'est-ce qu'il y a? la paire est apparue au pied du tombeau, à plusieurs pieds. Xsar a tenu son bras en saluant, tout en essayant de faire quelque chose d'intéressant et de rendre son entrée spectaculaire. Il visait à conjurer un petit troupeau de colombes, de corbeaux ou quelque chose pour s'éloigner de lui d'une manière très pittoresque. Malheureusement, il a pensé au saumon dont sa fille lisait à ce moment-là, faisant que sa conjuration fait apparaître plusieurs douzaine de poissons autour de lui et tombe sur le sol pour flipper autour. Il pensait que c'était assez près. "La famille Greetings!" Il cria alors qu'il se tenait dans un cercle de poissons fouettants avant de se rendre sur son trône. Son trône, fait de bois et de fer de la plus basse qualité n'était guère plus que n'importe quelle autre chaise à une table d'une famille pauvre, la seule différence est que le bois déplace sa couleur au hasard comme la peinture étant versé sans fin sur elle. Sur son chemin vers le trône, il s'arrête pour saluer Janin, lui donnant un baiser sur la joue.

Name: Xsar Gender: Male Personality: Xsar is a jubilant and happy God, generally. His mood changes on a whim, and his actions also reflect this, he is often changing with each passing fancy. Underneath it all there does seem to be a wicked intelligence capable of true magnificence but fractured through his insanity. Major Domain: Madness Minor Domains: joy, Scholars (the pursuit of knowledge) Stance: Xsar's loyalty is random at best or schizophrenic at worst on the surface, but beneath the shifting tides of loyalty there is a method to his madness. Loyalty During the Rebellion: None. Causing trouble for both sides. Center of Power: A bronze Jack-o-lantern about the size of a fist. Relations: Rabble Rouser with Janin and Ahru (Probably more, PM me for ideas) Powers: Xsar's powers are as insane as himself, he probably isn't actually aware of the extent of his abilities. He could cause an entire battalion of raging ogres to suddenly become a raging battalion of hamsters, or cause them to break down into a hallucinatory rage or have all their armor simply vanish. nobody knows and Malal certainly doesnt. He also can single handedly start a raving party, with his powers over Joy he can use this power to liven up a party or more sickeningly, make his soldiers perfectly happy while getting maimed in combat laughing as their platoon is destroyed. Finally his power over scholars and the pursuit of knowledge is not an offensive ability but it ties in with his domain of madness. he can fill scholars with obsessive compulsions to learn more driving them to the brink of sanity and straining their health. The use of this ability has generated knowledge about great secrets and forbidden knowledge that Xsar and his scholars will share freely, broadcasting divine secrets from the rooftops. Godly Equipment: Helm of discord: At will Xsar can surround himself with vibrant life like hallucinations drawn from the twisted nightmares of Xsar himself. Often times these take the "shape" of twisted monstrosities who have no concept of biology or how creatures should exist. Xsar seems largely uneffected by the use of the helm but will often confuse and horrify lesser creatures. Rift Stone: A polished grey stone about the size of a fist that can tear holes through reality to other points within his own domain. With some effort on the part of Xsar he can use it to move from anywhere and into his domain, but not to leave. Also the time between departure and arrival seems random at best, taking only seconds or sometimes days. (note: there is often a mild dusting of powdered sugar on the ground wherever his portals had been used) A copy of the Infinite chalice: Xsar was very jealous of the Infinite Chalice used by Janin so he made a crude copy for his own use. It is a simple clay goblet painted as if by a child with flowers and terribly drawn animals. BUT! it works, the goblet holds an infinite amount of wine, cheap and sour wine granted, but an infinite amount. The Gate Keeper is a deranged paranoid maniac who denies all access to the lower levels of the Pyramid. The only person seen passing the gate keeper is Xsar himself. The only power he has is true and complete immortality. his limbs can be severed but he will still survive, and taunt his foe. The gate keeper uses a Quick Silver blade, a sword made of liquid metal that shifts its balance constantly during combat. It is not a Gods Bane weapon, but it is a very difficult weapon to use the gate keeper however is a master with the weapon. She is a blind Scholar with a broken body, her lower half born fused with a spider. but her intelligence is vast, and she is obsessed with accumulating knowledge. Her immobile form sits in the entrance to the extra-dimensional library. very few can navigate the library successfully because beyond the books of common knowledge it becomes very dangerous, but the rewards can be great finding by books that have not been written yet. The librarian Quealana knows how to navigate the twisted maze of space and time within the library but is unable to move herself. A few trusted scholars with armed gaurds will sometimes venture deeper into the library with enough gear to survive for several days if they get lost. Name of your Land: Asajnoksdfjigopdshiergknowqohiyhdsog (Commonly known as Wonderland) Lands: The geography of wonderland is quite unremarkable, great plains stretching for miles the lands are fertile with rolling farmland around a great city with a massive pyramid at its center. Beyond the farmlands the terrain becomes ever more strange and wild, to the north forests of great mushrooms with tribes of Mycellium-Men stomping through the undergrowth protecting their forest from the Mushroom soup bandits. In the south there is nothing but vast desert and the great wurms that are believed to be immortals but nobody is actually sure. In the center of the southern desert is a floating platform of Xsar's design that has a scale map of each land modeled to perfection, each building in each city made to excruciating detail. to the east and west are great forests that seem to be normal, but contain dreaded creatures within them. Many of them are not neccecarily evil, some are quite friendly, but quite dangerous. People: In the City are mostly regular human beings, with Mushroom men traders coming down to trade from the forests to the north. However several Immortals such as ogres and Shoggoth live along side humans with little issues. Culture: The human culture is resembles a proto-Egyptian culture with some coloring of tribal aztec culture. however there is often some Mushroom man traders. However they do not keep slaves, mostly its just the wearing of robes and feathers with the occasional blood sacrifice to Xsar that he never asked for, but is always appreciated. The rest of his domain is populated by mad bandits, who are like normal bandits but like to give their victims a good song and dance routine while robbing them. Wandering tribes of humans surviving in the desert and only rarely being eaten by the great wurms of the desert Technology: High Bronze and occasional stone age for the most of society, however the military and the high ranking members in the capital do have access to early medieval weapons and armor. Capital: Umlaut, the Capital city is the only true city in Wonderland for the most part it operates as any other city with the exception of the grand Pyramid in the center. upon entering the Pyramid the internal structure's geometry is something that strains the mind most human's do not enter the pyramid unless they have to because most of them feel quite ill within an hour of being inside. Most immortal beings however merely find it confusing or uneasy. Beings: Ogres: Hulking masses of muscle, unlike most of their cousins the ogres in Wonderland are very friendly and rowdy. occasionally wounding a human with an over excited hug. Shoggoth: These are blob like creatures that are immensely strong lifting stone slabs weighing tons by flowing their whole body under the slab and stabilizing it by extruding tentacles from their body. Fae: Several races of Fae live in wonderland, mostly little pixies and faries that are not immortals but live far longer than most humans, they mostly do very little but occasionally become a secret maid service or cobbler employees. The terms of these contracts are obviously a form of madness. Dungeon Keepers: the truest form of the madness in the land, these are a race of berzerker demons that live underground and only occasionally harass the humans living on the surface. The part of the Gate Keeper's job is to prevent these demons from coming up into the Great Pyramid through its network of tunnels. or allow them to reach the hidden chamber in the base of the pyramid.

Azo'tet Des cris de joie sanglants et l'estampillage des pieds sur la pierre porté dans les airs et dehors dans la ville comme un Colisée surpeuplé a regardé une bataille féroce entre un groupe de huit humains et quatre centaures. Les centaures avaient l'avantage d'être rapides sur les humains alors qu'ils continuaient à courir en cercle autour des humains qui avaient formé un cercle de boucliers pour se protéger des sauvages. Les épées clignotaient dans la lampe de torche qui illuminait la caverne alors que les centaures s'élançaient pour essayer de briser les boucliers, mais n'obtenaient que des coupes pour leur effort. Finalement, l'un des humains ne pouvait pas prendre d'être piégé et a brisé la formation pour essayer d'enlever l'un des centaures seulement pour se faire échauffer par les trois autres et rapidement coupé. Dix minutes de plus se passèrent entre les deux forces avant que les cinq autres humains ne soient mis à genoux devant la foule, quatre centaures sanglantes se tenant au-dessus d'eux avec des épées encore en main. En ce moment, tous les applaudissements sont tombés tranquilles comme tous les yeux tournés vers une dais qui a négligé le champ de sang trempé où Azo'tet semblait regarder vers le bas les guerriers. "Vous avez tous combattu courageusement. Je souhaite la bienvenue à vos âmes dans leur nouvelle maison, car vous ne serez pas oubliés. » Le Seigneur de la Mort a dit aux hommes sur le terrain qui tenaient la tête haute jusqu'à ce qu'ils ne puissent plus. Azo'tet regarda que les centaures terminaient les humains aux applaudissements de la foule et quittèrent l'arène avant de se retourner et de retourner à l'ombre de sa perche au-dessus de l'arène. "Père, je suppose que vous avez aussi reçu la convocation du tuteur." La voix est venue former l'extrémité lointaine de la dais qui n'a pas été touchée par les flammes bleues. Dans la lumière a marché les quatre fils armés du Seigneur de la mort portant avec lui l'un des deux objets de Dieu Bane qui était disponible à Kalian. Azo'tet a pris son arme de sa place contre le mur avant même de reconnaître que son fils était debout dans la même pièce que lui. "Nous devrons tous les deux rendre hommage au vieil homme et garder les apparences avec les autres. J'espère que vous avez l'article que je vous ai demandé d'obtenir." Morgrim a hurlé et a glissé à la poche en soie qui s'est accrochée à sa hanche alors que les cris de joie se levaient une fois de plus de la foule à mesure que de nouveaux combattants entraient dans l'arène. "Allons avant que nous soyons en retard." Morgrim a rejoint le côté de son père alors que la fumée commençait à les entourer et qu'ils étaient partis et sur leur chemin à la réunion qui déciderait de tout. Une colonne de fumée tourbillonnante s'est levée du sol derrière le trône de la mort révélant bientôt les deux d'Izamo. Morgrim tendit silencieusement la pochette en soie à Azo'tet avant d'aller se tenir à côté du trône de son père tout en gardant un œil sur le reste rassemblé. Azo'tet a passé le reste de ses frères et sœurs et jusqu'au cercueil où Rieth s'est reposé. Le seigneur de la mort a atteint dans la poche pour produire une pierre d'âme de la taille d'un rocher qui était illuminé de l'intérieur avec une lumière dorée. "Je pensais qu'une âme pure serait un bon compagnon pour le reste de l'éternité." Il a dit sous son souffle qu'il plaçait la pierre dans le cercueil avant de se retourner et de regarder les dieux rassemblés. Azo'tet s'est toujours senti comme un extérieur quand réuni avec le reste des dieux car son domaine n'était pas agréable à gérer. Il y avait aussi l'autre question qu'il n'avait pas pris part des deux côtés de la rébellion et avait plutôt aidé à ramasser les morceaux après que la poussière s'était installée. Le seul dieu présent avec lequel il avait une relation étroite était Illyona et qui se sentait plus comme un accord d'affaires que comme une parenté. Il s'était acquitté de son devoir envers le dernier roi et s'était maintenant rendu sur son trône pour attendre que tout s'installe. Le trône de la mort était une grande gifle d'obsidienne qui brillait d'une lumière blanche intérieure tourbillonnante avec des rainures sculptées en elle où Azo'tet pouvait s'installer et rester confortable.

Name: Azo'tet Gender: Genderless 13'3" Personality: Azo'tet is a solemn being who has an indifferent view on the life cycle of mortals as he is the caretaker of the the departed souls. He sees the short lives of mortals an interesting concept from an immortal point of view and also knows that they need to be kept in check in fear of death to never rise against the gods. Azo'tet is the type that would rather sit back and watch others do his dirty work than get involved himself as he likes to manipulate from the shadows. Major Domain: Death Minor Domains: Medicine, Poison The avatar of Azo'tet takes the form of a massive hound with tendrils of ember trailing behind the head. From his mouth can spew forth rivers of lava and pillars of ash that can choke the air. Mortals that touch the tendrils of ember are wisped away to the afterlife as their bodies are consumed in flames and their souls feed the God of Death. The hide of the beast is as thick as stone and can deflect all mortal weapons that are turned against him. Stance: Azo'tet has ambitions of taking the crown for himself and ruling over the rest of the gods. He will use any means necessary to make his ambitions become a reality. Relations: Powers: Azo'tet has the power to kill mortals with a mere touch or cure them from any disease that afflicts them. He is able to create poisons or medicine that can cure or cause most afflictions to mortals but would have no affect to Demi-Gods or Gods. Where ever he walked, he is able to absorb the life from the area at will to feed himself as he does not eat like others but from the souls of other living beings. Godly Equipment: Apothecary Axe: The axe of the Death god is able to bring death to mortals with a single touch and even mortally wounding other gods as it absorbs the life around it. Lantern of Demon Light: A lantern illuminated by deep blue flames that are the damning flames of the underworld. The lantern is able to convert the souls of condemned into torrents of flames that can even burn a god into submission if needed. Demi Gods: Morgrim is the only child of the Death God Azo'tet. He is a four-armed demon blessed with the ability to steal souls from mortals with a swing of his weapon. He carries with him a gift from his father, the Lantern of Demon Light, which is a God's Bane Weapon which can convert the souls trapped within to blue flames that can engulf entire fields in unending fire that water can not extinguish. Name of your Land: Izamo Lands: Izamo is a landlocked realm pushed up against the deserts of Illiosis on one side and the wastelands of Xepthys surrounds the other half of the nation. Separating the desert from his land are the Forlorn Mountains that stretch the entire length of the border reaching high into the sky. Underneath these mountains lies the a catacomb of dark tunnels and massive caverns rich with herbs and minerals that remains the home of the Dark Elves since the beginning of time. Pushed up against the base of the mountains and spanning the rest of the land is a dense jungle populated by dangerous creatures of all kinds that live in a constant cycle of life and death. Surviving within the harsh jungles of Izamo are the various tribes of the centaurs that travel through the underbrush as nomadic tribes. People: The native residents on Izamo are the shadow-born dark elves that crawled from the deep caverns of the Forlorn Mountains to serve their Lord Death and the jungle dwelling shamanistic centaurs that are renowned for their savagery. The Dark elves of Izamo are skilled architects of herbs and medicine that was gifted to them by their Lord for their own means. Azo'tet rewarded the dark elves for their loyalty with the blessing of toxic resistance allowing them to have a high tolerance towards poisons and other toxic materials. The centaurs of Izamo are savage creatures that only know survival of the fittest as a means of living. They live in tribal war bands that that roam within the borders of Izamo battling against each other in a never ending war of survival. The centaurs are worshipers of death who believe that the God is the embodiment of all their ancestors. Culture: Dark Elves may be the civilized portion of Izamo with large sprawling cities of rock and marble underneath the Forlorn Mountains but they can be just as bloodthirsty as the roaming bands of Centaurs in the jungles outside. The popular sport in Izamo is pitfighting in massive arenas where people can go to watch all manner of creatures battle to the death. The Dark Elves chose to stay underground as they found that direct sunlight is harsh on their eyes and can even cause severe burns across their body. The elves are skilled healers and herbalists that know what kind of medicine can prolong the life of their patients on death's door thought they do believe that there is no eternal escape from death if Azo'tet does not wish it. The centaurs of Izamo are ruthless savages who believe that their ancestor spirits will protect them in battle and that ritualistic sacrifices are needed to please Azo'tet. Their beliefs are that only the strong are allowed to survive and any that do not show strength are to be left behind to be swallowed up by the jungle. Among the chieftains of the various tribes there is agreement that they must hone their battle skills against each other for the day that they are to be called upon by the Lord of Death to serve in his armies. Technology: Roman/ Germanic Barbarians Capital: Kalian is the capital of the Dark Elves realm that likes under the Mountain of Souls. This is a massive sprawling city that even spills out from under the mountain onto high terraces that overlooks the lands below. There are two main features of the city that makes it stand out from any other city, these features are the massive arena sitting high at one end of the cavern which draws fighters from all over the world to prove who the greatest fighter is, another draw is located in the center of the city which is also the lowest part of the city. Located at the bottom is a large crystal that emanates an eerie white light where no mortal is allowed to go as this crystal is called the Soul Engine, and this is the final resting play for all mortal souls in the world. Beings: The jungle of Izamo is filled with savage creatures that would rip you apart without a second thought and is not a place for those of the faint of heart.

Oksana Comme chaque Dieu, et la Déesse est arrivée Oksana n'a pas déplacé de sa place parmi les trônes, plutôt elle a donné à chacun d'eux un clin d'œil, et une simple tenue, parfois une vague de sa main. Elle a cependant donné à Ilyona un peu de sourire, ainsi que de donner un à Kilgarrah quand elle a vu sa forme. Cette réaction n'a changé que lorsque Ki-ivara est apparue, et a mordu le lobe de son oreille. Oksana avait soudain l'air en colère, ses yeux coupant sur le côté à la Déesse de Lust alors qu'elle retournait à sa propre place parmi les Dieux. Avec une seule essuie-doigts de son doigt Oksana a effacé toute salive qu'il pourrait avoir laissée derrière, et l'a flanqué sur le sol avec une pelle. Quand Oksana vit Naqqash, sa peau rampait, et elle se souvenait de son frère qu'elle avait si violemment décapité avant. Se sentant un peu honteuse d'être en sa présence, elle se détourna la tête, ne voulant pas regarder le Dieu Démi qu'elle avait orphelin. Ce n'était pas un secret que Oksana était véhémente contre Naqqash prenant le siège de Greed parmi les Dieux, mais était un secret était le fait qu'elle pensait que c'était pour le bien de Naqqash. Oksana croyait fermement qu'aucun dieu ne devrait jamais prendre le siège de Greed à nouveau, car c'était ce domaine même qui avait aidé à mener la guerre sur le chemin de la Rébellion. Zadia Une explosion d'énergie brute a soudainement éclaté à travers la pièce, tout devenant un rouge noir presque cramoisi. Une boule craquante de haine brute flottait en plein air pendant un moment, quand soudain se matérialisant de la boule d'énergie se tenait Zadia, ses bras s'étendaient large, et se tenaient debout au-dessus des autres. Elle regarda entre eux tous, et pleura avec méchanceté à Naqqash. C'est quand ses yeux tombaient sur le cercueil que Zadia sourit le plus. En faisant un pas assez lourd, Zadia se tenait au-dessus de son grand-père, et s'inclinait un peu. Elle regarda les autres. L'imbécile est enfin mort, et le TRONE m'appartient! Mon père méritait le trône! Donc en tant qu'héritier, il devrait aller à moi. Zadia se retourna, et se mit à marcher vers le trône, mais pas tellement vers le trône, mais en cherchant à saisir le centre du pouvoir de son père. Le Dagger était un symbole de guerre, et il brille un rouge vif le plus proche Zadia est arrivé à elle. Son voyage a été écourté bien que comme Oksana se tenait sur le chemin soudainement, et s'est propagé à Zadia. Les deux face à face pendant un long moment que Oksana regarda vers les quatre déesses armées des Amazones Vous ne méritez pas le pouvoir de votre Père Zadia, vous n'êtes rien comme lui... Vous êtes une ombre de sa gloire, et rempli de haine et d'arrogance. Zadia commença à suivre, comme si c'était pour pummel Oksana plus, mais elle se trouva bientôt jetée comme un Ragdoll dans une colonne. Les deux déesses étaient par terre, regardant le Gardien qui se tenait maintenant. Ce n'est pas quelque chose que je permettrai dans les cieux. La bataille ne se passe pas ici! » Il a crié, son corps devenant immense, plus grand que n'importe quel des Dieux présents. Tous avaient été dits par leur Père Rieth, que le Gardien était le plus puissant de tous les êtres en existence, mais était complètement retenu par ses serments de ne garder que les Cieux, et de ne jamais chercher la violence. Aucun d'entre vous ne peut prendre le trône simplement en s'asseyant dessus. Vous avez tous un rôle à jouer dans qui deviendra roi. Vous savez que quiconque doit devenir roi, doit avoir recueilli chaque centre de pouvoir, et l'avoir placé dans le trône. Maintenant... Je vous ai tous appelés ici, afin que vous puissiez vous voir. Peut-être arriver à une conclusion pacifique quant à qui montera le trône.

Name: Zadia Gender: Female Appearance: Personality: Major Domain: None|Minor Goddess Minor Domains: Amazons, Hate Your Avatar: 143 feet in length, Zigrit is and imposing sight, her body pure muscle powerful and coiling. She has six arms and each of those arms carries a weapon forged for her size though crude in comparison to what someone much smaller would wield they are deadly nonetheless. She is capable of biting and inflicting a venom quite deadly, or simply spraying it from her fangs at those who she would face. Stance: Zadia believes she is the true heir to the throne, as her father was Heir to the throne, so she would come next. Loyalty During the Rebellion: She sided with her father War of course, there would be no other choice. She in that war killed Ahru’s daughter, and near the end was captured by Di’Myria who held her within a prison till her her father Kovar was killed. Center of Power: None, Minor God Relations: Friends with Naqqash as they are both Orphans from the same side of the Rebellion Hated by Ahru after killing Ahru’s daughter Powers: She is extremely strong, capable of feats of strength four times that of an average god. She is capable of going into a state of rage where her skin becomes as tough as steel, and her need to destroy her enemies knows no bounds. She is also capable of instilling in her Amazons a fearlessness in battle making them all capable fighters who never give up. Godly Equipment: Spear of Kovar: Her Father’s spear it is a Gods Bane weapon made of pure bronze, and capable of punching through armor rather easily. It releases a powerful blast of energy capable of cracking most armor and obliterating the enemy wearing it if struck with a direct hit. Axe of Ruin: The axe of Ruin is a terrible weapon to behold, whenever it strikes it leaves behind a trail of rust that begins to grow sapping armor of it’s endurance. This weapon used to be Zadia’s brother’s own axe. Blade of Feth: It appears to be a normal sword, but that would be deceiving, whenever it cuts flesh it begins to sap the energy of whoever it had cut after so many it could leave someone extremely weak. This is a God’s Bane Weapon. Shield of Kovar: Her father’s shield, its indestructible against anything to crash against it, even dragons fire. Demi Gods: None yet Name of your Land: Illiosis Lands: Illiosis is a enormous wasteland of sand, and rock, filled with extremely poisonous cacti, and deadly creatures including, but not limited to enormous sandworms that dive in and out of the desert devouring whatever they come across. Packs of wild creatures known as Ushra by the Amazons look like feline reptiles, their teeth sharp, claws long and deadly. Any who might have gotten cut off from their group can quickly fall prey to these beasts. Hundreds of other creatures roam these lands all of them just as dangerous as the last in their own ways. People: The Fushwari (Known to outsiders are Amazons) are powerfully muscled ten foot tall four armed women. There doesn’t seem to be any males among the, that being because they procreate rather oddly. One month out of the year is considered mating season where approximately half of the population will grow male genitalia as to impregnate the other half, wherein four months and each baby will be carried to term. They’re stronger than the average person easily capable of throw several hundreds pounds more than the Average human. Their skin is tougher as well, more akin to leather than that of actual human skin. Culture: The Fushwari are a primitive culture, with dated ideas, but Zadia only insists on this as she believes it keeps them strong, and easier to control. They live in houses built into the side of cliff faces as to keep away from the sandworms. They believe firmly in war, and combat, that this will lead them to an afterlife where they will reside forever with the War God. They frequently hunt down their own when they worship any deities that are not Zadia, and brutally murder them. They also once a year have a sacrifice in which they kill one of their own for Zadia. They believe strongly in combat, and so they have created a huge stone pit in which the sandworms cannot enter, it is here that they have Gladiatoral competitions, the Fushwari fighting each other, and other beasts to prove their strength. They also drag prisoners captured in raids to this place, to fight as well. Technology: The Fushwari are very tribal, their weapons primitive, but strong made from the sands they us a lot of Glass weapons. Though they are glass they are as strong as steel with the way they are made. The Fushwari also use shields made from the local trees, though they are more scarce and only rewarded to the elite. They tend to not wear any armor, or any clothes at all really and would typically be found in such a way, unashamed of their nudity. Capital: None Beings: WIP

Naqqash Naqqash regarda l'arrivée de chacun des dieux de derrière l'ancienne chaise de son père. C'était une chose gourde et ridicule à ses yeux, faite de chaque métal précieux et qui change constamment ses ornements. Jewlery lourd empilé à ce sujet, épais brins d'or et d'argent tissés dans un coussin riche sur le siège, accoudoirs en marbre magnifiquement forgé, il n'a jamais été content de rester un matériau fin pour très longtemps. Naqqash se tenait à côté de lui, bien qu'en soi il pensait que la chaise était absolument ridicule, il était plus intéressé par ce qu'elle représentait. Égalité. Il ne se souciait pas des pouvoirs d'une grande divinité, ni de l'influence qu'elle pouvait lui apporter. Naqqash voulait être entendu. Pour son peuple d'avoir un siège parmi les plus hauts des tribunaux afin que lui et eux ne puissent pas être ignorés et piétinés par ceux qui ont la chance de ne pas avoir leur centre pris d'eux. Même parmi les rebelles, seuls les dieux qui étaient morts avaient perdu leurs centres et leurs héritiers privés d'eux aussi. Ferrum avait gardé le sien, mais s'était rebellé. Comme Ahru, et alors que Naqqash ne ressentait aucune mauvaise volonté envers ni l'un ni l'autre, il l'irrita à quel point ses appels furent rejetés avec véhémence chaque fois que ces réunions se produisirent. Chaque fois qu'Oksana se tenait contre lui, réprimandant son père pour rébellion et Naqqash pour s'être aveuglément opposé à son père. Naqqash essaierait de se disputer, prétendant que n'importe quel demi-homme ferait la même chose pour son parent... mais le résultat n'a jamais changé. Malgré son respect pour Naqqash Kilgarrah a voté avec Oksana, suivi par la plupart des dieux de ce côté de la rébellion et le roi a dit que la question était terminée. Naqqash se tenait donc dans le sahdow d'un père mort, une ombre qu'il ne pouvait échapper... mais peut-être était-ce le temps. Il a salué ces dieux qui ont pris la peine de le saluer. Il se pencha lourdement, la peau se déchirait et les os creusaient, bien qu'il semblait ne pas leur prêter attention, souriant sous son casque à ses paroles aimables et revenant, « S'ils me donnaient jamais la chance tante.", et se penchant vers le haut. Janin a reçu aussi bon qu'elle a obtenu, étant l'un des rares dieux Naqqash pourrait prétendre à la haine véritable. Sous son casque, un léger snarl rencontra son éblouissement, la femme debout contre tout Naqqash. Elle était une esclavagiste décadente, et il ne pouvait jamais comprendre comment un aussi bon cœur qu'Ahru pouvait profiter de sa compagnie veineuse. L'entrée de Ki'ivara... a confondu Naqqash dans une certaine mesure. Malgré lui, Naqqash s'éloigna naturellement de son instinct, comme si elle avait peur d'offenser la déesse de la beauté par sa... forme tordue. Il avait combattu sa fille pendant la guerre, dans une impasse avec elle avant de se retirer... elle avait été bonne mais comme sa mère a fait rétrécir Naqqash avec leur beauté contre sa laideur pure. Xsar... c'était Xsar. Il devait... être complexe? Non, il était trop ridicule pour que Naqqash le considère même plus qu'un parent. Naqqash comme Kilgarrah, et lui donna un petit arc, le respectant même s'il s'opposait souvent à Naqqash. Azo'tet a toujours été étrange avec Naqqash. La perte et la mort étaient fréquentes ensemble, mais Azo'tet semblait toujours... laxiste pour Naqqash. Il savait peu d'Ilyona ou de Di'Myria, leur donnant des clins d'œil. Zadia... c'était l'entrée de Naqqash ne l'oublierait pas bientôt. Un orphelin de la rébellion, de même nié son centre légitime, Naqqash avait toujours ressenti une parenté avec elle, et son entrée l'a surpris. La pièce s'assombrit, une boule de haine... c'était quoi ce sourire? Elle s'était arrêtée sur son visage tordu et avait visité une sorte de... sourire excité et fou. C'était avant qu'elle marche pour prendre son centre et... apparemment le trône. Pendant un moment, Naqqash pensait que personne ne l'arrêterait... avant qu'Oksana n'intervienne. Le court combat, terminé par le gardien était néanmoins en train de s'agglutiner. Naqqash a été transfixé jusqu'à la fin... et a décidé qu'il serait le premier à parler dans le silence suivant. "Le Gardien a raison. Se battre ici est... irrespectueux. Nous devrions discuter... et trouver notre nouveau roi en paix si possible, oui?", a-t-il parlé dans sa voix agitée, mouillée, arrachée aux poumons et à la gorge torturés, comme si chaque mot lui faisait souffrir de parler. Si tel était le cas, il ne l'a pas montré.

Name: Naqqash Gender: Male Appearance Naqqash was born a grotesque. Were he not a demigod he no doubt what have been born dead. His bones were warped and many fused together, great spiky growths ripped free of his skin and his skeleton was dotted with cruel bone spurs. His skin was rent and torn, tougher than leather by the time he reached adult hood. His face was so rictus and terrible his father had it hidden beneath a thick helm... through which the spines grew and eventually fused it to his skin like the rest of his armour. He stands at about 13 feet tall, and is well muscled despite his twisted form. Personality: Naqqash is a serious God, he is slow to jest or joke as he believes such things can be distracting. However, despite what you'd expect, Naqqash is neither dowre nor depressed. Indeed, he carries himself with a poised since of hope and determination. He is never idle or lazy, intent on making his hopes and the hopes of his followers a reality. He lets not his pain stop or hinder him, turning it into his strength, a cross to bear turned into tool rather than a crutch or hindrance. He practices what he preaches, he accepts his suffering and moves on, keeping it from hurting him more than it absolutely must. So, while not jovial or seemingly happy, he is kind and understanding. He wishes ill will on very few, only the holders of the lash who do so without thought or remorse. His amiable nature gives way to endless determination when the need arises, stubbornness is a trait he keeps from his father. Major Domain: None Minor Domains: Pain and Loss Your Avatar: A massive three headed dog,large as many other avatars standing several hundred feet tall. Stance: Naqqash is yet to declare an alleigance, too afraid of making the same mistake as his father and backing the wrong Gods. But, suffice to say he hopes to find a side to back that gets him his fathers Center of Power, an item he longs for an believes is his by birthright. Loyalty During the Rebellion: Naqqash sided with his father, the God of Greed, who had sided with War. During the war Naqqash was his fathers principle warrior, being his only child. the Demi god was a talented warrior, said to be able to outlast any opponent in a fight. Some claimed he could not tire, and that no amount of pain could stop him. That his thick skin, dull reaction to pain and thick bones made him nearly un-beatable. While simply a myth made during war, he remained unbested until the very end. Once his father was slain by the Goddess of the storm Oksana, Naqqash immediately surrendered. It was no longer his fight. After that he bent the knee to the King once more, his stake gone with his fathers death. Center of Power: Naqqash has no center of power... his father did. But that is lost to him, or rather kept from him, by the King of the gods so he cannot become a full god. This is due to the fear of the King and Oksana that greed is untrustworthy inherently and would inevitable betray them again. Naqqash is convinced he would do no such thing, and deserves his fathers center. Relations -a good friend and spiritual son of Sekh, god of pestillence (Obscene) -Under the suspicion of the Goddess of time, andd trying to prove himself to her and others (Kit kat) -enemy of Oksana, slayer of his father and one of the primary people keeping his fathers Center of Power out of his hands -Ahru is a friend and positive influence on Naqqash, who is often happy to see the trickster even when neing the subject of jokes and pranks - Powers Naqqash is a dangerous combatant, though his grotesque form could suggest otherwise. Though slower than many other Gods, almost none can match his resilience. In fighting Naqqash relies on his strength and ability to take damage and keep fighting. Though taslented in his own right, the strength he has gained from his life of pain and hardship is his greatest tool. Rare is the fighter who has even a chance to outlast Naqqash. Godly Equipment Golden thorn: Naqqash's personal weapon, it is a fusion of his own old blade and his father's Gods-bane sword. Fused armour: His armor has long since fused with his body, meaning unlike many others who wear armour he is far less slowed down by it. In addition, the armour is nearly impossible to seperate from his body. Bone Spines: His body is covered in cruel, sharp protrusions that torment his form, and are extremely sharp and make fighting him up close exrtremely hazardous. Demi Gods: Naqqash's one and only child, his daughter Scylla is quite young compared to many other demigods having been sired and born shortly after the rebellion. She, like her father, was born a monstrosity though in quite a different way. She is composed of two bodies, one of a monstrous beast below, and her more human but still warped half placed atop its shoulders. Her face is rumoured to carry the marks of a beast as well. She dotes on her father, even taking a mask like his own to cover he face, and seeks to support him in all endeavours. Name of your Land: The followers of Naqqash and indeed Naqqash himself have no lands, being the dispossessed and enslaved. His worshippers are the cults beneath the lash, the gatherings of slaves in the night and the grotesques in the gutters. Those who are lost, in pain, who see no end to their own suffering. These are his worshippers. The young god has far less than others, but thhey are truly fanatical. His priests are the ones who whisper frantically in the night about hope, about freedom and prosperity. He likes it this way. To help the desperate and destitute, and give them hope when it seems there is none. The closest to a land he has are the wilds of Elkesis, a place of deep gnarled woods and disturbing beasts. The beasts and wilds like their creator are twisted and warped and in much pain. Some shoulder it like their master, others are cruel and ornery predators. Also in these woods are his only 'organized' churches. Escaped slaves and grotesque pilgrims dance amongst the trees, embracing their pain and celebrating it together. It is their home, and Naqqash loves it this way. Lands: The Wilds of Elkesis are like something out of a terrifying tale or painting. The trees are blackened and twisted, their trunks gnarled and made up of extremely tough wood. The branches have deep red leaves or no leaves at all, creating a desditute and dark look. The beasts are little better, often large and as disturbing in appearance they prowl the woods fighting eachother or seeking food and always in pain or with some other suffering. Massive hairless dogs with black and cracked skin and a mouth filled with rock like teeth seemingly placed happhazardly along their jaws. Long reptiles with wrinkled scales and pained expressions, beasts stranger still prowl the thick woods with dead foliage that seems to always grow. Gnarled roots and vines seem to try and drag the inhabitants down... but still people live here. The free folk as they call themselves are all quite alike. All have suffered greatly in one way or another, and bear their scars happily. Former slaves and grotesques, shunned children and bastards, victims of abuse at the hands of loved ones or others, prisoners unjustly imprisoned and tortured. All have suffered in their own way, and live together now in the great cults of their lord. They walk through the wilds, often armed and armoured to survive, but exalting their freedom. At night they will build great pyres and dance about them, the scars of life apparent on their flesh in all their own unique ways. Sometimes one of the cults will be visited by their god, whi will join them in revelry, or tell great stories of his suffering, or even set them on a mission to bring more like themselves to this holy land. Here all are free. People: The people of Elkesis were by and large not born their. Most are runaways and wanderers, pilgrims and oasis seekers. They say in order to find his land as a mortal you must have experienced a great pain in their life, and that the gnawing ache will lead there as scars throb and even bleed as they get closer. They are from everywhere and it shows, sking colors of every range are seen and members of many different races find salvation here. And all kinds are welcome, for we all seek a place where we suffer no longer. Culture: Nomadic, the people of Elkesis move where the food is in the wilds, unable to farm the top soil. But they do not do so with frowns, and complain very little. they are stoic and determined to survive in their new lives of freedom, free from thie old pains. All worship Naqqash here, for only his worshippers would ever stay in such a place, let alone find it. Technology: The technology is largely primitive or mix and matched as the populace simply brings whatever they can with them to this oasis. Capital: The closest thing to a capital is the great thicket. A massive patch of briars, thorns, and downed trees. Its said if you can get to the middle it is where Naqqash lives when he is not travelling. Beings

Ahru s'assit en silence alors que le reste de sa famille s'infiltrait. Elle s'est contentée de répondre à ceux qui l'ont reconnue, exceptionnellement contemplative et réservée compte tenu de son comportement habituel. Elle s'assit simplement sur son trône, observant ceux qui entrèrent et retournant la salutation occasionnelle. Elle a reconnu l'accueil de Di'Myria avec un clin d'œil et un sourire, heureux que sa sœur, et par extension les autres, semblait ignorer son mépris pour leur père. Alors que Ki'ivara entra dans Ahru dans la vérité se sentait légèrement snobée alors qu'elle passait, la Déesse de Lust ne faisant aucun geste pour la saluer; la Déesse de Déesse pouvait certainement être une petite créature à certains moments, et Ahru s'attendait à ce que Ki'ivara la salue comme elle l'a fait Di'Myria. Ensuite vint Kilgarrah, qu'Ahru savait peu de respect pour elle. Malgré cela Ahru a certainement apprécié tourmenter le Dieu des Dragons, qui est devenu une cible régulière de ses farces. Après lui Janin a fait son entrée- Ahru n'a pas été surpris de voir qu'elle était plus qu'un peu ivre. Ahru n'a pas été offensé - il est venu avec le territoire après tout, comme Janin était le Dieu de l'alcool. Janin a élevé sa coupe à Ahru, et Ahru a grillé de nouveau avec un gobelet imaginaire de sa propre. Et puis Xsar est venu, inauguré par une suite de saumons. Même après leur temps à boire ensemble Ahru ne serait jamais en mesure de comprendre le Dieu de la folie, et elle pourrait franchement préférer cela. Au moins il était amusant, ce qui était plus qu'elle ne peut dire pour beaucoup de ses parents. Enfin, et un peu comme il convient vu son statut dans la structure sociale de Dieu, est venu Azotet, qui Ahru avait vraiment peu de connaissance de bien être son frère. Il gardait à lui-même ce qui était raisonnable puisque la plupart de leurs illusoires étaient prompts à le désavouer. Et c'était tout le monde, assemblé. Presque tout le monde, du moins... et là, a menti le problème d'Ahru avec cette réunion. L'apparition de Zadia. La fille de la guerre est apparue dans une énergie brûlante, soudainement et d'une manière très malvenue. Ahru a vu le Dieu nouvellement fait - se référant à elle comme telle a fait lever la bile dans la gorge d'Ahru - comme elle est apparue. Zadia s'est apparemment vantée de la mort de son grand-père, j'ai peut-être aussi tendance à jubiler, mais j'espère qu'elle arrêtera bientôt de se chamailler, ou que je l'arrêterai moi-même. Ahru pensa à elle-même, prêt à toute excuse pour provoquer le Dieu naissant. Le prochain mouvement de Zadia s'est avéré assez provocateur, alors qu'elle a soudainement commencé à se diriger vers le trône du Roi. Apparemment, elle avait présumé prendre la place de son père, et voyait cela comme une raison suffisante pour prendre le siège de Reith aussi. Ahru a atteint l'arc qui aurait dû être à son dos, au lieu de le trouver absent. Elle n'avait pas choisi d'apporter son arme à ce qui aurait dû être une réunion pacifique, mais elle l'a souhaité maintenant. Heureusement, Oskana, misérable Oskana, mais maintenant, aux yeux d'Ahru, un sauveur a arrêté la marche de Zadia. Ahru est revenue à son siège- avec Oskana dans sa façon Zadia certainement ne passerait pas. Étonnamment, elle a réussi à mobiliser assez de force dans ses poings pour envoyer le Dieu de la tempête en vol, mais le Gardien a été prompt à intervenir, en envoyant Zadia dans un pilier de marbre. Avec l'appel du Guardian pour la paix, tout semblait s'arranger. Ahru a été heureux de voir Zadia s'envoler autour- espérons qu'il y aurait assez de raison pour plus de cela. Le Dieu de la Malédiction s'est débarrassé de sa gorge, lui montrant clairement qu'elle voulait parler. "Oui! Oui, oui, je suis d'accord, une solution pacifique est la meilleure... et, euh, à cette fin, puis-je suggérer si humblement de retirer Zadia de cette réunion? S'il te plaît?" Elle regarda à son tour Oskana et The Guardian : "Pretty, s'il te plaît? Elle a dit clairement qu'elle ne pouvait pas tenir le conseil avec nous en paix, après tout! Nous ne devrions pas tolérer ses actions irrespectueuses en présence de la tombe de père! » Ahru jeta un coup d'œil à travers les Dieux assemblés, les appelant à la soutenir. Elle n'a fait aucun effort pour prétendre que tout ce qu'elle a dit était vraiment la raison pour laquelle elle voulait que Zadia s'en aille - les autres le savaient déjà, son animosité envers la fille de Kovar était bien connue, personne ne serait dupé peu importe à quel point elle avait menti. En fait, malgré sa capacité à mentir très bien, elle était encline à montrer comme cela, des tromperies évidentes sans aucun effort mis en eux- cela a rendu la chose d'autant plus floue quand elle mentait réellement.

Gender: More often than not Ahru manifests as a female, although the benefits of shape changing for a legendary prankster such as herself are clear. Almost all traditional depictions reflect her preferred female form, however. Appearance: Ahru is an oddity among her fellow Gods. Despite most of them preferring their imposing immortal form Ahru instead appears as a mere mortal woman at almost all times. After all, it's easier to trick mortals when you look like them. Moreover as a mortal her Godly peers take her less seriously, which she quite honestly prefers. In her mortal form she stands far below other Gods, a mere 5'6". She is a lithe women, possessing a slender and quick frame. The girl is pale with a face alight with freckles. She is beautiful, as most Gods are, which proves to be an asset in her pranks. It's easier for her to manipulate someone attracted to her, after all. Ahru maintains an air of jolliness and informality, a guise that has long become effortless for her. She has a predisposition to mindlessly space out, playing with her hair or swinging her legs to and fro as she sits, giving the impression that she is carefree even in the most dire situations. She hasn't felt the need to call upon her godly form for some time and as such few Gods but those she favors greatly can claim to have seen it in person. Personality: Ahru is undoubtedly the most carefree of the Gods. She cares not for their politics unless, of course, she has the opportunity to make things more 'interesting'. She is a being in constant search of a new distraction. She is fickle, rash, and most of all mischievous. She is known as the Trickster of the Gods for good reason. While her peers may be interested in establishing order in the world she is the source of chaos. She revels in disrupting the plans of her fellow Gods and inflicting her whims on the mortal world. One should not be mistaken, she is not 'evil' as one would traditionally define it, but is merely interested in creating situations that in turn interest her. Perhaps the most dangerous aspect of dealing with her is the fact that she is quick to change her mind, constantly acting on her first impulse. Of course she derives entertainment from far more baser activities as well- dancing, singing, anything that might sate her desire for a good time. Most of all she enjoys playing simple pranks on the Gods themselves- while creating chaos in the world may be fun the thought of Aesis sitting on a whoopie cushion greatly appeals to her as well. Despite her comical personality Ahru is deceptively shrewd and intelligent, traits that make her a natural deceiver. Her licentious attitude causes many to underestimate her, a mistake that has caused the downfall of many. If one can put up with Ahru's antics they may find a valuable albeit annoying friend, but many of her fellow immortals find her insufferable. Major Domain: Ahru is the God of Mischief, holding dominion over tricks, pranks, and more sinister acts of deception. Minor Domains: Fortune, Secrets Avatar: The Jabberwock stands at nearly 150 feet, smaller than most Godly avatars but making up for the disparity in agility and ferocity. The Jabberwock is a fearsome creature, imperceptibly fast with strength to boot. Despite its vicious appearance and aptitude for combat The Jabberwock reflects the disposition of Ahru: It has not interest in fighting. It will not attack unless it or Ahru is attacked. Instead it is content with playing games with mere mortals and, occasionally, the Gods if they are so interested. The Jabberwock is a master of all games, approaching humans with a promise: Those that can beat it in any game will receive whatever their heart desires, but those that lose will be cursed to die in a painful and premature fashion. Stance: Ahru, of course, has absolutely no interest in ruling the Gods. That would be, by her estimation, incredibly boring. She does not strongly support anyone, preferring to keep her allegiance for whoever proves to be most interesting. Loyalty During the Rebellion: Who needs to pick a side? Ahru is on every side and no side. She had no allegiance, instead going from one side to another to ensure things stayed as interesting as possible. Center of Power: Most Gods objects of power are something that's important to them or something that represents their power. Ahru's center of power is a mouse. A live mouse. Her more serious siblings have admonished her for pestering the King of Gods to give her such an obviously terrible Center of Power. Her response? She did it because it was fun. Having a living Center of Power was just so much more interesting! Luckily her mouse, whom she has named Puck, has grown fond of her and is reluctant to make an escape attempt. Puck will try to find its way back to her if lost as well/ To be quite frank Ahru likes the mouse as well, and considers making her Center of Power her pet one of her better decisions. Relations: Aesis: Living on an island Ahru shares a border with Aesis, God of the Seas. Ahru revels in pranking the serious God, who gets some measure of amusement from her antics. She also knows that if she isn't on his good side he'd cause trouble for Jarenhold, which probably wouldn't be good for her. Donavall: The former God of Family was good friend of Ahru's. Kovar, God of War, gave Ahru the ultimatum to kill Donavall or be destroyed. Ahru choose the former but regrets her actions and hates Kovar for making her murder her friend. Di'Myria: The Goddess of Time and Ahru are like-minded, both out for their own amusement. They get along well and are close friends. Ferrum: The God of the Forge is amused by Ahru's pranks, but Ahru constantly tries to go a little too far with him. She makes a game of trying to arouse his well hidden anger. Ki'ivara: Ahru enjoys the company of the Goddess of Lust, one of the few Gods that like her antics. Ahru can appreciate someone who knows what they want, in addition to her other 'assets' as the personification of lust. Lacetris: Ahru totally abuses the God of Darkness' good nature. She ropes him into her schemes constantly causing him to neglect his own duties. Naqqash: Naqqash is the son of Prephistes, God of Greed. Ahru was good friends with Prephistes before his premature death, and her affection for him has inspired her to protect his son. She makes sure he's getting along well with the whole 'becoming a God' thing while in the process of playing one of her practical jokes on him. Sekh: Sekh might not consider the God of Mischief a friend, but she considers him one. He is one of her favorite targets because she knows that he hates when she makes fun of him. Xsar and Janin: Ahru forms a triumvirate of sorts with the God's of Alcohol and Madness. The share similar interests and are drink together often. Killgarh: Ahru enjoys inflicting her mischief upon the God of Dragons, but he does not enjoy her japes. Additionally he is a close ally of Oskana and Ahru considers him a little too honorable. Kovar: To put it lightly Ahru is glad that War is dead. Although she at first appreciated his rebellion since it made things a little bit more interesting she resents the Rebel's leader for making her kill Donavall, the God of Family. He's dead now so she doesn't worry about him too much, however... Oskana: The Goddess of Storm represents order in the Sphere of the Gods- a natural enemy for the God of Mischief. She also killed Ahru's friend Greed during War's rebellion. Ahru greatly resents Oskana. Oskana in turn dislikes Ahru because of her actions during the war. Zadia: Ahru harbors a deep hate for Zadia. The newly made God stuck her spear through Ahru's firstborn daughter Orthia during War's Rebellion, an act that Ahru will surely never forgive her for. Powers: Ahru is a highly capable archer, said to never miss her mark. Being a trickster she is naturally very agile and hard to get a hold of. She has little skill in a melee to speak of, preferring to keep her distance and stay out of direct combat. Her greatest skill is that of guile, the ability to sneak and steal. Even without her Skeleton Key it is said that she can pick any non-magical lock. Ahru has the ability to peer into the mind of mortals and discover their darkest secrets; this ability does not work when used upon immortals. Despite her prowess in combat it is rare to see her in a battle; fighting simply does not match her definition of fun. Ahru's power lies truly in her ability to trick and deceive even the Gods. To this end while she is in mortal form she can change her shape at will, although is unable to exceed the size of her typical form. Godly Equipment: Sunstrike- Legend hold's that Ahru's bow, Sunstrike, has the power to pierce even the Sun, hence its name. She has yet to test this particular feature for fear of how she may alter existence as she knows it... and the wrath of Ilyona. However it is certain that an arrow shot from Sunstrike is very hard to stop, able to pierce shields, armor, and just about everything in the mortal world. Each arrow shot from the bow is rendered nigh unstoppable. Despite the great urge to wreak havoc with the weapon Ahru does demonstrate an uncharacteristic restraint with it, for fear that her peers will take it from her if she gets too eager. The bow is crafted from the light of the Moon itself, the limbs of the weapon having an ethereal quality, seemingly made of moonlight but nigh unbreakable. The string is taken from a lock of Ahru's own hair- not that of her mortal form, but of her godly form. It is a weapon greatly treasured by the trickster. It is a God's Bane weapon, although she has yet to try to claim an immortal life with it. The Dagger That Does Not Cut- One of the most curious weapons in the God's arsenal is her dagger. As the name implies the dagger is incredibly dull and is unable to cut even the softest of cheese. Despite this it is completely unbreakable no matter how much force is applied to it. The dagger has another curious property: All who touch its blade are destined to misfortune. Their plans will fail, their loved ones will come to shun them, they will lose their wealth, and for the rest of their life, however long that may be, they will be shrouded by misfortune. She has yet to see how the dagger will affect a God, but it is not a God's Bane weapon, so it is unknown how much of the dagger's properties will work upon an immortal. Ahru suspects that while it is not able to kill a God it will give them a burst of bad fortune. Skeleton Key- Ahru's greatest tool, a key that can open any lock. Its head has the design of a skull, but the rest of the key is ever changing to match the lock it will fit into. Only Ahru knows the secret to creating a lock that will not yield to the key, but she of course refuses to share this knowledge. Cloak of Night- When one looks upon the cloak it seems to be night itself- the black canvas seemingly as dark as the night's sky filled with glowing points of light that look like stars. It is a beautifully crafted garment made from the wool of a winged black ram; a strange creature borne into the mortal world by Rieth himself. The cloak has the unusual ability of turning all who wear it completely invisible, undoubtedly a useful tool in the trickster's arsenal. Ahru's Slippers- The unfortunate result of Ahru's own attempts at making a tool worthy of her pranks. These ill fitting slippers are ugly; a craftsman Ahru is not. There are made of the leather taken from a centaur and blessed with her own power. They are an ugly shade of brown and the shoe is improperly glued together, threatening constantly to come apart but never committing to self-destruction. They are uncomfortable on Ahru's feet but she finds herself wearing them often, perhaps because she feels some semblance of pride in their design, or, more likely, because of their extra-ordinary properties. Those who wear produce no sound from their feet. That is to say the sound of footsteps or that of falling are imperceptible to all but the wearer. Demi Gods: Várlil is Ahru's first born son, spawn of one of the few able to beat the Jabberwock in a game. Várlil is a murderer, raper, and committer of many more vile deeds in the mortal world- he is like his mother in the fact that he commits acts of chaos for his mere amusement, although he is far more evil. He encompasses the darker side of her mischief. Quite frankly Ahru would prefer to ignore him, never having need to call upon him, embarrassed by his crassness and violent tendencies. He has the supernatural strength that Ahru possesses alongside all gods and her great skill with the bow. Reynard appears less a fox and more some creature of magic. Ahru is the father, not the mother, of Reynard. The result of one of her whims, an 'experiment' with her shape changing abilities, Ahru is content with pretending Reynard does not exist. If Várlil represents the dark of Ahru's domain then the fox represents the lighter side of the sphere of mischief. He is a playful prankster and well loved in the mortal world, more whimsy than malice. Much like his sibling Ahru does not call upon her spawn often, but Reynard is eager for the chance to appease his parent. Reynard has the agility of Ahru and the ability to turn into shadow at his whim. Orthia was Ahru's first child, and the only one she had ever cared for. The stories go that Orthia's father was a man of Jarenhold that the Goddess of Mischief met not long after she was created. As a newly born God she was eager to explore her lands, and her whims led her into one of her subject's beds. Orthia was the result of their union, and Ahru was eager to dote on the newly made demigod. Orthia was a capable warrior and possessed the better qualities of her younger siblings- Reynard's agility and charisma and Várlil's skill with the bow and great strength. Most importantly she possessed Ahru's sense of humor and her lively spirit. When Ahru entered War's Rebellion her daughter was not far behind, following her as she ping ponged between the two sides. She was ultimately struck down by War's daughter Zadia in battle, an act that Ahru will never forgive the newly made God for. Ahru arrived at the battle too late, routing Zadia's army but losing her daughter. Ahru never forgave herself, withdrawing form her two sons soon after, leaving them to their own devices. Name of your Land: Jarenhold (Pronounced Yar-en-hold) Lands: Jarenhold is an island entrenched in an eternal autumn, a surprisingly beautiful land considering the character of its ruler. It is covered in autumnal forests alight with the colors of fall,: red, orange, and brown hues of leaves that are nigh constantly falling. Despite this the trees are never bare, seemingly growing leaves as fast as they lose them. Besides the woods of Jarenhold one can find rolling fields that are canvased by flowers. Jarenhold is a temperate island, never overly hot or cold but maintaining a pleasant sunny atmosphere. Near the coast the forest and fields give way to beaches covered in white sand. The flora and fauna of Jarenhold are not peculiar- they are what you would expect from the mortal realm, overall an idyllic land that does not match its ruler. People: The people of Jarenhold are simple, ordinary humans. They are predispositioned to a pale white complexion and red hair, matching their God's chosen form. Culture: Men of Jarenhold are simple and hardworking- the land is known for the farms that dot its fields, storied as the source of the finest ale and produce in the mortal world. As the fields turn into the coast farming towns become smattering of fishing villages. Although they are a people that value labor their God ensured that they know how to have a good time. The towns of Jarenhold are alight with parties after the workday that will last well into the evening. Perhaps one of the greatest oddities in Jarenhold is the fact that Ahru can be found regularly joining in her people's revelry and, of course, playing tricks on them. For them she is less a God and more a whimsical spirit- in fact many in her land would not recognize her as the God of Mischief, more accustomed to worshiping depictions of her unfavored immortal form. Jarenhold is a simple land of simple people, although one must ask, why does a God such as Ahru hold dominion over such a seemingly unfitting land? The answer is simple: It's more fun for her to inflict her brand of mischief on ordinary mortals. For her the land of Jarenhold is less her domain and more a playground for her to find her jollies. Technology: The land of Jarenhold is best described as Medieval Era, although there is little technology to speak of besides that which may be applied to farming. That is to say that one might find water wheels and advanced farming techniques but innovations involving warfare and weaponcraft are much less commonplace, as Jarenhold's people are a peaceful breed. Capital: Jarenhold's capital, Alarah, is perhaps only distinguished from the other villages in that it is slightly larger and more centrally located. The architecture of Alarah, much like the rest of Jarenhold, is simple and wooden, the most formidable building in the village being a longhall dedicated to worship of their God. Beings: Jarenhold has a small population of Kitsune. They are ordinary foxes save for the capability to speak and an intellect matching a human. Their ideals fall more in line with that of Ahru's. They revel in inflicting her mischief upon the people of Jarenhold, and are disliked by their Human neighbors. The exception to this is Reynard, who is respected as Ahru's own offspring, a Half-Breed who possess the ability to walk on two legs as a Human would. He has become well liked by the people of Alarah, his particular brand of whimsy and fun injecting life into the town.

Ferrum La Forge Dieu s'est abaissé sur son trône lentement comme Aesis, le roi Kraken comme Ferrum l'a appelé il y a une fois des siècles, car son humeur pourrait devenir aussi mauvaise que ces créatures damnables, sa glamour évidente à la mort de Père, râpé sur Ferrum, même s'il avait combattu contre lui dans la rébellion de Kovar. Avec un léger sourire qui n'a pas atteint tout à fait ses yeux, Ferrum a hurlé à son frère, tournant God-Smiter dans sa direction avant de poser sa tête d'abord à côté de son trône, Krixis debout légèrement devant lui à gauche, Siani à droite. « Sadesse, frère? » demanda-t-il, ses doigts tapotant sur la cuisse blindée, se penchant sur le côté de son trône. Est-ce que je suis triste que Père soit mort? Oui, je le suis. Suis-je triste qu'il faille une telle occasion pour que notre famille se réunisse? Oui, je le suis. Suis-je triste de revoir ton visage grincheux? Oui, je le suis, en quelque sorte. Il se fractura le cou lentement alors que d'autres dieux apparurent, Ilyona fut le premier, un autre parent tueur, tueur de Kovar lui-même, un exploit qui, bien qu'il s'assit malade avec Ferrum, était un digne de respect au moins, pour battre le Dieu de la guerre dans la bataille, une sorte d'ironie dans son esprit. Sa main s'est serrée de nouveau comme on lui rappelait la mort de son frère, deux tueurs-parents des Rebels et deux survivants des Rebels, n'a pas juste profiter de ses jeux avec les Dieux. Oui, nous continuons, Soeur, il gronda, se détendit lentement la main. Naqqash était ensuite, le fils de Greed, une horreur sur les yeux, un que quelqu'un pouvait trouver révoltant s'ils n'avaient pas la patience de voir au-delà de sa peau à l'intérieur du cœur. Il méprisait l'esclavage, il détestait l'inégalité, il avait de nobles intentions de ce que Ferrum avait compris du fils de son frère plutôt lointain, mais il était orphelin peu importe, laissant Ferrum parfois bouder les choses si elles avaient ciblé le jeune Dieu naissant. Il retourna sans un mot le hochement, retournant se frotter les doigts sur son armure alors qu'ils attendaient l'arrivée de leurs parents. Pour avoir un Dieu-Démi apparaissant si tôt était inattendu, mais puis encore, Naqqash a tenu une bonne quantité de fierté de respecter les autres. Ahru, Ferrum sourit honnêtement à son apparence, même si Krixis était tendue à son arrivée, le moindre clin d'oeil de son assiette d'or, Ferrum chuckled comme il se souvenait de la dernière farce que Krixis avait souffert aux mains d'Ahru, le masque de la Forgekin maintenant assis moqueusement dans la voûte personnelle de Ferrum, quelque chose que Krixis le déteste tranquillement, l'ayant forgé alors que sous l'une des nombreuses farces d'Ahru. Il a été trop long Ahru, peut-être vous devriez farcer Krixis à nouveau juste pour visiter à nouveau, a-t-il dit, la voix de granit craquer un peu pour permettre une certaine chaleur dans les mots. C'est Di-Myria qui est arrivé maintenant, dessinant le regard de Ferrum, il avait combattu avec elle plusieurs fois pendant la Rébellion, et chaque fois qu'ils se confrontaient, il viendrait à quelque chose d'autre les appeler loin les uns des autres. Kovar's demande la victoire ailleurs, ou le Père propres plans tirant le Temps Déesse loin. Il n'avait jamais tenu haine contre elle, avec ses pouvoirs Ferrum savait qu'elle aurait pu le blesser au moins dans le passé, au lieu de rester sa main. Bien que Loshtar était tombée à ses mains, et qu'elle était une autre tueuse de parents, Ferrum ne pouvait pas lui reprocher. Après tout, Loshtar était meurtrier, et il avait dit qu'il tuerait la Déesse du Temps pendant la rébellion, pas un des frères favorisés de Ferrum, et il oubliait souvent qu'une âme aussi gentille que Di-Myria était tachée de mort. Une minute ou deux que nous aurons, Sœur, il a dit qu'il s'inclinait la tête vers elle en ce qui concerne. Kiavara arriva sans lui dire, se pressant auprès de ses soeurs avec sa joie habituelle dans de tels moments, Ferrum ne la comprendrait jamais pleinement, même s'il devait faire face à elle pendant la rébellion, un fait qu'il ne voulait pas répéter personnellement, il n'y avait que tant de personnes lustrées qu'il pouvait battre de côté sans les tuer dans un royaume comme le sien. C'est celle qui l'a suivie qui l'a fait s'asseoir pleinement, ses enfants se lisant presque sur l'instinct, Sianis flammes brûlant un peu plus brillant et Krixis s'emparant de son propre marteau. La paix, mes enfants, nous n'avons pas été ceux qui ont brisé la règle du Gardien aujourd'hui, a-t-il dit, voyant l'empressement de Siani s'affaiblir lentement, bien que Krixis ait gardé sa main sur son marteau. Kilgarrah, le seigneur du dragon, et celui que Ferrum avait combattu amèrement, perdant l'un de ses projets précieux à cause de l'explosion de wyrm volant. Il n'a rien dit à Ferrum qui était bien par lui en ce moment, Krixis gardant à ses côtés la Dent de Wyrm, et il a soudainement été assailli par la décision de défaire l'arme à nouveau. C'était un pari dans son esprit, et juste voir le dragon lui a de nouveau fait questionner le choix en permettant de faire l'arme une fois de plus. Soupirant de nouveau détendu, les yeux clignotants pour le garder en vue, il n'avait aucun désir de risquer de perdre plus de famille aujourd'hui. Janin est arrivé, Ferrum a admis qu'il connaissait peu de ses frères et sœurs, gardant sa distance de celui-ci hors d'habitude plutôt que de détester. Et puis il y avait Xsar. La folie était certainement son domaine, le saumon, c'est-à-dire son entrée, le saumon, Ferrum pouvait déjà sentir l'Aesis. Avec un soupir intérieur, il s'est rendu compte à quel point sa famille était dysfonctionnelle à chaque fois que Xsar apparaissait. Et une capacité impressionnante que Ferrum détestait personnellement pour le Dieu. Azotet, le centaure, le dieu de la mort, au moins il apporta un don pour le vieil homme, une âme pure, quelque chose dont Ferrum doutait existait dans un monde où les Dieux exerçaient leurs volontés et leurs desseins différents sur leurs peuples. Au moins il était un parti neutre, il n'avait pas pris part à la rébellion, et plusieurs fois Ferrum avait entendu Kovar faire rage contre ne pas avoir le Dieu de la Mort à côté. Et puis il y avait Zadia, fille de Kovar, et elle tenait la même croyance de Kovar, qu'elle devait avoir le trône, même s'il s'occupait d'elle, il a pressé sa paume contre son front alors qu'il regardait sa parade autour comme si elle était déjà habilitée. Même la mâchoire de Krixis est tombée ouverte comme Zadia a fait pour revendiquer le centre de Kovar. C'est Oksana qui l'a arrêtée, bien sûr, jamais l'exécuteur. Ferrum regarda en silence Zadia frapper la Déesse de la Tempête, seulement pour être jeté à travers la chambre par le Gardien. En s'éloignant de son trône, il offrit de nouveau à Zadia une main à ses pieds, regardant le Guardian et Oksana avant de retourner son attention à l'amazon à quatre bras. Ce n'est pas le moment pour de telles revendications, Zadia, de travailler à gagner le trône de Kovar, plutôt que d'y penser comme un droit d'aînesse, il lui a dit tranquillement. C'était la demande d'Ahru's de faire éjecter la fille de la guerre des cieux qui a fait regarder Ferrum vers le haut, ce n'était pas surprenant, Ahru's n'aime pas Zadia était clair, ce qui l'a pris hors de garde était la tentative effrontée de celui-ci. Zadia est la fille de Kovar, notre frère et le fils du Père, elle a tout droit d'être ici, en tant que représentant de la guerre dans... l'absence de Kovar lui-même, a dit fort Ferrum à tous les dieux et déesses assemblés, ses yeux tombant sur Ilyona comme la dernière de sa sentence.

Name: Ferrum Gender: Male Appearance: (Ignore the mechanical arm on his back though) Ferrum stands at the full 14’ height. His arms are the color of silver, with which he crafts the metals within the Forge. Personality: Where once Ferrum’s temper was as easy to ignite as a fire was to consume dry grass, his commitment to the Forge had moulded his temper with patience, allowing him to work to perfecting his creation with little effort or frustration. And while some are able to break the wall of iron-will he has cast upon himself, he never allows it to come out in large amounts. The disaster of the rebellion has changed him from seeking to improve his creations of war and death, instead, following the punishment meted out against him for his part in the forty years of battle has reinforced his desire to create things once more, his once fiery temper now embers within his heart. Major Domain: The Forge Minor Domain(s): Fire, Metal Your Avatar: Called Vatra, standing at 261 feet, and around 400 feet from wingtip to wingtip, Vatra burns near constantly, the flames only hurting those not being honest of their intent and deeds. Vatra is rarely away from Ferrum, and often aids him around his own forge, keeping the fires burning endlessly to provide just the right temperature to create wonders of peace, of weapons of war. Stance: Ferrum honestly cares little for who sits on the throne as King anymore, and simply wishes to tend to his people and his forge. Because of this stance, he will provide weapons to those he feels are worth the effort, regardless of their views on the current political situation. Loyalty During Rebellion: Ferrum unexpectedly sided with Kovar the War during the rebellion, won over by the praise given for his work on Kovar's God Bane. It was not unexpected that the two were friends of sorts, for Wars always needed weapons to fight them, the two domains overlapping and a kind of symbiotic relationship kept the two on more even terms than Ferrum ever felt towards their father. Center of Power: Ferrum’s center of power is an simple iron ingot, one of the first he made with the Forge in his youth, it is always moved throughout the Forge, but regardless of where he puts it, or even if he places it in the largest pile of exact ingots, he knows where it is for the power of the Forge is within that unadorned ingot, the sigil of the Forge stamped into the bottom of it, as with any other ingot. Relations: Ki’ivara: Becoming something of a friend to the Goddess of Lust, Ferrum gifted her a palace unlike anything he had constructed in the past as an apology for deeds created in the midst of the rebellion, keeping the details and secrets of it between himself and the Goddess of Lust herself. Aesis: Ferrum considers Aesis the closest thing to a brother he can with his sibling gods, finding a similar heart in the fury of the ocean’s master. The pair challenged one another to forge a weapon, and the greater shall be the victor. This challenge lasted a full week in length, with Ferrum’s creation of the Riptide trident, and Aesis’ forging of the God-Smiter. Ahru: Ferrum finds Ahru’s constant meddling an enjoyable way to change the more methodical aspects of his life and work, although there are times when her antics draw his ire, and he knows she actively tries to pull this moments from him.. Di’Myria: During the rebellion, Ferrum had several engagements with Di’Myria, which leveled the lands of their battles, but neither could get that decisive victory over the other. With the rebellion dragging out, War redirected Ferrum to another front, leaving Di’Myria to the Murder God, Loshtar. At the rebellions end, and seeing just what he had allowed his fiery temper to blind him to, Ferrum apologised to the Time Goddess, and now the two regularly meet to discuss various things, with Ferrum learning patience most of all from their meetings. Kilgarrah: Ferrum and Kilgarrah fought hard during the rebellion, with a somewhat pyrrhic victory landing in Ferrum’s hands after the destruction of one of Ferrum’s many vaults dotted throughout the mountains of Corantha, this battle saw to the breaking of Wyrm Tooth, and the entrapment of Kilgarrah towards the end of the rebellion. Ferrum has held onto the broken remains of Wyrm Tooth, wondering if the weapon would help fix the hatred born from the rebellion. Powers: Temperature Control, Metal. While not capable of creating fire out of thin air, Ferrum can bring the temperature around him up to intense level, and also back down to near freezing levels, he uses this to aid in his forging, while crafting things with his hands has given him a deep affinity for whenever a metal touches his skin, capable of bending it to his will the longer he has touched it. With this affinity his skin naturally hardens against strikes, making him extremely durable, especially with weapons he created. Godly Equipment: Fate’s Anvil: The primary anvil in which Ferrum forges the God Banes, combined with the Destined Hammer it allows Ferrum to transfer the power of the God in question into their weapon or item of choice. Destined Hammer: The Hammer is the key part to forging God Banes and their items. The Hammer must be held by the God in question to allow a transfer of power into their item, before Ferrum physically beats the item with the God’s power. This is not a long process, the Hammer required to be carried for maybe a full day before Ferrum retrieves it for his Forge. God-Smiter: This immense Warhammer is Ferrum’s God-Bane, favouring the power of destruction it holds of the speed of smaller and more elegant weapons, it captures Ferrum’s strength easily, each blow capable of cracking open mountains. This is a God Bane. Demi Gods: Krixis was born to one of the few mortals to actually enter the Forge itself, his mother a lady of royalty and eager enough to bed the God of the Forge. Krixis rose to station as his affinity of metal became clear, moulding it in many ways and showing an ever increasing need to know more about how to craft and mould ever more complex patterns. He came to his father simply to learn of metalcraft, but after seeing the truth of the Forge, has stayed with his father, crafting his own smaller forge next to the Forge itself. His proudest creation were his Forgekin, at the moment they are lifeless suits of armor in marshalled ranks across his domain of his father’s mountain fortress. Siani was the second child born to Ferrum, the mother an acolyte of his temple and during one of his few times walking with his people, Ferrum found himself attracted to this woman, while not exactly love, he felt deeply for her, and mourned her loss some years after the birth of Siani. Siani is the more unpredictable of his children, living to her affinity of fire, she can manifest flames from the thin air, and often her tempar is shown by this ability, she bears no weapon other than those she makes from her own flames. It was Siani who went to war with Ferrum during the rebellion, leaving Krixis to protect and govern the people of Corantha. Name of Land: Corantha Lands: The lands of Corantha are mostly mountains with forests surrounding the outer edges, and great rivers of fresh water pour down the mountains in large numbers. The lands teem with game and predators, few of which approach the larger mountains. People: Corantha is mostly filled with settlements of Dwarfs, with the odd human settlement nestled somewhere in the forests along the main routes into and out of Corantha. Culture: Corantha’s culture is one that is not its own, for their God does not impose his will on them, and instead teaches them the art of forge-work and metalcraft, allowing them to grow as they wish. This in turn has led many of the dwarf communities to focus on metalcraft and mining for the materials required to forge. The scattered human settlements primarily focus on food production, trading with the dwarfs for their metalcraft in exchange for their produce. The homes of the dwarfs, built into the mountains themselves are strong and built to last, while the human settlements are dotted around the foothills and forests, with only a couple of large, developed coastal towns. Corantha’s armed forces are a mixed breed, with the dwarfs preferring to stay on the defensive, constructing fortifications and defences, while the humans provide the bulk and strength of the army with powerful, well-armored cores of heavy infantry, supported by wings of cavalry and lines of skirmishers. Technology: Roman Era Capital: Corinth, largest Dwarf city built before the Valley of the Forge, which leads directly to Ferrum’s forge. The city is built into the mountain, going deep and far, with masterfully crafted halls and walkways mapping the length of their work. The entrance to the city is lined with statues of dwarf warriors watching the road, and the entrance to the Valley has two large guardians crafted into the rockface. Beings: The Mountains are home to many creatures, the largest of which are the cyclopean giants, which mainly stick to their caves, but on occasion venture close to the towns and cities in search of fresh food in the form of meat. While he does not interfere directly against them in roaming from their caves, Ferrum has made it clear they are not to enter the boundaries of the cities and towns, those foolish enough to remain outside the boundaries when a cyclopean giant nears are not his concern. While not a being in a sense, the golems now dotting the length and breadth of Corantha have become a strong part of the everyday occurrences, with people giving praise to Ferrum and creating altars of a sort at their feet. These Golems were originally a pass time for Ferrum, during his century long punishment for his part in the rebellion, but became one of his more favoured creations.

Le propriétaire mondial, Earthshaker, King Kraken À l'arrivée de chaque dieu, l'irritabilité commença à s'installer, pesant profondément sur l'âme d'Aesis. La lumière corrosante d'Ilyona a chanté sa peau. Le visage tordu de Naqqash était anathème à ses yeux. Les papillons d'Ahru ont été avalés par ses piranhas. Ki'ivara a étrangement coloré l'aura l'a vexé. Le boulon flamboyant de Kilgarrah se coucha et cuisina son aquarium, fumant quelques-uns de ses enfants. L'apparence dégradante de Janin dans son pool a réduit ses attentes au point de ne pas revenir. Mais l'apparence de Xsar l'irritait le plus. Avec une floraison et une explosion de poissons, le dieu fou s'empare de son trône mal fait, laissant derrière lui des dizaines de vertébrés aquatiques à sang froid. C'était comme un vexage de l'âme, car ce qu'Aesis ressentait n'était rien de nouveau, il était tordu et déformé mais c'était quelque chose de fort. Il brûlait comme le feu lançant ses veines et rampant sa colonne vertébrale, sa peau commençait à mousser comme les vagues de la mer, mais tout ce qu'il pouvait sentir était le désir; le désir de haïr. Il était enivré d'une émotion qu'il n'avait aucune intention de ressentir en ce moment, pas en ce jour. L'acidité de celui-ci résidait dans son estomac en attendant d'être craché hors de sa bouche avec des mots grossiers et vulgaires qu'il serait regardé pour dire. Puis, le point de basculement proche est venu, l'arrivée de Zadia. Sans pensée ni caprice, sa marche n'était pas vers son trône, mais la sienne. Cela apporta le regard de dégoût sur la face des dieux de la mer, et la salle du trône commença à ressentir sa colère. Ses animaux de compagnie ont commencé à crier et à nager erratiquement, son aquarium a commencé à tourner et à se transformer en un ouragan miniature violent. Avant de pouvoir tourner sa fureur vers Zadia, Oksana prit sa place à la place, arrêtant la déesse de guerre dans ses traces et se mettant à se lancer à travers la pièce avec un méchant coup de puanteur. Seule l'ingérence du Gardien a sauvé les deux déesses de leur implication. Malgré son propre mécontentement à l'égard de son père, il a toujours maintenu une décence commune au besoin. Leur propre créateur était mort, et devant son corps, au-dessus de sa tombe, elle a tenté de voler son trône? Est-ce qu'elle ne connaissait aucun respect? Le trône d'Aesis commença à trembler, sa colère clairement connue par le torrent tourbillonnant qui l'entourait. Les mots ne pouvaient décrire les actions qui auraient pu avoir lieu si les mots du Gardien ne l'avaient pas ramené à la réalité. Le roi Kraken était beaucoup de choses, mais il n'était pas un hypocrite. À lui, apporterait le respect sur le territoire de son père, et se calmerait lui-même. L'eau enflammée qui entourait Aesis ralentissait jusqu'à un arrêt, mais les braises de sa rage brûlaient encore en lui. - une conclusion pacifique... Les paroles du Gardien rejouaient encore et encore dans sa tête, et un froncement se formait sur son visage. La confusion s'est rapidement installée. Il ressortait clairement de ce passage qu'une telle fin était farfelue et enfantine, et, en tant que dieu aîné, Aesis estimait que son opinion devait être entendue: « Vous vous trompez vraiment si vous croyez vraiment qu'une telle conclusion est une issue plausible. Vous êtes tous." Il a commencé, ses mots se lavant au-dessus de la pièce comme une vague précipitée. « L'altercation, il fit un geste balayé avec ses mains, faisant allusion à l'endroit même où le combat a commencé. "prouve ce que je veux dire. La paix, ce n'est pas et ce ne sera jamais la réponse ici." Il conclut, se penchant vers l'avant sur son trône. "La situation n'est plus aussi claire, Guardian." "Frères." Il s'est tourné vers sa droite. "Sœurs." Il s'est tourné vers sa gauche. -- Quelle est la réponse? Aesis a commencé à frapper sa barbe, en pensant à une telle conclusion, une chose violente. La réponse est claire et sans doute dans l'esprit de tous ceux qui sont présents, une fois qu'ils ont affronté la réalité. Une fois qu'ils se sont rendu compte de la réalité de la situation, ils sentiraient aussi les motifs bâclés derrière eux. Mais la réponse n'impliquait certainement pas de virer quelqu'un. Ses yeux bleus ont atterri sur Ahru. Son mépris et son mépris pour Zadia n'étaient en effet pas un secret, mais elle aurait dû mieux le savoir. Il était clair qui était plus fort entre les deux, le Gardien signifiait peu à l'extérieur de cette pièce.

Name: Aesis Gender: Male Personality: Just like there are two sides to every story, there are two sides to every being. Aesis' duality comes in the form of how the public perceives him and who he is on a personal level. Furthermore; Aesis, like many of those who consider themselves to be a divine, has three sides of themselves. Not truly three distinct personalities, nevertheless, he has three ways of looking at things: contemplative, direct, or dubious. His emotional set consists of a phlegmatic disposition, generally unemotional and stolidly calm. Which usually leads to assumptions of a depressed, cynical god, but bitterness and hate has yet to taint his soul. He still has an optimistic view of the world, harbors idealistic dreams, and naively believes that other gods can be trusted. Aesis maintains no disillusion about the state the world is in, however. But it’s a testament to his integrity and nobility, how he has remained an honest and responsible being. In combat, Aesis is: controlled, focused, steady, and conscientious of his surroundings. Every decision is made cautiously and pragmatically; he's vigilant in his efforts and never impulsive. He strives to apply the same manner of thinking to every facet of his immortal life. This is why he doesn't interfere in every dispute and is content with watching until needed. When it comes to Aesis' ability to handle sudden changes and disagreement, his open-mind enables a high degree of adaptability. Because of that, he's able to be tolerant and forgiving of ignorance; whether he's willing to, differs from scenario-to-scenario. But to avoid any interactions outside of his guardianship, he projects a rough, cold exterior. He even goes as far as exiling himself, which further lends to the mysterious lone wolf persona he has adopted. This facade is obviously a guise however, as evident in his altruistic behavior. Once his icy shell has been broken, his warm nature will shine through and the courteous, cultured being with a unique sense of humor and charm will be revealed. Major Domain: Oceans/Seas Minor Domains: Water/Rivers/Rain/Streams/Lakes/Marine Life Your Avatar: A massive beast standing more than five-hundreds feet tall, it is the epitome of the seas unstoppable rage and destruction. Capable of traveling the world in mere seconds at speeds in which are unfathomable. Nothing can go on in his waters without him knowing, and it often preys on ships and sailors who enter his territory without paying tonnage. Stance: Chaotic Neutral; the kingship has little meaning to him, but since his natural order is being disturbed, he will and has lashed out. Loyalty During the Rebellion: War Center of Power: Pearls are smooth and white with a silky look, and silky feeling. They are milky white and lovely; and this is what describes his Center of Power. A massive pearl that is juxtaposed into his for head with pulses with the power of the ocean. Relations: TBA Powers The domain of the Sea is a tricky one to describe. It is both a loving and a cruel mistress; water is a giver of life to those who drink from it, growth to the plants it rains on, and certain death to those who fall between it's crushing waves. Likewise, the sea may bring peace to those who swim in it's luxurious shores and a full belly to those who gather fish from it, but to drink too much sea-water is to embrace death for most mortals. At times the sea will provide, and at times it may rise up in a vengeful, inescapable tsunami and crash itself against shores or cities. The sea is home to life too abundant and diverse to comprehend, but with this life comes danger. Sailors may bring home stories of monsters lurking in the depths; humongous, shadowy creatures stalking them for days before suddenly vanishing as they pulled towards the safety of the shore. As the God of Oceans, Aesis embraces both sides of the sea. He has power over it's strong waves and it's playful shores. He breaths it's cool, soothing touch and the painful, fatal suffocation to those who fall too deep beneath it, and both are in his sphere of power. He embodies waters itself, and lords over it confidentially. Godly Equipment: A weapon that cuts with the destructive force of the ocean, Riptide is capable of ripping about the earth at a single swipe; commanding the oceans at its slightest movement. Standing at 9'0 feet, it is the god of the seas weapon of war. Demi-Gods: The first born of Aesis, and an Admiral of the Aesisian Fleet, Triton is the exemplary warrior that his father raised him to be. From birth, he has been trained to raid and kill, battle strategies and navigational patterns imprinted into his brain. As a child he was sent to work under the supervision of a raid ship captain who forced him to work his way up the ranks to where his his now. Triton is a warrior not to be challenged. Aesis' second born who inherited his fathers pragmatic disposition and kindness. While his elder brother is a powerful warrior, Neptune is much more subtle, a tactical mastermind who has earned his place as Admiral next to his brothers through playing chess master. The dimwitted warmonger of the family, Hapi inherited his father random and unpredictable rage. The seas destructive power incarnated, Hapi his straightforward to a fault and lacks the intelligence or foresight to form strategies, and simply wishes to pillage. Despite his lack of intellect, he happens to have sense of leadership, which justifies his rank of Admiral. Delphin, the last born of Aesis, inherented her father cunning and otherworldly beauty. Despite his brother warmongering and non-stop campaigning, she has managed to fly under the radar of her siblings through manipulation and subduction to gain a foothold in her fathers army as the final Admiral. Name of your Land: The UnderSea Lands: The ocean was formed by the God of Seas as both a way to show their power and to serve as a catalyst of their divine will in this world. Waves are often seen rippling their way across the surface of the water, and below you'll find an infinite mass of blue (which will be filled with fish, eels, and sea life of all sorts imaginable). Deeper down, the bottom is covered in a thick layer of sand and the occasional loose rock; no sunlight reaches this far into the depths, and as such most life that makes it's way here is strange and hardly pleasing to the eye. Only the most beloved creatures of Aesis have the power to survive so far from the hated surface. Any god may enter these seas, but they should be aware that they are descending into the territory of Aesis. But the UnderSea is Aesis' abode. When Aesis smashed himself into the barren crust of the world directly following it's creation, he shattered it with such power that a massive mark was left forever in the earth. It is the descends deeper than any crater, trench, or canyon. When it was filled with water by Aesis it became the lowest point of the ocean- at one point going as far down as 50,300 feet (or 15,331 meters). The length by longitude is roughly 9,400 miles (15,127 kilometers) and the width by latitude is 8,100 miles As one descends, they fall more and more into the Ocean's dark realm. No god has a hold here, and as such there is no peace for trespassers. Even god's may find reason to fear this place, and only the most beloved of the World-Drowner are allowed to enter. It is rumored that here Aesis has built a massive palace from which to command his armies that will rise up from the sea and conquer the world. The Sun does not cast light in the furthest depths of earths Scar, and as such it is home to some of the strangest life the world- and Aesis in particular- has to offer. The creatures who inhabit this realm are monstrosities of the most eldritch fashion, and must be explained in another place. People: Intelligent and malevolent entities of chaotic and peaceful creation that are a living embodiments of the oceans power. Commonly known as Mermen, they are collectively the greatest servants of Aesis and are potentially a worldly force. They are created at the whim of the seas turbulent power and act as an extension of his will. A Mermen's appearance and intrinsic character reflect the seas true nature, and very constantly due to mutations. This also affects it power and physical and or mental capabilities. However, the sea is fickle and often bestow gifts of change without rhyme or reason. These gifts include mutations such as extra arms, tougher, coloured skin, larger fines, claws and fangs, often decided by the seas power and effect. But one intrinsic ability has been gifted them all; feet and lungs. With thier ability to walk onto land and breath air, raids on sea coasts regularly take place. Mer are a highly emotional and surprising people. Although they can, at times, exhibit crushing logic and reason, they are primarily ruled by their emotions. This is especially true for Mer in large groups, as they telepathically sense each other's feelings and that, in turn, arouses similar feelings in them. This means that thoughts in Mer society work almost like a virus. If a Merman is angry, and he goes home to his wife, she will telepathically pick up on that and become angry too (even if she does not know why). The wife may then go outside and meet a stranger, who will become angry from her anger, and he will go home and cause his family to be angry simply with his presence. Therefore, the emotion spreads like a disease until many, many people have been "infected" with anger, even if nothing valid technically happened to trigger that emotion, other than meeting someone already exhibiting it. Culture: Almost half of the Mer population live in the great city Deep Coral- the capital of the UnderSea. Mer in the city, like the fish in an ecosystem, all work for themselves while still benefiting the greater whole- often without noticing it. The rest of the Mer live outside of the city, in small villages or, although somewhat rare, alone along the massive walls of the crater. Deep Coral is much to big and heavy to easily move around, but these smaller towns are often built on semi-buoyant submerged platforms that may be pulled by domesticated Giant Squid or sharks. A Mer will build the platform from a mix of coral, sand, biral (of course), and fish scales. Then they will build their home on top of it and have animals pull it to achieve locomotion. The reason they go through all this trouble to keep themselves mobile is simple: fish. They often follow schools of fish so that they have a constant supply of prey items, and some Mer have even rigged giant baited nets on the exterior of the homes, so that fish will get caught inside as the platform floats along, removing the need for hunting or even leaving the construct. But Mer aren't to be mistaken for the peaceful type. Everything in the UnderSea has power that can be absorbed by the Mer and fish alike. Power is everything and if often tossed around to assert dominance. But the Mer's favorite past time is raiding; be it ships or coastal cities, they often s destroy and take whatever that want. Just as thier homes are built on sea creatures, so do they build their raid and siege engines, ships. Ships that are submersible and are built on the backs of sharks are the fear of every sailor, often signaling a raid. While on land they are viewed as monsters, pirates who make up a massive fleet and navy loyal to Aesis, Mer are quite intelligent and efficient while governed by the 12 Laws of the UnderSea: -Law One: Lost -Law Two: Lost -Law Three: Oaths May Not Be Broken Oaths sworn upon sea may not be broken unless both members agree mutually to break the oath. If an oath is broken, otherwise, then the fury of the land, sea, and sky will be cast upon them at the mercy of Aesis. -Law Four: Lost -Law Five: Gifts May Be Only Used for the Purpose Given Gifts may only be used for the purpose they are given until that purpose is no longer suitable or needed, in which case, the gift can be used for a different purpose. -Law Six: All Favors Must Be Repaid Favors, gifts, and handouts will acquire debt and can be repaid in any way the giver desires unless the giver themselves waves away that right. -Law Seven: Consuming the Nectar of the UnderSea Binds One to the UnderSea If a human consumes the nectar of the UnderSea for it's nourishment or healing property they will be bound to the UnderSea . The bond can only be broken by the one who gives the nectar. -Law Eight: If Two or More People Enter into a Conflict then the Winner will Gain Immunity if any Law is Broken If two or more people enter into a conflict, the winner of the conflict is immune to any punishment if any Law of The UnderSea is broken. -Law Nine: Iron is Banned from the UnderSea on the Pain of Death Those found carrying iron in the UnderSea may be punished with death unless they are in occurrence with Law Eight. -Law Ten: The Winner of a Conflict Will Gain the Loser's Power If the Winner of a Conflict kills their opponent, then they gain the power that the opponent has. -Law Eleven: The Winner of a Conflict Inherits the Loser's Property If the Winner of a Conflict kills their opponents, then they gain and inherit the loser's property. -Law Twelve: Magic Must Not Be Used to Alter the Events of Time Upon the pain of death, magic may not be used to alter the events of time either in the past or future. These Laws govern all Mer in all thier dealings, such as transferal of rank or civil squabbles. Technology: Late Egyptian/Mid Roman Capital: Deep Coral- a massive city in the deepest trench of the UnderSea where most of the Mer live in unity under the massive coral castle of thier god king; Aesis. Beings: Devourer Fish are one of the most well-known breeds of "sea monsters". They- along with StormHunters, Terrorfish, and Mighty Sharks- were created by Aesis to terrorize mortals who entered his domain. Devourer Fish are close relatives to the Angler Fish, and have many of the same habits (including the unusual mating habits). Angler Fish have a natural "lantern" on their head, the light of which lures prey into their waiting jaws. Devourer Fish, on the other hand, have a similar natural lantern- the main difference being that Devourer Fish are imbued with a strong magical element. Their lanterns are able to create any illusion needed to pull in their prey; someone lost in the bottom of the ocean may see it as a light to lead them out, a sailor with a sinking boat will believe it's another ship coming to rescue them from a watery grave, a dying man sees it as a healing force of the gods, and so on. Devourer Fish are very dangerous in this manner, anything one desires they will imitate until you swim right into their grasp. It's far too late by the time the trap that's been set is discovered. Like the Devourer Fish, StormHunters are closely tied to mystical forces, which they use for hunting their prey. Unlike the Devourer, StormHunters do not wait and lure their prey in. Instead, they actively hunt their prey at the absurd speed of ninety miles-per-hour (one-hundred-and-fifty KPH) by invoking the sea to push them faster, and they have been granted the powers to stir up the forces of water at will. They possess an extra organ molded on to the back of their brain, which forms a bond with the elemental forces of the world (particularly that of the ocean and air) and is used at will to spin the waters into a whirlpool, cause lightning to strike it's prey during a storm, or bring rain down from already cloudy skies. It should also be said that they are normally among the most difficult creatures to slay (to kill one of these is to be hailed as a hero by many), and are several times worse during storms. StormHunters serve the purpose of guarding those parts of the ocean furthest from land. They are Aesis' last resort to terrify mortals, and they are generally considered to be the most fatal of his monsters, even more so than the ever-dreaded Mighty Shark. Only a select few brave men and fools approach them willingly. Terrorfish are perhaps not as dangerous as a StormHunter, but they are nearly as terrifying. There is no magical elemental powers to these creatures, there is no cunning lure, there is simply brute strength. Terrorfish swim at an average speed of thirty miles per hour (fifty KPH). They have no known mystical powers, but they do not need them. The lack of magic is easily made up for by an impeccable sense of vision above and below water, the strength to crush iron with their tentacles, an ability to smell prey from over almost a hundred miles away, and a merciless attitude. There is no room in their mind for anything more than eating and destroying, and they favor land-creators who enter the sea. They were created with the express purpose of attacking sailors or deep-sea fishermen. Aesis desires people to enter the water, of course, but he does not want them to do so without certain knowledge of the dangers that may be waiting for them. He is, after all, an embodiment of the sea's bipolar force and rage. All fear the Mighty Shark. They are in many ways identical to "Great White Sharks", with the obvious exception being that they can grow up to be several miles long. They feed their massive bodies by inhaling the water around them (as whales do), sucking in whole schools of fish, squid, eels and whatever or whoever is unfortunate enough to be near them. Like the Terrorfish, they have no mystical powers, but they do have a taste for human flesh and blood. Leviathan are in many ways the dukes of the sea, capable of growing hundreds of miles long. Unlike Mighty Sharks, they simply chow down on thier prey with thier massive maws that can devour whales whole. Leviathans are the apex predators of the sea.

Di'Myria Déesse du temps Le premier à s'approcher de la Déesse du Temps fut le Ki joyeux, et bien sûr après avoir fini son moment de deuil, Ki vint s'adresser à Di-Myria. Non pas qu'elle se souciât du tout, il était trop longtemps que Myria avait en fait parlé à sa famille. Ki n'a malheureusement pas fait exception. Donc, bien sûr, Di-Myria a rendu l'étreinte avec un sourire. Absolument, Ki. Si Ferrum a deux minutes, je peux en épargner cinq pour vous. » Quand Ki s'est retiré, Myria s'est retournée au cercueil en solidarité. Se tenant à côté du trône de sa mère, Vespira a fait une toux évidente, tout en secouant la tête au passage de Ki-Ivara. Vespira et Kiroas partagent un peu de dédain pour la présentation de certains des Dieux présents, bien que cela ne signifie pas qu'ils n'ont pas respecté tout le monde ici. Ils se regardaient tous les deux, avant qu'un fort accident ne soit entendu de l'autre côté de la pièce. Respectant l'autorité du Gardien, ils n'ont rien dit. D'un autre côté, Di-Myria a rapidement tourné son talon pour faire face à Zadia. La déesse était assez irrité avec la plus jeune démonstration de mépris et d'incompréhension du système, en faisant quelques pas vers elle et en traversant ses bras. Respectant les règles du Guardian, elle refusa de mettre la main sur son arme, mais craignait pour le conflit dans le pays des mortels. Vous êtes un sacré imbécile. On dirait qu'il n'a rien appris de ces douze années. Ne me forcez pas à faire le prochain quarante. Malheureusement, ne connaissant pas une seule histoire de leur mère de la guerre, sauf pour les rumeurs des mortels, les frères et sœurs se regardaient l'un à l'autre en question. Il semblait un peu peu peu caractéristique, sa réaction à cela, car ils ne l'ont pas vu plus sérieuse face à la respectosité qu'elle dépeint lorsqu'elle a besoin de montrer l'autorité. Ces temps-là n'ont jamais été proches de Di-Myria qui tentait d'être autoritaire d'une quelconque manière, laissant les deux frères et sœurs parfaitement ignorants. Les deux d'entre eux marchaient devant le trône, seulement pour s'interroger les uns sur les autres pour s'interroger sur la connaissance. Vieilles rumeurs, ma sœur? C'est probablement le cas. Certaines choses sur la vieille guerre, bien que je l'attribue aux mortels louant la grandeur de leurs dieux. Il y a plus à ça. Elle a dit qu'elle allait nous le dire, peut-être qu'on devrait demander... Myria sourit à Ahru, avec un clin d'œil du même mépris pour Zadia. Ferrum coupé à l'intérieur, à laquelle Di-Myria soupirait dans l'admission. Au moins son père pensait qu'il faisait quelque chose d'utile. Je suppose qu'une égalité des chances est à portée de main, si elle apprend même une fraction de respect de The Guardian. C'est alors qu'Aesis s'est coupée, ce qui a incité Di-Myria à se secouer la tête dans la déception. Elle recula un instant, s'engouffrant dans sa propre petite distorsion pour se laisser réfléchir. Juste une minute. À peine une seconde en temps réel. Peut-être qu'il avait raison, peut-être qu'il n'y avait aucune chance de paix? Myria ne faisait confiance à personne pour prendre le pouvoir en ce moment, sauf probablement deux exceptions, et ne va pas se contenter de quelqu'un prenant le trône en dépit. Quelles options y avait-il? Le moins qu'ils pouvaient faire, c'était honorer leur père et au moins essayer d'aller chercher la paix. Cela semblait être la meilleure option, essayer de travailler pour la paix. Au moins, essayez-la plus fort. Si ce n'est pas le cas, le résultat pourrait être malheureux, mais Di-Myria ne laisserait jamais quelqu'un juste prendre le trône. S'ouvrant jusqu'à temps réel, Di-Myria parlait rapidement. Une bizarrerie dans notre famille ne devrait pas et ne peut pas nous laisser avec aucune autre opportunité. Donnez-lui au moins une chance.La légère hypocrisie s'est manifestée à travers sa voix alors qu'elle regardait droit à Aesis. Donne-lui une chance... qu'elle réfléchisse encore à elle-même, réalisant qu'elle ne lui avait pas vraiment donné une opportunité de rédemption après la guerre. Bien que ça, c'est peut-être ça.

Name: Di’Myria, Goddess of Time, Patron of Navigation, Maiden of the Oracle. Ospiria Gender: Female Appearance: Standing at a 12’2, Di’Myria prefers to keep the formal clothing which she has donned for quite a while. She prefers shades of blue, and always has her shawl on her person. She does spend a lot of time in her mortal form, at about 5’6 without assistance of footwear. The gradient of her hair shifts to a solid color, and in this form she gives off the impression of being a traveler with a sword for defense and hunting. Personality: “Which would you prefer? Playful me or being spited by time itself. I personally think it’s a lot more fun this way, though I do have some sort of a reputation.” Di’Myria could be seen as a bit immature for a Goddess at some points, though when you have as much time as she does to be all serious, some things get boring. Her most outward impression is that she attempts to take as much amusement as possible out of most scenarios, except for those of serious matters. In which, she often goes into her own sphere of thought as need be. She often spends time disguised as a mortal just to see how things are doing, and enjoys it quite so. Generally, Di’Myria is benevolent, and attempts to have as close relations with the other gods and possible. Her intent has always been to keep order and do her best to create peace. She generally is one of trying to lighten up the mood, although when need be will push in authority. Her being serious is a bit of an odd sight though she does her best to enforce, but can easily flip the coin. Major Domain: Time Minor Domains: Oracles and Navigation Avatar: Resembling the Flying Felines in Magnus, De'Metus is a spectral looking feline who, spare for the glowing blue aura and claws, looks perfectly like a winged lion. Physically it's a bit smaller than an averaged sized avatar, however the glowing aura surrounding it makes it a lot more menacing and appear much larger than it is. Stance: “Not everyone can be trusted, especially after what’s happened in history.” Despite her relaxed attitude toward most things, Myria doesn’t trust anybody else at the moment to take the throne properly, being cynical even among the gods. Her response and resolution to this would be to go and defend the throne and take power if needed. Loyalty During the Rebellion: “Many rulers have problem, even our king. An attempted coup like so was not the way to address it. I had my moments fighting in the war, but I proved myself in battle and we all are better off now then we were centuries ago.” Center of Power: Clockwork Medallion - A small three golden necklace with several spinning rings, Di'Myria keeps this on her neck at all times, and it seems to shrink when she's disguised as a mortal. Relations: Ahru - The two of them have always been pretty close due to their similar nature of self-entertainment and somewhat messing with their people. Aesis - A bit of a cold shoulder experience after the war, the two of them were a lot closer before, though Di'Myria wishes for the closer relations to return. Loshtar - Put simply, Di’Myria has had to prove her capability once in history. The death of Murder. Powers: In combat, Di’Myria primarily uses her powers as a utility rather than primary use. Most of her abilities have a slight temporal effect on Myterias Prima. Her power is a lot weaker when being used on other Gods, because they all are anchored to time heavier than mortals are. Sphere of Thought - Not a combat ability, though in the need of making a very important decision or having a conversation with a person or two, Myria can isolate herself and others in a short sphere of highly sped up time to think or talk. This is where Myria spends most of her deliberation time and can spend a minute for an exchange lasting an hour. This sphere can be broken and disrupted if used in combat. Temporal Adjustment - This sums up the general specifics of her powers, creating distortions in time which affect mortals and most things in time. When used against Gods, it’s effect is severely limited. She creates a few events in time to either slow down others or speed herself up. The first two make it so that she can react faster or use her weapons in better timing than without. When used against Gods, their anchor to time makes it so that there’s an equilibrium Myria has to meet between speed and duration. One half second burst of highly sped up time for her or several seconds of time slightly sped up or slowed down for her opponents. When used against mortals, the equilibrium has a much wider range and she can use her power to the highest extent. Distortion Event - Between a handful of points, Myria can flash herself back or forward in time a few seconds during combat events. In the world, it’s applications are far more wide, although rarely used. Myria sees no purpose in altering timeflow by sending things forward or backward in time by large gaps, though she uses this to send short prophetic messages about the weather or seasons to help better her people. Godly Equipment: Continuity Blade - A dark metal broadsword, which when used in conjunction with Di’Myria’s abilities causes a bit of a repeated strike a half second afterwards. It creates an aura behind her blade which repeats the previous strike. This is a Gods Bane weapon. When used by a full-sized god, this sword’s guard extends and creates a glowing aura of a much larger blade, for proper use by said god. Perfectionist Pendulum - A small gilded pocketwatch and compass for navigation. The compass lines up with the stars and cardinal directions and is synced to time much more perfectly than The Great Clock of Prima using a small magical motor, fueled by Di’Myria’s power. Timewinder’s Shawl - Not quite a weapon or utility, but this shawl is imbued with protective energies. It also tends to glow when in combat, and if Di’Myria needs to make an entrance. Demi Gods: Kiroas - Kiroas stands at 9'5, usually donning his custom armor of the MHC. Far too serious for his mother, Kiroas is considered The Guardian of Myterias. Kiroas uses the fraction of Di’Myria’s power he inherited to repel borders from the slightly antagonistic packs of Winged Felines and enforce order throughout the land. He’s terribly stiff because of his mortal mother, Kirvan, trying to keep up expectations of him being a demigod and due to her family lineage. Kirivan herself was a member of the Prima Defense Army, which was mostly a volunteer army for times of invasion or defense though they were regarded as the keepers of the city. Kiroas is quite the perfectionist when it comes to combat and trying to keep up spirits of the people. Vespira - Vespira is a tad short at 7'11, though honestly doesn't mind too much. The daughter of Di’Myria is substantially less a stick in the mud, though both have their dilemma with their mother. Vespira was more of the scholarly type for the most of her childhood and into her teen years for education. The city Vespira was brought up was a coastal city known for it’s technological advancements, bringing the science to the capital. Up until her teenage years, she had never actually known about her mother, being raised by her father. Somewhat adopted under the care of Kiroas at the end of her schooling, it was his idea to teach her in the art of swordfighting, and among her understanding of science, she is nearly a match for her brother. Vespira was gifted a much slower version of her mother’s Sphere of Thought. Both of Di’Myria’s children share a handful of similar factors. Both are quite irritated with their mother and her escapades as a mortal, thinking that she’s somewhat been apathetic to the people, now knowing that it’s been the exact opposite. They both also haven’t seen the other side of the coin with Di’Myria, being born after the war. They also don’t seem to be able to trust her when she’s disguised, always lurking around her. Both also have been gifted special blades by Di’Myria. As her people have questionable defenses for invasion, the two of them are somewhat responsible for assisting protecting the cities. Name of your Land: Myterias Magnus Lands: Myterias Magnus is a temperate land which about all of it is inhabitable. A large portion of the plains are occupied with farmland, and many cities are founded around large geographical masses. The Capital, Myterias Prima, or just Prima, is dead center in the territory, was initially built around a large mountain. All around the plains are various animals which are mostly left all alone, with people hunting the cattle and the grazing animals for food around the main cities. There are a few mystical locations around the land, including a few bioluminescent forests with purple and blue leaves, a lake surrounded entirely by mountains, and rolling forested hills which seem to be eternally in a state of autumn. Birds seem to avoid this area but flock to the Spirit Forests. People: The people of Myterias Magnus are mostly human with various exceptions. Most of those exceptions are treated with high respect, as most locals approach most with open minds. Culture: Most of the food in Myterias Magnus are agricultural based though nomadic cattle farmers do strive. There are some conflict with some of the farmers property, though they usually exchange cattle in exchange for grazing rights. Most people live within the groups of cities bunched together, staying away from the borders. Most nearby cities have an interconnected series of aqueducts, carefully yet seamlessly blended into most official buildings. The people of Magnus are both of science and of culture. Most have a certain distaste for war and most forms of violence, only those in the MHC (Magnus Homeland Coalition, which acts as a defense force and a police, and whose armor resembles the Roman Legion minus the feathers) and the localized militaries have much taste for blood. Even then, they only choose to defend themselves in times of need, and historically have done a good job of doing so. They do have schools of practice for all of their training of warriors. Both their scientific endeavours and their literature have been staples of their culture, their science being closely tied into spirituality and worship for their goddess. Being guided by the Patron of Navigation makes quite a few stories. They take pride in their architectural advancements and their stories of times long, long ago. Politically each city is individualized with separate groups, the Capital Government only intervenes for homeland defense and stimulating trade across the land, all for the better of the people. Corrupt individuals in the government are either imprisoned or exiled, although their jail system is quite well kept. It does get lonely, though it’s humane to say the least. Technology: Roman/Byzantine-Era, plus a few hundred years for the clocks. Capital: Myterias Prima. Being the capital of Magnus, Prima has The Great Clock. It branches out into four other cities towards the outskirts, connected by roads and guided by the aqueduct system. The city itself is the biggest within the nation, and is situated next to a large mountain, on the side is where Di'Myria resides. The Great Clock of Prima: Every city and town in Myterias Magnus is built around a large circular platform with markings dividing it into 10 equal parts, signifying time. Towards the center of this platform are usually several pillars which are used to line up with the stars to tell the date relative to time of year. Using these and the sun, with some magic to align the trajectory properly, each town is properly synced in time. The inside of these are left exposed for easy reading of the time. These clocks are the centers of town, with the outer rim being lined with trading posts and the inner sides being set up for speeches and performances of whatever kind. Beings: There are a few different species of Winged Felines, some feral and some are quite peaceful. The feral ones tend to be bigger and bear much larger teeth. The peaceful types tend to be much smaller and are the size of a small child, not reaching larger than a teenager at full age. Those are In nightly invasions of these Felines assisted by marauding Thick-Skinned Bears, which are usually kept at bay due to both fire and their distaste for the clocks. Something about the magic makes it so they’re deterred from entering the cities inner boundaries. Bear meat is one of the few hunted wild animals which are good for eating, though those from far away seem to always cost more and are considered delicacies. In the Spirit Forests, as the name implies, some nature spirits inhabit the area and usually stay away from outsiders, though tend to be active at night.

Azo'tet Azo'tet était un peu contrarié qu'il semblait être le dernier de ses frères et sœurs à se présenter à la réunion car personne n'était apparu après son arrivée. Même Sekt ne s'était pas montré et c'est ce qui l'a le plus irrité car il avait besoin de son allié le plus proche pour ses ambitions de réussir. Il se moquait silencieusement de ses options sur la façon d'aborder sa situation actuelle quand Zadia apparut dans la pièce faisant une grande démonstration de puissance alors qu'elle se promenait vers le trône en prétendant que le pouvoir était son droit. Morgrim a serré son emprise sur son faux et semblait prêt à agir et même Azo'tet mettait du poids sur sa hache alors qu'il était prêt à agir à un moment donné aussi bien. C'était le moment où le gardien a agi pour diviser l'argument faisant d'Azo'tet lever la main à son fils comme un signal de se lever. C'était étrange d'écouter ses frères et sœurs discuter de ce qu'il fallait faire avec Zadia, ce qui s'est terminé par des résultats mitigés. Il serait bénéfique de garder le jeune demi-dieu en conseil car il pourrait distraire de ses propres objectifs de mettre son propre nom en avant pour la couronne. Il aurait également besoin d'obtenir Naqqash pour prendre le trône de son père et obtenir un siège parmi les dieux pour qu'il puisse obtenir un autre dieu pour voter pour lui. Il savait que ses frères et sœurs avaient des résultats mitigés sur sa personne et qu'il devait faire campagne pour obtenir une partie de leurs votes qui n'était pas toujours son costume fort, il devrait probablement faire chuchoter Morgrim dans les oreilles de leurs propres enfants pour ébranler certains de leurs esprits. Le seigneur de la Mort s'est levé lentement de son siège à l'assemblée et a utilisé sa hache pour soutenir son poids alors que les quatre jambes se trouvaient sous lui. « Les frères et sœurs, ce n'est pas le moment pour nous de se balancer des armes l'un contre l'autre. Nous avons déjà vu comment cela a affecté notre famille. » Il agita la main autour de la pièce comme il signalait les trônes vides. « Il y a quelques questions qui doivent être soulevées aujourd'hui et nous devrions tous être présents pour ces décisions. » Il faisait des cercles autour de la pièce en utilisant sa grande hache comme un bâton en regardant chacun des dieux. Azo'tet n'avait pas besoin de choisir ses mots avec soin alors qu'il changeait les tempéraments que certains des Dieux avaient les uns envers les autres. « C'est un endroit neutre et nous devrions honorer ce choix. Zadia ne semble peut-être pas apte à prendre place parmi nous, mais cela ne signifie pas qu'elle ne devrait pas être présente pour le reste de la réunion. D'autre part, je m'apprête à demander à Naqqash de prendre le trône de Greed, car je crois qu'il a gagné son droit pendant ces quatre cents ans. » Il s'inclina vers le demi-dieu comme un geste qu'il était de son côté. « Il y a aussi la question du trône vide qui se trouve devant nous. J'offre mon nom en tant que parti neutre qui n'a pas participé aux combats il y a toutes ces années. Je ne vois aucun favori de part et d'autre de la faille. Je regrette ma décision à certains moments, je me demande si j'ai pris part à la réunion si certains des morts sont encore parmi nous aujourd'hui. » Azo'tet savait que c'était un grand risque de lancer une offre pour le lancer aussi tôt, mais c'était un pari qui valait la peine d'être pris avec le gardien qui veillait sur tout le monde. Avec ces dernières paroles, il retourna sur son trône et prit son siège une fois de plus pour voir les réactions des autres.

Name: Azo'tet Gender: Genderless 13'3" Personality: Azo'tet is a solemn being who has an indifferent view on the life cycle of mortals as he is the caretaker of the the departed souls. He sees the short lives of mortals an interesting concept from an immortal point of view and also knows that they need to be kept in check in fear of death to never rise against the gods. Azo'tet is the type that would rather sit back and watch others do his dirty work than get involved himself as he likes to manipulate from the shadows. Major Domain: Death Minor Domains: Medicine, Poison The avatar of Azo'tet takes the form of a massive hound with tendrils of ember trailing behind the head. From his mouth can spew forth rivers of lava and pillars of ash that can choke the air. Mortals that touch the tendrils of ember are wisped away to the afterlife as their bodies are consumed in flames and their souls feed the God of Death. The hide of the beast is as thick as stone and can deflect all mortal weapons that are turned against him. Stance: Azo'tet has ambitions of taking the crown for himself and ruling over the rest of the gods. He will use any means necessary to make his ambitions become a reality. Relations: Powers: Azo'tet has the power to kill mortals with a mere touch or cure them from any disease that afflicts them. He is able to create poisons or medicine that can cure or cause most afflictions to mortals but would have no affect to Demi-Gods or Gods. Where ever he walked, he is able to absorb the life from the area at will to feed himself as he does not eat like others but from the souls of other living beings. Godly Equipment: Apothecary Axe: The axe of the Death god is able to bring death to mortals with a single touch and even mortally wounding other gods as it absorbs the life around it. Lantern of Demon Light: A lantern illuminated by deep blue flames that are the damning flames of the underworld. The lantern is able to convert the souls of condemned into torrents of flames that can even burn a god into submission if needed. Demi Gods: Morgrim is the only child of the Death God Azo'tet. He is a four-armed demon blessed with the ability to steal souls from mortals with a swing of his weapon. He carries with him a gift from his father, the Lantern of Demon Light, which is a God's Bane Weapon which can convert the souls trapped within to blue flames that can engulf entire fields in unending fire that water can not extinguish. Name of your Land: Izamo Lands: Izamo is a landlocked realm pushed up against the deserts of Illiosis on one side and the wastelands of Xepthys surrounds the other half of the nation. Separating the desert from his land are the Forlorn Mountains that stretch the entire length of the border reaching high into the sky. Underneath these mountains lies the a catacomb of dark tunnels and massive caverns rich with herbs and minerals that remains the home of the Dark Elves since the beginning of time. Pushed up against the base of the mountains and spanning the rest of the land is a dense jungle populated by dangerous creatures of all kinds that live in a constant cycle of life and death. Surviving within the harsh jungles of Izamo are the various tribes of the centaurs that travel through the underbrush as nomadic tribes. People: The native residents on Izamo are the shadow-born dark elves that crawled from the deep caverns of the Forlorn Mountains to serve their Lord Death and the jungle dwelling shamanistic centaurs that are renowned for their savagery. The Dark elves of Izamo are skilled architects of herbs and medicine that was gifted to them by their Lord for their own means. Azo'tet rewarded the dark elves for their loyalty with the blessing of toxic resistance allowing them to have a high tolerance towards poisons and other toxic materials. The centaurs of Izamo are savage creatures that only know survival of the fittest as a means of living. They live in tribal war bands that that roam within the borders of Izamo battling against each other in a never ending war of survival. The centaurs are worshipers of death who believe that the God is the embodiment of all their ancestors. Culture: Dark Elves may be the civilized portion of Izamo with large sprawling cities of rock and marble underneath the Forlorn Mountains but they can be just as bloodthirsty as the roaming bands of Centaurs in the jungles outside. The popular sport in Izamo is pitfighting in massive arenas where people can go to watch all manner of creatures battle to the death. The Dark Elves chose to stay underground as they found that direct sunlight is harsh on their eyes and can even cause severe burns across their body. The elves are skilled healers and herbalists that know what kind of medicine can prolong the life of their patients on death's door thought they do believe that there is no eternal escape from death if Azo'tet does not wish it. The centaurs of Izamo are ruthless savages who believe that their ancestor spirits will protect them in battle and that ritualistic sacrifices are needed to please Azo'tet. Their beliefs are that only the strong are allowed to survive and any that do not show strength are to be left behind to be swallowed up by the jungle. Among the chieftains of the various tribes there is agreement that they must hone their battle skills against each other for the day that they are to be called upon by the Lord of Death to serve in his armies. Technology: Roman/ Germanic Barbarians Capital: Kalian is the capital of the Dark Elves realm that likes under the Mountain of Souls. This is a massive sprawling city that even spills out from under the mountain onto high terraces that overlooks the lands below. There are two main features of the city that makes it stand out from any other city, these features are the massive arena sitting high at one end of the cavern which draws fighters from all over the world to prove who the greatest fighter is, another draw is located in the center of the city which is also the lowest part of the city. Located at the bottom is a large crystal that emanates an eerie white light where no mortal is allowed to go as this crystal is called the Soul Engine, and this is the final resting play for all mortal souls in the world. Beings: The jungle of Izamo is filled with savage creatures that would rip you apart without a second thought and is not a place for those of the faint of heart.

Quelles que soient les craintes que Janin eut de l'ennui au début de la réunion où s'éteignit rapidement; en commençant par l'arrivée de Xsar, et son accompagnement aquatique. Elle a salué en retour à son frère l'embrasser, son sourire revenant au regard d'Aesis, face derrière lui. L'arrivée de Zadia, et ce qui s'est passé, c'était la vraie surprise. Janin n'avait aucune opinion du dieu encore jeune, mais l'aimait assez bien si seulement à cause de l'agitation qu'elle causait si rapidement. Le gardien était soudain visible, des dieux qui s'étaient assis tranquillement debout et parlant si ne pas crier, et Oksana et Zadia elle-même où sur le sol. Tout cela s'était produit un peu trop vite pour l'esprit tournant de Janin, qui lui restait son siège et soudainement beaucoup à avoir besoin de son verre à nouveau. Alek sur son épaule sifflait, une action plus clairement démontrée par le tensage de sa petite forme puis le son que seule sa mère pouvait entendre. Janin était contente de reprendre son verre et de laisser tout le monde continuer à parler jusqu'à ce qu'ils se calment à nouveau. L'Aesis a été le premier à essayer de maîtriser la situation. Bien sûr, si vite pour finir la guerre qu'il avait perdue des siècles auparavant. La meilleure partie de la conversation a été perdue à la déesse maintenant substantiellement ébriété, mais Ahru, les mots qu'elle a attachés à la plupart, injustement biaisés comme ils peuvent être. Je suis d'accord avec Ahru.Janin n'a pas bougé, le visage n'a changé qu'en froncement, se concentrer sur la façon de parler avec autorité et sans soupirer.Ces nouveaux dieux sont trop jeunes et inexpérimentés pour avoir une voix dans ces discussions. Qu'ils pleurent leur grand-père et qu'ils s'en aillent. » Elle agita la main à Zadia, mais c'était Naqquash que son regard allait après toute attention que sa remarque eût pu avoir disparu. Ou il l'aurait fait, mais elle a à peine réussi à regarder le corps manglé avant de se détourner du dégoût.

Name: Janin The Harbinger of Festivities Gender: Female Personality: Ignorance is bliss for Janin. She is lazy, indulgent, and aloof. Not quite the gifts anyone desires in their god, and certainly not a mother. Her mortal subjects amuse her and serve little other purpose, their own struggles and ‘morality’ itself has never been of interest to her, so she never learned about it; her people’s lives mean very little to her. Their feelings towards her vary from fear to love, but very few respect her for any reason more than her divinity. That said her apathy leads her to be rather joyous; none of her ignoble deeds are done out of spite, only to sate her eternal thirst for entertainment. Major Domain: Alcohol and inebriation Minor Domains: Dance and Music Avatar: Desin is said to never be far from his master, most believe he follows her under the sands of Tarren, a few meters below her feet. He trives of Janin’s darker pleasures, and most common use is killing warriors and slaves alike in fighting pits. The show delights his god, and the spoils go to her pet. Each head contains a different venom, the first headi, Jyn, is a paralyzing agent; numbing a person to the point of immobility but they remain completely conscious. Second is Nar, who’s venom can kill in gross amounts, but in normal dose is a powerful hallucinogenic which is sometimes kept in store for Janin and her favoured. Last of the heads is Bol, who’s venom is an exceedingly powerful toxin which can kill a human in a matter of seconds. Desin’s entire form reaches nearly two miles in length, but its enormity is often hidden, either underground or camouflaged by scales that change colour each time they are shedded. Stance: Janin would much rather no one take the role of leader. Apart from that she has no qualms about who leads so long she is left alone. Relations: Xsar, Arhu - The three form a group free of the judgement often placed upon them by the other gods. Their 'alliance' is formed mostly out of pleasure from drinking and causing trouble. Ki'ivara - Ki'ivara is a kindred spirit to Janin; a friendship with someone who not only does not scorn her practices but enjoys them along side her. While they do run in different circles for the most part, Janin will always find time to share wine, stories, and poor choices with the god of lust. Naqqash - Janin despises the demi-god, an emotion even few full-gods can provoke from her. His ideals threaten the entire base of her domain's power, and if he was to become a full deity could have influence and power enough to actually do something to end her reign. Powers: Shapeshifting; Janin can change into any form she wishes, so long as she has seen it before. This may include other gods or their avatars, thought she would obviously not gain any of their powers. The greater the difference in size between herself and the shape she takes, the greater effort she expels. Teleportation; Self-explanatory, Janin can shift herself in space without actually moving. She must know exactly where she is going less she find herself three miles in the side of a mountain. It requires less thinking of a place to teleport to, and more the direction and distance she must travel. Loyalty During Rebellion: War. In the beginning Janin was content to watch things unfold as they would; her domains small and easily dismissed. As time went on and it became clear the entire ‘family’ would be involved, she took sides with War as a small act of defiance against Rieth who had always frowned upon the way she leads her people. Center of Power: A wineskin typically worn at her hip, embroidered with red and gold images of celebrating humans. Center of Power (knowledge); Through scheming with Xsar, Janin possesses the center of power belonging to the domain of knowledge, a small bronze astrolabe, half the size of her palm. Godly Equipment: Infinite chalice; a glass that is forever brimming with strong wine, never empties or spills but may be poured. Crooked Lyre: A lyre that when she plays upon can tap into the emotions of mortals, and while not directly controlling them can ease a person into calmness or whirl them into a passion. The Wine Blade: A sword nearly the length of her arm, forged of red steel. Besides its colour, it's other oddity is the thin metal string of barbs wrapped and infused around its length. While this makes it a useless when it comes to properly tearing through an opponent, it requires only a light touch to pierce the skin, allowing the coating venoms procured from her avatar to enter the bloodstream. Demi-Gods: Demi-Gods: Twins; Olek and Alek Olek dislikes and distrusts Janin with anything and everything, not that his opinion has greater value to her than any mortal’s. The bulk of his life has been spent away from the settled coastline and instead traveling the wide deserts of Tarren, in an effort to become a warrior in a land that holds no value for strength or virtue in any form. He is one of the few beings to go into contact with the Scorpio tribes and survive. His hatred for his mother is no secret, nor is his desire to kill her avatar and take control of Tarren. Janin does not view him as a threat; having inherited only her divine strength and teleportation, and finds his thoughts of overpowering her wonderfully amusing. He views himself as a somber and noble lord, and wholly rejects ideas of his own cruelty which has led to destruction of entire settlements in his fits of rage. Where Olek is distant and cold to their mother, his twin can hardly be apart from her. Alek inherited Janin’s shape-shifting ability, along side god-like speed, and tends to prefer animal forms over her true shape. The people of Tarren have become so accustomed to seeing an animal beside their god, she is often portrayed more as a familiar than demi-god. Alek is quiet to the point of if being unsettling for many. Though centuries old, she remains dependent on her mother, clinging her not out of any love, but a straining need to be close. Her motives and thoughts are unknown too all except perhaps her brother, the only one who she both speaks too and who listens to what she has to say. Land: Tarren is a large nation, nearly stretching twice as far from north to south as it does east to west. Vast as it may be, it is mostly desert and only the north cost is properly inhabited and developed. People: Humans and Scorpios Culture: It would be easiest to say Tarren survives on the back of its slaves, the number of which is vastly greater than the rest of the human populace. Slaves can come from anywhere, occasionally traders come in from other nations, nomads found in the desert can be claimed if they have no waiting family to be found, or if someone where simply to fall out of favour with their fickle god they could find themselves in chains. While the slaves may not be happy, there has never been a proper uprising. The ‘master’ class find no need for education or personal betterment; the best and only way to gain favour with their goddess is to entertain her with lavish feasts, parties and shows. The upper-class lives in constant indulgence while their slaves tend to their farms and breweries. It comes as little surprise that that main trade in Tarren is wine-making, vineyards can be found less land two miles outside of the capital, and the people boast there are more types of drink to be had in Tarren then there are people who live there. Slaves in Tarren are treated in varying degrees. It is up to each slave-owner how their own business/household is run. For the most part, they are allowed to partake in monthly festivities and some are even offered small wages. Freeing a slave is possible in theory, though there are no documents in the mostly illiterate culture, and no records. So a freed slave without family, sufficient funds to begin his own trade, or a chance to get out of Tarren completely is likely to find himself/herself back on the market. The lack of proper government and rule leaves Tarren in an almost constant state of chaos. No cities are truly safe, or even all that clean. ‘Crime’ runs rampant, though what constitutes a crime isn’t very clear in the first place. It is a land of instability and gratification, held together by very thin strings in Janin’s hand. Tarren could probably be taken over by an opposing force very easily, if any outside force could see anything redeemable in such a ruin of an empire. Capital: Capri Bay, a colourfull city towards the east on the north coast, frequented by both traders and travelers. Where it is not surrounded by sea, it is saddled by fruit farms, reaching back to an encircling mountain-range shielding the tropical, humid land from the harsh desert winds. Estimated population; 3000 (roughly three times as many slaves occupy the area including the farmland). Technology: Ptolemaic Egypt/Ancient Rome Beings: Half giant scorpion half-man creatures that populate the inland of Tarren, mostly in small nomadic tribes. The humans have tried to enslave groups of them at a time, always failing and often falling to their venomous stingers and bone-shattering pincers. Lone stragglers have on rare occasions been found. In such cases slaves are sent to remove the stinger from the creature and bind its claws. These beings are prized possessions among the high class, and often put on display at parties. The removed stingers are given Janin, who uses the deadly venom in her own wine, such gifts are one of the few ways to assure favour with the goddess, for a time at least.

Xsar Xsar était assis dans son trône multicolore à travers l'exposition du Gardien et de sa puissance, il n'était même pas intéressé par l'échange beaucoup moins surpris. Il réfléchit aux événements et à la façon dont l'inévitable guerre civile se déroulera, ses théories de ce qui pourrait arriver commencèrent à tomber dans la folie rapidement, mais la surface de celle-ci semblait déjà certaine. Plusieurs Dieux qui revendiquent le trône, de vieilles rivalités et de petites querelles déclenchent la guerre. Il sourit à lui-même, ce qui n'avait que peu de conséquences car les autres dieux devaient contenir leurs émotions et leurs expressions. Xsar ne l'a pas fait, sa folie étant la couverture parfaite pour toute expression glissée... donc il n'a même pas essayé plus longtemps, une expression sérieuse sur son visage était beaucoup plus suspecte qu'un sourire amusé. La meilleure partie de cette guerre civile pieuse était sa position, et dans une certaine mesure celle de Janin. Bien qu'ils ne soient pas aimés par beaucoup d'autres, ils ne sont guère considérés comme une menace. Xsar l'a montré facilement pendant la première guerre civile, appliquant des pressions militaires aux deux côtés au hasard. Ne jamais commettre une force sérieuse ou s'engager dans les grandes batailles. Sauf quand il s'agissait de capturer la déesse de la Connaissance il y a quelques années. En un instant son sourire enfantin changea de tristesse douloureuse, non à sa mort comme le reste de leur famille avait pleuré, mais à son asservissement. Il détestait qu'il ait dû l'asservir d'une telle manière... mais il devait savoir pour son ennemi, pour le Maruk, il devait savoir. Ses yeux brillaient en furie soudaine qui s'évaporait un moment plus tard alors qu'il se rendait compte qu'il y avait un débat autour de lui. Il regarda de nouveau, ayant complètement manqué les dieux qui parlaient au cours des derniers instants. Comme si le dieu poissonneux était probablement jockeying pour la position de nouveau, et Azzy jeté son chapeau dans l'anneau pour le roi. Il s'est hissé sur le trône et a poignardé un doigt à Azo'tet "Tu ne peux pas être roi!" il a crié en haut de sa voix "Ce serait trop déprimant." avant de se tourner vers Aesis "et vous ne pouvez pas non plus, vous êtes le chemin à Fishy" et s'asseoir rapidement en se demandant si quelqu'un d'autre pourrait attraper son double sens de poisson... et en espérant qu'il pourrait énerver Aesis assez pour commencer un combat pour que le gardien le frappe autour. Il a téléporté à Aesis à l'air heureux comme pourrait être, la plupart du temps pour juste se mettre sous sa peau un peu plus. Oui ive a effacé le dieu de la connaissance avec Yen

Name: Xsar Gender: Male Personality: Xsar is a jubilant and happy God, generally. His mood changes on a whim, and his actions also reflect this, he is often changing with each passing fancy. Underneath it all there does seem to be a wicked intelligence capable of true magnificence but fractured through his insanity. Major Domain: Madness Minor Domains: joy, Scholars (the pursuit of knowledge) Stance: Xsar's loyalty is random at best or schizophrenic at worst on the surface, but beneath the shifting tides of loyalty there is a method to his madness. Loyalty During the Rebellion: None. Causing trouble for both sides. Center of Power: A bronze Jack-o-lantern about the size of a fist. Relations: Rabble Rouser with Janin and Ahru (Probably more, PM me for ideas) Powers: Xsar's powers are as insane as himself, he probably isn't actually aware of the extent of his abilities. He could cause an entire battalion of raging ogres to suddenly become a raging battalion of hamsters, or cause them to break down into a hallucinatory rage or have all their armor simply vanish. nobody knows and Malal certainly doesnt. He also can single handedly start a raving party, with his powers over Joy he can use this power to liven up a party or more sickeningly, make his soldiers perfectly happy while getting maimed in combat laughing as their platoon is destroyed. Finally his power over scholars and the pursuit of knowledge is not an offensive ability but it ties in with his domain of madness. he can fill scholars with obsessive compulsions to learn more driving them to the brink of sanity and straining their health. The use of this ability has generated knowledge about great secrets and forbidden knowledge that Xsar and his scholars will share freely, broadcasting divine secrets from the rooftops. Godly Equipment: Helm of discord: At will Xsar can surround himself with vibrant life like hallucinations drawn from the twisted nightmares of Xsar himself. Often times these take the "shape" of twisted monstrosities who have no concept of biology or how creatures should exist. Xsar seems largely uneffected by the use of the helm but will often confuse and horrify lesser creatures. Rift Stone: A polished grey stone about the size of a fist that can tear holes through reality to other points within his own domain. With some effort on the part of Xsar he can use it to move from anywhere and into his domain, but not to leave. Also the time between departure and arrival seems random at best, taking only seconds or sometimes days. (note: there is often a mild dusting of powdered sugar on the ground wherever his portals had been used) A copy of the Infinite chalice: Xsar was very jealous of the Infinite Chalice used by Janin so he made a crude copy for his own use. It is a simple clay goblet painted as if by a child with flowers and terribly drawn animals. BUT! it works, the goblet holds an infinite amount of wine, cheap and sour wine granted, but an infinite amount. The Gate Keeper is a deranged paranoid maniac who denies all access to the lower levels of the Pyramid. The only person seen passing the gate keeper is Xsar himself. The only power he has is true and complete immortality. his limbs can be severed but he will still survive, and taunt his foe. The gate keeper uses a Quick Silver blade, a sword made of liquid metal that shifts its balance constantly during combat. It is not a Gods Bane weapon, but it is a very difficult weapon to use the gate keeper however is a master with the weapon. She is a blind Scholar with a broken body, her lower half born fused with a spider. but her intelligence is vast, and she is obsessed with accumulating knowledge. Her immobile form sits in the entrance to the extra-dimensional library. very few can navigate the library successfully because beyond the books of common knowledge it becomes very dangerous, but the rewards can be great finding by books that have not been written yet. The librarian Quealana knows how to navigate the twisted maze of space and time within the library but is unable to move herself. A few trusted scholars with armed gaurds will sometimes venture deeper into the library with enough gear to survive for several days if they get lost. Name of your Land: Asajnoksdfjigopdshiergknowqohiyhdsog (Commonly known as Wonderland) Lands: The geography of wonderland is quite unremarkable, great plains stretching for miles the lands are fertile with rolling farmland around a great city with a massive pyramid at its center. Beyond the farmlands the terrain becomes ever more strange and wild, to the north forests of great mushrooms with tribes of Mycellium-Men stomping through the undergrowth protecting their forest from the Mushroom soup bandits. In the south there is nothing but vast desert and the great wurms that are believed to be immortals but nobody is actually sure. In the center of the southern desert is a floating platform of Xsar's design that has a scale map of each land modeled to perfection, each building in each city made to excruciating detail. to the east and west are great forests that seem to be normal, but contain dreaded creatures within them. Many of them are not neccecarily evil, some are quite friendly, but quite dangerous. People: In the City are mostly regular human beings, with Mushroom men traders coming down to trade from the forests to the north. However several Immortals such as ogres and Shoggoth live along side humans with little issues. Culture: The human culture is resembles a proto-Egyptian culture with some coloring of tribal aztec culture. however there is often some Mushroom man traders. However they do not keep slaves, mostly its just the wearing of robes and feathers with the occasional blood sacrifice to Xsar that he never asked for, but is always appreciated. The rest of his domain is populated by mad bandits, who are like normal bandits but like to give their victims a good song and dance routine while robbing them. Wandering tribes of humans surviving in the desert and only rarely being eaten by the great wurms of the desert Technology: High Bronze and occasional stone age for the most of society, however the military and the high ranking members in the capital do have access to early medieval weapons and armor. Capital: Umlaut, the Capital city is the only true city in Wonderland for the most part it operates as any other city with the exception of the grand Pyramid in the center. upon entering the Pyramid the internal structure's geometry is something that strains the mind most human's do not enter the pyramid unless they have to because most of them feel quite ill within an hour of being inside. Most immortal beings however merely find it confusing or uneasy. Beings: Ogres: Hulking masses of muscle, unlike most of their cousins the ogres in Wonderland are very friendly and rowdy. occasionally wounding a human with an over excited hug. Shoggoth: These are blob like creatures that are immensely strong lifting stone slabs weighing tons by flowing their whole body under the slab and stabilizing it by extruding tentacles from their body. Fae: Several races of Fae live in wonderland, mostly little pixies and faries that are not immortals but live far longer than most humans, they mostly do very little but occasionally become a secret maid service or cobbler employees. The terms of these contracts are obviously a form of madness. Dungeon Keepers: the truest form of the madness in the land, these are a race of berzerker demons that live underground and only occasionally harass the humans living on the surface. The part of the Gate Keeper's job is to prevent these demons from coming up into the Great Pyramid through its network of tunnels. or allow them to reach the hidden chamber in the base of the pyramid.

IlyonaDéesse de la Lumière du Soleil La Déesse du Soleil regardait comme l'autre divinité traînée, restant sur son trône et moyant son visage en diverses expressions subtiles basées sur qui est arrivé. Un certain nombre d'autres émotions brouillèrent jusqu'à sa surface, les seuls à noter que celui qui avait pris parti pour la guerre dans la rébellion; une aura de délicate embarrassement était autour d'Ilyona pendant un court moment avant que sa résolution ne revienne à elle, l'empoignant étroitement d'une main. Un étrange sentiment d'orgueil se répandit à l'intérieur d'Ilyona, poussé par les souvenirs de tuer le dieu rebelle lui-même, mettant fin à la guerre dans les cieux. Ces souvenirs ont - ils toujours été si tendrement rappelés? Bien sûr, une telle discussion mentale s'est rapidement dissipée de son esprit lorsqu'elle a réalisé que Zadia était maintenant debout dans la pièce après une entrée dramatique d'une boule de craquage d'énergie pure et motivée par la haine qui baignait tout dans un cramoisi profond. Prête à se lancer dans l'action, ses frocs pures ont rendu encore plus blanc à partir de la force avec laquelle Ilyona s'est emparée de son bâton, préparant un sort pour être jetée à la Fille de guerre. Alors que Zadia parlait, Ilyon se sentait plus que mépris pour elle et elle, soi-disant «plaisir»; elle ne voulait pas que le trône maintienne l'ordre ou même la tradition, cette salope le voulait juste pour elle-même. Passant par-dessus les formalités de la magie, elle était sur le point de montrer son autre titre, Lady Reaper, au reste des dieux, sans doute chatouillant le cornichon d'Azo'tet dans une certaine mesure. Cependant, avec le Guardian qui entre dans tout cela avant que le conflit ne lève la tête sur la salle sacrée des Dieux, Ilyona prend une profonde respiration et s'abaisse sur son trône. Une conversation pacifique semble être la meilleure option, alors que celle qui a été imposée par le précèse d'un être qui pourrait probablement tuer le sort des êtres déjà tout-puissants dans la pièce en respirant dans leur direction générale était jusqu'au débat (pas vraiment). Avec des respirations plus profondes, Ilyona s'est sentie calme, jetant un coup d'œil à Okasa pour s'assurer qu'elle allait bien avant de gémir aux terribles jeux de mots de Xsar. Ces choses étaient probablement plus mortelles pour n'importe quelle forme de vie que tout ce que Ferrum pouvait forger.

Name: Ilyona (Ill-ee-own-ah), the Sun Goddess, Maiden of Dawn, Mother of Hallows, Lady Reaper Gender: Female Personality: Ilyona was once a bubbling girl with a heart open to the world, but it would be such that would cause her downfall from being the pure deity of the solar star. Legend has it that the endless cycle of death had constantly caused her pain since her earliest days and sought to if not remove it, at least alleviate and let people live just a bit longer. With determination, she dabbled in magics and powers she was not supposed to even be able to handle and ended up creating Hallows, undead beings with all the sentience of mortals but with an immortal lifespan. However, her magic was not perfect and through repeated death or extreme mental trauma, her creations could go "Feral", driven mad by their new cycle of undeath and suffering. As you would expect, this did not resonate well with many of the other gods, especially the Gods of Life and Death. As punishment, she would have to harvest the souls of the fallen and deliver them to the God of Death. Since then, the goddess has lost a good deal of her bubbly nature and replaced by a more serious attitude. There's always a notion of personal repenting as even now her sin as there are some gods which still do not completely forgive her. However, even if she had created Hallows from a mistake, she acts as a motherly figure to them none the less, caring for them as they are her own creation. Much of her efforts is put into making a home for the often outcasted undead as well as protecting them from those who wish them harm or exploit them. Major Domain: Sun Minor Domain: Harvest & Shadows Avatar: Ilyona appears as a firebird phenix with glorious red and feathers, embers constantly falling in her wake and a dazzling brilliance that surrounds her. However, she only wears this facade when going beyond her own people as she prefers not to be in avatar form, but a shorter more human like form in that case. Stance: Ilyona is currently neutral on who she believes deserves the throne. Part of her wants the throne but she does not believe that she is qualified or even allowed to claim it due to her past actions. Loyalty During Rebellion: Ilyona was on the side of the king, being the one to slay the traitorous War god in the rebellion's waning hours. Its said that the god's spirit is still trapped in her scythe to this day. Center of Power: A small medallion known as the Sunlight Medal serves as Ilyona's Center of Power, its an intricately engraved and decorated golden pendant with bronze detailing and the shinning symbol of a sun on it, it is always kept on her person. Relation: - She harvests souls of the dead for the God of Death - Once had the Minors of Light and Fire but was forced to give those away - Defied both the Gods of Life and Death to create Hallows, unbound undead. (Perhaps this is why she harvests souls for the god of Death) Powers: Ilyona is capable of various light and fire based spells although they are greatly diminished compared to both the powers of the respective gods and her own power long ago; she can only summon blinding light, floating orbs of light and set fire to certain objects amongst few other things. She of course has the supernatural strength that all gods have, and regeneration powers allowing her to come grow limbs, and heal faster than normal. Divine Arms: - Soulset Scythe - The tool to which she reaps the life of those next to die, it is by far Ilyona's less popular weapon but it is her most effective weapon, absorbing the souls of the fallen to empower it, and is also a God Bane weapon. Its actually her former staff, now forever twisted with a ehteral blade but she can still cast some spells with it. Demigod Champions: The glorious knight of sunlight, Talvyrn represents everything saintly about his patron goddess, blessed with wings of light and plate armor fit for legends and a flaming sword, he is Ilyona's noble and honorable face who fights with undaunting courage and bravery. For every light, there is a shadow and Malicia is Ilyona's shadow for she is the one who collects the death tithe for her patron when her patron cannot and hunt the beasts which dwell in the darkest recesses. With a pair of flaming swords, Malicia is the one to expunge the evils within the shadows and collect the due of the living. Lindenhold Lands: High in the mountains of the North lays the haven of those living undead who flee from places which prosecutes them. At the base of the mountains are snowy swamps and frozen boreal forests, beautiful places but poor farming soils; however, Hallows don't really eat much so its of little concern to them. Winding roads and cliff face ramps, flanked by villages and settlements all along the path, lead up the toward the great peaks of the mountains that house impressive cities of white stone and grand citadels. Constructed of brilliant masonry work, the aqueducts and roads of these cities are beautiful, cared for by the Hallows who view them as the property of Ilyona herself. It is through the Sun Goddess's blessings that their towns do not freeze in such high altitudes, ceiling mounted windows are as such a common feature in many buildings with some even having open villas. Epic arches, columns and bridges decorate and connect buildings and even the mountains themselves, all carved with great detail that clearly takes a great deal of time, something that the inhabitants of the Lindenhold Mountains have. People: Hallows, the creations and children of Ilyona, are the ones who live in the high mountains of Lindenhold, as close to the sun as possibile. Although many are human, Hallows refers to any once living sentinent creature that has died and since been brought back with a factured soul not bound to the will of anyone else. At one point, Hallows were raised by Ilyona herself but even she would have never expected the curse which will sometimes bring back those who have fallen to life once more. Being undead, Hallows in other lands are often scorn and hunted, but their immortal nature means that they cannot be killed and many go "feral" after they have died many times or suffer great mental trauma. Once Feral, Hallows can never turn back; it has become one of Ilyona's duty to hunt these Feral Hallows as penitence for creating them. Whatever life these people may have lived in the past, its often wiped away by their new status as undead who bleed a pale milky white ichor. Their appearance can range from looking almost exactly like any normal member of their race to a rotting skeletal frame on dark green flesh. To combat the fact that they can go feral, many look to some great duty in unlife to keep them busy as well as pious prayer to their God Mother who can bless Hallows with light to return their appearance to "normal" once more after they have died or simply decayed. However, all of Ilyona's creations are destinte to turn feral one day meaning that they will be hunted down by their patron goddess and her servants but this is not seen as a terrible thing as many Hallows view it as a "true death" which they will finally be delivered to peace by their own Goddess. Culture: The Hallows are dedicated to the worship of Ilyona as she is the one who created them and one of the few gods who do not show indifference or disgust at them. She protects her creations and cares for them and in return it is the Hallows that support the sun. In addition, it is her blessings which can reverse their appearance back to more normal looking forms. Beyond the pious nature, there's also a focus on perfection and seeing unlife as an eternal journey to experience new things and perfect subjects. As such, master craftsmen from Lindenhold are without parallels and veteran soldiers are without rivals. Death is a tricky subject as some wish to die as soon as they can but cannot be killed by most normal means and their goddess will only end those who have turn Feral. There's two main school of thoughts amongst the Hallows of Lindenhold, both stemming from the champions of Ilyona, Talvyrn and Lady Malicia. Talvyrn is associated with the "Dawn" school of thought and that to best serve is to be righteous and noble and faithful like knights, protecting and defending while also being reserved and more passive. Malicia's "Dusk" school of thought is much the opposite encouraging aggressive hunting of those who have fallen, speed and aggression is key and many subscribers are categorized by being energetic and opportunistic for it is the followers of the sun who must drive back the shadows by fighting in the shadows. Technology & Atheistics: Imperial Roman with a bit of Greek Capital: Kharstav - The Ascension Beacon Of the settlements and locations of Lindenhold, Kharstav is without a doubt the most notable with a light that pierces the central pillar of the city, the Beacon. Its long said that it is this ray of eternal light which guides lost souls to the afterlife under normal circumstances, ironic as most of its inhabitants are those few whose souls have come back to them. With intricately carved bricks and sparkling gems and polished gold, bronze and brass, Kharstav lays claim to the most ornate city in the world with Ilyona making her throne room at the heart of the pillar. No one knows if the beam comes from the sky and came down or was from the earth and shot up, but it is impossible to miss and a breathtaking sight from amongst snowy mountain peaks. Of course, the light also goes below the city and into the catacombs below where the hunters of the shadows reside, ever vigilant in their watch. Beings: Hallows of all races make their home although there are still a few other beings within the realm of Ilyona. Perhaps the most numerous and dangerous are the Feral Hallows and the Soul Beasts, beings fused of multiple souls and bodies that have become horrid amalgamations of all things unholy who came about as Ilyona's creation of the Hallows; her hunters rentlessly seek out these monsters lest they threaten anyone. While only rumors exist of the following, its said that once a race of ogres lived in the mountains before the rise of Lindenhold but were purged to the last by the Goddess and her Knights and Hunters and their bodies have been buried in the mountains.

L'année 2099 fut rude pour ce qui était autrefois les États-Unis. Aujourd'hui tout simplement cinq régions plus grandes en Amérique du Nord, Alchemax possédait essentiellement les États du nord-est. Stark-Fujikawa possédait une grande partie à l'ouest. Il y avait même une région autour des Grands Lacs appelée maintenant les « terres humides » où des centaines de créatures sauvages ressemblant à des Hulk erraient libres. Spiderman a combattu contre le gouvernement tortueux et l'influence des entreprises d'Alchemax sur la méga-ville maintenant appelée Nueva York depuis plusieurs mois maintenant. Une fois accro à une drogue appelée « rapture » avant de devenir un héros superpuissant, Miguel O'Hara a été choqué d'apprendre que la drogue avait vraiment un impact sur les gens du centre-ville. Il a eu une piste sur le type qui fabriquait la drogue, appelé le chimiste, mais quand Miguel s'est approché de l'être humain vile, il a été pris au dépourvu par les créatures grotesques que le chimiste avait transformé les gens ordinaires en. Lorsque Spiderman a essayé à maintes reprises d'arrêter l'opération du chimiste, un médecin renommé a aidé plusieurs des ennemis les plus meurtriers de Spiderman à échapper à la prison. Maintenant, la Vulture cannibale rassemble son gang. Mutagen a commencé à tuer plusieurs personnes dans le centre-ville pour leur maladie et leurs anomalies. Flipside se présentait à nouveau comme l'ami de Spiderman. Le Scorpion de cette époque était également maintenant sur le lâche et apparemment ciblant son père et PDG d'Alchemax, Tyler Stone. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Règles: 1.) Pas d'annonces consécutives. 2.) PAYEZ L'ATTENTION AU DÉTAILLAGE ET AU DÉTAILLAGE!Qu'est-ce qu'il y a? 3.) C'est logique. Si on ne peut pas faire des têtes ou des queues de vos poteaux, ils risquent de se faire sauter. 4.) Obtenez la permission avant d'utiliser le caractère d'un autre joueur dans vos messages si cela implique de changer la scène ou de faire des actions. Tout le monde prendra des coups dans ce jeu dans la bataille cependant, alors ne soyez pas en colère si vous vous faites frapper ou dans un mur par les méchants! C'est-à-dire moi ou la Co-GM qui contrôle les badguys... 5.) Les problèmes avec le jeu ou les joueurs devraient être envoyés directement à moi ou à la Co-GM par l'intermédiaire des PM. Je ne veux pas de bagarres dans l'OOC. Et je n'aime pas particulièrement quand un argument aléatoire coûte les joueurs de jeu et le potentiel d'histoire. Alors, ne soyez pas des cons, envoyez-nous vos préoccupations. 6.) Les personnages abandonnés seront utilisés comme PNC ou tués dans le contexte de l'histoire. 7.) J'attendais de faire un mouvement, ce n'est pas comme ça que ce jeu est joué. 8.) Il n'y a pas de règle #8. 9.) Ma parole est la loi. 10.) Obéissez à la loi. 11.) Dans le cas où je suis hors ligne pour toute période de temps, la Co-GM prendra le contrôle et HIS/HER mot sera alors la loi. Nueva York, Manhattan... L'homme avec le crâne enflammé pour un visage pourrait courir et sauter sur l'horizon de Manhattan en moins de vingt minutes. Il a sauté des voitures volantes et dans le dos de sa tête a pensé au nouveau thème Mario Bros Legacy. Cependant, il ne combattait pas les tortues en colère ou les princesses, et il évitait les égouts autant que possible d'être un peu un germaphobe quand il n'était pas en costume. Mis à part tous les voyous de Spiderman, il y avait des rumeurs d'un nouveau roi-pin dans les enfers. Le nouveau héros n'est pas venu de Brooklyn pour des rumeurs, mais il cherchait Spiderman. Mutagen a été repéré à Brooklyn plusieurs fois au cours des derniers jours. Jorah espérait avoir une idée de la façon de le gérer. Dodger Public Eye n'était pas vraiment un problème, même avec l'apparence d'allumette. Quand Blaze a finalement vu ce qu'il pensait être Spiderman balançant autour d'un gratte-ciel néon, il a donné poursuite. "Spiderman... Hé! Ralentissez! » Blaze a crié en sautant de la construction aux voitures volantes. "SPIDERMAN?" OÙ?" le drapeau rouge et bleu Flipside criait en faisant un quatre-vingt complet. "Dammit.... les premiers hommes en métamorphose avec des pouvoirs animaux dans le centre-ville et maintenant Terminator-Spidey? C'est juste que ce n'est pas ma semaine..." Blaze pensait monter dans l'Uptown de Manhattan menant vers le désormais gigantesque Times Square. « La première fois que je suis revenue ici depuis la fin de mon service communautaire. Heureusement, je connais le niveau de la rue comme l'arrière de ma main gauche robotisée... » Blaze a pensé tourner et tirer une explosion de flammes de lumière dure sur l'assaillant androïde. "Tu es le gars qui a essayé de faire sauter Alchemax... l'heure pour le meilleur Bud de Spidey de t'enlever le visage fantôme!" Flipside a crié d'esquiver l'explosion du feu et de sauter vers le nouveau héros tirant sur une webline et zippant à travers la skyline néon. De l'autre côté de la ville, près du pont de Brooklyn... Un grand homme d'origine africaine suit un homme dans les bidonvilles avec le grand pont visible en arrière-plan. Personne ne connaît vraiment l'homme appelé Mutagen derrière le masque rouge qu'il porte maintenant. Personne ne sait la perte qu'il a dû subir, ou ce qui l'a rendu fou. L'homme avec l'anomalie physique connaîtra bientôt sa rage. Mutagen tuera tous ceux qui sont malades ou déformés qui pourraient tacher la réserve de gènes pour les humains. -00492 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Character Type - Cannon Inspired Name - Jorah Blaze Alias - Blazing Skull, Blaze Age - 29 Social Class - Midtown Alignment - good Archetype - Human Powers - * bionic enhancements increase his physical attributes. Max lift 1 ton, max speed on foot 75 mph. Armored body is more durable, exposed skin can withstand small arms fire. * completely robotic left arm can be used like a computer and jack into various systems. * uses hard light projection graphics for the flaming skull headpiece; tinkering with this gave him the ability to fire hard light flames from his mouth Skills - good with most electronics but no genius. He's not super athletic or agile but loves to run and jump through the steel skylines of Uptown in Nueva York. Weaknesses - Still just a human with human weaknesses, hes just a little more durable because of the robotic enhancements. He's also an amputee and most of his left arm is gone. Blaze also has low self esteem and is overcoming an addiction to the drug rapture. Arch Enemy - Depending on what we get in the villain department... Appearance - BRIEF Bio - Jorah is actually the great nephew of former Ghost Rider Johnny Blaze. As a kid he had heard rumors of his relative being the famous motorcycle stuntman, and there were pictures and strange stuff in a locker passed down to Jorah that didn't make much sense. Much of the history of the Heroic Age was lost but old pictures of Johnny in his old gear and cycle suggest he was either Ghost Rider or another hero called the Blazing Skull. However Jorah would go on to live a mostly average life growing up in Brooklyn outside of Nueva York. Most of Brooklyn by this point looked like a mix of Midtown with a dash of Downtown here and there. Not as many people as in 'the city'. One night in 2097, Jorah's life would be forever changed after being high on rapture caused him to wreck his hovercar into the side of an electric gas station. An electrical fire erupted and Jorah lost most of his left arm and had scars on a large portion of his back and left thigh. The court system had mercy on him and only sentenced him to 200 hours community service. During his time picking up litter in Times Square (the only area of Nueva York that's 'Uptown' from street level all the way to the top) he overheard somebody's plan to blow up an Alchemax Lab his friend happened to work at. Since there were a couple of crappy movies recently about some form of Tron-like Ghost Rider, he chose to go the Blazing Skull route when creating a superhero/vigilante alias. He used some vibranium alloy debris he'd found in downtown areas to fashion armor and combined with electro-magnet powered prosthetics also managed to boost his strength, durability, and speed. Jorah took pride in the design of his hard light projection graphics. He wasn't the greatest artist or tinkerer but he could pull of some pretty legit stuff when he had the drive. In the end he foiled the bombing, but made enemies out of the Public Eye and Alchemax, who blamed Blaze for the botched bombing. Notes - Might need to polish the CS up a bit later. I'm behind on packing/moving. Sample Post - With red and black cybernetics augmenting his attributes, Jorah ran and leaped from building to building until he was in what was once a lot smaller Times Square. It's the Times Square of 2017 to the 10th power. Now with even more lights, flying cars, and completely robot traffic cops. At one point Blaze jumped onto a flying car before leaping onto the side of the MTV skyscraper. The robot traffic cop spotted the fire headed hero as he was attempting to apprehend somebody that looked like they'd stolen a baby from a woman in the Downtown area. The Public Eye was on the scene to make things interesting. More like a bunch of sociopaths with badges and authority nowadays, Blaze took the two out of the air leaping at their sky cycles and ripping at their exterior until they began to descend. "Where did that guy go?" Blaze asked himself before spotting the guy who took the baby. Later, on the other side of the city's Downtown area... "I'll keep you safe, you don't have to worry about the bad man..." the young man said to the little girl in the bottom of a rundown old building with most of the windows blown out. "I just want the kid taken back to his mother... I don't have to give you a beating man..." Blaze said coming out of the shadows and reactivating his fire skull 'mask'. "She can't protect the baby. I can!" the man in the tattered clothes claimed settling the baby down in an old dresser drawer. "It's not your call!" Blaze declared dashing forward and kneeing the guy in the abdomen and dropping him. "You don't understand..." the guy said tearing up as his hood fell revealing a boy in his early twenties at most. The baby wiggled and coo'ed. It wasn't afraid of it's would-be abductor. It's blanket began to fall away from the baby's face and arm and revealed the child was different. The eyes and mouth looked to have a type of energy emitting from them ever so slightly. "What the..?" Blaze thought to himself looking back at the kid on the ground. "That guy is out of prison... the one who kills people who're sick, or mutants, or look anything less than human. My mom's too old, she can't fight that guy off. Spiderman barely beat him last time and he already killed six people Downtown..." the kid in tattered clothes said standing back to his feet and clutching his stomach. "Wait... didn't the Bugle call him the Mutagen Murderer?" Blaze asked. "That's the guy. Two people have already been found dead Downtown. One was just sick, the other one was a teenager. A mutant girl. I'm not gonna let that guy get close to my sister..." the young man continued. "You should stick with your mom, two of you stand a better chance than just you. I'll see if I can't find some better place to stay safe should anybody spot the guy.. you know anybody else that would fit this guy's MO?" Blaze asked turning his flames and skull face off. "Four or five yeah, then a couple more people that're sick..." the young man answered picking his sister back up and putting the blanket around her once again. "I'll come Downtown with my face on when I've got some place for you guys to stay. Bring your sister, your mother, and tell the others. For now go back to your mom's side of town." Blaze instructed leaping back into the tops of skyscrapers of Midtown on his way up. -00492

Patrick Warrens Le son rythmique du rythme régulier de Patrick retentit dans le couloir de chrome, stérile qu'il habitait. Il a fait un mouvement en douceur pour ajuster sa cravate et essuyer de la poussière de son costume marine pinstripe tout en donnant son reflet dans le mur chromé un sourire fier. Les derniers mois ont été mouvementés pour le moins. Il s'était finalement introduit dans les cercles de la criminalité surhumaine, avait gagné les pouvoirs d'un hulk, manipulé son alter ego au point de pouvoir le faire tomber sur d'autres sur le risque qu'il n'ait pas le contrôle et a finalement commencé à pousser Valhalla dans les rues de Nueva York grâce à un nouveau bienfaiteur et au nouveau chimiste de son organisation. Pour couronner les choses, Patrick était en route pour commencer à forger une nouvelle alliance temporaire avec l'un des gangs les plus anciens de Nueva York, nommé à juste titre le « vieux gang de Nueva ». Il devait rencontrer l'un des hauts gradés de la bande dans un ancien hôpital de l'extrémité inférieure de la ville. Patrick s'attendait à ce que le représentant du gang ait des gardes du corps autour, car ces réunions étaient très rarement organisées sans qu'il y ait assez de méfiance de part et d'autre. Bien sûr, Patrick avait amené quelques hommes armés habillés de la même façon pour ne pas se mettre au cul, mais en toute réalité, il doutait qu'il y ait quelque chose dans la pièce que lui et son alter ego ne pouvaient pas gérer assez facilement. Enfin venant à la fin du couloir chromé, Patrick a ouvert les portes dans l'aire de réception de l'hôpital abandonné pour saluer celui qui a été envoyé par le Gang Old Nueva. Pendant ce temps... "Ted, je te jure que si tu ne te dépêches pas de mettre ces boîtes dans le van, je vais te frapper à la tête si fort que tu ne sauras pas de quel côté il est." Mark a crié alors que les deux voyous ont chargé des boîtes de flacons de Valhalla dans un véhicule autoportant I-Hual en mouvement. Ted se déplaçait à un rythme assez rapide car lui aussi voulait sortir de la zone aussi vite que possible. Tous deux avaient entendu des rumeurs sur divers héros qui avaient jailli et ils avaient naturellement peur de se faire prendre et poursuivre.

Character Type - Cannon Inspired Name - Patrick Warrens Alias - Ton, Megaton, Kiloton Age - 23 Social Class - Uptown though spends most of his time Downtown Allignment - anti-hero (Ton wants to be left alone and Patrick is a criminal) Archetype - Enhanced Human Powers - The Big Guys: At will Patrick is able to transform into the monstrous brute known as Ton. Ton can then also change into two other forms as he gets angrier. Rather than being able to increase his strength to a nigh infinite level, Ton simply changes forms and has a capped level of strength with Megaton being the stronger than Ton and Kiloton being the strongest. It takes a metaphorical ‘kick’ to get Ton to change forms meaning even after he’s calmed down as Megaton or Kiloton he might still stay in one of those forms for a while. Ton’s base form has him pretty level headed and at his weakest ‘only' being able to lift around 10 tons (a large hovercar/SUV). Megaton is more articulated with his language (speaking in proper sentences rather than classic hulk speech), possesses the strength to lift 40 tons (equivalent to an 18 wheeler in 2099) and a bad temper to match. Finally Kiloton doesn’t talk a lot and possesses the ability to lift 80 tons (a 90 ft long subway engine car). Skills - Crime Boss: Patrick runs a decently large gang and as such has access to a plethora of resources such as underworld connections, money and goons. Along with these resources he has the respect of many lower life criminals though thats not to say there are lots who’d rather see his hulked out head on a skewer. Hand-to-hand combat: Patrick, while not on par with the likes of Daredevil or any other martial artist, is still capable of holding his ground without calling on his stronger alter-ego. Weaknesses - Random Transformations: Sometimes Patrick will turn into Ton at (seemingly) random which can be a major downside if he needs to be calm and collected during a discussion with other thugs he’s trying to hire or work out a deal. Smarts: While Patrick is decently smart, Ton is more lacking in the intelligence department rendering him reliant on allies or his fists to get out of delicate situations. Arch Enemy - None as of yet Appearance - BRIEF Bio - Patrick Warrens grew up in the absolute slums of Nueva York where his parents did their best to raise him often at the expense of spending time with him. He was generally sheltered from his family’s plights as his parents put on a good charade that everything was alright even if they had to go hungry a few nights to keep their son happy and healthy. Patrick’s first true bit of tragedy struck when his mother died from scurvy and he had to drop out of high school to help his dad pay the bills. Things continued to decline as Patrick’s father began to get old and incapable of working as much as he once was physically able to. Patrick threw himself into his work as a criminal when his father finally passed away due to his deteriorating condition. A few years would pass and the name Patrick Warrens became feared and revered in most of downtown population but Patrick hadn’t been able to push into to the superhuman crime circles despite his best efforts. Due to this Patrick sought new procedures to augment himself so that he could break into the higher revenue ventures. Patrick’s search eventually turned his attention to an experimental research program that was trying to recreate the travesty that caused all the savage hulks in the badlands. The process was done in a building bordering that badlands and had no immediate results on Patrick but the scientists seemed happy enough with the results so Patrick left, unknowingly a changed man. In the coming months news spread about a hulk running around Nueva York and it soon became common knowledge in the underground that it was indeed Patrick Warrens. Now Patrick has the means to break into superhuman crime rings and really start imposing his will on the people Nueva York. Notes - -Patrick is somewhat based off of Kingpin and Ton is based off of the Hulk -When not in control, Patrick and Ton are unable to sense the world around them but can still communicate with one another. Sample Post - The Incapacitated Blue Beetle Episode 5 Ted groaned and let out a pained grunt as he hit the floor. His footing wasn't as sound as he had hoped and managed to topple over himself and fall before he could let out a stunning-flashes from his Air gun. As he went to attempt to get up he found another arm helping him get up and a friendly enough voice. "Your coming with me, too" "If... you insi-... insist." Ted struggled to say as he was raised to his feet and brought back to the elevator by the man and an old woman who Ted assumed was another hero-turned-elderly. "What she... said..." the exasperated hero stated in regards to the old lady's reply. All things considered this wasn't going to badly for a first stint with the league. He could have ended up being completely useless in some other mission but at least, at the moment, he had a pretty good excuse. Shrugging off his new teammate's support, BB offered his hand to the bandaged man for a handshake and then to the old woman. "I'm Bl-... Blue Beetle... I missed th-the..." Ted looked to the ceiling and took a deep breath as he began to feel a pain in his chest "the... shindig a... few days ago. Pleasure... to meet you two."

Sur la route désolée, détruite de l'Interstate 86, un flou de courses de poussières et de coups de feu le long de l'autoroute à plus de cent milles à l'heure. Ce chef-d'œuvre de l'ingénierie, ce titan de la route ouverte est connu des enfers comme... Le bûcheron! Le doux bourdonnement de l'Arc Reactors sous sa hotte correspondait à la bande sonore à bosse comme au volant, un Uther Samson Archer tirait une droite tranchante, balayant autour d'une remorque de tracteurs à longue distance. Derrière lui, et l'entourant de tous les côtés, les Ghost Riders, une bande de mutants à visage de crâne dans leurs voitures et leurs vélos. Sur le siège passager, une valise avec une lueur vert sombre qui sort des bords qu'il a été chargé de transporter de l'Ultrafoundry de Roxxon Brain Trust à Deleware à un acheteur dans la ville de Nueva York. Oui, ce sont les moments pour lesquels il a vécu. En prenant le changement de vitesse, Uther a claqué le gaz, et la voiture a commencé à s'accélérer... et le monde a ralenti. Le Rider à droite, le motorcyle à l'évidence fait de différentes pièces d'automobile, avait tiré un fusil scié. Rien à craindre, les fenêtres ont été notées pour des armes une douzaine de fois plus puissantes. Sur la gauche, le Rider dans le grand camion sur mesure avait commencé à tourner pour ramer le Roadbuster- il pourrait gratter la peinture, mais il aurait probablement frappé à droite. Overhead, un Rider avait rampé quelques décombres et était Juuuust entrant en vue de l'avant de la voiture. Derrière, il y avait... au moins six ou sept autres dans leurs Techniques. Uther a été laissé pour sourire alors qu'il a vu le tunnel arriver. La piste a changé... D'abord, il a appuyé sur les freins, juste un peu. En prenant pour objectif les gants sans doigt qu'il portait, il a fait un geste d'arme de doigt au-dessus du motard- qui a rapidement été tiré par les phares laser. En voyant le premier de ses problèmes se transformer en viande hachée à l'impact de la route, il s'est accouché et a commencé à tourner la roue et à se déplacer vers Inverser alors que le camion de sa gauche se claquait sur son côté, l'envoyant tourner. Il s'agissait d'une question simple pour stabiliser le Roadbuster, maintenant capable d'amener ses lasers à porter sur les cibles derrière lui alors qu'il balayait autour d'une des voitures rouillées garées le long de la route. Le fusil de chasse a été renversé par le roadbuster à queue de poisson, alors qu'Uther continuait d'accélérer vers l'arrière. La voiture qui l'a ramassé plus tôt s'est apaisée, son conducteur et passager prenant but- avant un autre tir des lasers a fait sauter la suspension sur le pneu droit, l'envoyant tourner et ramper dans le mur de l'entrée du tunnel. Ce n'était pas longtemps avant que les premiers virages du tunnel n'arrivent. Uther s'est encore branlé, branlant la roue à gauche. Cela a envoyé le Roadbuster tourner jusqu'à ce qu'il conduise encore une fois vers l'avant... et Uther a donné le gaz de plus en plus, décalant les rapports alors qu'il accélérait directement vers le mur. Les pilotes semblaient intimidés alors que le Roadbuster secouait à nouveau, ses roues tournant dans leurs puits... et glissant vers le haut du mur pour continuer à s'accélérer! Le bruit d'Eurobeat s'écoulant à travers le tunnel, Uther a épargné un coup d'œil fractionné pour la carte des anciens inter-États... oui, cela l'amènerait dans les tunnels sous le centre-ville de Nueva York. Pas de problème avec les douanes, pas de problème avec les gangs locaux ou l'oeil privé. Juste un beau long trajet sur le mur du tunnel et un arrêt à Midtown pour se retirer... quelle que soit cette merde vert éclatante. Heureusement, ses cybernétiques n'ont pas cessé d'être perpendiculaires au sol pour ne pas être trop catastrophiques. En regardant dans son rétroviseur les Ghost Riders loin dans la distance, il a glissé et a retourné ses yeux sur la route. Le soft hum de l'Arc Reactor n'a pas fait trébucher de capteurs audio, et il ne savait pas de flux vidéo qui pourraient garder la trace d'une cible se déplaçant si vite... mais juste au cas où, il avait la plaque brouillant à travers quelques dizaines de pilotes de Nueva York. Éclairant un cigare avec un sourire, il resserra une fois de plus sa poignée sur le volant. "Speed à deux cent cinquante miles à l'heure... tous les systèmes nominaux... et nous sommes prêts. Regarde Nueva York... Voilà les États-Unis. "As!"

Character Type - Canon Inspired Name - Uther Samson Alger Alias - US Ace, The Roadbuster Age - 21 Social Class - Downtown Alignment - Anti-hero Archetype - Enhanced Human Powers - Uther himself has very little going for him. His skull and other bones (including his teeth) are ridiculously durable, and his reflexes and reaction times are far and above the human norm. He also has an outrageous amount of endurance, able to go for a few days without sleep. On the other hand, we have The Roadbuster. The Roadbuster is Uther's supercar, a custom number with several incredible features that make Uther's job as a courier possible. Under the hood is a custom-built engine powered by an Arc Reactor. The only computers on board are completely removed from most of the more important systems to prevent hacking. The car itself has a Vibranium chassis and suspension, allowing it to absorb the bumps from the road... and any fenderbenders, gunfights, or daring jumps Uther gets into. Thankfully, the windows are made of high-tech glass that's highly reflective- lasers tend to bounce right off. The Roadbuster is completely airtight, with oxygen scrubbers, allowing it to operate underwater for hours at a time or survive encounters with toxic gasses. Additional systems include: Rotating wheelwells- The Roadbuster is able to move sideways for a quick burst- enough to dodge rubble or traffic. Gecko-Grip tires- a coating that allows The Roadbuster to drive on walls Railway Riders- a deployable set of disks that allow The Roadbuster to drive on old subway tracks- perfect for evading pursuit. Headlights- that double as nonlethal laser cannons. For the purpose of getting rid of debris in the road and deterring sewer mutants. Electronic Paint Job- The Roadbuster's paint is a specialized coating that can be changed between a few preset configurations- including midnight blue and pitch plack for stealth purposes. Scramble Plate- the license plate is able to scramble its numbers, giving false results from databases. Skills - Even without his cybernetic enhancements, Uther is a master wheelman, equally at home behind the wheel of a sedan and a big rig. Despite his less-than-legal career, Uther's actually highly educated as an engineer. He builds, modifies, and repairs The Roadbuster himself. He's a reliable marksman, but nothing to write home about. Weaknesses - Uther's cybernetics don't have an internal power source- they convert the calories in his body for energy. As such, he has to eat a lot more than a normal human. Arch Enemy - The mystery dude who blew up his lab. Appearance - BRIEF Bio - Uther and his brother Charles Simon Archer were once engineers working for Roxxon's automotive division. They were tasked with the development of new engines, and were particularly interested in the Arc Reactor that powered much of Stark Industries' technology. In order to help reverse engineer one, the fine folks at Roxxon gave them hard drives their agents "acquired" from various older corporations. While this should have pinged as something sketchy, Uther and Charles were a bit busy trying to do their damn jobs- the world of experimental tech is a cutthroat business after all, full of betrayal and nasty surprises. Well, throats were cut one night when Uther lost the coin toss and had to go get takeout while they worked overnight searching through the hard drives. He barely opened the door before the explosion went off, blowing him out into the street- and nearly gutting the interior of the lab. Passing out from his horrific injuries, he awoke the next day in the hospital- with several replaced bones and repaired nerves. It seemed that someone was none to happy with the eco-friendly direction of their research and had planted explosives in one of the hard drives. To top it off, Charles was missing- but since the camera was fried, there wasn't enough evidence- or money at stake- for the Public Eye to intervene. That night, Uther staggered to the scene of the crime, and dug through the rubble. Always physically fit, he managed to move aside enough broken rock to find some things- a cassette tape and a USB stick. Though one off the devices was ludicrously outdated, the other was usable- and Uther was completely unprepared for what he found. There was video footage of a shadowy figure leaving the lab earlier in the day... as well as tampering with one of the hard drives. This evidence was enough for Uther. But he didn't trust the Public Eye, or Roxxon, to follow up on this information. He was struck by a thought: Iron Man was a superhero with armor made with human engineering. Well, Uther didn't know enough about armor to become a new Iron Man... but he could become a knight errant, seeking his brother's killer on a steed of chrome. He pooled his finances and every bit of material he could scrounge from Roxxon and its labs, and began building. He shut himself away from the world, toiling in a garage foundry to create a car from scratch- and what a car it was. Detroit Vibranium. Ultraglass made from sand tempered in a nuclear furnace. All of Uther's knowledge regarding cars- combined with some very interesting tech specs from a hard drive from Stark Industries- went into building a vehicle that put any before it to shame. Wiping his computers, he set out to find this shadowy figure and avenge the death of his brother... but he has to figure out who in the underworld might want them gone. Those in the know can be sure of one thing: if you need someone or something to get somewhere fast and safe, and if you can afford his rates, you might just be able to hire a man known only as "US Ace." Notes - The glove compartment of the Roadbuster contains two things that Uther has deemed utterly necessary for his work- a rather large revolver, and a collection of discs of classical music- such as The Scorpions, Saint Pepsi, and Lazerhawk. Sample Post -

Nueva York, la plus belle expérience culinaire Skyline de Manhattan - 'Mumbles' A côté d'une fenêtre qui avait la meilleure vue de tous ces merveilleux signes de néon lumineux était simple, brillant, table en chêne noir avec des chaises assorties avec des coussins en seulement le meilleur coton égyptien importé. À la table il y avait un smorgasbord; au centre il y avait un porc allaitant, oui un porc allaitant cuit avec la pomme traditionnelle dans sa bouche et bien sûr sa peau était brunie à la perfection, à gauche de cela il y avait une paire de homards qui avaient déjà sa coquille fissurée ouverte pour la viande beurrée à l'intérieur de ce bug aquatique à récolter, et sur la gauche il y avait une pile de découpes de veau qui étaient sautées dans une sauce au citron. Derrière le porc se trouvaient trois assiettes, l'une était composée de thon haché finement servi cru, et deux assiettes d'huîtres. Devant le cochon, il y avait une paire de plats et de commandes. Oui, quand il s'agit de servir l'élite avec un hankering à manger, "mum's le mot à Mumbles". À cette table, il y avait deux messieurs. Sur la gauche il y avait un homme avec un peigne noir et un teint bronzé qui était vêtu d'un costume bleu avec une paire de boutons de manchette rouges. Ce monsieur était un agent pour les célébrités et s'est assuré que certaines affaires étaient en ordre. Il gardait un œil attentif sur le monsieur qui était assis à droite. La personne qui était assise à droite s'est concentrée sur une télévision haute définition qui était à quelques pas derrière la tête de l'agent. Cet individu n'avait pas besoin d'être présenté, surtout pas ici à Mumbles, car il était LE Nicholas Grey. Cependant, il fallait s'occuper de son choix de tenue dans ce restaurant; un costume beaucoup plus classe en vermilion et pantalon assorti, boutons de manchette perlé, un sous-shirt violet en soie, une cravate jaune canari et malgré cette tenue, il portait une paire de bottes d'équitation brillantes. Nicholas Grey s'est redressé les cheveux avant de regarder la nourriture avec empressement. Les messieurs de l'autre côté de la table ont simplement glissé un stylo sur la table. En l'apprivoisant, Nicholas Grey commença immédiatement à l'ébranler : « Ah merci Arthur! Je sais qu'il y a beaucoup de fans ici qui voudraient des autographes. Nous pouvons nous en inquiéter après avoir mangé!" L'agent, maintenant révélé être un Arthur a commencé à tousser avant de dire quelque chose sur la paperasse d'affaires qui à son tour a été interrompu par Nicholas Grey claquer le stylo sur la table et attraper une fourchette et un couteau alors qu'il a frénétiquement coupé dans le homard et loupé un morceau. L'agent a bougé et s'est croisé les mains sur la poitrine. En regardant son compatriote déçu, Nicholas Grey, avec une bouche pleine de nourriture, commença à murmurer quelque chose. Je ne peux pas manger tout ça toute seule et je ne veux pas en rapporter un sac à dos sur le plateau de tournage! Ce doit être une surprise pour quand j'obtiens le reste de l'équipage de la vraie restauration. Nous pouvons nous concentrer sur la paperasse et ce jazz plus tard, parce que j'ai le sentiment que cette largeca à venir--" Il s'est trouvé interrompu quand une paire de combattants du crime ayant une petite secousse est venue fouetter par la fenêtre. Nicholas Grey leva le stylo en poussant son siège vers le haut. Il a donné une brève vague à Arthur alors qu'il se moquait de sortir son téléphone de sa poche de poitrine avec sa main libre. "Ouais?" Il a dit à personne sur l'autre ligne, fourrant le stylo dans la poche, il a couvert sa bouche pendant qu'il parlait à Arthur. "Un de mes adorateurs, oui, je peux parler. Arthur Je reviens tout de suite, ça ne devrait pas prendre trop de temps." Arthur, beaucoup trop exacerbé en ce moment, s'est simplement fermé et a commencé à gorger une huître comme une bouteille d'alcool. Nicholas Grey a dû sortir du restaurant et monter dans un véhicule dès que possible; résoudre ce schuffle aurait l'air génial sur les nouvelles de huit heures! Et alors qu'il s'éloignait du restaurant, il commença à défaire sa cravate et son sous-poil pour révéler des cuirs de course qu'il portait sous eux... Il était temps pour une bonne vieille mode vigilante hobby héroïsme.

Character Type - Original Name - Nicholas Grey Alias - THE Nicholas Grey, Greatest Racer of This Generation, Atlas Andes Sponsored Heroic Do-gooder Age - 39 Social Class - Uptown Alignment - Arrogant Good Archetype - Human Powers - Incorruptibly Pure Human Genetics - Nicholas Grey was born with some rare genes that have made him immune to being altered through scientific mutations, magical spells, or any other supernatural means. In short this means that Nicholas Grey is and will always be a human. Skills - THE Greatest Racer - Nicholas Grey is surely the best damn racer you'll ever have the pleasure of seeing, and he has a top-notch record in multiple fields of racing from drag racing, to track racing, to motocross racing, to off-road racing and so on. As such he is extremely skilled in operating vehicles of all sorts and driving them as fast as possible, and of course using a vehicle as a most dangerous weapon. He is also versed in performing maintenance on his own vehicles if his pit crew isn't around. Celebrity - Nicholas Grey is, again, surely the best damn racer you'll ever have the pleasure of seeing who has a top-notch record in multiple fields of racing. Due to this he is a noted celebrity and as such is easily recognizable; which means Nicholas Grey a number of admirers, papparazzi, agents, stalkers and so on. With his social status Nicholas Grey can do things such as walk into classy restaurants without a reservation, go into filming studios easier, etc. as perks of his fame. MacGyvering - To many people construction is a difficult task; this is not the case for Nicholas Grey. Nicholas Grey is quite adept at taking all sorts of bits and scavenged pieces from an assortment of objects, and with a workbench, can create unique and deadly gizmos from the simple spiked baseball bat to the more advanced plasma-flamethrowing motorcycle. Corporate Sponsored - Nicholas Grey, as a famed racer, has his share of corporate sponsors. His most notable sponsorship is from an 'unhinged' Home Improvement/Outdoor Recreations Corporation, known as Atlas Andes. This corporation provides Nicholas Grey with tools, such as chainsaws, axes, two-by-fours, hunting/sport rifles, crossbows and other 'assorted improvised weapons' in return for Nicholas Grey shilling for them during his heroic acts of vigilantism, logos on his racing vehicles. And so Nicholas Grey fights off the villainous threats of man with the items provided by Atlas Andes. Weaknesses - Celebrity - Of course while being a noted celebrity is all well and good it does have its downsides. Nicholas Grey has his share of stalkers, his personal information is more likely to be spread around than someone without fame, and he has a personal reputation to uphold. Not to mention that he has to juggle this noble hobby of heroic vigilantism alongside his actual career of racing, with occasional film, TV, and commercial roles. It is safe to say there are a lot of routes a notorious villain could go to try to defeat Nicholas Grey. Gloryhound - Nicholas Grey is a notorious gloryhound with a grandiose ego to match it. He is incredibly reckless when it comes to performing acts that would net him more glory and fame, and can easily be manipulated into courses of action by appealing to his ego and the fame he'd receive from them. Human - Nicholas Grey, albeit a physically fit racer, is still just a normal human. Arch Enemy - No Challenger Has Proved Themselves Worthy of Being seen as an Arch-Enemy. Appearance - Nicholas has rather white skin, which compliments his dark blue eyes. Another notable feature is his black hair which goes all the way to the back of his neck, that is combed thoroughly (except when he initially takes off his racing helmet). He doesn't have any sharp facial features, and overall he looks like an average man. More often than not he is in his flame-retardant, black race suit leathers which are emblazoned heavily with the Atlas Andes logo. BRIEF Bio - Nicholas Grey lived in an orphanage for a brief period of his life. It was surprisingly unremarkable, as he never had any traumatic encounters from gangsters or abusive staff. At the orphanage Nicholas Grey had a lot of freetime which he used to scavenge for interesting objects to make new and fun things out of to play with. Soon enough, this child was adopted into the lap of luxury by a lovely couple who lived Uptown. He lived well and often watched televised races, both standard and death matches, with his adoptive parents. It was then Nicholas Grey decided to become a racer and used all the resources at his disposal to become the greatest racer of this generation. He would soon begin to achieve his dream as he racked up win after win after win in multiple forms of racing. However he found himself introduced to a new purpose in life after some radioactive creatures attacked a casino he was relaxing after finishing a previous competition. He initially hid to save his own hide but was eventually bitten by the radioactive monster. Oddly enough Nicholas Grey was not altered to become such a creature; it was then he knew he could become a heroic vigilante the world needed. So he obtained a new sponsor to supply him with weapons for his crusade of justice, a film crew to follow him around as he performed acts of heroism, and thus began to juggle his career with the noble hobby of heroic vigilantism. Notes - The curious case for Atlas Andes' Corporate Sponsoring of Nicholas Grey's heroic acts of vigilantism revolve around the fact that in 'Quarter Three' they were really badly in the red. Not wanting to risk going bankrupt and have their assets bought by a larger company, the Board of Directors accepted the Chief Marketing Officer's proposal for sponsoring an associate to one of his personal friends, Nicholas Grey. He is currently engaged in the filming process for a Romantic Comedy called 'Jumpstart My Heart'; alongside this he is also preparing for another upcoming racing tournament. Sample Post - The sun was setting upon the metropolis of Nueva York which just so happened to be blessed by the presence of THE Nicholas Grey. Lounging over the railings of the balcony from his Presedential Suite, a man with such exquisite tastes like Nicholas Grey would do with nothing less than that, he watched the traffic go by as less important people went about their routine. He was lodging in this hotel due to being close to the film studio, and more importantly the motocross track which he would soon dominate as was his nature. Performing a dramatic flourish with his left hand and flinging it up to the heavens, Nicholas Grey began to speak. "Soon you'll kno-" He paused in his mighty and bold performance of dialogue as he noticed his phone was ringing with the very classical tune of, 'Let's Make Lots of Money.' This ringtone belonged to Agent Donald's number. Sure it was just one of many agents Nicholas Grey had, but Donny always had the hookup for some nice and easy gigs. Nicholas answered the phone, "Donny whatcha got for me?" Nicholas nodded his head, "Game Show huh? 'FIR' you say, how much?" Nicholas beamed as he did a celebratory fist-pump with his free hand. "Donny baby you make me so happy! OH any new media gigs to talk about my heroism against those "supernatural" criminal freaks and the countless leagues of gangbangers?" Nicholas nodded, "Schedule it for a Thursday. I'm busy the day you told me they wanted." Nicholas listened to his phone as he said "Well it was great talking to you. Keep getting me cash buddy!" With that he hung up the phone and headed into his room proper. Grabbing the remote he began flipping through channels until he caught the footage of his glory.

- Oui. Ancien hôpital abandonné, Nueva York. Nayden s'était senti mal depuis leur arrivée. L'hôpital a été choisi spécifiquement pour ses avantages stratégiques. Cette chambre, aussi simple qu'il semblait, était juste assez grande pour que le Boss puisse s'adapter à son meilleur tout en offrant un autre itinéraire pour s'échapper si les choses vont vers le sud. Rien de tout cela ne serait nécessaire. L'épée, comme ils aimaient appeler Nayden dans le gang, était confiante que ces nouveaux voyous étaient tout aussi doltish que n'importe lequel. Ils seraient faciles à mettre en place en cas de besoin. Le patron avait trouvé une conversation avec son second, les deux parlant des possibilités. Nayden, a porté sa veste de tenue blanche et noire, penchée de façon décontractée sur le comptoir de chrome; une frontière physique les séparant et la plus récente arrivée. Au moment où la porte s'ouvre, sa tête se perce et ses yeux aiguisés glissent vers l'homme encombrant. Cinq hommes armés se tenaient aussi de leurs sièges, tous vêtus de costumes respectables. Tous ces muscles et il ne mesure toujours pas jusqu'à moi. C'est juste une autre tête de viande. Le patron a pris la tête de The Second, presque aussi grande mais à peine la présence puissante de Patrick. Il a griffé sa barbe toilettée, touchant la cicatrice qui a encadré le côté droit de son visage. "Bienvenue," a salué l'aîné. "Jesse, Epée, présentez-vous. Ensuite, nous pourrons commencer par cette... cette réunion." La Deuxième s'est intensifiée. "Bon de vous rencontrer." Nayden, les yeux fixés sur l'homme encombrant, sont restés calmes un moment. "... Bonjour."

"Just leave. You don't stand a chance against me." Character Type - Cannon Inspired Name - Nayden Reynolds Alias - The Sword (The Scourge) Age - 15 Social Class - Downtown Alignment - Bad Archetype - Enhanced Human Powers - Nayden discovered several well-documented abilities that he can utilize. All of them have either spawned from or was a direct result of his psychic powers. His super-strength, nigh-invulnerability, and super-speed are all acts of corporal manipulation; reinforcing, energizing, and shielding his body. Of course, he could barely call himself a psychic without the telltale repertoire of gifts. Telekinesis is one of them. At most he can lift a sedan without effort. Unlike his mom, who could dive into another's mind unaided, Nayden can only defend his from other psychics and experience past memories from the unaware. Try as he might, he has never been able to read one's current thoughts or future intentions. Skills - Nayden's personal skills are severely lacking. He's relied on his powers for most of his life so he's kinda useless if they were taken away. He's good at reading the tension in the air, probably the result of some uncounted power. Very manipulative, charming even to most people. He plays a good fool. Weaknesses - One-on-One fights are his specialty, however group fights tend to be trickier. His powers work on the premise of mental concentration. Too many distractions often leave openings for mistakes and without his psychic powers backing him up, he's essentially a normal, un-athletic teen. One whose never really felt true pain or disappointment. Furthermore he's never encountered another super-powered being, sure he heard word of Spider-Man, seen him on the big-screen, but he never had to fight the freak himself. Arch Enemy - Nayden shrugged his shoulder to the idea. BRIEF Bio - Nayden was born to Annalise Reynolds, single-mother and workaholic in the downtown streets of Nueva York. She was a librarian, dabbling model, and aspiring lawyer. Incapable of ever returning to her scholarly ambitions, Annalise had become content with learning what she could at her part-time job and taking care of her psychic, wallflower of a child. Because, regardless of how desperate she was to better her own life, she was fully devoted to insuring the best for his. Nayden Reynolds was the latest of a rare breed. A child who had been born with their ancestor's: Robert Reynolds' (The Sentry) peculiar gifts. As powerful and heavy as those gifts were, Nayden had not avoided the importance of them. For a time he had ostracized himself, struggling to beat the learning curve for controlling his power; she had sensed that much with her own limited talents. Recently though, puberty had smoothen the rough edges, giving Nayden some form of personality. He was kind but quiet and often selfless, but that came with a volatile tendency of overreacting. Which with his gifts were often fatal for others. She had always been on guard for "accidents", always dipping in and out of his mind, searching for the unfortunate. Sometimes he blocked her out. That was hard to deal with but understandable. Still she trusted him and loved him dearly, she knew he was a good kid and knew one day he would become something spectacular. What she did not know was truth about Nayden Reynolds Yea, he had took time to hone his powers but it wasn't for the safety of the herd. It was for himself. Having dozens of thoughts, both hideous and mundane, fill his head everyday was a circus. A painful, obnoxious one. Truth was he was the central guard for a very powerful, very ugly gang leader. They were sharks, very dangerous but very awe-inspiring to look at. All wore suits or similar garments, the majority looked like cronies but special members... well they stood out. When they had saved him from those bullies all those years ago, he wondered the same as everyone else. Why? Why did the, then, second-in-command offer to protect him. Well he knew the answer now; y'see, them pressing him to learn control had ultimately been advantageous. Now he knew they wanted him for his power. Now he knew they had seen his strength. Now he knew... that it had not been them that took out those bullies but none other then himself. He had been unmovable against the fist of those thugs, a pure monster in terms of strength, and for a moment, he had floated over them like a god. They had seen it all and they had greedily wanted him for themselves. He was irreplaceable to The Boss; so long as he had his powers, he didn't need to be viewed as a demon to be left alone. He needed only be known as a member of The Old Nueva Gang. Notes - Not The Same is his favorite audio file (regardless of its age). It should be mentioned that his powers are not essentially psychic in nature. Robert Reynolds powers were born from a secret formula created by some professor. Its caused a phase-shift in his molecules, having his atoms jump ahead of the current time-line and giving him hyper-state of consciousness. It was very potent in Robert, since his time its been diluted, and now part and parcel of the formula floats inside of Nayden's molecules. He has yet to awaken to its latent capabilities but has realized several psychic powers and seems to believe that's all he's capable of. Sample Post - He reached into his pocket until his entire hand was obscured, his fingers grasping for his domicile's key. He pulled it out, flinching from the gentle but unwanted touch of his mother's mental probing. She really needed a less invasive way of checking the door. He allowed her entrance to his initial thoughts while the door slid up into a wedged compartment. "Perfect timing I was just leaving for a photo-shoot." Nayden slipped off his weary sneakers and without pause carried himself down the hall to his room. "Yea, I remember you saying something like that." His voice grew louder the further he traveled. "Its that small shady group right? on Kjad Avenue?" Nayden hated the tedium of playing nitwit, his position within the Old Nueva Gang had afforded him plenty of insight. That shady studio on Kjad was filled with swindlers, nothing more. Rumors of rapist and murders had surfaced months ago but the actual employees were cowards, and as of recent, they were subservient to The Gang. "Mhmm. Before you start I know awful things have been said about them but I wouldn't worry too much about it. Your mom can handle herself." Nayden fixed his work clothes on, buttoning the remainder his white dress shirt and draping his topcoat around his shoulders. Course you wouldn't. You could probably smelt their minds easy, he thought. He heard her keys scrape against the counter as she snatched it up. "Food is in the fridge. Remember, Nayden, study, eat, sleep. I don't want to come home to your food still in the fridge." "You got it, Ma," he voiced loudly. He sat on his bed, amidst his flawless room, awaiting to hear the final click of the door. When it resounded through the silent house, he rose, and begun his small trek to the hideout.

FORCE Elisabeth s'ennuyait. Soooooooooooooooo s'ennuie. Elle avait aussi vraiment besoin d'un peu de travail bientôt. Le loyer était dû et elle était à bas prix. Peut-être qu'elle a dû voler une autre putain de banque ce point qu'elle a médité alors qu'elle arrondissait le coin pour vérifier sa troisième et dernière boîte postale enregistrée à Force, dans laquelle de vieux contacts envoyaient occasionnellement son travail. Rien qu'une annonce. Elle ne pouvait pas croire qu'il y avait encore du courrier indésirable en 2099. C'est moi qui utilise toujours les boîtes postales qu'elle a réalisé. Les téléphones avaient des traqueurs. Le gouvernement regardait toujours, et elle voulait être aussi hors de la grille qu'elle pouvait gérer dans cette ville. Elle rentre du bureau de poste, et décide d'aller trouver une ruelle sombre dans laquelle se changer. C'est vrai. Malheureusement, un gars plutôt effrayant est là-dedans. Et quand elle se transforme en ruelle, ses yeux s'illuminent. Elle voit quelque chose qui sort de sa chemise. Elle voit que c'est de sa poche, et qu'il y a aussi sa main là-dedans. Très bonne petite dame, les mains en l'air. Vous voulez vivre? – Il a demandé, un sourire diabolique qui planait sur son visage. Elle a feint la peur pendant un moment. Oui? C'est ce que je pensais. Alors fais exactement ce que je dis. Tout d'abord, vous allez tous enlever vos vêtements... C'est pas vrai! J'ai l'impression que tu allais juste essayer de prendre mon portefeuille ou quelque chose comme ça, elle soupire avec colère quand elle l'accuse. Son arme s'en va deux fois, la frappant les deux fois. Ahhhh... Yesss qu'elle pense que quand les balles l'ont frappée et que son pouvoir grandit, ses mains donnent une lueur bleue. Elle l'attaque, l'épingle par terre. Devenant très proche de son visage, elle siffle, il y a un certain type de monstre qui ne mérite pas de vivre dans ce monde, et il n'y a pas d'honneur à utiliser les autres pour leur corps, et puis il lui claque le cou. Elle enlève rapidement sa couche extérieure, cachant son sac à dos sur un toit après avoir escaladé un incendie à proximité. Elle voit la police se déplacer dans l'allée (quelqu'un a probablement entendu ces coups de feu, a-t-elle raisonné) et s'éloigner rapidement de la zone, se dirigeant vers une zone du centre-ville qui voit souvent des héros agir pour protéger les habitants. Elle était en train de se mettre à chier.

Character Type- Original Name – Elisabeth Harrison Alias - Force Age - 24 Social Class – changeable depending on the circumstances; lives in Midtown, mostly works in Downtown, occasionally in Uptown. Alignment – Usually a villain Archetype - Mutant Powers – Energy absorbsion: if Elisabeth were to take damage from any physical form (punches, fire, explosions, trains), she instead absorbs this energy to empower herself, though it wears out over time rather quickly. I realized on the walk home that this is basically the same concept as Zarya from Overwatch :V This energy gain manifests physically as she gains in power, starting out with a bit of a blue glow around her hands, then moving next to her eyes, then covering her entire body in a bright blue glow. -At its most basic form, this ability makes her strong. Ever so strong. The more power she takes in, the more she can dish out. Power wise, if she gets hit with the force of a train, she can then punch with the force of a train, and lift with that force. Relatively simple. - She can also channel this energy into blasts, more quickly draining from her pool but giving her a nice ranged option; she can keep doing this even if not powered up, but it will begin to hurt after a while and will eventually kill herself with it. -it is worth considering that she is able to pump up her abilities in a variety of ways: from over-eating to slashing her wrists repeatedly with a razor to jumping off of a building. She's also far from useless even when not powered up, as she still trains regularly and is near her championship fitness level. She just has to be careful to not over-do it in the gym :V Skills – the basic things you’d expect from a capable adult of her age. Also Muay thai, Judo, mountain climbing, and the Bassoon. Weaknesses – -love of combat: fighting is fun, and a good way to get an energy high. While not dumb enough to make a scene out of costume, Elisabeth does strive to be in costume as often as she can – it is her job at this point, anyway. -constant hunger: Force’s powers give her a constant need to eat, and take damage to sate her hunger (think your stereotypical hungry teenager, on steroids). High energy is also rather addictive, and if she is low for long enough she will start to go through withdrawal. -Hubris: Being functionally invincible most of the time doesn’t do wonders for your caution, and Elisabeth was already pretty damned confident. Expect her to easily fall victim to tricks, traps, “dishonorable” fighting, and mental effects (as well as anything else that doesn’t deal direct physical damage) -impenetrable: her powers have their downsides - she can't have surgiries performed on her, can't get tatoos, etc.. This may or may not be much of a barrier for her, tbh. Arch Enemy – I am the villain department! (Ghost and Power Man seem like they’d be a lot of fun to fight – Force would love the physical challenge of Power Man, and Ghost is everything that she doesn’t like in an opponent: wily, confusing, and ever changing. Starting there would probably be good?) Appearance – Elisabeth is mostly unassuming, coming in at 5’5” and 133 lbs. she’s ripped though; full body in great shape: clearly trains a lot. Her features are small – mouth, ears and nose are all, for lack of a better word, cute. Her hair is short: shaven close on the sides with a bit of pomade keeping the front swept to the left (or spikey and pointing right when in costume). Keeps it brown to keep herself less identifiable, but would totally color it red if she could. Conforms to most female beauty standards – shaven legs and armpits, does some basic makeup, etc.. large mole on her right cheek. One of the main problems with her ability is finding clothing that can stand up to the same punishment as she can. Fortunately, Force has, with enough profit and the right contacts, found someone who can make for her a hyper-resilient suit that covers the bases, and generally stands up to what she can take. It’s mostly form-fitting underarmour sort of material, done out in black and red. The upper half is kind of a belly-shirt tank top, covering the top half of her chest but leaving the stomach and arms exposed, while her shorts reach to about mid-calf and are also form fitting. She also wears half of a facemask, done in deep purple and deep red – this used to be a bandana, but is now the same form-fitting spandex shit as the rest of her suit. It covers her nose down to her neck. She wears a necklace that looks vaguely like it might give her powers or something to throw people off. No shoes. Born a child of two latent mutants, Elisabeth grew up in a normal midtowner’s life. sure she wasn’t the best in school, but man was she hella at Judo, taking home multiple state championships and almost qualifying for the American Olympics Team (or whatever an equivalent would be in this time). She never really made life plans beyond that, though, and fell somewhat aimless after an injury in her senior year of high school threw her out of contention for that year, making scholarships a lot tougher. She really started focusing in on bassoon then, and eventually went to college on a planned double major in sports medicine and music performance, the latter of which she dropped to complete on time. at the age of 19, while on a mountain climbing trip, Elisabeth fell off of a hundred foot cliff, and came out luckily unharmed. To all observers, it was luck, and she claimed that she broke her fall grabbing onto some cliff foliage near the bottom. But that didn’t happen. What happened was that she hit the ground. But there was no crack of her neck or spine, no feeling of whiplash, no loss of breath as her ribs punctured her lungs and left her to die. Instead, there was a feeling of power. Ecstasy, almost. And POWER. She felt so strong: crazy strong. She had to try this again! And experiment. So she went off “Hiking” much more often – and while she did get better at climbing mountains, the real goal was to learn more about her powers; purposefully hurting herself while deep in the wilderness, figuring out the true limitations of her powers: of which she found none. But, with all this in mind, Elisabeth saw not a chance to do good part-time. No, people didn’t deserve another person working their asses off only to get picked up by the fucking Public Eye and whisked off to who knows where once again. No; if she was going to use her abilities, she was gonna make bank. So fuck Sports Medicine. Developing a codename: Force, and working with a shitty costume for the time being, she put herself out there in Downtown robbing some banks and beating back some small-time goodie-two-shoes until she got the attention of some bigger guys and was able to drop the small-time villainy and get what she really wanted – safe, legal (usually) money in the eyes of her bank, and jobs beating up people for pissing off the big wigs. She got a great apartment out of the deal, too! Both her parents are quite elderly and have moved off to what’s left of florida, while most of the rest of her family is out in the Midwest. Force doesn’t really have a plan for the future. There is no master plan, no world domination. Force lives to fight, and makes work as a contract enforcer/killer/bounty hunter/whatever you want if the price is high enough; assumingly she’d therefore be introduced in a situation where a hero is trying to stop one of these from happening, or is the target themselves. Given the chance herself for complete power, she’d keep fighting until she’s fought the strongest being she can find, and then… ??? . It’s also worth considering that, presented in the right circumstances, she’d just as happily fight for the “good guys,” though I wouldn’t really classify her as an anti-hero, because her end goal really isn’t positive, yet. Notes – gonna use this area for personality. Elisabeth is strong of focus and body: when training in her preferred martial arts or musical instrument, she is in her element, as when she is in combat. She shuns any idea of stealth once the fighting starts, and will generally give her opponent a fair chance to face her and fight on even grounds – whatever weapons they’d like (though this is often as much for her own benefit as theirs, since sneak attacks from her are generally pretty low powered). This feeling of battle honor, however, does not extend to the authorities: she’ll gladly use every dirty trick in the book to beat, kill, or escape their grasps, and has so far kept her identity secret. In five phrases: Fun Loving – Killer – Relatively level-headed – brusque – aimless

Patrick Warrens "Messieurs." Patrick a répondu au trio en prenant note de l'intense nature de l'Épée. Il était tout à propos de garder les choses sur le point et professionnel dans sa ligne de travail, mais cela lui a toujours frotté la mauvaise façon quand les gens avec lesquels il travaillait étaient trop sérieux à propos de ce qu'ils ont fait. Après tout, si tu dois travailler, autant essayer de le rendre agréable. -- Alors, maintenant. Patrick a dit qu'il se tapait les mains ensemble et les frottait un moment "les lets se mettent au travail. Comme vous le savez peut-être ou peut-être pas, mon organisation est venue à posséder une nouvelle recette pour quelques « boissons énergisantes ». Naturellement, nous traitons et distribuons cela depuis quelques semaines maintenant, mais au fur et à mesure que les choses se passent, nous assistons à une augmentation de la demande et des risques professionnels. Patrick a expliqué qu'il marchait sans but autour de la pièce en s'assurant d'établir et de briser le contact visuel avec tout le monde dans l'autre gang. « Bien qu'il soit très faisable pour mes employés de compenser ces courtes venues, je viens ici aujourd'hui vous présenter une offre. Pour avoir prêté les services de vos hommes dans la protection et la distribution de mon produit, je suis prêt à vous offrir une coupe de toutes les ventes importantes faites pendant que vos conspirateurs travaillent avec nous. » Patrick a proposé de s'asseoir sur une vieille chaise de salle d'attente.

Character Type - Cannon Inspired Name - Patrick Warrens Alias - Ton, Megaton, Kiloton Age - 23 Social Class - Uptown though spends most of his time Downtown Allignment - anti-hero (Ton wants to be left alone and Patrick is a criminal) Archetype - Enhanced Human Powers - The Big Guys: At will Patrick is able to transform into the monstrous brute known as Ton. Ton can then also change into two other forms as he gets angrier. Rather than being able to increase his strength to a nigh infinite level, Ton simply changes forms and has a capped level of strength with Megaton being the stronger than Ton and Kiloton being the strongest. It takes a metaphorical ‘kick’ to get Ton to change forms meaning even after he’s calmed down as Megaton or Kiloton he might still stay in one of those forms for a while. Ton’s base form has him pretty level headed and at his weakest ‘only' being able to lift around 10 tons (a large hovercar/SUV). Megaton is more articulated with his language (speaking in proper sentences rather than classic hulk speech), possesses the strength to lift 40 tons (equivalent to an 18 wheeler in 2099) and a bad temper to match. Finally Kiloton doesn’t talk a lot and possesses the ability to lift 80 tons (a 90 ft long subway engine car). Skills - Crime Boss: Patrick runs a decently large gang and as such has access to a plethora of resources such as underworld connections, money and goons. Along with these resources he has the respect of many lower life criminals though thats not to say there are lots who’d rather see his hulked out head on a skewer. Hand-to-hand combat: Patrick, while not on par with the likes of Daredevil or any other martial artist, is still capable of holding his ground without calling on his stronger alter-ego. Weaknesses - Random Transformations: Sometimes Patrick will turn into Ton at (seemingly) random which can be a major downside if he needs to be calm and collected during a discussion with other thugs he’s trying to hire or work out a deal. Smarts: While Patrick is decently smart, Ton is more lacking in the intelligence department rendering him reliant on allies or his fists to get out of delicate situations. Arch Enemy - None as of yet Appearance - BRIEF Bio - Patrick Warrens grew up in the absolute slums of Nueva York where his parents did their best to raise him often at the expense of spending time with him. He was generally sheltered from his family’s plights as his parents put on a good charade that everything was alright even if they had to go hungry a few nights to keep their son happy and healthy. Patrick’s first true bit of tragedy struck when his mother died from scurvy and he had to drop out of high school to help his dad pay the bills. Things continued to decline as Patrick’s father began to get old and incapable of working as much as he once was physically able to. Patrick threw himself into his work as a criminal when his father finally passed away due to his deteriorating condition. A few years would pass and the name Patrick Warrens became feared and revered in most of downtown population but Patrick hadn’t been able to push into to the superhuman crime circles despite his best efforts. Due to this Patrick sought new procedures to augment himself so that he could break into the higher revenue ventures. Patrick’s search eventually turned his attention to an experimental research program that was trying to recreate the travesty that caused all the savage hulks in the badlands. The process was done in a building bordering that badlands and had no immediate results on Patrick but the scientists seemed happy enough with the results so Patrick left, unknowingly a changed man. In the coming months news spread about a hulk running around Nueva York and it soon became common knowledge in the underground that it was indeed Patrick Warrens. Now Patrick has the means to break into superhuman crime rings and really start imposing his will on the people Nueva York. Notes - -Patrick is somewhat based off of Kingpin and Ton is based off of the Hulk -When not in control, Patrick and Ton are unable to sense the world around them but can still communicate with one another. Sample Post - The Incapacitated Blue Beetle Episode 5 Ted groaned and let out a pained grunt as he hit the floor. His footing wasn't as sound as he had hoped and managed to topple over himself and fall before he could let out a stunning-flashes from his Air gun. As he went to attempt to get up he found another arm helping him get up and a friendly enough voice. "Your coming with me, too" "If... you insi-... insist." Ted struggled to say as he was raised to his feet and brought back to the elevator by the man and an old woman who Ted assumed was another hero-turned-elderly. "What she... said..." the exasperated hero stated in regards to the old lady's reply. All things considered this wasn't going to badly for a first stint with the league. He could have ended up being completely useless in some other mission but at least, at the moment, he had a pretty good excuse. Shrugging off his new teammate's support, BB offered his hand to the bandaged man for a handshake and then to the old woman. "I'm Bl-... Blue Beetle... I missed th-the..." Ted looked to the ceiling and took a deep breath as he began to feel a pain in his chest "the... shindig a... few days ago. Pleasure... to meet you two."

FORCE Alors que la Force sautait d'un bâtiment à l'autre, elle commença à faire le point sur l'endroit où elle voulait se retrouver. Déjà à l'extrémité sud de la ville, elle se souvient avoir entendu un ami d'un ami que le vieux gang Nueva avait quelque chose dans la région... l'hôpital abandonné?... Elle se souvient vaguement. Elle a envisagé d'aller là-bas pour commencer des ennuis - ou de se joindre à si cela se passait déjà, mais cela ne lui convenait pas vraiment. Ils n'étaient pas si susceptibles d'avoir autant de merde qui descendent, et ils n'étaient généralement pas amusants à gérer - ont eu une tendance à essayer de vous traquer, aller à la recherche de votre famille: le non-fun sorte des choses. Mais... ils ne rencontraient pas un mec? Un mec qui était censé être le hulk? Maintenant, ce serait amusant de se battre, a-t-elle pensé. Mais il ne vaut probablement pas la peine d'énerver la vieille nueva. Elle a regardé autour, et a réalisé qu'elle avait piloter au-dessus d'une succursale de Key Bank à proximité. C'est mon arrêt, je suppose, elle a décidé de sauter du haut d'une haute montée de 14 histoires. Elle a frappé le sol avec un bourbier terne et un petit cratère, montant de là avec ses bras aglow. Montant jusqu'à la porte de la banque, elle choisit simplement de frapper un trou à travers les portes en verre au lieu d'essayer la porte. Le garde de sécurité, déjà assez surpris par une femme tombée du toit, a braqué son arme à la Force. Force jette un regard sardonique sur elle, exprimant la bonne émotion avec seulement ses yeux : « vous pensez vraiment que ça va faire quelque chose? », demande-t-elle, et la résolution du gardien échoue. En marchant complètement à l'intérieur, elle dit un "bon après-midi" rapide au directeur de la banque avant de regarder autour. "Ouhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh Où est la banque en sécurité?" elle exige de lui. "Juste plus là-bas" dit-il, sa voix trahissant sa peur pendant un moment. "Merci!" Elle dit, qu'elle marche et frappe la porte de la chambre forte. Elle frappe encore. Plus fort que prévu, elle a ennuyé, car le troisième coup fait un cratère dans la porte, brisant un trou dedans avec le quatrième. En marchant, elle voit un peu d'argent gisant autour - incroyable vraiment: il y a cent ans, ils prédisaient des sociétés sans argent. certaines habitudes refusent de mourir, il semble, elle considère qu'elle prend ce qu'elle peut et sort du bâtiment, se précipitant rapidement dans une ruelle voisine. Elle prend quelques virages en bas de quelques autres ruelles, une courte voie d'arrière à travers les égouts, et dans une maison de crack récemment abandonnée de l'autre côté de la rue de l'hôpital - la laissant attraper des événements passionnants quand ils se produisent. et elle espère vraiment qu'il se passera quelque chose. C'était insatisfait.

Character Type- Original Name – Elisabeth Harrison Alias - Force Age - 24 Social Class – changeable depending on the circumstances; lives in Midtown, mostly works in Downtown, occasionally in Uptown. Alignment – Usually a villain Archetype - Mutant Powers – Energy absorbsion: if Elisabeth were to take damage from any physical form (punches, fire, explosions, trains), she instead absorbs this energy to empower herself, though it wears out over time rather quickly. I realized on the walk home that this is basically the same concept as Zarya from Overwatch :V This energy gain manifests physically as she gains in power, starting out with a bit of a blue glow around her hands, then moving next to her eyes, then covering her entire body in a bright blue glow. -At its most basic form, this ability makes her strong. Ever so strong. The more power she takes in, the more she can dish out. Power wise, if she gets hit with the force of a train, she can then punch with the force of a train, and lift with that force. Relatively simple. - She can also channel this energy into blasts, more quickly draining from her pool but giving her a nice ranged option; she can keep doing this even if not powered up, but it will begin to hurt after a while and will eventually kill herself with it. -it is worth considering that she is able to pump up her abilities in a variety of ways: from over-eating to slashing her wrists repeatedly with a razor to jumping off of a building. She's also far from useless even when not powered up, as she still trains regularly and is near her championship fitness level. She just has to be careful to not over-do it in the gym :V Skills – the basic things you’d expect from a capable adult of her age. Also Muay thai, Judo, mountain climbing, and the Bassoon. Weaknesses – -love of combat: fighting is fun, and a good way to get an energy high. While not dumb enough to make a scene out of costume, Elisabeth does strive to be in costume as often as she can – it is her job at this point, anyway. -constant hunger: Force’s powers give her a constant need to eat, and take damage to sate her hunger (think your stereotypical hungry teenager, on steroids). High energy is also rather addictive, and if she is low for long enough she will start to go through withdrawal. -Hubris: Being functionally invincible most of the time doesn’t do wonders for your caution, and Elisabeth was already pretty damned confident. Expect her to easily fall victim to tricks, traps, “dishonorable” fighting, and mental effects (as well as anything else that doesn’t deal direct physical damage) -impenetrable: her powers have their downsides - she can't have surgiries performed on her, can't get tatoos, etc.. This may or may not be much of a barrier for her, tbh. Arch Enemy – I am the villain department! (Ghost and Power Man seem like they’d be a lot of fun to fight – Force would love the physical challenge of Power Man, and Ghost is everything that she doesn’t like in an opponent: wily, confusing, and ever changing. Starting there would probably be good?) Appearance – Elisabeth is mostly unassuming, coming in at 5’5” and 133 lbs. she’s ripped though; full body in great shape: clearly trains a lot. Her features are small – mouth, ears and nose are all, for lack of a better word, cute. Her hair is short: shaven close on the sides with a bit of pomade keeping the front swept to the left (or spikey and pointing right when in costume). Keeps it brown to keep herself less identifiable, but would totally color it red if she could. Conforms to most female beauty standards – shaven legs and armpits, does some basic makeup, etc.. large mole on her right cheek. One of the main problems with her ability is finding clothing that can stand up to the same punishment as she can. Fortunately, Force has, with enough profit and the right contacts, found someone who can make for her a hyper-resilient suit that covers the bases, and generally stands up to what she can take. It’s mostly form-fitting underarmour sort of material, done out in black and red. The upper half is kind of a belly-shirt tank top, covering the top half of her chest but leaving the stomach and arms exposed, while her shorts reach to about mid-calf and are also form fitting. She also wears half of a facemask, done in deep purple and deep red – this used to be a bandana, but is now the same form-fitting spandex shit as the rest of her suit. It covers her nose down to her neck. She wears a necklace that looks vaguely like it might give her powers or something to throw people off. No shoes. Born a child of two latent mutants, Elisabeth grew up in a normal midtowner’s life. sure she wasn’t the best in school, but man was she hella at Judo, taking home multiple state championships and almost qualifying for the American Olympics Team (or whatever an equivalent would be in this time). She never really made life plans beyond that, though, and fell somewhat aimless after an injury in her senior year of high school threw her out of contention for that year, making scholarships a lot tougher. She really started focusing in on bassoon then, and eventually went to college on a planned double major in sports medicine and music performance, the latter of which she dropped to complete on time. at the age of 19, while on a mountain climbing trip, Elisabeth fell off of a hundred foot cliff, and came out luckily unharmed. To all observers, it was luck, and she claimed that she broke her fall grabbing onto some cliff foliage near the bottom. But that didn’t happen. What happened was that she hit the ground. But there was no crack of her neck or spine, no feeling of whiplash, no loss of breath as her ribs punctured her lungs and left her to die. Instead, there was a feeling of power. Ecstasy, almost. And POWER. She felt so strong: crazy strong. She had to try this again! And experiment. So she went off “Hiking” much more often – and while she did get better at climbing mountains, the real goal was to learn more about her powers; purposefully hurting herself while deep in the wilderness, figuring out the true limitations of her powers: of which she found none. But, with all this in mind, Elisabeth saw not a chance to do good part-time. No, people didn’t deserve another person working their asses off only to get picked up by the fucking Public Eye and whisked off to who knows where once again. No; if she was going to use her abilities, she was gonna make bank. So fuck Sports Medicine. Developing a codename: Force, and working with a shitty costume for the time being, she put herself out there in Downtown robbing some banks and beating back some small-time goodie-two-shoes until she got the attention of some bigger guys and was able to drop the small-time villainy and get what she really wanted – safe, legal (usually) money in the eyes of her bank, and jobs beating up people for pissing off the big wigs. She got a great apartment out of the deal, too! Both her parents are quite elderly and have moved off to what’s left of florida, while most of the rest of her family is out in the Midwest. Force doesn’t really have a plan for the future. There is no master plan, no world domination. Force lives to fight, and makes work as a contract enforcer/killer/bounty hunter/whatever you want if the price is high enough; assumingly she’d therefore be introduced in a situation where a hero is trying to stop one of these from happening, or is the target themselves. Given the chance herself for complete power, she’d keep fighting until she’s fought the strongest being she can find, and then… ??? . It’s also worth considering that, presented in the right circumstances, she’d just as happily fight for the “good guys,” though I wouldn’t really classify her as an anti-hero, because her end goal really isn’t positive, yet. Notes – gonna use this area for personality. Elisabeth is strong of focus and body: when training in her preferred martial arts or musical instrument, she is in her element, as when she is in combat. She shuns any idea of stealth once the fighting starts, and will generally give her opponent a fair chance to face her and fight on even grounds – whatever weapons they’d like (though this is often as much for her own benefit as theirs, since sneak attacks from her are generally pretty low powered). This feeling of battle honor, however, does not extend to the authorities: she’ll gladly use every dirty trick in the book to beat, kill, or escape their grasps, and has so far kept her identity secret. In five phrases: Fun Loving – Killer – Relatively level-headed – brusque – aimless

Patrick Warrens "Cela ressemble un peu trop au vieux gang Nueva qui travaille pour vous plutôt qu'à un partenariat." Le chef du gang a déclaré très concrètement que sa patience commençait à s'épuiser. Il s'attendait à plus de ce punk mais parfois les choses n'allaient pas comme prévu et c'est pourquoi il a gardé l'épée du vieux gang Nueva à portée de main. "Laissez-moi vous faire une contre-offre Warrens. Que diriez-vous d'arrêter la tête de votre garçon et vous pour avoir essayé de tirer cette drek avec moi." Le patron a déclaré calmement, en veillant à mettre un accent supplémentaire sur 'drek'. Comme si les différents membres du vieux gang Nueva tiraient leurs différentes armes, à l'exception de Nayden qui était une arme. Les hommes de Patrick ont été surpassés et armés de l'un des plus anciens gangs criminels du pays qui s'est mis à les réduire à la pulpe. Patrick n'a pas fait de mouvements, simplement content de rester dans sa chaise, comme il regardait le Boss droit dans les yeux. Une bonne minute s'est écoulée pour accompagner le silence assourdissant et le manque de mouvement. En un instant, l'atmosphère remplie de stress a été brisée alors que les hommes TONG ont ouvert le feu et l'un des goons de Patrick a lancé un petit objet rock regardant directement Patrick. Le duo de gardes du corps a réussi à plonger derrière la couverture avant d'être rempli de plomb et de lasers, mais Patrick n'a pas été aussi chanceux et a pris quelques coups au torse et à l'épaule. Naturellement l'attention de la plupart des TONG a été changée vers les deux autres goons, à l'exception de Nayden qui était le seul à voir ce qui se passait réellement avec la balle monté Kingpin. Il a commencé par un coup fort comme un bras brisé, mais le bruit a été noyé par le flirt de balles, puis est venu quelques-uns de plus et le TONG a commencé à regarder le corps mouvant de l'ancien pensé pour être un chef ennemi mort qui regardait maintenant le groupe avec un visage de pure colère décorant ses traits. Megaton était réveillé maintenant. Patrick était fou, il devait rester en contrôle, mais il était aussi heureux que le coup de l'un de ses goons Anger boules 'gestion' était suffisant pour le mettre en colère assez pour couper l'homme moyen et se mettre en contrôle de son alter ego brut. "Shoulda a pris l'ami deal!" Patrick a crié alors qu'il courait droit vers le Boss avec l'intention de tuer. Ce sur quoi Patrick ne comptait pas, c'était le coup de poing extrêmement touché qu'il a pris dans l'intestin livré par l'Épée du groupe. La force était plus qu'assez pour faire sortir Patrick de l'immeuble, mais être sorti de l'espace clos n'a rien fait pour aider Patrick car The Sentry of the TONG a tiré du trou de l'immeuble, allant se lamenter sur Patrick jusqu'à ce que le duo s'écrase dans un autre bâtiment de l'autre côté de la rue. En secouant le choc du coup, Patrick a réussi à abattre Sentry avec une main arrière massive sur le torse, faisant un bruit d'applaudiment fort pendant que la main tendue entra en collision avec Nayden. Remboursant la faveur, Megaton sauta et vers Sentry livrant un autre coup massif au torse du garçon et le frappant dans l'eau du port qui est maintenant en vue. l'appelant l'eau était un peu un étirement cependant que les boues trouble qui se sont lavés sur le rivage de nos jours était probablement plus proche des ordures avec de l'eau mélangée dans lequel il était terriblement célèbre pour tacher des vêtements et parfois la peau brûlante. Alors que Patrick débarquait sur le rivage, il y avait un moment de silence car rien ne semblait se produire. Peut-être qu'il avait gagné? Ce type était allergique à l'eau? La réponse est vite venue lorsque Nayden est sorti de l'eau sans tache sur lui, et un visage sans émotion qui vient de crier danger, même à Megaton. En un instant, le combat a repris et Megaton a été envoyé en avion dans un parc d'attractions proche où de nombreuses personnes ont crié dans la peur du rejet surhumain qui se déroulait. Megaton groggily s'est levé et a été rencontré par un autre coup de poing de l'armée d'un homme connu sous le nom de The Sentry qui a envoyé le goliath voler à travers une promenade promotionnelle dans la salle de cinéma et atterrir près d'une taille impressionnante et habilement nommé 'Mansion of Mirrors'. Quickly Patrick s'est précipité à l'intérieur hors de la vue de son assaillant. Nayden était en colère. Il pouvait admettre qu'il ne s'attendait pas à la force pure de M. Warren, mais qu'ils n'étaient pas assez nombreux pour vraiment l'atteindre, ils ne faisaient qu'endommager son ego jusqu'à présent. Lentement et menaçantement Nayden flottait dans la maison des miroirs qui était très sombre en ce moment, mais le chemin des miroirs brisés se dirigeant plus loin dans était plus que visible à l'Épée. Il a suivi les durs cassés jusqu'à ce qu'ils s'arrêtent brusquement d'une manière décente dans le manoir des miroirs. Il regarda autour de lui un moment et se prépara à partir quand soudain il fut attaqué de tous les côtés, non par la force, mais par la lumière et le son. Des images brillantes et de la musique forte jouées sous tous les angles, alors qu'il commençait à surcharger le sens du surhumain et à le faire perdre sa concentration alors qu'il fermait les oreilles et fermait les yeux. Sur le signal, Megaton s'est cassé le chemin de l'un des miroirs et a fait tomber son pied sur le surhumain incapable. Heureusement Nayden avait réussi à attirer juste assez de concentration pour bloquer quelque peu l'attaque, mais tout ce qu'il pouvait faire, c'était rendre l'attaque non létale. Maintenant souffrant de blessures considérables Nayden a commencé à plonger dans et hors de la conscience comme Megaton a regardé sur lui. "Quand vous êtes sorti de la rivière sans une tache de fusil sur vous, j'ai pensé que vous pourriez avoir un champ de force et pris une chance en devinant que c'était quelques pouvoirs d'esprit qui ressemble à ce que j'avais raison de supposer." Patrick a expliqué qu'il s'accroupit maintenant à côté du surhumain qui s'affaiblit « vous y arriverez probablement, mais il y a des chances que vos amis ne soient pas là pour très longtemps maintenant, donc si jamais vous êtes capable de m'appeler à nouveau. Ça pourrait être mon bras droit si ton patron n'avait pas été si têtu." Patrick sentit son contrôle glisser alors qu'il se calmait et il se dirigea vers l'extérieur alors que le son des sirènes de l'œil public saluait ses oreilles une dernière fois avant de prendre la relève.

Character Type - Cannon Inspired Name - Patrick Warrens Alias - Ton, Megaton, Kiloton Age - 23 Social Class - Uptown though spends most of his time Downtown Allignment - anti-hero (Ton wants to be left alone and Patrick is a criminal) Archetype - Enhanced Human Powers - The Big Guys: At will Patrick is able to transform into the monstrous brute known as Ton. Ton can then also change into two other forms as he gets angrier. Rather than being able to increase his strength to a nigh infinite level, Ton simply changes forms and has a capped level of strength with Megaton being the stronger than Ton and Kiloton being the strongest. It takes a metaphorical ‘kick’ to get Ton to change forms meaning even after he’s calmed down as Megaton or Kiloton he might still stay in one of those forms for a while. Ton’s base form has him pretty level headed and at his weakest ‘only' being able to lift around 10 tons (a large hovercar/SUV). Megaton is more articulated with his language (speaking in proper sentences rather than classic hulk speech), possesses the strength to lift 40 tons (equivalent to an 18 wheeler in 2099) and a bad temper to match. Finally Kiloton doesn’t talk a lot and possesses the ability to lift 80 tons (a 90 ft long subway engine car). Skills - Crime Boss: Patrick runs a decently large gang and as such has access to a plethora of resources such as underworld connections, money and goons. Along with these resources he has the respect of many lower life criminals though thats not to say there are lots who’d rather see his hulked out head on a skewer. Hand-to-hand combat: Patrick, while not on par with the likes of Daredevil or any other martial artist, is still capable of holding his ground without calling on his stronger alter-ego. Weaknesses - Random Transformations: Sometimes Patrick will turn into Ton at (seemingly) random which can be a major downside if he needs to be calm and collected during a discussion with other thugs he’s trying to hire or work out a deal. Smarts: While Patrick is decently smart, Ton is more lacking in the intelligence department rendering him reliant on allies or his fists to get out of delicate situations. Arch Enemy - None as of yet Appearance - BRIEF Bio - Patrick Warrens grew up in the absolute slums of Nueva York where his parents did their best to raise him often at the expense of spending time with him. He was generally sheltered from his family’s plights as his parents put on a good charade that everything was alright even if they had to go hungry a few nights to keep their son happy and healthy. Patrick’s first true bit of tragedy struck when his mother died from scurvy and he had to drop out of high school to help his dad pay the bills. Things continued to decline as Patrick’s father began to get old and incapable of working as much as he once was physically able to. Patrick threw himself into his work as a criminal when his father finally passed away due to his deteriorating condition. A few years would pass and the name Patrick Warrens became feared and revered in most of downtown population but Patrick hadn’t been able to push into to the superhuman crime circles despite his best efforts. Due to this Patrick sought new procedures to augment himself so that he could break into the higher revenue ventures. Patrick’s search eventually turned his attention to an experimental research program that was trying to recreate the travesty that caused all the savage hulks in the badlands. The process was done in a building bordering that badlands and had no immediate results on Patrick but the scientists seemed happy enough with the results so Patrick left, unknowingly a changed man. In the coming months news spread about a hulk running around Nueva York and it soon became common knowledge in the underground that it was indeed Patrick Warrens. Now Patrick has the means to break into superhuman crime rings and really start imposing his will on the people Nueva York. Notes - -Patrick is somewhat based off of Kingpin and Ton is based off of the Hulk -When not in control, Patrick and Ton are unable to sense the world around them but can still communicate with one another. Sample Post - The Incapacitated Blue Beetle Episode 5 Ted groaned and let out a pained grunt as he hit the floor. His footing wasn't as sound as he had hoped and managed to topple over himself and fall before he could let out a stunning-flashes from his Air gun. As he went to attempt to get up he found another arm helping him get up and a friendly enough voice. "Your coming with me, too" "If... you insi-... insist." Ted struggled to say as he was raised to his feet and brought back to the elevator by the man and an old woman who Ted assumed was another hero-turned-elderly. "What she... said..." the exasperated hero stated in regards to the old lady's reply. All things considered this wasn't going to badly for a first stint with the league. He could have ended up being completely useless in some other mission but at least, at the moment, he had a pretty good excuse. Shrugging off his new teammate's support, BB offered his hand to the bandaged man for a handshake and then to the old woman. "I'm Bl-... Blue Beetle... I missed th-the..." Ted looked to the ceiling and took a deep breath as he began to feel a pain in his chest "the... shindig a... few days ago. Pleasure... to meet you two."

Roi Roderick I de Thorne Crystal Palace - Salle du Trône Sur le Trône de cristal, le bon roi s'assit alors qu'il se reposait les yeux fatigués sur la cour. Ils s'entremêlaient à haute voix et librement entre eux, discutant des festivités de la semaine, de leurs familles, de leurs ragots. L'air maladroit qui pendait dans la chambre comme une brume d'étouffement s'était un peuompé depuis le début de la semaine, alors que les dignitaires étrangers se familiarisaient avec les coutumes de la cour. Il reviendrait sûrement, Roderick savait que bien sûr, mais les petites pauses entre les deux étaient bien reçues. Bientôt les pourparlers reprendraient et Roderick devrait peser dedans. Il n'avait vraiment aucune autorité pour le faire, mais ces gens appréciaient son opinion sur ces questions. Il ne savait toujours pas pourquoi. Il n'est toujours pas trop tard pour s'enfuir, mon roi. Pour avoir cette Grande Aventure dont nous parlions toujours. » Une main douce posée sur lui peu de temps avant que Roderick sente l'air chaud caresse son oreille et sa joue. Son sourire s'est élargi. Même en dépit de son sens de l'odeur pourri, Roderick pouvait profiter de l'odeur pleine et douce de sa bien-aimée. Elle sentait doucement les lys après une pluie fraîche. Il l'a regardée en se penchant sur lui. Sa précieuse Dalia. Bien que ses boucles d'or aient peut-être blanchi et que sa peau ait été marquée avec l'âge, elle était tout aussi belle que le jour où il a posé les yeux sur elle. Plus même. Elle brillait. Et bien que des décennies et des décennies se soient écoulées, Roderick s'est toujours trouvé en train de lui regarder toutes les chances qu'il pouvait. Peut-être. Mais qu'en est-il de Bandit? Il est devenu vieux, gros et paresseux. J'imagine qu'il pourrait ne pas être en mesure de suivre, et nous ne pourrions pas juste le laisser ici. Ces gens, pourquoi, ils l'auraient fait roi. En entendant son nom, le chien gris chamois, aussi gris que son maître, couché à côté du trône, leva paresseusement l'oreille et se leva l'œil sur le roi, comme pour dire: «Parlez pour vous-même.» C'est sûr. Et j'oserais dire que cela pourrait même être une amélioration. Bandit, ayant perdu l'intérêt, roulé et pété Roderick secoua la tête dans l'incrédulité, mais Dalia éclata de rire. C'était de la musique à ses oreilles. Et infectieux. Il s'est joint à son propre rire rugissant, rugissant, tirant de la cour des regards curieux. Il a continué pendant un court laps de temps avant que Dalia s'excuse pour trouver son sang-froid. Votre Altesse? Devrions-nous continuer d'où nous nous sommes arrêtés?Un des dignitaires a appelé. Roderick a réussi à se calmer avant de hocher la tête et de faire un mouvement de roulement avec ses doigts. Il a couvert sa bouche de son poing pour cacher le grand sourire que sa femme avait brûlé sur son visage. Même un sujet aussi sec ne pourrait pas gâcher son humeur maintenant. Dalia a toujours su élever ses esprits. C'était vraiment une femme incroyable. Peut-être qu'il se retirerait enfin du trône et l'emmènerait voir le monde. Il fallait l'admettre, cela semblait de plus en plus attrayant chaque jour. Et après tout, ne méritait-elle pas quelque chose pour l'avoir supporté pendant toutes ces années? Absolument. Après le festival, alors. Amélia Thorne Ville de Thorne - Tournoi Terrains de la ville de Thorne - Seedy Grand Market Tavern C'était vraiment une belle journée. Ciel bleu avec nary un nuage en vue. Chaleureux, mais pas trop chaud. Le jeune paladin a remercié ses stars de la chance qu'elle avait pu effectuer des patrouilles plutôt que d'être enfermée toute la journée au Crystal Palace. Bien sûr, le lac était magnifique à cette époque de l'année, mais elle voulait vraiment sortir et s'étirer les jambes. Il y avait quelque chose dans toute l'agitation de la ville qui l'a vraiment stimulée. Surtout l'immense commotion provoquée par le festival. C'est bon! CLINK! Des applaudissements sauvages ont surgi autour d'une des arènes de combat à proximité, de petites scènes entourées de puissantes barrières fournies par les Mages Blancs afin de protéger le public. Il y en avait quelques-uns pour cette étape du tournoi, bien qu'à la fin de la semaine il n'y aurait qu'une seule, grande étape. De toute évidence, quelque chose d'excitant venait de mettre la foule dans une frénésie. Ok, donc peut-être qu'elle voulait juste une excuse pour aller regarder les combats. Quelqu'un pourrait-il vraiment lui en vouloir? Ils ont été de loin l'un des plus grands moments du festival. Le tournoi d'une semaine a attiré des guerriers de l'autre côté des îles pour se battre pour la gloire, la fortune, ce que vous avez. Elle voulait tellement participer, mais... le devoir vient en premier. Du moins de cette façon, elle pouvait vivre un peu le rêve tout en s'acquittant de ses fonctions. C'est quoi, ça? Vous m'avez demandé? Capitaine? C'est vrai. Oui. Désolé. J'étais juste... Elle a commencé mais s'est enfuie. Que faisait-elle exactement? Un jour de rêve? Comme c'est maladroit. Amelia a rendu son regard de la foule à l'affaire à portée de main. La voix qu'elle venait d'entendre appartenait à l'un des chevaliers sous sa responsabilité. Un homme court, légèrement bâclé, nommé Biggs. Il avait servi sous elle pendant un certain temps maintenant, et alors que certains hésitaient à suivre ses ordres, Biggs ne l'était pas. C'était un homme bien. Peut-être pas le meilleur combattant, mais un homme bien quand même. Ça n'a pas d'importance. La foule s'énerve un peu là-bas. J'ai besoin de toi et... Où est Wedge? Je ne pourrais pas le dire. Peut-être le marché? Il a mentionné vouloir récupérer la femme quelque chose. Amelia pouvait sentir ses dents broyer. Wedge était dans beaucoup de façons Biggs=" en face: grand et lanky, mais avec un terrible sens du devoir. Honnêtement, il était plutôt paresseux. C'est parfois odieux. Mais bon sang s'il n'avait pas un bon bras d'épée. Et pour l'instant, il serait... C'est vrai. Très bien. Je vais le traquer. Vous, monsieur, allez surveiller la foule. Je l'enverrai quand je pourrai. Essayez d'éviter de faire trop de mal à quelqu'un. – Elle a fini, limogeant le chevalier court avec un salut. Après son départ, Amelia s'est tournée et a commencé à se diriger vers le Grand Marché. Il y avait un certain nombre de tavernes là, et connaissant Wedge, il était probablement déjà plâtré. Ce serait en fait idéal pour elle. Normalement, elle le traquait et le mâchait, quelque chose qu'elle pouvait encore faire, mais pour l'instant, elle était reconnaissante pour l'excuse d'aller au Grand Marché. Elle a repensé à la lettre qu'elle avait reçue récemment. Si l'expéditeur était celui qu'elle croyait et si la lettre était même légitime en premier lieu, alors la taverne qu'elle proposait de rencontrer ne pouvait être qu'un seul endroit. Bien sûr, il s'est étendu entre le terrain du tournoi et le marché, à travers la route du Temple du cristal, donc elle a fait grand temps. Une fois qu'elle est arrivée, Amelia a donné la place une fois de plus, mais elle était assez confiante que son chevalier était dans un autre château. Elle a donc commandé un verre à un bar, a trouvé un coin plutôt vide, et a passé par-dessus les tavernes possibles dans la région. Le fait qu'il ait été interdit à tant d'entre eux l'a réduit un peu. Elle a fini avec une assez bonne idée où exactement il pourrait être, donc elle a décidé d'attendre juste un peu plus pour voir si le vieux ami de venir ou non. Quelques minutes et puis elle est partie. C'est ce qu'elle ne cessait de se dire. Elle n'a pas pu l'aider. Sa curiosité a eu le meilleur d'elle. Et d'ailleurs, ce n'était pas comme si elle avait absolument besoin d'être sur le terrain du Tourney. Biggs pourrait s'en occuper. Pas vrai?

Name: Amelia Thorne Title: Queen-Regent of Thorne, Princess, Acting Knight-Commander of the Holy Paladin Order Race: Hume Job: Paladin Age: 24 Gender: Female Warrior of Light?: No Appearance Information Physical Features: Roughly five-foot-eight, give or take an inch. Amelia has an athletic build worthy a knight, though she is a bit smaller than she'd like. Her skin is rather fair, splotched red on her cheeks and across her nose. A light smattering of freckles covers her face and upper torso. She has the bright blue eyes attributed to the majority of the Thorne royal family. Her golden, wavy hair tumbles down to just about the mid of her back. Should she expect to go into battle, however, Amelia will either braid it into a tight rope or pull it up as tight as she can. Much to her poor mother's dismay, Amelia does have a number of scars. One of which was a fairly deep cut starting from just under her lip on the left side and running down vertically to her chin. That one has since healed, but the off-color line remains. Another runs horizontal across her left check back towards her ear. And while she may have quite a few more, it's not as likely for people to see those. Clothing/Armor/Weapons: Amelia isn't one for the formalities normally associated with her position. As such, her choice in clothing is a bit...casual. When not heading off to war or to some formal event, Amelia is content in just a pair of nondescript trousers and a roomy shirt. She's prefers lighter clothing that allows for movement. Her choice in armor is much the same. She prefers light armor that doesn't restrict her too much. Chain-mail is usually preferred over plate. Simplicity and function over style. The only nonessential Amelia dons is the white cape normally associated with the Holy Paladin Order. Her cape has been sliced and diced and, at some point, torn in two, but Amelia still insists on wearing it. It's a point of pride for the girl. As far as weaponry goes, Amelia more often then not chooses to don two swords, which is rather unconventional as far as paladin styles go. One of those swords is crafted of castle-forged style of the highest quality. It is the standard for paladins within the order. The white blade is easily recognizable for what it is. The other is the sword wielded by her grandfather, King Roderick I of Thorne while he was serving as a Warrior of Light. It is an older sword, seemingly of ancient Eldian craft. It doesn't seem enchanted or anything, so Amelia likely only carries it in particular as a way of honoring her grandfather. Psychological Information Personality Traits: Passionate | Brave | Charismatic | Hot-headed | Impulsive Likes: Birds | Roses | Fairy tales Dislikes: Heights | Losing | Public Speaking Personal History Hometown: Thorne City | Thorne Current Residence: Thorne City | Thorne Backstory: Granddaughter of the King of Thorne, daughter of the younger Prince of the Thorne, and Knight-Captain of the Holy Paladin Order, Amelia was brought up on tales of valiant heroes defeating monsters and dastardly villains. She had always dreamed of being a hero herself, but her birth dictated that she would eventually end up married off to another noble family in order to secure some sort of political alliance. For the most part, she had accepted this inevitable truth and tried to make the most out of it. It was by order of her grandfather, the king, that the girl be allowed to take up arms as a squire in service of the Holy Paladin Order of Thorne when she grew old enough to hold a sword. She took to her opportunity like a woman aflame, madly and greedily trying to absorb all that she could from her superiors. And to her credit, the girl possessed some innate talent beyond what the knights had expected from a princess. When she was to eventually be knighted, it was as much due to her combat aptitude as her royal birth. She had sworn to protect the land of Thorne with her life. She quickly rose through the ranks of the Holy Order, eventually reaching the rank of Knight-Captain. This attracted scorn from some of her fellow knights who felt that she had an unfair advantage. Perhaps they were right. It didn't matter if they were or not, upon hearing that Amelia began questioning her entire purpose. Had she earned her place? Or had everything been just a way of satisfying the selfish whims of a noble? Thus Amelia became determined to prove herself. She took more and more difficult missions, tackling stronger and stronger monsters. And while her determination and ferocity eventually won the respect of her men, Amelia could never satisfy her own self-doubt. On the day of the Massacre of Thorne (and the assassination of the king), Amelia was participating in a tourney in town. Because of this, she wasn't present in the castle for when the Mage-King led his attack. She blames herself for not being there to stop the Massacre, despite the fact that she likely saved quite a few lives by assisting in fending off the monster attack on the city square and that she likely would have only perished like the others had she been there. Having been thrust into the role of Knight-Commander of the Paladin order (due to being the highest ranking knight of the Order left in Thorne after the Massacre), and acting regent of Thorne for her baby brother (as her grandfather, father, uncle, and cousins were slain by the Mage-King), Amelia begins to assemble champions to stand against the traitorous Mage-King, and support the newly-appointed Warriors of Light. Other: Amelia is left-handed.

Ryteb l'impressionnant Ville de Thorne - Courir pour sa vie Il y a eu des moments où "il n'y a pas de meilleur que ça" ressort à l'esprit. Ce n'était pas une de ces époques. Tout a commencé plus tôt aujourd'hui, quand il était entré dans la ville de Thorne pour la première fois en environ quatre ans. Il savait qu'il y avait une raison pour laquelle il avait évité la capitale, bien qu'il ait pensé que s'il ne pouvait pas se souvenir que ce n'était probablement pas si important. Hindsight est une sorte de salope. Alors, quelle était la raison pour laquelle Ryteb évitait la capitale? En fait, c'est assez simple. Dans son infinie sagesse d'avidité, il avait décidé d'obtenir la lame légendaire de Kyreth-tan. Vous savez, chasse au trésor standard. Le seul problème, c'était... L'épée avait déjà un propriétaire, à savoir les Assassins de Kyreth-tan. Apparemment, ils avaient une prime de 2000 gil sur la tête. Insulter vraiment, pensait Ryteb, devrait être d'au moins 5000. Naturellement cette offre de monnaie a attiré beaucoup de sang, et presque dès que Ryteb est entré dans la ville le cri de "Get 'im!" Commencer le rallye des brutes sans instruction qui pensaient qu'une ponce comme Ryteb serait facile à attraper. Ces gars étaient assez faciles pour s'échapper, mais bientôt il a senti une présence beaucoup plus terrifiante, celle d'un assassin professionnel, et cela a juste fait de son jour une tempête parfaite d'horrible. "Je ne veux pas encore mourir!" Il a rappelé à son mystérieux poursuivant : « Ne pouvons-nous pas régler cela d'une manière qui n'implique pas des objets pointus? »

Name: Ryteb Title: Dragonheart Race: Human Job: Red Mage Age: 26 Gender: Male Warrior of Light: Yes Appearance Information Physical Features: About 5'11 in height, with a relatively scrawny build. Though there is some muscle there, when compared to knights it is miniscule. Ryteb has naturally orange hair, which comes down to his shoulders, and a pair of blazing red eyes. His face could be considered quite handsome, in a mischievous way, with a rather dashing scar on his left cheek whose origins are a mystery. Apart from that, his body is almost unmarked, and he seems to lack the ability to grow facial hair. On his back is a tattoo of a oriental dragon clutching a golden chalice, which he apparently recurved after a drunken wager that nobody involved can quite remember due to excessive drink. Clothing/Armor/Weapons: Ryteb’s first choice in apparel is a bespoke black suit, with a green waistcoat and white shirt, though he doesn’t wear a tie. Too close to a noose for him. His boots are made of a sturdy leather, and seem more practical that the rest of his In a battle, he swaps out the jacket of the suit for a cloak made from scales of bronze. As a weapon, he uses an oak cane, though the inside is filled with steel to strengthen it. The end has a sharpened bronze cap such that it can act like a rapier. Psychological Information Personality Traits: Cocky | Brave | Obsessed With Treasure | Has a skewed view of ownership | Loyal to his friends Likes: Treasure | Adventure | Good Food Dislikes: People Who Claim They Own His Treasure | Confinement | Being Called a Thief | Lobsters Personal History Hometown: Takhtajan Current Residence: Takhtajan Occupation: Treasure Hunter Backstory: Officially the greediest b*****d under the sun, and proud of it, Ryteb is the best damn treasure hunter in all of Takhtajan, if only because he’s one of the few who have survived more than one adventure into the desert. People call him Dragonheart, as his lust for treasure is so massive he doesn’t accept anyone else as the rightful owner of an object. His origins are a mystery, perpetrated by the conflicting rumours Ryteb himself has spread. Regardless of his murky past, people agree that he’s a stand-up guy... unless treasure is involved. Other: Nothing comes to mind...

Dandy en vacances - Ersatz Thorne City - Grand Marché Célébration était dans l'air. Des gens de tous les horizons se trouvaient dans la métropole pour commémorer la victoire de la civilisation et triompher du mal. Cependant, ce festival a également attiré chez certains hommes de fibre morale douteuse à la capitale. Parmi eux, Ersatz, qui était principalement ici dans l'espoir de briser la routine monotone qu'il avait trouvé en vivant à Calestani en tant qu'apprenti machiniste. Cependant, à l'arrière de son esprit, Ersatz avait espéré qu'il trouverait des marchands qu'il avait associés de son passé. Après tout, quel meilleur endroit pour vendre des marchandises d'origine douteuse qu'un marché que l'acheteur et le vendeur pourraient ne pas vivre à proximité. (Un)Malheureusement, Ersatz n'a pas pu trouver de marchands dits au Grand Marché. Cependant, il a pu se procurer des obus élémentaires de feu, de tonnerre et de glace qui étaient compatibles avec son arme à feu, ainsi que des instructions pour une taverne qui pourrait l'intéresser. Une fois entré dans la taverne, Ersatz fit un rapide regard sur les patrons du bar et un paladin à une table d'angle était la seule personne d'intérêt qu'il remarqua. Ersatz tirait alors un tabouret au comptoir du bar tendre, plaçant une pile de Gil devant lui. "Chaud de ton meilleur, barman." Une fois qu'il a reçu la boisson, Ersatz lève son verre et dit "Prost." avant de le descendre. Quoi que ce soit, la boisson brûlait la gorge d'Ersatz. Il a ensuite mis trois doigts en l'air, signalant la barre tendre pour trois autres.

Name: Ersatz Rasaba Title: The Self-Proclaimed Desperado Dandy Race: Hume Job: Machinist Age: 29 Gender: Male Warrior of Light: No Appearance Information Physical Features: Though he stands at 5'9", the garb Ersatz wears makes him seem slightly larger than he actually is. He is somewhat on the lean side in terms of build as well. Ersatz claims to have short black hair, desert-tanned skin and a scar from an old gunshot wound on his chest. However, as he is usually covered in all his garb, the only real physical feature others can confirm are his dark olive eyes. Clothing/Armor/Weapons: The first thing most people will notice about his attire would either be his bright green-and-red sarape or his large canary sombrero. A closer inspection at his garb would reveal the fact that he not only has a skull bandana over his mouth but also an orange scarf that covers his neck. A bone pattern dress and a pair of leather boots cover his lower body while metal gauntlets protect his arms. To complete the theatricality, he carries a frequently out of tune guitar that's strapped over his right shoulder. The real tool of the trade lies in his satchel bag however: a customized sawn-off musket that has been fitted to fire elemental bullets!.. If he had any left. Psychological Information Personality Traits: Theatrical | Clever | Selfish | Deceitful | Sentimental Ersatz likes to put on a show, whether he's fighting or performing. However, when confronted with a life or death situation, he'll be ready to throw someone unimportant in front of the fire. Alas, his judgment is not always logical. Likes: Songs | Artifacts | Machines Dislikes: Authorities | Caves | Flans Personal History Hometown: ??? | Cronquist Current Residence: Topeak | Calestani Occupation: Street performer, irregular handyman, and machinist apprentice Backstory: A Cronquist citizen who sought a better life, Ersatz moved to Calestani after an incident forced him out the land he called home. The only things he had were the clothes on his back, his guitar and a broken Deepkin firearm that he wanted to have repaired by the master machinists themselves. Once he got there, however, it became apparent that he wasn't going to get an audience with a Deepkin machinist anytime soon. Still, an apprenticeship with a tinkerer and some music gigs at the local inns were enough to help him get by. After saving up enough money, Ersatz finally had the firearm repaired and has decided to take a vacation with the remaining savings, just in time for the festival at Thorne. Ersatz's journey has been filled with tough times but it wasn't all bad. In fact, he tends to remember the good moments more than the bad experiences. Yet, one can never just escape the deeds of their past. Ersatz is trying though. Other: He has been known to perform with his guitar but does not know of any magical bardsongs.

Clementine Haschwalden Thorne City Vous avez été affecté au service de garde pendant toute la durée du festival. C'était les ordres de Clémentine. Mais ce n'est pas très utile, il avait protesté. Ou spécifique. Où suis-je censé garder? Malheureusement, ses commandes ont été livrées par lettre, qu'il a ouvert au petit déjeuner le jour des festivités commencerait. Ce n'est pas du tout utile. Et donc il est allé errer dans les rues, se sentant plus comme un touriste qu'un soldat employé de Throrne et émissaire de Cronquist. Ce qui n'était pas tout à fait mauvais, bien sûr, mais l'a fait se sentir un peu coupable. Tu ne peux pas t'en empêcher, pas un jour comme celui-ci. Clementine, légèrement mais pas tout à fait réticente, sentait chaque partie de lui se détendre. Pendant la chaleur du matin, il acheta un popsicle blanc-bleu enneigé et le mangea à l'ombre de l'arène. Confettis et pétales de fleurs soufflèrent dans l'air comme des essaims de bourdons heureux. Finalement, cependant, le bon sens a obtenu le meilleur de Clémentine, et, se sentant un peu rouge-face sur gaspiller toute la matinée, est sorti à la recherche d'un officier. La plupart des soldats ne pouvaient pas lui donner beaucoup de conseils. En fait, la plupart des soldats étaient occupés à participer aux festivités. Finalement, il a trouvé un soldat qui lui a dit, assez maladroitement tout en regardant son armure, "Commander Amelia est en charge des Chevaliers" et, finalement, un autre, juste devant le Temple, a mentionné, "Je pense que je l'ai vu passer dans cette taverne par la voie." Fatigué, plutôt fracas, mais surtout content de son travail de détective, Clementine a poussé son chemin dans le bar. Ce n'était pas difficile de la repérer; l'armure paladin du chevalier-commandant était brillante et puissante même dans la lumière sombre et orangée de taverne. Il s'approcha de sa table, un petit coin solitaire de l'immeuble, son casque cousu sous son bras, et dit tranquillement : « Excusez-moi, madame, je suis désolé de vous déranger, mais mes ordres, ceux que j'ai eus ce matin, je veux dire... » Le chevalier-commandant était assez grand et sérieux regarder, et Clémentine est devenu vivement conscient de ses ramifications. « Ce que je voulais dire, madame, on m'a confié le devoir de garde, mais je ne sais pas vraiment ce que cela signifie, et il n'y avait pas d'autres ordres pour préciser où je devais aller ou qui je travaillerais. Quelqu'un a mentionné que vous étiez en charge des chevaliers, et j'ai pensé que je pourrais vous trouver et demander s'il y avait quelque chose dont vous aviez besoin. De moi, je veux dire."

Name: Clementine Haschwalden Title: The Giantslayer Race: Hume Job: Dark Knight Age: 21 Gender: Male Warrior of Light: Yes Appearance Information Physical Features: When you look at him, at his young jaw and his soft skin, you might think that Clementine Haschwalden is just a boy playing knight, that’s he’s too small and too quiet and too much like a dandelion about to be blown away in the wind. Or maybe you look at him and think to yourself, that young, soft look to his face is a red herring, because looks deceive, and the dangerous ones are the ones who don’t look dangerous at all, and he must have earned that sharp and shadowy armor for a reason, right? But Clementine isn’t really any of the things he looks like. He’s not much of a dandelion, and he’s not much of a knight. Clementine Haschwalden has snowy white hair cut short and boyish, large round eyes that might be black, or muddy blue, and he stands at an unimpressive 5’3”, maybe 5’3-and-a-half”. His legs are long, and his shoulders are round and hard, and he might appear a bit like a gymnast, or a long-distance runner. A distracted look tends to meander around his face, like a part of him got lost in thought one day and never came back home. His eyes are always so serious, and if they’re not serious then they’re worried. Clothing/Armor/Weapons: Clementine wears the highly recognizable armor of a Dark Knight, with horned shoulder-plates and a huge, angry-looking helmet that might’ve fallen off a chess board. A lacey white cape flies over his shoulders, and his lower arms are covered up by thick white opera gloves, with black hands. The tight and form-fitting armor of a Dark Knight is, as is traditional, very dark, and makes little noise when it moves. At Clementine’s hip is Arondight, a witch-sword aligned with the Darkness element. It is simple, long, and unadorned, made of solid black metal, and its cut can inflict Slow on its targets. Psychological Information Personality Traits: Shy | Self-Doubting | Thoughtful | Fussy | Self-Destructive | Awkward If you are injured, Clementine will fuss and fret and treat you to the best of his abilities. If you are noticeably upset, he will ask if there’s anything he can do. If you are about to march out into danger, some place where he can’t follow, he will go with you all the way to the door and watch you vanish over some distant hilltop. But he is not the kind of person who would extend that courtesy to himself. Clementine works best and most confidently when following another person’s orders, and he works best as a tool, not a person. He has a bad habit of undervaluing or ignoring his own happiness or value, and if required to make decisions for himself, Clementine will um and uh and crumple with hesitation. Clementine is somewhat starved for affection, and will brighten up noticeably at very simple acts of kindness. Likes: Flowers | Cronquist | White Magic | Home-Cooked Meals Dislikes: Attention | Arrogance | Pranks | Spoiled Rich Kids Personal History Hometown: Cronquist Current Residence: Thorne City Occupation: Monster Hunter Backstory: Tol Mannagan, the Dark Capital, central city of Cronquist, hung over Clementine’s childhood like cloudcover. The long black towers that peeked over the horizon, just out of reach, spoke of safety and knights and mages and untold possibilities, and when he was young, Clementine would sit on the hill in the center of town and watch the city’s silhouette, and he would think about all these things and more. Clementine and his family lived in one of the townships just beyond Tol Mannagan’s walls, and though it was safer there than in the provinces, safe, in this case, was a very relative word. By the time he was eleven, Clementine knew what it was like to have another child not show up to class one day, and never appear again. Clementine was not a wanted son. That isn’t to say he was treated badly, or that his parents were unkind, but maybe they kept him at arm’s length more than most parents would, and maybe they looked at him with a kind of wariness that left long, thin wounds on the preteen Clementine. Sometimes he heard them talking in low and serious voices over the kitchen table late at night, when they thought he was asleep. Cronquist, Clementine’s home for nearly twenty years, was a country at war. Unkindness was expected, and kindness was measured almost exclusively in lives saved, and, if not that, then days survived. The best and the brightest were warriors, or doctors, and the Dark Knight and the White Mage were symbols of escape and prestige for every child in the country. Clementine, never a violent boy but urged on by the shadow of Tol Mannagan, decided at a young age that he would be a White Mage, he would, he really would, and when he turned fifteen, he left town for the first time in his life, and made the long and troubling journey to Tol Mannagan. Clementine managed two straight years of study at the Academy of Mercy before dropping out. Despite his best efforts and his countless hours of work, nothing could make up for his complete lack of magical talent. Unwilling to go home, Clementine sought employ as a nurse in one of the Dark Order’s reserve battalions, and served under one of the few Dark Knights who, instead of going out alone, held a small military attack force under her command. During the next few months of service, Clementine showed a certain affinity for Darkness that his Knight-Commander noticed, and she eventually recommended he enter Dark Knight training. This time, Clementine managed the full three years. Because, although Clementine was only ever an average Knight, only ever an average swordsman, only ever an average fighter, he could plunge himself into Darkness like no other student. He soon accepted his slow progress as a swordsman and athlete, and ultimately chose to focus on mastering Darkness itself. Soon, though others could dance circles around him, or duel him into submission, Clementine could fell giants in a single, Darkness-powered hit. Upon graduation, Clementine set out alone, as most Dark Knights were known to do, and served quite admirably as a defender of the people, far too self-destructive to demonstrate the usual corruption and extortion even the best Knights would occasionally engage in. Though no more effective than many other strong and popular members of the Order, Clementine Haschwalden was thrust violently and wildly into the limelight one day on his first real test as a Knight—a behemoth in the Hud Province. Two others had been assigned to join him and, as the rookie, Clementine was expected to organize the civilians’ escape while the others fought. The behemoth was too much, however, and soon the beast had killed Clementine’s companions, torn through the township, and rained tooth and nail down on the villagers. Clementine, however, was there, Darkness ready, and with just three strikes the behemoth was cut down. It took nearly a week to regain consciousness after the massive injuries his Darkness inflicted. When he woke up, to his blank and utter bemusement, ‘Clementine Haschwalden’ was suddenly a household name. He was the Giantslayer now, the Dark Knight who felled a behemoth in just three hits and saved hundreds of innocent lives. In reality, of course, the behemoth was worn from a battle with two other, more experienced Knights—but of course, that’s not what the people saw. When he was fully recovered, Clementine was immediately sold out to the nation of Thorne by his government, who saw him as a useful political tool; the Giantslayer would go out into the world beyond, and he would demonstrate the might (and price tag) of Cronquist’s Dark Order, and cast the trade deals Cronquist relies on for food and supplies in a much more attractive light to outside nations. Unhappy as a soldier of the Thorne government, however, Clementine soon struck a deal with his superiors, and arranged to take on more down-to-earth monster hunting as his main source of income and publicity. He didn’t want to be cooped up in the palace like a luxury item, dispatched only when the monster was dangerous enough to warrant his price tag. He wanted to there, here, now, out and about, seeing people and doing things and filling his hands with something real and concrete. Clementine spent the better part of a year and a half wandering Thorne in a kind of publicity tour. Though he would always love his home in Cronquist, the rolling brown hills and soft yellow grass, the scrubby white wildflowers and the gray-white twilight, Clementine grew a soft spot for the more hospitable country of Thorne, and soon came to enjoy the time he spent as the dark and mysterious Giantslayer. Never one for socializing, he made few friends, though his efforts were, distrust-aside, largely appreciated. His wandering lifestyle was recently put on hold, however, after receiving orders to return to the Palace as additional security for the coming festival. Other: Left over from his training as a White Mage, Clementine has an unusual amount of endurance and stamina, and knows the rudimentary basics of weak Cures and Esunas.

Sayuri Takashi Grande taverne de marché de Seedy Interagir avec Amelia et Clementine Sayuri frotta ses temples en marchant sur l'une des routes principales du Temple. Ce n'était même pas si tard dans la journée et il portait déjà sur elle. Le marchand avec qui elle était venue avait essayé de la payer moins de la moitié de ce qu'ils avaient convenu, elle s'en était occupée rapidement, mais c'était encore une douleur, puis ses parents étaient tous les deux sortis pendant les festivités afin qu'elle ne puisse les voir avant la fin de la soirée malgré le fait qu'elle avait envoyé une lettre disant qu'elle serait ici et pour couronner tout ce qu'elle avait croisé dans Wedge. Il ne s'est pas terminé avec beaucoup plus que des mots, la plupart du temps parce qu'elle est partie dès qu'elle a vu une opportunité, mais encore adouci son humeur plus loin. Au moins la journée allait très probablement s'améliorer à partir d'ici. J'espère qu'elle rencontrera une de ses vieilles amies qu'elle espère toujours se souvenir d'elle. Mais ça pourrait mal tourner et elle le savait beaucoup quand elle a envoyé la lettre. Quoi qu'il en soit, ce serait bien de voir comment elle a été. Après cela, une longue journée sur le marché et, espérons-le, de bonnes bagarres qu'elle allait couronner avec un bon dîner avec sa famille lui élèverait définitivement l'esprit. Quand elle est arrivée à destination, elle l'avait presque ratée. Ça faisait si longtemps qu'elle était à Thorne qu'elle avait presque oublié son chemin. Elle laisse la nostalgie se laver avant d'entrer dans la taverne. Un sourire a instinctivement fait son chemin sur ses lèvres comme elle l'a fait comme les souvenirs sont revenus avant de s'effacer rapidement et de la laisser avec un soupir. En regardant autour d'elle, elle repère sa cible dans un coin presque vide de la taverne avec un gamin nerveux portant une armure de chevalier noir. Elle fait son chemin pour demander un verre de leur meilleur en chemin à l'un des bar wenches. Elle attrape la dernière petite demande des enfants et lui fait signe avant de tomber dans la chaise en face d'Amelia. Elle attend qu'Amelia réponde à l'enfant avant de lui dire : "Bonjour, Amelia, ça fait longtemps, n'est-ce pas? Huit ans environ?"

Name: Sayuri Takashi Title: “Wandering Blade” “Sword Saint” Race: Half-Eldian Job: Sword Saint Age: 24 Gender: Female Warrior of Light: No Appearance Information Physical Features: Sayuri is tall at 6'4” with a lithe build and pale skin. She has midnight black hair and dark violet eyes. Her waist-length hair is almost always worn in a low thin ponytail tied with a pale blue ribbon otherwise it's just let down. Her chest is a B. Being Half-Eldian her neck and hands are normal length for her height. She still has the ears and slender build. She has a large X shaped scar crossing her back from shoulders to hips and tattoos of a black dragon along the top of her forearms with the head resting on the back of her hand. Clothing/Armor/Weapons: Sayuri's casual attire consists of black leather boots, pants, a loose long sleeved button up shirt, fingerless gloves, and if the weather calls for it a worn black hooded cloak. Sayuri's armor also doubles as her travel gear. She wears greaves, gauntlets and pauldrons in a Kimuran style that are black with a silver trim. She also wears a pair of armored plates on her hips. Under that she wears dark grey pants and a white shirt both made of spider silk to offer a little bit more protection from blades. She also usually wears her black cloak with it. Sayuri wields a longsword like the one in this picture except the crosspiece, pommel, and design at the base of the sheath is dark purple. The small additions at the end of the sheath are also removed. The only accessories that she wears are the pale blue ribbon in her hair and a blood red dragon head necklace. Psychological Information Personality Traits: Carefree | Calm-minded | Friendly | Explosive Rage | Trust is easily lost Likes: Fighting | Reading | Cats Dislikes: Cowards | Spicy Food | Dogs Personal History Hometown: Thorne City | Thorne Current Residence: N/A Occupation: Sellsword Backstory: Sayuri was born into a rather odd family in Thorne. Her Father was a Hume blacksmith and former soldier, while her mother was an Eldian immigrant from Kimura. They were rather poor and lived in a section of the city that reflected that. Despite this she grew up happy and well cared for. When she was old enough her father began training her with a sword to protect herself and she excelled at it learning everything he taught her very quickly. Seeing an opportunity in her ability to give her a better life. He took her up to the Paladin Order of Thorne and enlisted her. Though she was hesitant at first she grew to enjoy all she learned and she continued to excel at combat. There she made a handful friends and though she didn't climb the ranks quickly she was well liked by most people. After a few years though she was unsatisfied with just learning Holy Blade and began searching for more to learn. She soon found a few books on the Dark Blade and began teaching herself in secret as the Order looked down on it. She was caught a year later and was dismissed from the order. She left with no objections and began wandering the country. Eventually she ran into a mercenary group with all kinds of swordsman and joined with them. Over the years she learned as much from the others in the group learning more about Holy and Dark Blade and learning Spellblade and Bushido though she was far more skilled with the former two. After a few years she struck out on her own again as a lone sellsword. She spent about a year in her mothers homeland of Kimura under one of the more popular Warlords before moving on to Calestani. She settled down and lived there for the last three years finding well off merchant to work for. Due to recent events however she feels she needs to leave and move on. Knowing that the festival was coming up she decided to head to Thorne to visit her family, try to find a couple of old friends, and maybe even take part in the tourney while she was there. She got herself hired as protection for a merchant on his way to the festival and set out for the next chapter of her life. Other: Rarely goes anywhere without a weapon of some kind. Her sword was forged using shattered pieces of both a Dark sword and Holy sword she previously used.

Ryouji Yasuharu Ville de Thorne - Docks de navires aériens L'incendie s'étend sur le pont lorsque les moteurs sifflent et que les tuyaux de vapeur éclatent dans la coque. Un jeune garçon serre sa main sur son épée ancestrale, une lueur éclatante émanant de l'acier. De l'autre côté du pont, une figure solitaire se dresse, enveloppée dans l'obscurité. Des yeux rouges brillants regardent de dessous une capuche noircie. Le garçon lève son épée et le pointe à la figure, signalant la fin de la créature. Avec un bleu de mouvement, le sabre abaisse sa lame sur son côté et charge la figure, invoquant la puissance d'Odin lui-même dans la frappe alors que la lame brille avec éclat. "Zantetsuken!" Avec des éclaboussures creuses, un poteau en bambou est tombé sur le pont en deux morceaux. Le feu n'était nulle part et l'épée du garçon ne donnait aucune lueur, outre le reflet du soleil du matin. Dans un mouvement pratiqué, le garçon a revêtu l'arme comme la réalité a fini par dépasser son imagination. Soupirant légèrement, il se retourna et ramassa les morceaux de bambou, les plaçant dans un tas voisin de roseaux coupés de la même façon. Avant qu'il puisse mettre en place la prochaine cible d'entraînement, l'un des gardes du corps du garçon s'est approché de lui. Prince Ryouji, nous atterrirons bientôt à Thorne. Vous devriez vous asseoir dans la cabine jusqu'à ce que nous ayons touché en toute sécurité. » Ryouji a hurlé et s'est rendu à la cabane comme il l'avait ordonné. Ce fut un long vol, et le prince était plus qu'avide de profiter du festival de cette année. Il était malheureux que ses parents ne puissent pas l'accompagner, mais il y avait trop de réunions importantes qu'ils devaient assister. Cependant, ils l'avaient fait promettre de leur dire tous les détails intéressants sur le festival à son retour. Alors que le garçon s'asseyait et regardait par une fenêtre voisine, un sentiment d'égarement l'a surpris. La ville était en pleine vue, et depuis le ciel, c'était une vue vraiment merveilleuse à voir. Le grand dirigeable était orné de la crête de la famille Yasuharu, et il était recouvert de décorations adaptées à un transport royal. Alors que la famille Yasuharu n'était pas la plus puissante des factions Kimuran, c'était certainement l'une des plus riches. En plus des passagers, le navire transportait beaucoup de marchandises et de cadeaux commerciaux pour la famille royale Thorne. À l'atterrissage, un certain nombre d'ouvriers se mirent en action pour décharger la cargaison tandis que le Prince et ses deux gardes du corps traversaient les quais. Ryouji ne pouvait pas attendre pour voir tout ce que la ville avait à offrir. C'était comme s'il commençait une vraie aventure.

Name: Ryouji Yasuharu Title: Prince Race: Hume Job: Samurai Age: 16 Gender: Male Warrior of Light: Yes Appearance Information Physical Features: Standing roughly 4' 8", Ryouji is quite short for his age. A scrawny 95 pounds would make him an easy target if not for his Royal heritage. Steel grey hair adorns his head, a genetic gift from his Father, and his eyes shimmer in a pale cerulean like his Mother. His youth is ever apparent in his skin tone and complexion, and he has taken great care to avoid poor hygiene. Though, he has managed to build a small amount of muscle, thanks to his swordsmanship training. Clothing/Armor/Weapons: Normally, he is seen wearing the traditional dress of the Kimuran nation, a simple indigo kimono with his family crest embroidered on the back. He carries a ceremonial katana with him nearly everywhere he goes, though it once belonged to his grandfather and is merely a placeholder until he is old enough to forge his own. If he were to engage in combat, Ryouji has a set of Kozane, lamellar leather armor that his Father had made for him. Psychological Information Personality Traits: Brave | Naive | Well Mannered | Timid | Determined Quick to trust, and sadly easy to manipulate. Likes: Swords | Friends | Legends | Rainstorms Dislikes: Chocobo Riding | Mud | The Color pink Personal History Hometown: Kimura Current Residence: The Palace of House Yasuharu, on the southernmost peninsula of the Island Occupation: Studies Bushido from his Father, practicing his swordsmanship and political manners daily. Backstory: Not much can be said about his upbringing. Life in the Palace was only noteworthy during his time training his sword skills with his father or reading old Legends about ancient Swordsmen and Heroes. Though, there was one time when he was very young when he was bitten by a Chocobo, thus starting a lifelong distrust for the bright yellow birds. Other: One day, he hopes to be the greatest swordsman who ever lived, even greater than the Legendary Gilgamesh. He always carries more Gil then he can really understand the value of. Even though he has no magical skills, he has named his attacks after powerful techniques used by Legendary Warriors, just in case one of them actually works.

Seruh Vora Ville de Thorne Airship Dock un jour avant - Arrivée de Thorne Slums puis nuit avant - Rendez-vous avec la ville de Kyreth-tan de Thorne - Pursuit - Oui. Seruh a entendu le capitaine du vaisseau appeler le prochain arrêt, Thorne City, sa destination. Première classe n'était pas disponible de Kimura à Thorne aujourd'hui, à moins qu'elle attende jusqu'à demain pour faire un tour avec le garçon Yasuharu. Elle avait déjà fait du sale boulot pour leur famille et savait qu'elle pouvait monter à bord si elle leur parlait et laissait tomber un Gil ici et là, mais le Kyreth-tan avait dit qu'ils avaient besoin d'elle ce soir pour une raison quelconque. Pour autant qu'elle le sache, elle faisait juste des check-in de routine avec les clans locaux, mais quelque chose semblait bizarre à ce sujet. Quoi qu'il en soit, elle pensait que le navire avait atterri, ce n'est pas si urgent. Elle a regardé autour et a remarqué que tout le monde était déjà debout et affluait vers la sortie. Elle a attendu une seconde, sachant qu'il n'y avait aucune chance de s'affirmer sur la foule, et préférant s'asseoir de toute façon. Elle bâillait pendant qu'elle s'asseyait, ses oreilles reculaient et sa bouche s'ouvrait. Quand elle a fini, seulement quelques personnes se tenaient toujours près de la porte, alors elle s'est levée et s'est jointe à eux. Une fois dehors, elle respira dans l'air thornien chaud. Quelque chose s'est toujours senti mieux, plus respirant que l'air de Kimuran. Les odeurs du festival remplissaient son nez sensible. Elle pouvait sentir toutes sortes de friandises faites, du sang des terrains du tournoi, des métaux et des bois exotiques dans le marché, et quelque part entre il y avait un parfum familier d'alcool et de vomi qui l'a ramenée au Mythril Chalice. Quelque part, elle sentait aussi la puanteur des bidonvilles, un rappel de son enfance qui y grandissait. C'est là que le Kyreth-tan a été mis en place. Non pas parce qu'ils ne pouvaient pas se permettre mieux, mais parce que la Garde du Château avait une main plus lâche là-bas. Et donc, elle partit en direction des bidonvilles, pour confronter le Kyreth-tan à leur problème, et pour faire face à son passé. Le chef du Kyreth-tan était grand et lanky, et il avait une sorte de grimace profonde collée en permanence à son visage. Sa tête était chauve et une cicatrice l'a traversé d'avant en arrière. Il manquait un œil et avait une bonne quantité de chaume qui poussait sur son visage. Son corps était plutôt mince et ne correspondait pas tout à fait à sa tête, ce qui suggérait un homme beaucoup plus buff. La dernière fois que Seruh l'avait vu, il avait porté un Gi noir déchiré avec une épée ornementale attachée à son dos. Cette fois, il portait un Gi rouge et l'épée était nettement absente. "L'Ombre de Kimura est arrivé." a-t-il dit, presque ridiculement, "Il était temps." Sa voix était celle d'un homme beaucoup plus grand que lui, profond et imposant. « Comme vous l'avez très probablement dit par vos supérieurs, les Kyreth-tan sont tombés dans des moments difficiles », a-t-il poursuivi, Seruh a hurlé à moitié, attendant qu'il mentionne sa paye. Le chef du crime l'a probablement remarqué alors il a commencé à parler délibérément lent, "Il y a eu... une sorte d'incident... il y a environ un an... où ce... voleur... avait eu une prise de la lame de Kyreth-tan." Seruh l'a coupé, "Alors tu veux que je le tue et que je te rende la lame, je comprends. Mais quel est le salaire?" "La prime est 2000 gil," Seruh a presque roulé les yeux sur la petite somme d'argent, mais le patron l'a interrompue, "Mais, puisque vous êtes l'un d'entre nous," il utilisait le terme vaguement, "Je vais vous donner 5000 Gil si vous pouvez confirmer le meurtre et me rendre la lame." Le visage de Seruh s'est un peu allumé, et sa queue s'est un peu glissée. "Est-il possible pour moi... d'en avoir un peu plus?" Elle regarda l'homme devant elle, sentant les traces d'alcool sur son souffle et les restes de sang sur ses vêtements, puis battit un peu ses yeux, mais l'homme lui répondit simplement: «Nous verrons», d'une voix sévère. Seruh a quitté la cachette cette nuit-là avec peu dans sa tête mais des pensées sur la façon d'obtenir plus de 5000 gil de ce vieux ninja. De retour aux docks, elle a pensé, attendant que le voleur se montre. Intel lui a dit qu'il était un mage rouge de Takhtajan qui avait des doigts collants tout autour. Une source lui a dit qu'il avait envisagé de voler le cristal de lumière une fois. Elle a regardé autour de lui et a vu que pas trop loin, il y avait un homme qui correspondait à la description de sa course pour sa vie des citoyens et des gardes. Elle a dû ne pas aimer tout le monde, pensa-t-elle, quand elle a commencé sa poursuite. Son équipement de combat était allumé et ses vêtements normaux avaient été laissés dans l'auberge au-dessus de la taverne en face du Temple, où elle avait choisi de rester. Elle planait à travers la zone d'atterrissage, parfois derrière les dirigeables, parfois au-dessus, traversant des distances massives à chaque saut. Elle a passé un vaisseau aérien très bien décoré, Kimuran dans le design, et elle a entendu une voix adolescente crier "Zantetsuken!" de l'intérieur. Finalement, elle a atteint un point où elle était presque directement au-dessus de sa cible. Elle l'a suivi de quelques façons, les autres poursuivants sont tombés en arrière, en considérant que la norme 2000 gil n'en valait pas la peine. Quand elle était la seule à rester, elle s'est retournée et a crié : « Je ne veux pas encore mourir! Ne pouvons-nous pas régler cela d'une manière qui n'implique pas des objets pointus?" -- Quoi, tu veux dire ça? Elle a remarqué, en jetant 3 shuriken dans un triangle autour de lui, n'ayant pas l'intention de le frapper mais de lui faire peur. Puis elle a sauté derrière lui et s'est tapé l'épaule "Bon, ma chérie, je suis là..." Elle a fait un grand saut et a atterri à 4-5 pas de lui, juste pour la sécurité, "Je peux être négocié avec... Mais ce ne sera pas bon marché." Elle sourit en parlant, l'odeur de la peur qui pesait dans l'air, l'adrénaline qui se précipitait.

Name: Seruh (Like Sarah) Vora Title: The Shadow Race: Miqo'te Job: Ninja Age: 21 Gender: Female Warrior of Light: Yaes Appearance Information Physical Features: Seruh stands at 5’2” and weighs 118 lbs. SHe has brown hair and fur, with white tufts in her ears. She tends to walk rather pompously while in town and not under cover of shadow, with her chin up, and her face angled slightly upward. She has a slight hourglass form, fair, smooth skin, mostly unmarred save a few scars from the occasional combat injury, one located on her ankle, another on her shoulder, and the last located on the back of her thigh. Her hair is usually down, sometimes in a ponytail or bun while she is in combat; while down, it reaches to just below her shoulders. Her tail is brown with grayish-white spots on it. Clothing/Armor/Weapons: During the day, Seruh wears a Brown coat-like top embellished with studs of gemstones and gold buttons, with a tiny bit of her black, skin tight battlegear showing. She also dons a pair of tight, black pants that reach about an inch and a half below her knees. Around her neck is a pendant that belonged to her Grandmother, the shape of it appears to mimic the Great Crystal. When she goes outside during the day, she also puts on a hooded blue cape to help keep her fair skin looking as light as possible and protect her eyes, trained to do better in darker places, from being damaged from the harsh light. When prowling the shadows at night or anytime she expects combat, Seruh wears a set of black, skin-tight battlegear designed for agility and silent movement. The “armor” is lined with black steel studs at regular intervals to help protect her from sustaining injuries. In addition to the battlegear she wears under her normal attire, she also wears a mask over her head that covers all of it but her eyes, with a hole in the back for her ponytail/bun. As for Seruh’s weapons, she carries a holster with 40 shuriken in it, a small blade at her waist, meant only for dire situations, and 4 smoke balls for an emergency escape method. Psychological Information Personality Traits: Untrustworthy | Self-Centered | Outgoing | Patient | Calm Likes: Mid-day Naps | Gil | Being treated like she’s special | The Moon/Stars | Cold Beer Dislikes: The Sun | Other stuck-up people | Losing Personal History Hometown: Thorne City|Thorne Current Residence: Kimura City|Kimura Occupation: Bartender at “The Mythril Chalice Inn” and Ninja in a local Ninja Clan. Backstory: Seruh grew up on the streets of Thorne City with her father. They lived in a small broken down, abandoned house in the slums. She always made do with the little they had, and thought nothing of the hardships they went through. Her mother had died months after giving birth to her, by means of disease. When she was small, her father would tell her stories of the heroes who drove away the Mage-King and how the Mage-King flooded the land, creating the world they lived in now. When she got a bit older she would daydream about one day being a hero, somebody who protects others. She dreamed not only of heroism, but of greatness. Later in life it would be that same hunger for greatness the would lead her to leave Thorne to make a better life for herself. When she was about 14, her father told her he needed to leave the city for a while, that he’d be back as soon as it was safe. Her father had never been known as the most honest person in Thorne City, and probably was in trouble for some sort of crime, whether or not he was guilty of it. Seruh, seeking adventure, decided she too would leave town, and so, at the young age of 14, Seruh Vora left Thorne on the first airship, eastbound to Kimura. Upon arrival in Kimura, Seruh found that the nation was steeped in a type of civil war, where Samurai and Ninjas fought each other for control of the nation. Seeing an opportunity to aquire the greatness she had desired as a young girl, she entered training with a ninja clan based directly in Kimura city, out of a secret passage in an inn known as “The Mythril Chalice”. They set her up with a job bartending during the day while at night she trained. Fast-forward several years, Seruh has become one of the top ranking Ninja in her clan, and she has become affluent enough to own a home on the edge of the aristocratic end of town, decently close to the Mythril Chalice. At this point, her success has gotten to her head, she completely lost sight of her goal to become a hero. Instead, she has become a tool of war. Present day, she was sent to Thorne during the festival to visit a sister clan located in Thorne city, using the festival as an excuse to leave so suddenly. Other: Has a strange liking for chocolate Loves liquor, but can’t hold it well.

Nila le Mage Bleu Quelque part entre l'aréna et les bidonvilles Tandis qu'une grande partie des habitants de Thorne étaient attirés par les batailles menées dans l'arène, ou peut-être écrasés dans leur taverne de choix, Nila avait attiré un petit public à elle. Ce ne serait sans doute pas une surprise pour ceux qui connaissent le mage qui manie l'épée, étant donné qu'elle a tendance à souligner ses paroles de façon spectaculaire avec des gestes éblouissants, et à sauter d'un endroit à l'autre comme si elle essayait de jouer tous les personnages impliqués dans son conte. Cette petite bizarrerie était probablement la raison pour laquelle le trio d'enfants l'écoutait encore parler de l'activité quotidienne typique d'un goblin. "...En gros, ils errent sans but pendant dix heures par jour, et se battent l'un avec l'autre s'il n'y a personne pour ennuyer!" Nila a résumé dix minutes de temps d'histoire dans une phrase simple qui n'a totalement pas fait les événements appropriés justice. L'un des jeunes garçons leva la main curieusement, et recula quand Nila pointa vers lui d'une manière presque agressive, « oui, petit? ». -- Eh bien... regarda-t-il ses amis comme pour le soutien, et continua, pourquoi as-tu passé trois jours entiers à suivre les gobelins? "N'ai-je pas dit? Recherche!" Nila a déclaré fièrement, laissant les enfants aussi confus qu'ils l'avaient été de toute évidence. "Mais ce sont des monstres..." "Ouais!" Les enfants ont essayé d'apprendre pourquoi l'étrange dame en bleu était si heureuse de suivre un tas de monstres autour pour aucune raison facilement apparente, et que ce soit délibérément ou non, Nila se révélait frustrantment obtus. En effet, les actions de Nila avaient tendance à avoir peu de sens quand des monstres étaient impliqués. Son bestiaire avait besoin d'être rempli. Tout était bien et bien d'apprendre à frapper quelqu'un si fort que leur armure est devenue inutile, mais sûrement l'histoire derrière le besoin des gobelins d'apprendre une telle capacité était tout aussi important, n'est-ce pas? Elle avait fait son chemin vers l'aréna pour regarder certains des mages le duke dans une guerre magique géniale, quand ces enfants qu'elle passait avaient demandé un peu de gil. Ils vivaient probablement dans les bidonvilles et n'avaient pas les fonds nécessaires pour participer correctement aux festivités. C'était vraiment nul, et Nila elle-même était à peu près cassée - elle pourrait travailler plus tard quand plus de gens ont décidé de boire - donc pour l'instant tout ce qu'elle pouvait offrir à ces enfants étaient des histoires de ses exploits. Ce n'était pas tout à fait "nourrir la faim" sur la liste de Good Deed, mais ses options étaient limitées. Le mage a continué à discuter un peu avec les enfants. Elle n'était pas pressée après tout, les combats n'allaient nulle part.

Name: Nila Daana Title: The Bluest Of All Mages Race: Hume Job: Blue Mage Age: 19 Gender: Female Warrior of Light: No Appearance Information Physical Features: Nila stands at five-foot-five, with a thin build suited more for manouverability than heavy lifting. As such, her measurements are also on the shorter side, much to her complete indifference. Nila's skin is lightly tanned, with thick, pitch-black hair that falls wildly onto her shoulders, where it's generally left to lie - aside from a blue ribbon tied around a lock of hair. Her eyes are a super unique and brilliant hazel. A scar lies underneath Nila's left eye, a nasty cut from childhood, following a terrible run-in with a grouchy goblin that had figured out "Goblin Punch + Pointy Object = more damage". This scar hasn't healed the most gracefully, but is generally hidden under the domino mask Nila likes to wear, however. Not that she has an issue showing the scar, the mask is just too awesome to not wear. Clothing/Armor/Weapons: Rare is the occasion that Nila is not decked out in her 'work clothes'. With a standard white undershirt, and blue, poofy trousers as her base, Nila also dons an equally blue cape that travels midway down her back, and neatly wraps around her shoulders. In addition, Nila wears black, travel-worn boots that have served her well in her travels. And of course, a domino mask. Covering most of the upper half of her face, Nila tends to wear this when being overly-theatrical. The rims of the mask extend slightly beyond her face, with the upper corners tipped with a light teal gradient and stretching upward slightly. In battle, Nila would wear light, leather armour - anything heavier she finds too cumbersome or detrimental to her spellcasting and evasive action. As such, she generally won't wear anything more complicated than a cuirass, and maybe a leather helmet, if she's going to fight a monster known for throwing projectiles. At her hip, Nila wields her trusty sabre, a small, curved sword that can be wielded with one hand. It's a rather bog-standard sword, as far as materials go, and has seen it's fair share of fights. Luckily, it's still got plenty of usage left in it. Probably helps that Nila isn't exactly a frontline fighter, making its maintenance much easier. Psychological Information Personality Traits: Outgoing | Cheerful | Impulsive | Curious | Theatrical Nila's pretty darn showy a lot of the time, seemingly unaware of the art of subtlety. She expresses great confidence in her skills, knowledge and presentation, but lacks restraint and tact in certain situations, which can draw some unwanted attention. She's a friendly and helpful gal with an optimistic mindset about things, but loses sight of her surroundings when a chance to expand her personal bestiary occurs - no matter what, she needs to know how behemoths react to getting poked with a stick. Nila has a great love for magic of all forms, and naturally loves her brand most of all. When she learned that most places outside of Dahlgren seemed disdainful at best towards magic, it blew her mind. What was the problem? They were acting like magic nearly destroyed the world or something! Nila often overlooks a particular black spot in history when defending magic. Likes: Monsters | Moogles | Theatres Even compared to other Blue Mages, Nila seems to hold a great admiration for the creatures that like to randomly ambush travellers. Part of this may just be because of the possibility she can acquire new techniques to mess around with, but even beyond that, she speaks of monters' chaarcteristics with great fondness and passion. Well, with a particular exception... The poor moogles, cursed with infinite cuteness, are also Nila's prey. She cannot stop herself from hugging them tightly, wishing to keep them as companions, and touching their pom-poms. It's probably safe to say she is not popular amongst moogles. And of course, Nila holds great fondness for the theatrical and grandiose. Anyone with an affinity for the extravagant shall earn her much-coveted admiration. Dislikes: Malboros | Anti-magic bias | Large bodies of water ...Bad Breath was not worth the effort to learn. That's all Nila will say regarding Malboros. 'Baseless and unfounded' fears about magic are a given for someone that practices an admittedly-unusual school of magic, but regardless, Nila cannot fathom why anyone would consider magic to be a bad thing. It's nothing but beneficial, right?! Nila, unfortunately, is not a particularly strong swimmer. This probably stems from another monster-related incident, though it's not exactly as trauamtic as the Malboro Incident. Still, she hasn't exactly done much to rectify this issue. The aquatic creatures of her bestiary are going to be neglected for a while, it seems. Personal History Hometown: Dahlgren Current Residence: Thorne, The Great Outdoors/Some Inn Occupation: Monster Hunter: Nila mainly earns her keep by snatching up bounties on troublesome monsters. Not only does this let her eat for the day, she's practically getting paid to study potentially new monsters! Though on a slow day with no monsters to hunt, she'll ask around for any day-jobs cleaning tables or something. Backstory: Born in Dahlgren to a family that heavily favoured Blue Magic, Nila is the youngest of five siblings - the second-eldest sadly deceased at this point in time. While Nila isn't exactly a prodigy, her great love of blue magic, and fascination with monsters in general, has inspired some promising results for her. Nila has taken every chance possible to encounter a wide variety of monsters, expanding her knowledge of any and all genus recorded in her personal bestiary. Not just their looks or abilities, but even their habitats, habits, typical diet... anything she can observe. Having only just begun her travels though, there are stil lso many fascinating creatures to find... Growing up, Nila wasn't quite as outgoing and boisterous as she is now. Having a few unlucky encounters with monsters certainly did little to boost her confidence. Fortunately, Nila's family are a rather supportive lot: with their encouragement, Nila stuck with her studies of Blue Magic, and her passion bloomed when she was officially enrolled as a student. Seeing more of the world, a wider variety of monsters with interesting lifestyles, and of course, learning more and more monster-based spells had sparked a desire to master the school of magic. Other: Her favourite colour is actually green. Go figure. Oddly enough, despite getting scarred in this incident, Nila quickly got over the incident. It got her to start wearing a stylish mask, so no point in moping over it, right?

Vincent Letendre Thorne City- Près de l'arène, près des bidonvilles L'odeur des festivités a rempli l'air, avec des foules applaudissantes dans l'arène, des gens se promenant, parlant entre eux. Vincent a eu quelques bons jours à vendre ses articles dans les derniers jours, ayant vendu une bonne quantité de potions et d'appareils à des personnes voisines. Cela lui a donné une bonne quantité de gils, ce qui serait assez utile dans ses voyages et l'exploration du monde. Vincent aurait pu aller et continuer à vendre des objets en ce moment, mais il avait envie de se détendre un peu en ce moment. Il voulait juste s'amuser, peut-être aller voir les combats dans l'arène... peut-être même participer une fois qu'il a utilisé ses appareils... mais une chose à propos de cette dernière partie lui a fait douter. Quelles étaient les règles pour l'équipement... qu'est-ce que chaque personne pouvait utiliser... y avait-il un support pour le mécanicien ou quelque chose comme ça? Bien sûr... il s'est un peu amusé par la magie avant... mais il n'a jamais été très bon avec ça. Avec tout ça, Vincent se déplaçait, écoutait, avant d'ouvrir une potion et de la boire. C'était une simple potion d'énergie pour le garder éveillé un peu. Considérant qu'il était coincé hier soir à essayer de s'assurer que le professeur Firaga dosen't finit par faire exploser les choses au festival aujourd'hui avec une invention... il a littéralement eu des cauchemars de Firaga causant une explosion énorme qui aurait anéanti une grande partie de la ville. Quelque chose qui a commencé avec N. Geez... comment Arte a-t-il eu affaire à Firaga tous les jours? Et bien... Vu qu'il a des problèmes avec sa propre magie et ses explosions, peut-être qu'ils ont été liés par des explosions? Ça a donné une petite chance à Vincent, mais pour l'instant, il avait besoin de se détendre. Peut-être qu'il pourrait aller au tournoi. C'est alors qu'il a entendu un son ou quelqu'un raconter des histoires de gobelins et autres, de suivre et de raconter la vie quotidienne des gobelins, ce qui lui semble exagérer certaines choses. Eh bien, ça a gardé les enfants qu'elle racontait l'histoire pour s'amuser. Il sourit à ça, il écoutait, puis il entendait parler des enfants qui demandaient de l'argent. Cela a un peu attristé Vincent. Il s'est déplacé vers le groupe, obtenant des gils qu'il a faits à partir de la vente de potions. Je me sens généreux Kupo. J'espère que vous pourrez profiter du festival. - Il a dit aux enfants, en passant le sac de gils. Bien sûr, c'était une partie de son argent qu'il a gagné en vendant des potions, mais si ça pouvait rendre ces enfants heureux... il agissait un peu sur l'impulsion qu'il devinait, mais il voulait que ces enfants s'amusent au moins aujourd'hui.

Name: Vincent Letendre Title: Prodigy The prodige Race: Moogle Job: Mechanist Age: 24 Gender: Male Warrior of Light: Yes Physical Features: Vincent is a rather short, being about 3'1" feet high. He is not that strong, with his pom pom being blue, with soft white fur around his body and slightly golden eyes. He has a bit of blond hair on the top of his head with large moogle ears. Clothing/Armor/Weapons: Vincent wears usually a white and blue tunic with leather armor under it. He also has red boots for travelling. He has a large rifle that he made that is able to split into 2 pistols for rapid fire when it is needed. Psychological Information Personality Traits: Quick thinking | Friendly | Creative | Fiery | Impulsive Vincent is one to think quickly when things happen, attempting to help as best as he can when needed, though this also makes it that he is too impulsive sometimes. He also has issues with his temper when someone gets him mad, telling those people his thoughts pretty vocally… even if he is laughed at because ofhis small size… which usually end with the guy having a large gun pointed at him, and Vincent threatening the guy to leave him alone. Likes: Machines | Mystery | Friends Dislikes: Big Spiders | Fish | Backstabbers Personal History Hometown: Eraclia, near Calestani Current Residence: Thorne, Thorne City Occupation: Traveling alchemist Backstory: Vincent was born in a small town of Eraclia, which is near is near Calestani. This small town was known for its large farming lands that it used to export food back to Calestani to keep its people fed. Vincent’s mother was an alchemist, using the grown herbs to make potions for travellers. His father was a farmer who used to be a white mage until he saw so many deaths that he could not save that it effected him too deeply. Vincent's life was rather simple at the beginning, learning from his mother about alchemy and working to help his father, as well as exploring around town. He wished to explore outside the town, but his parents was too worried about it, so he stayed in town. One day a hume mechanist walked into town, his large gun in hand, with bruises all over his body, as if he had been attacked by a large beast. He went to Vincent’s mother, going to buy some supplies to her, but he was low on money. Vincent saw the man, and saw the equipment, seeing also a small helicopter bot flying around a bit near the mechanist. This amazed Vincent as he saw the thing. The man looked at his mother, looking down. “So much work for nothing… so many monsters around these parts…” the man said, before seeing Vincent’s eyes when he was looking at the bot with amazement. He smiled a bit. “The little guy seems amazed by my bot I see… maybe I could sell him a copy I made for him?” he then said. Vincent’s mother looked skeptical, before Vincent begged for this. She finally gave in and let the guy pay for his potion for a copy of the bot. Vincent was very happy about this, actually studying the machine, trying to figure out how it worked. It also made him wonder more about machines. His parents, seeing this, decided to buy him some books for how machine worked, as well as some tools that Vincent still has to this day. After a month, his parents had a big surprised. During some work on the farm to water the plants, Vincent came out with a large water tank with 2 hoses on each arm, using pressure to expel the water out and water the plants. It was then that his parents knew he was rather gifted. After a couple of months, his parents knew that Vincent needed to go and learn more, and considering the money they made with everything, they moved to Calestani, where Vincent learned more about machines and the mysteries of the world, as well as being a blacksmiths apprentice for money and making friends. It was then also that he made his gun… which he had to use not long afterwards unfortunately. The nation was soon attacked by dragons, but this time it was very close to Vincent’s home. When the beast attacked, he took out his gun, and shot a thunder elemental shot to the beast, with the guards trying to help also to take it down… They eventually succeeded… but not before Vincent’s home was destroyed in the process. His parents were safe at least, but with something like this happen, it was clear to them that they could not stay here. They wanted to end up somewhere safer, like Dahlgen. Vincent though didn’t really feel like going to Dahlgen, so it was then that he parted away with them, wanting to explore the mysteries of the world. To make his money, Vincent used the knowledge he learned from his mother, selling healing potions around the world, and also some helpful tools that he made when he had some time. After some travelling Vincent got to Thorne, where he decided to stay for a bit, exploring the town. He met with another mechanist by the name of Professor Firaga. His knowledge of machines and inventions were very interesting for Vincent, who decided to stay in town because of this, even if the professor was a bit… well… insane with some inventions? Vincent had to stop the professor a couple of times because of his… most dangerous inventions. Let us keep it at that. It was also there that he met Arte, a black mage Nu Mou who Vincent got to know well and befriend, actually working together to make sure Firaga would not end up blowing the town by accident or something.. or telling him major flaws in his inventions.. And this is where his story continues Other: Nothing at all that I can think about adding

Rakta Ville de Thorne Gates - Route vers Crystal Palace "Je n'aime rien à ce sujet," Rakta sifflait humblement, "Beaucoup de visages, beaucoup de gens, beaucoup d'odeurs-- ils sont tous trop concentrés sur eux-mêmes." Elle se tenait sur la route du Crystal Palace, avec près de cinquante autres personnes, cherchant à entrer dans la ville de Thorne. Derrière elle se trouvait un chocobo, distinct pour sa coloration jaune pâle et sa taille assez massive, dont elle tenait les raignes. Sur le dos du Chocobo étaient des paquets massifs, des tentes, et une charge de poids d'autres bibelots. Rakta a remarqué que même le Chocobo semblait fourbe dans la foule massive et plusieurs fois elle a dû lui donner des pats de tête rassurants. Puis encore une fois, Rakta a remarqué qu'elle continuait à recevoir des pates rassurantes. Comme si sur le signal, une main douce était placée sur son épaule. Kajad riait doucement des mots de Rakta, alors qu'ils lui disaient : « Eh bien, c'est parce qu'ils ne nous connaissent pas. Tout est très nouveau pour nous. Ils ne sont pas comme nous." « Non, nous ne les connaissons pas », a insisté Rakta. "Perspective intéressante mais en fin de compte la même signification." -- Non, Phamet, répondit Rakta, en utilisant l'honneur de Kajad, ils existent ensemble, se connaissent, généralisent dans leurs histoires partagées et leurs interactions -- mais qu'en est-il de nous? Les vagabonds. Des rampants du désert. Nous l'inconnu et non appris. Nous nous connaissons, mais rien d'eux." "Je continue à te le dire," Kajad a dit avec un sourire, "Que tu as des contes dans ton raset. C'était patiemment poétique." Rakta soupira, puis marcha quelques pas en avant au fur et à mesure que la que progressait. Penchant sur le côté, elle a fait le point sur le nombre de caravanes, de marchands, de guerriers, qui que ce soit, qui étaient en avance sur eux sur la ligne d'entrée. Dans le même temps, elle se demande également ce qu'ils vérifient au poste de contrôle. Elle et Kajad avaient été en ligne toute la matinée, bien dans l'après-midi, et allaient certainement être en retard pour quelques choses, à savoir la cérémonie d'accueil. Rakta était sûre que la cérémonie d'accueil avait passé il y a quelque temps et s'est réprimandée pour n'avoir pas insisté plus fermement avec Kajad. Elle a regardé Kajad et a regardé. Kajad se déroula légèrement la tête, puis dit à Rakta : « Relax. On ne nous manquera pas tant que ça. Ils ne se souviennent probablement pas de notre grêle de toute façon... ce sont des Humes auxquels nous avons affaire et ils sont oubliés. Aussi très pardonnant." "Nous aurions pu éviter cela," Rakta grogne. "Patience, Rakta-- Regardez, ils font des chèques de marche maintenant." Une paire de Humes, vêtue d'armure de fer, casques obscurcissant toute leur tête, avec un tabarre portant un peu de crête Rakta ne se souciait pas, est venu marcher sur la ligne des entrants. A distance, Rakta pouvait presque comprendre ce qu'ils disaient. À Kajad, elle a dit : "Je crois qu'ils nous cherchent." Alors, bien sûr, l'un des Humes est venu courir vers eux et a demandé, "Phamet Kajad?" Snickering, Kajad s'inclina légèrement puis jesté, "Est-ce la coiffe qui m'a donné?" "Ou parce que nous sommes Bangaa," Rakta grandissait à Kajad, "Seuls les Humes semblaient s'interroger. Je ne peux pas nous le dire à part..." "Rakta, nous devons éduquer, et non se méfier--" Kajad interjecté-- car ils ne sont pas conscients de la distinction entre nos clans." Le Hume blindé semblait légèrement hanté alors que Rakta tournait sur sa menace. Bientôt l'hume reprit son sang-froid et salua : « Je suis Ser Ellismore de la Deuxième Garde, nous allons vous escorter au palais immédiatement, honorable Phamet. » Kajad s'inclina la tête sur le côté et examina le salut avec un sourire : « Geste intéressant, mais oui. Je suppose que nous devons aller vite, si c'est ce que vous voulez-- mais ne devons-nous pas voir vos motifs?" "Je suis..." Ser Ellismore a hésité, "Je n'ai pas peur, j'ai peur," elle a trébuché sur ses mots gracieusement, "Nous. Le palais. Tu es attendu et on devait t'escorter ici... là-bas. Les deux. Nous avons un chocobo..." À ce moment-là, un chevalier est monté sur le dos de Chocobo, avec un autre chocobo en remorquage. Rakta regarda le chocobo de taille moyenne puis secoua la tête : « Le moins que tu veuilles pour un oiseau brisé, tu permettras à mon Phamet de monter le leur. Le tien est puny-- pain pour show." Rakta se tourna vers le Chocobo dont elle tenait le règne, puis commença à enlever quelques sacs de selle très spécifiques. -- En vérité, tous les Chocobo sont-ils si petits ici? Kajad a demandé, "Puny et le regard faible, oui-- serait frémir sous moi." -- Oui, oui, dit Rakta. Ser Ellismore et le chevalier au sommet du chocobo ont échangé des regards, puis elle a dit, "Y-oui vous pouvez monter votre propre. C'est bon aussi." -- L'enfoiré pense que c'était une demande, se moquait Rakta, jetant quelques sacs lourds sur son dos, non-- le Phamet n'avait besoin de votre pardon ni de votre permission, hume. Kajad riait aussi bien qu'ils se sont apaisés dans la selle de leur Chocobo. Puis ils ont dit, "Je porte des cadeaux à vos étalons, vos sabres, et vos sciures ici--" les sacoches ont été gestuées à "-- et je les verrai dans cet ordre. Alors je vois votre... roi? Est-ce que c'était le cas?" "Oui-- le Roi. Très bien, répliqua Ser Ellismore, puis regarda le chevalier sur le dos de Chocobo. "Gardez celui-là dans le remorquage-- nous allons passer par les écuries d'abord, après tout." Avec un sifflet aigu de Ser Ellismore, un troisième chocobo est venu trotter, et elle l'a monté rapidement. "S'il vous plaît, suivez-nous à travers la ville--" ses mots coupés brusquement. "Votre regard sur moi n'est pas nécessaire-- J'ai marché avec plus de fardeau pour plus longtemps," Rakta a répondu avec cure. -- Très bien, dit Ser Ellismore une fois de plus, après un long moment de pause. Avec cela, ils ont commencé à se diriger vers la ville, à destination des écuries publiques.

Name: Rakta Ganti-Sih Title: N/A Race: Bangaa Job: Berserker Age: 36 Gender: Female Warrior of Light: No Appearance Information Physical Features: Rakta stands at an average height for a Bangaa, around 6ft 5in, with the musculature of a seasoned combatant, and she carries herself with a prideful posture. Her scales are a dusky blue that gradients to light grey and she features orange tattoos, covering nearly half of her body, deeply inset into her scales-- they all look to be words in the language of her people. Those bright orange eyes of hers often have a weary look to them, except for when she's berserking, at which point they are quite alert and lethally analytical. Several scars mar her body, evidence of a life spent fighting, and the tip of her tail is missing. Piercings along her muzzle and ears gives hint to a subtle vanity, despite her otherwise brutish looks. Clothing/Armor/Weapons: Rakta is either seen lightly armored or armed to the teeth. Light plate armor, most notably protecting her face, forearms, stomach, and knees is worn with a set of baggy pants of varying shades. This outfit is considered her "relaxing" clothes when she has to dress as such. Rakta's usual battle armor consists of several pelts, reinforced with mail, decorated by horns, claws, and fangs of felled beasts. Most impressively about her armor is her hood, which features a mane made of authentic Behemoth hair. The pelts serve as both a trophy collection and "loose" armor, the purpose of which is to obscure her silhouette and increase the chances for glancing blows. When in "full armor" she wears a two-piece cheek and chin guard with a horned muzzle protector, and has been known to full on gore people with said horn when up-close. No matter how much armor she is wearing, Rakta's clawed gauntlets are never left behind. The clawed fingertips serve as an extension of her own claws and the heavy gauntlets are fully padded inside, making punches and claw attacks easy on her underlying anatomy. Psychological Information Personality Traits: Shy | Rebellious | Stubborn | Nurturing | Aggressive Good luck getting her to change her mind about anything. Ever. Likes: Music | Epic Tales | Spiritualism Dislikes: Cold Weather | Summoners | Pessimists Personal History Hometown: Takhtajan Current Residence: Takhtajan Occupation: Bodyguard Backstory: The Ganti-Sih clan roams the deserts of Takhatjan, lead by a spiritual leader called the "Am-Ra". Like all Ganti-Sih children, Rakta grew up on the move and raised by the clan itself-- not solely by her birth parents. When it was discovered that Rakta had been "born with the spirit of a beast" within her, she was assigned a "Pahmet"-- a child chosen to become a carrier of the Am-Ra's knowledge-- and sent on a "Star Speak". The Star Speak consists of a journey through the desert with a Pahmet and, while the Pahmet may have food or water, the beast-child may not, in order to maintain their purification. After being purified by the clan Pahmets, Rakta was sent into the desert sands and, remarkably, went six days before passing into the Star Speak dream. Within the Star Speak, Rakta saw her destiny, met with the spirit of the beast which ignited her blood, spoke to the "Many Faced God", then returned with understanding that she was destined for something which would determine the fate of the world itself. Years of training and fighting followed. Her Pahmet lead her through ever increasing danger, in order to strengthen the beast spirit, and increase her endurance for the Berserker state. Wars with other nomadic clans, skirmishes with intruders, and plenty of honor duels hardened Rakta's resolve and spirit. Despite the hardship, Rakta learned to care for the clan children with kindness and wisdom-- an odd trait for any berserker. The Ganti-Sih came to rely upon her for both protection and battle prowess, until the day came that her Pahmet spoke of a journey to another isle. Though many were displeased at the development, none questioned the wisdom of the Many Faced God, and reluctantly said their goodbyes to Rakta and her Pahmet. Other: - Rakta is a great seamstress-- those pelts didn't sew themselves! - Wither or not Rakta is truly inhabited by the spirit of a "beast" is a subject of theological debate. - The Many Faced God's existence is also a subject of theological debate however-- there are very convincing signs of their material existence in the form of clockwork Obelisks on Takhatjan. - Apparently no one knows where Rakta got the Behemeoth fur from-- she insists it came from her Star Speak journey.

Arte Firaga Route vers Crystal Palace Quelque part entre l'arène, les bidonvilles, et le grand marché "Pour la dernière fois, grand-père, cette combinaison crée toujours une explosion, et nous ne voulons pas faire sauter la ville, n'est-ce pas?" Arte ne pouvait pas croire qu'il devait rappeler cela à son grand-père... et, vu la sénilité du vieil homme, ça devenait une chose quotidienne. En fait, cette fois, juste pour être sûr, Arte a dû prendre l'un des deux mélanges loin de son grand-père, le cacher, et espérer qu'il ne le retrouvera pas plus tard. Pendant qu'il cachait le mélange, Arte a remarqué quelque chose... on dirait qu'on n'a plus de nourriture, encore. J'espère avoir assez de gil pour manger au moins jusqu'à la semaine prochaine. Frustré, Arte a fermé la porte du garde-manger et a vérifié le sac à pièces. Apparemment, cela a attiré l'attention de son grand-père, qui a demandé "Eh? Tu fais encore des courses, fiston? Peux-tu m'en donner un peu plus... hein... Qu'est-ce que c'était? Moogle Brew? Confu Ale? Tu as compris, tu m'as trouvé quelque chose comme ça," Arte secoua la tête, et répondit avec "Tu ne te souviens pas de la dernière fois que tu as essayé d'inventer quand tu étais ivre, n'est-ce pas? Je suis désolé, mais je ne peux pas vous permettre d'être ivre, encore une fois, grand-père," Arte s'est honnêtement demandé comment le vieil homme n'était pas confronté à une condamnation à perpétuité pour son 'invention', ou ce que dit l'invention a fait à un orphelinat pauvre et sans défense, mais le refus d'Arte d'obtenir son grand-père un peu d'alcool avait le vieil homme criant sur lui, probablement assez fort que la plupart des gens penseraient que la tour a explosé, à nouveau... Arte ne voulait pas entendre beaucoup plus qu'il n'avait à, donc il a juste couru la porte, et se dirige vers la seule route sûre dans cet endroit, la route vers le palais de cristal. Une fois arrivé sur la route, il semblait passer par une scène impliquant deux bangaa, l'un avec les écailles oranges habituelles, et l'autre avec des écailles blanches plutôt jolies, et quelques gardes humés, et quelques chocobos. Arte a essayé de trouver la meilleure façon d'aborder la situation, mais il semblait que la bangaa était déjà un peu rigolée, et sa présence seule pourrait suffire à les irriter... bien sûr, il a fini juste là pendant qu'ils continuaient avec leur jour, avec la situation se résolvant, au moins pour l'instant. Peut-être qu'ils vont se calmer plus tard... ou peut-être qu'ils vont quelque part au-delà du grand marché... Arte pensait qu'il se dirigeait finalement vers la route, maintenant suivi par un marchand vendant des bibelots bizarres, et hors marque, peut-être de faux rubans. Pendant qu'ils marchaient, le marchand racontait quelques histoires sur la façon dont il s'est fait embusquer par des monstres sur la route, pour être sauvé par un passant aléatoire sur un chocobo, et comment il a voyagé si loin juste pour arriver ici, la grande ville, pour vendre ses marchandises... après cela, il a essayé de vendre Arte un ruban pour cinquante gil, mais... Arte savait, du seul prix, que cela ne fonctionnerait pas très bien, si ce n'était pas du tout, et même si ce n'était pas le cas, Arte avait besoin de tous les gil qu'il avait pour la nourriture, donc, il a dû refuser l'offre du marchand... peu importe combien de fois le marchand a fait l'offre. Sur son chemin vers le marché, Arte a rencontré quelqu'un qui semblait être un mage bleu parlant aux enfants de la vie quotidienne du goblin moyen. Les enfants semblaient confus quant à la raison pour laquelle quelqu'un allait CHOISIR de passer du temps avec des monstres, mais, il n'a pas fallu trop de temps pour Arte pour le comprendre. Avant qu'il ne puisse s'approcher d'elle, Vincent se dirigea vers les enfants, et se mit à jeter son argent autour, supposément, sa prochaine plus grande invention était assez grande pour qu'il devienne monsieur sac à argent pour une journée. Je me sens généreux Kupo. J'espère que les enfants pourront profiter du festival. » Vincent a dit aux enfants avec un soupçon d'excitation et de joie. Arte s'en est pris à lui-même, et s'est approché de son ami Moogle. "Eh bien, regardez qui est monsieur sac à argent, aujourd'hui. Je suppose que votre dernière invention s'est bien vendue, hein?" Arte a demandé à son ami, et, après s'être souvenu du vide de son propre sac de monnaie, il a ajouté: «Malheureusement, je n'ai pas beaucoup à épargner, aujourd'hui... grand-père a découvert que je vendais ses potions spéciales et son éther au marché, et il n'a pas aimé un peu... il a dit quelque chose au sujet de «ne pas vendre», ou de «se garder un secret familial», je ne me souviens pas qui, cependant, parce que je suis temporairement sourd à la moitié de la conversation, heh, vous savez comment il obtient», Arte a ensuite remarqué que le mage bleu était toujours là, et, du regard sur son visage, il semblait qu'elle allait embrasser Vincent, et, pour une raison quelconque, Arte n'avait pas vraiment envie de l'avertir de cela.

Name: Arte Firaga Title: Walking Explosion Race: Nu Mou Job: Black Mage Age: 30 Gender: Male Warrior of Light: Yes Appearance Information Physical Features: He stands at 4'3", rather short for his species, he is, however, of an average build for his kind, his skin color is a sort of brownish grey, almost annoyingly matching his fur color, at least, when said fur isn't covered in soot, He has blue eyes, and completely lacks facial hair. He doesn't have any ACTUAL scars, but there are plenty of burn marks on him that won't go away. He is often covered in soot and ash from failed attempts at casting fire magic... yes, he's aware of the irony, given his last name. Clothing/Armor/Weapons: Arte wears a rather simple set of blue robes (which cannot be caught on fire, but are not particularly RESISTANT to it.), as well as some usually hidden pants, and even a shirt underneath, he also wields a basic wooden staff... even if it looks special, since, like most of him, it's covered in soot. As he's a mage, he's not one for armor, so, thus, he wears his usual clothing into battle. Psychological Information Personality Traits: Calm | Cheerful | Usually tries everything at least once | Can be known to hold a grudge for a LONG time | Occasionally unaware of just how dangerous the enemy is As he takes after his mad scientist of a father, he's obviously rather curious, prone to try any food, or thing once, if he thinks he can either get a laugh out of it, or actually like it. Arte is also normally calm, and slow to anger... but, if you DO anger him, expect him to hold a grudge against you for quite some time to come. He also has a nasty habit of underestimating his opponents... which might have him use his weaker (and less controlled) fire magic, as opposed to his lightning magic. Likes: Sweet and or Spicy food | Chocobos | Lightning magic He absolutely LOVES the taste of anything sweet and or spicy, which makes one wonder why he isn't fat... in fact, he usually carries around a bag of candy, which he claims to be 'components for lightning spells'... despite the fact that he doesn't NEED components for lightning spells anymore. Like most people, he adores the piles of feathers known as chocobos, even if he cannot ride them... and he likes all forms of lightning, be it a storm, or just magic from someone (even himself), and when asked why, he shrugs, and says 'It looks nice'. Dislikes: He hates the taste of fish | He can't stand being cold | Bomb-type enemies | He also hates betrayal If there's one kind of food he can't stand, it's fish. He tried it once, a while ago, and, thus far, it's been the only kind of food to actually make him puke... whether this was because it was poorly prepared, or not, he holds that against all fishy foods, and can't even stand smelling the stuff, anymore. He also despises the feeling of being cold, though, this might just be due to him being used to the heat from all of his failed fire spells... speaking of, he doesn't like bombs, either, due to the fact that he can't kill them in time, and they usually explode on him, and only HE can explode on him, dang it! Arte can't STAND it when someone pretends to be friendly towards him, and then either attacks him, or steals from him... the few who've successfully done it will most likely warn others to just LEAVE HIM BE, instead. Personal History Hometown: Dahlgren Current Residence: Thorne Occupation: Student. He also takes care of his elderly, 350 year old grandfather (we'll call him just a 'grandfather' for the sake of brevity), and makes sure that neither he, nor the city, blows up due to his grandpa's insane inventions. Backstory: Arte Firaga was fairly ordinary as a child, as he didn't do much outside of his own 'comfort zone', and thus, didn't try his hand at fire magic, or talk to his 'grandpa', yet, however, he also didn't have many, if any friends, and when he was really young, he used to always carry around a small plush chocobo... which got him regularly picked on by other children. A couple months after he turned ten, he met an odd man by the name of Cid, who drove a strange-looking, probably custom-made airship, and, much like the other kids at the time, once Cid landed, he asked him how he built that, and specifically, how he knew he was good at doing that. Cid just shrugged and said something along the lines of 'I didn't. I just tried to make an airship one day, and it worked' after that, Arte made the potentially fatal mistake of trying his hand at fire magic. He was JUST as good at not making it blow up back then, as he is to this very day, so, obviously, he's made a LOT of progress, right? When Arte reached the age of eighteen, is 'grandfather's' caregiver gave up on the old coot, and they had to find a new caretaker... unfortunately, everyone else was already aware of exactly what this 'job' entailed, poor Arte was more or less forced into it, and forced to move to Thorne, where his grandfather's lab was. It took about two weeks before Arte figured out that he was supposed to STOP his grandfather from inventing things, and it took another couple of months before he came up with some guidelines for his grandfather, who he learned was a former warrior of light, himself, to follow, after which, he didn't have to stop EVERY invention from happening. Among said new inventions were the 'mechanical chocobo'... which doesn't move, has no seat other than the wrong side of a gear, but strangely enough made a good juicer, and the 'macro scope' which was supposed to allow you to see things much larger than yourself, which people can already do by using their eyes... oddly enough, the macro scope made for a decent enough mace. Oddly enough, Arte met one of his first friends, a moogle by the name of Vincent, at around the time his grandfather invented the macro scope, and the two have worked to help 'Professor' Firaga ever since, with Arte trying to keep the two from making anything explosive, and Vincent actually helping the self-proclaimed professor make actually useful things... though, the two haven't made a single device together, as of yet. Other: From his near-constant failures, Arte has become quite resistant to spells hostile or otherwise, and his fire spells have a decent chance at failing, and literally blowing up in his face... however, he's actually extremely good at using lightning magic.

(Alors, hey, était un peu perdu sur ce qu'il faut faire pour un démarreur alors j'ai décidé de suivre. J'espère que ça ne vous dérange pas) Wen Taihou Thorne, quais de navires aériens, navire de la famille Yasuharu Avec un bâillement fort, un homme curieusement habillé qui ne pouvait être décrit que comme gras descendait du vaisseau aérien Yasuharu avec les autres. Les gens ne lui payaient pas un esprit particulier au-delà de quelques regards curieux alors qu'il grondait, fort aussi, et faisait un effort visible pour s'étirer et ramener un certain sentiment et réconfort à son cadre considérable, mais il était probable que peu savaient qui il était au-delà peut-être un homme d'origine taisong. Techniquement en affaires officielles du célèbre Institut d'études martiales et en tant qu'ambassadeur pour les îles Nanchuu dans le cadre d'une grande délégation Kimuran, Sifu Wen Taihou n'a pas fait beaucoup d'impression. L'artiste martial était l'un des nombreux examinateurs de l'Institut chargés d'étudier le tournoi et les progrès des membres de l'Institut qui y participeraient, mais à vrai dire il n'était pas un pour de grandes cérémonies et il a vu de grandes mêlées des premiers jours avec un certain mépris. Les affaires mal coordonnées où l'obtention d'un avantage numérique rapide a porté plus de poids que la plupart des niveaux de compétence, en vérifiant tout ce qui en valait la peine était une course d'idiot et c'était donc quelque chose qu'il cherchait activement à éviter. Au lieu de cela, Taihou avait parlayé son invitation et sa position pour gagner une conduite plus confortable et l'entrée prioritaire. Convaincre la famille Yasuharu de le prendre à bord n'avait pas été si difficile. Bien sûr, il ne ressemble peut-être pas beaucoup, mais ses licences ont vérifié et ont constitué une preuve indéniable. Le gentleman blasphématoire était en effet un Sifu de l'Institut pour les affaires officielles. Le prendre avec lui était à la fois un avantage politique et personnel, parce que cela signifiait une bonne relation avec la cour de Nanchuu et peu d'hommes avaient autant de réputation martiale que des examinateurs et des instructeurs certifiés. Il ferait certainement un bon garde du corps pour le jeune prince, peut-être dans sa gratitude qu'il pourrait même servir d'instructeur pour lui, n'est-ce pas? Eh bien, il n'y avait rien de tout ça. En fait, la première fois que de nombreux membres de l'équipage ont vu l'expert en arts martiaux, c'était quand le navire a finalement atterri et que l'homme a enfin jugé bon de sortir de ses quartiers. La maladie de l'air, a-t-il affirmé, l'a empêché de se déplacer beaucoup pendant le voyage, même si la cuisine pouvait certainement attester qu'il était assez bien pour consommer des quantités non négligeables de nourriture. Avec un sourire insouciant, Wen Taihou a salué ce que peu d'hommes et de femmes il connaissait et a avancé vers le jeune Ryuoji, pas si subtilement prendre sa place au milieu de ses cohortes. "Aaaah, enfin de retour sur un pied ferme. Les avions sont loin d'être gentils avec moi, malheureusement ». Il semblait assez bien et il n'y avait pas un soupçon de regret ou de honte dans sa voix alors qu'il réglait ses lunettes et traînait le long. "Vraiment une honte que je n'ai pas pu vous enseigner dans les arts pendant le voyage, jeune prince. Même s'il s'agit d'une observation, il serait peut - être préférable de se concentrer sur l'apprentissage de la marche avant de rêver de courir. Zantetsuken, c'est ça?".

Name: Wen Taihou Title: Wen Sifu (master/teacher, term of respect akin to sensei), The Drunken Dervish (in his youth) Race: Hume Job: Martial artist Age: 38 Gender: Male Warrior of Light: No Appearance Information Physical Features: Though he stands at a fairly respectable 6 feet tall, one could be forgiven for underestimating Wen Taihou given his rather portly appearance. His body wrapped in traditional Taisong clothes, he just undeniably looks rather fat, no two ways about it. If not for that, then his amicable, relaxed posture and expression combined with his glasses and funny moustache make for more of a friendly uncle type rather than an intimidating or dangerous man on a first glance. And Wen Sifu admits he has let himself go a little bit of late, having come to weigh more than 250 pounds, but there’s definitely more to him than meets the eye. Simply a naturally rounded man, Wen possesses a powerful core of highly trained and developed muscle underneath a layer of fat that actually serves a purpose as natural padding against blows. Taihou sports the telltale signs of a dedicated fighter, as well. One may find a myriad of scars on him from head to toe and his skin is rough and leathery from conditioning and battle, much of his arms and legs are actually calloused into rock hard striking surfaces. His hands in particular sport bulging knuckles that look as though someone inserted pebbles into them and his fingers are as thick but dextrous talons. Clothing/Armor/Weapons: After a lifetime of training and fighting without them, Wen Taihou has no need for weapons or armor. His body has been developed for the right mixture of strength, speed, toughness, stamina and flexibility needed to best perform in combat, traits he has managed to retain even as he ages and gains in weight, and his martial arts expertise makes excellent use of his physical attributes. Clothing-wise he dresses in simple Taisong fashion, wearing a grey jacket that he typically carries open exposing a white undershirt, along with undecorated black pants and simple black cloth slip-on shoes. His glasses are nearly everpresent although of course he tends to take them off for a fight. Wen Sifu practices his own version of the famed Monkey Fist. Originally educated in the simplistic but effective martial arts from the Three Peaks Valley where he was born, Taihou eschews much of the actual “monkey business” of the style and its acrobatics. Instead he employs flowing, stable footwork punctuated by bursts of explosive movement and favors hand and arm techniques, often focused on power generation at short ranges, mixed with primarily low kicks. With quite the eye for occupying the center line of attack and deflecting incoming offense, much of his monkey mannerisms center around wrestling and grappling with opponents to control them as well as delivering unexpected blows such as body checks, headbutts and even a few spinning or jumping strikes. Psychological Information Personality Traits: Honest to a fault | Seemingly always in good spirits | Loyal | Unyielding | Confident to the point of arrogance | Sarcastic sense of humor | Can be quite lazy | Adventurous | Surprisingly cold-blooded at times | Self-reliant | Nurturing, often in a tough love kind of way | Meritocratic | Critical | Polite | Likes: Combat | Strength | Excitement | Competence | Luxuries | Growth Dislikes: Cowardice | Weakness | Boredom | Magic | Overblown spiritualism | Stagnation Personal History Hometown: Nanchuu Islands (also referred to as the Nanchuu Kingdom), Kimura. A chain of islands to the southwest of the Kimuran mainland, they were once an important trade hub between Kimura and the now sunken nation of Taisong, a vast and storied culture that had made the islands into a tributary state in ages past. Kimuran lords, however, understood Nanchuu’s importance and conquered the land a few generations before the great flood. It did not come easy. The Kingdom possessed a particularly hard-nosed population with a strong martial culture, born from having to fend off pirates and all manner of undesirables for ages, and fought bitterly until a near stalemate was declared and they were guaranteed a high degree of independence. Seeking to weaken the Kingdom in hopes of eventually bringing it to heel, the mainland laid down a restrictive decree as part of the peace negotiations: Nanchuu was not allowed to stockpile arms or armor. While the idea was to curtail rebellion and make the islands’ authorities reliant on forces from the mainland, the prohibition did not stop the development of combat skills in Nanchuu. Rather, it only managed to incense the warriors of the land and many travelled to Taisong to train and pioneered new schools of combat upon their return, often under the backing of the court. A number of methods based around the use of improvised weapons, chief among them staves, and a strong focus on body strengthening became the norm. Nowadays the Kingdom remains ostensibly a vassal state of the mainland, but it is entirely a matter of status quo and their degree of independence makes them effectively a nation of their own. After the great disaster the islands took in a massive amount of Taisong survivors, making them the last bastion of a civilization that once rivaled that of Kimura itself, along with a variety of smaller diasporas from lands further east that could not be saved. The islands' culture is a strange mix, with Kimuran orthodoxy replaced in many areas by now firmly established enclaves and much intermixing between them all, and the state is now a parliamentary monarchy with representatives from all major groups within the Kingdom. Relationships with Kimura are cordial and mutually beneficial if somewhat tense. While the old decree was abolished, Nanchuu now possesses its own standing army, its influence cannot be understated. Many a scholar believes that many a monastic combat tradition in Kimura actually come from Taisong by way of Nanchuu, while many other curious practices were developed within the islands themselves. The Kingdom is a hotbed for martial pursuits to this day, which has led to the creation of a most peculiar organization: The Institute for Martial Studies. An academy dedicated to the spread and preservation of martial arts, backed by a cadet branch of the Kingdom’s royal family, it is also concerned with keeping the rough and tumble the fighting culture of the land under control on some level. Current Residence: Nanchuu Islands, often struck by wanderlust. Occupation: Martial arts instructor, examiner for the Institute of Martial Studies, vagabond, sometimes masseuse and bonesetter to make money on the road. Not a real doctor, but he can relieve muscular or skeletal pains and similar ailments through massage and manipulation of joints and is also capable of restoring fractured or dislocated bones to their correct alignment. Backstory: Though he was born into a simple family of farmers from Taisong in Nanchuu, Wen Taihou had one distinct advantage when it came to rising out of his humble station. The Three Peaks Valley where he lived had a thriving, if generally ignored by outsiders, martial culture. The local fighting skills were simple and straightforward but quite practical, meant for self defense and tested in local grudge matches and against bandits and their ilk. It made for an excellent base for a young Taihou, who took to studying the arts like a fish to water. Even without a formal master, simply lessons passed down from family to family and little scuffles with others in the area, he became a noteworthy fighter. Of course, a man of his gifts in an environment with little in the way of limitations is bound to stray from a righteous path. Wen Taihou, though still relatively good-hearted, soon earned a reputation for being a ruffian, a violent man who used his strength to bend others to his will and indulge himself in ill-gotten gains. Though it should at least be acknowledged that he never faltered in his martial studies and continued to train with great devotion, the damage his drunken brawls often caused soon earned him the nickname of the Drunken Dervish. Soon, however, his misdeeds caught up to him and he became a wanted man by none other than the Institute of Martial Studies. What could've been the end of Wen's martial path, however, became a golden opportunity. The master who arrived at Three Peaks was Lau Sifu, a wanderer prone to working outside of the Institute's strict regulations. He was also an expert in several less than common fighting styles, and he was quite impressed with the young brawler even after besting him convincingly in their fight. Feeling at home in the valley, he decided against arresting or crippling Taihou and instead made him his apprentice. With his fighting urges under control, Wen began a process of growth and reform that both improved him as a person and greatly advanced his martial arts skills. Feeling that the portly man could use a less predictable, brutally straightforward style, Lau educated him in the basics of the playful Monkey Fist. Rather than try and mold Taihou to the style, however, Lau instead encouraged his student to integrate and adapt its concepts to what he already knew. Together they developed a school all of their own, a distinct Monkey shaped by the Three Peaks, a mixture of strong foundations with unorthodox skills. Eventually, however, Taihou wished to leave his home, enamored with the dream of studying the arts of the many masters at the Institute surrounded by peers of many different schools. Lau Sifu wished to stay in the peaceful valley, but as a final gesture he granted his student a certificate marking him as an expert trained by his own hand and sent him on his way. Wen’s dream, however, soon turned to disappointment. He was accepted in the Institute, yes, but his teacher was not particularly appreciated. Both Lau and now Taihou were seen as country bumpkins in a courtly environment, their schools ridiculed for lacking glorious lineage stories or flowery techniques meant to impress in exhibitions. He advanced in his martial studies and was eventually given a position as an examiner, tasked with testing the mettle of those who seek to enter the organization and those who call themselves masters, but found he received little in the way of recognition and no one was willing to train exclusively under him. He felt stuck. With advancement within the Institute hierarchy seemingly well out of his reach, in time Wen Taihou grew bored and disillusioned with his situation in Nanchuu. Fortunately for him, his abilities grew in turn, and one day his rebellious spirit of old flared up once more. He would put his skills to good use, he swore to himself, and took to travelling the world on any possible occasion. He is determined to test himself and prove to everyone the validity of his martial arts. And what better occasion than the big festivities in Thorne? Other: Despite his skills, he is not some kind of invincible perfect athlete. He won’t beat a minotaur or similar creatures in pure weightlifting or sheer strength competitions, he won’t outrun athletes of similar caliber who train specifically to sprint or be more flexible than a cat burglar or gymnast. His body is built specifically for the purpose of fighting and that’s what he excels at, though he does have the cardio to engage in marathon-like pursuits.

Collab entre moi et moi-même Seruh & Ryteb Thorne City (en anglais seulement) Négociation -- Y a-t-il d'autres types de négociations? Ryteb s'est ridiculisé, tout en sachant à quel point il serait foutu si ça allait mal. Bien qu'il soit vrai que c'était une mort beaucoup plus attrayante que d'être mangée par Sand Worms. La légende dit qu'ils peuvent digérer un homme pendant mille ans, bien qu'il n'ait jamais resté assez longtemps autour d'eux pour le découvrir. "Voilà le marché. Je n'ai pas d'argent sur moi, mais je suis à la recherche du tombeau perdu du roi Salomon. La légende dit qu'elle était bordée d'or et de bijoux. Récemment, je suis tombé sur une tablette inscrite avec un indice quant à son emplacement. Si tu ne me tues pas, je peux t'offrir... la moitié?" Seruh regarda Ryteb en parlant avec un regard de suspicion. "Pourquoi devrais-je te faire confiance? Comment pourrais-je te faire confiance? Tu n'es qu'un petit voleur de rue en ce qui me concerne et tu as volé la lame de mes alliés." Elle l'apporcha lentement pendant qu'elle parlait, dessinant lentement la lame à sa taille non pas pour l'intention de le tuer, mais au cas où il aurait essayé quelque chose d'imbécile. Puis elle s'est arrêtée à la fin de sa peine. "Ah, maintenant je me souviens!" Ryteb s'écria en lui giflant le front : « La clé de la ville perdue de Mu Kiza. Un idiot utilisait la relique comme arme, lui donnant un nom stupide comme la Blade des céréales ou quelque chose comme ça." Il a été coupé par le tourbillon de deux autres shuriken wizzing par sa tête, l'un brouillant son oreille avec l'une des trois lames de rasoir qui a traversé du centre. "Trousse-toi! Vous n'êtes rien d'autre qu'une rue incompétente. L'assassin s'est figé une seconde, réalisant qu'elle avait franchi une ligne de son côté. Une qu'elle-même n'avait pas le droit de traverser. "Oublie ça!" Elle a jailli dans l'air, jetant un shuriken visé pour le centre de son front malvoyant, sa gorge, et sa poitrine, tout en succession rapide. Tout comme la magie, le chasseur de trésors a arraché sa veste et à sa place était un manteau d'échelle de bronze. En le flanquant, les shurikens pénétraient dans le manteau, rebondissant inoffensifment. Il lui a tiré les cheveux et lui a donné un sourire. "Vous savez, je ne pensais pas qu'un professionnel irait pour la prime. Il est clair que j'avais raison." Seruh regarda le voleur alors qu'elle tombait par terre, se penchant les genoux pendant qu'elle frappait. Normalement, elle était calme au sujet de son travail, mais quelque chose au sujet de cette cible a juste fait bouillir son sang. Elle se précipita vers lui, la petite lame dans sa main gauche. Alors qu'elle s'approchait de lui, elle glissa sous lui et colla le couteau pour tenter de lui trancher la cheville. Ryteb la vit se précipiter vers lui, et décida de laisser tomber son manteau de métal lourd pour l'invalider. Ce faisant, il lui a permis de lui trancher la cheville, mais il s'était déplacé pour qu'elle ne se coupe pas dans son tendon d'Achille. De sa poche de costume, il tira un livre extraordinairement grand, et commença à l'y fusiller. "Regardez, en tant que mesure de confiance, je peux vous donner un trésor de ma collection. Ça vaut bien plus qu'une clé idiote, c'est sûr." La fille de chat est apparue derrière lui, maintenant légèrement intéressée par ce que le voleur avait à dire. "Quel genre de trésor est-ce exactement? Et quand pourrai-je l'avoir?" Elle a fait de son mieux pour paraître suspecte et menaçante, mais était-il capable de voir son visage, il verrait sûrement les indices d'intérêt qui y étaient peints. Ses oreilles s'éloignaient un petit peu de la position allongée et concentrée qu'elles avaient prise quand elle a commencé la poursuite. Ryteb soupira, et commença à expliquer. "La légende du Dragonheart et son repaire sont-ils remplis de trésors, n'est-ce pas vraiment en dehors du Takhtajin? Probablement pas... les salauds de la Guilde des Chasseurs de Trésor sont assez gênés par mon existence. Quoi qu'il en soit, j'ai toutes sortes de trésors dans mon coffre secret dans mon pays d'origine. Voilà, la section sur l'armement ninjitsu. Jetez un coup d'œil, voyez si quelque chose vous attire l'œil." Il s'est retourné et lui a remis le tome. Seruh avait déjà regardé par-dessus son épaule quand il s'est traîné autour, et elle s'est trouvée le nez à nez avec l'homme qu'elle était sur le point de tuer, le livre dans sa main tenu vers l'extérieur d'une manière aimable. Cet homme la confondit, elle décida, une minute il l'insultait et la suivante il voulait offrir ses richesses. Elle riait un peu nerveusement alors qu'elle tirait son visage loin du sien, puis s'approchait soigneusement du livre, toujours en garde pour toute sorte de tour que l'homme pourrait tirer. "Je vais juste prendre ça une seconde..." elle a arraché le livre et l'a rapidement filé autour, écumant la page pour quelque chose, bien que ce qu'elle n'était pas exactement sûr. Quelque part au milieu de la deuxième page, elle a remarqué quelque chose qui lui a attiré l'attention. "Le Katana d'un ancien prince Kimuran..." elle murmura, mais en dessous c'était quelque chose qui a fait son grappin. Il énumérait un collier qui correspondait à la description de celle qu'elle portait, en forme de cristal de lumière. Elle tourna la page rapidement sans rien dire, et continua à écumer, pattant de façon effrénée sa poitrine pour vérifier le collier, elle soupira en soulagement quand elle se rendit compte qu'il était encore là. "Avez-vous une sorte de remplacement pour cela, avec une sorte d'histoire fantaisiste à lui?" Elle a retenu la dague dinky que le clan de retour à Kimura lui avait donnée. Avec une touche de poignet, le vent a commencé à souffler les pages du livre, jusqu'à ce qu'il atterrisse sur une page avec deux poignards, l'un blanc avec un dessin angélique, l'autre pourpre et rugueux. "Le poignard de gauche était dit appartenir à un ange qui descendait sur la terre, apportant la lumière à un royaume affligé par un démon. Le poignard de droite appartenait au Démon, avec lequel il a tué l'ange. Malheureusement pour le Démon, dans la mort, l'ange est apparemment devenu le grand cristal qui a banni le mal de notre monde. Les deux sont puissants, mais les deux ont des malédictions mortelles sur eux." Seruh s'est moqué de l'idée des poignards, pensant que les malédictions ne pouvaient pas être aussi mauvaises. Elle a aussi décidé que... ce voleur, faute d'une parole plus précise, n'avait pas vraiment de mauvaise intention envers elle, il voulait simplement sa vie, et l'épée. Elle a décidé de faire une offre, "Et ça : je reçois ces poignards, et jusqu'à ce que je le fasse, tu travailles avec moi comme une sorte de... assistante. Alors, chaque fois que nous sommes à Takhtajan, tu me donnes les poignards, et tu marches libre." Elle ne savait pas si... Dragonheart, Ryteb, accepterait ou non, mais ça valait le coup d'essayer, et elle pouvait utiliser un jeu de mains de rechange à la maison et sur la route. "C'est vos funérailles... mais bien sûr, si c'est ce que vous voulez. Mets-les en partenaire! Ryteb sourit, tenant sa main dans le symbole universel de la dealmaking. Seruh a d'abord enlevé le gant noir de sa main opposée, puis s'est approchée et a ébranlé délicatement la main tendue de Ryteb, sa peau rugueuse et criblée contre sa peau plus douce. -- Alors, de retour au QG temporaire? "Bien sûr... J'ai probablement besoin de nettoyer ce sang." Ryteb a utilisé Cure pour guérir la plaie. Seruh s'est à nouveau assommé, se rendant compte que Ryteb était un mage. Elle a évité son regard surpris et a commencé à conduire son nouvel animal de compagnie Hume à la taverne qu'elle avait choisie comme base pendant le festival.

Name: Ryteb Title: Dragonheart Race: Human Job: Red Mage Age: 26 Gender: Male Warrior of Light: Yes Appearance Information Physical Features: About 5'11 in height, with a relatively scrawny build. Though there is some muscle there, when compared to knights it is miniscule. Ryteb has naturally orange hair, which comes down to his shoulders, and a pair of blazing red eyes. His face could be considered quite handsome, in a mischievous way, with a rather dashing scar on his left cheek whose origins are a mystery. Apart from that, his body is almost unmarked, and he seems to lack the ability to grow facial hair. On his back is a tattoo of a oriental dragon clutching a golden chalice, which he apparently recurved after a drunken wager that nobody involved can quite remember due to excessive drink. Clothing/Armor/Weapons: Ryteb’s first choice in apparel is a bespoke black suit, with a green waistcoat and white shirt, though he doesn’t wear a tie. Too close to a noose for him. His boots are made of a sturdy leather, and seem more practical that the rest of his In a battle, he swaps out the jacket of the suit for a cloak made from scales of bronze. As a weapon, he uses an oak cane, though the inside is filled with steel to strengthen it. The end has a sharpened bronze cap such that it can act like a rapier. Psychological Information Personality Traits: Cocky | Brave | Obsessed With Treasure | Has a skewed view of ownership | Loyal to his friends Likes: Treasure | Adventure | Good Food Dislikes: People Who Claim They Own His Treasure | Confinement | Being Called a Thief | Lobsters Personal History Hometown: Takhtajan Current Residence: Takhtajan Occupation: Treasure Hunter Backstory: Officially the greediest b*****d under the sun, and proud of it, Ryteb is the best damn treasure hunter in all of Takhtajan, if only because he’s one of the few who have survived more than one adventure into the desert. People call him Dragonheart, as his lust for treasure is so massive he doesn’t accept anyone else as the rightful owner of an object. His origins are a mystery, perpetrated by the conflicting rumours Ryteb himself has spread. Regardless of his murky past, people agree that he’s a stand-up guy... unless treasure is involved. Other: Nothing comes to mind...