The Legends of Eroris: Brotherhood [OOC/Fantasy Medieval]

[Everhall]

Lhotine Tlorkam
Race: Anduran
Gender/Sex: Male
Age: 56
Appearance: A tall, lithe man, Lhotine resembles a twig more than a man and is equally as feeble. His face is almost free of blemishes and scars, save for his crooked nose, a permanent reminder of the time he fell from a horse. Aside from that, his face sports a pair of small, green eyes beneath thin eyebrows, buttressed by barely visible cheekbones. His head is completely free of hair, as he regularly shaves his head in order to hide that he has started to grow bald, while he keeps his facial hair dyed and limited to a mustache. His ears are slightly larger than usual, a fact that had once been the source of much anguish when he was a young lad. He now wears large earrings and ear plugs in order to mask their size. Pale for an Anduran, Lhotine is at times mistaken for a Nord but is quick to chastise and belittle those who make that mistake.
Class: Pilgrim
Equipment:

• White mohair tunic (thigh length), hemmed with gold lace
• Pink silk vest, buttons made from ivory
• White camel hair trousers
• Lupan-hide slippers
• Short Arming Sword
• Assorted Jewelry

Skills:

• Lhotine has a masterful grasp of rhetoric, tutored from a young age after his father gave up on the hope of training him to be a warrior. With a silver tongue and words made of the purest honey, Lhotine can usually convince those around him that his way is the best way. He is also quite the seducer, despite his less than impressive appearance.
• After his brush with death, Lhotine became fascinated with brewing, both the alchemical kind and the drink kind. Paying for lessons after the downfall of his father, Lhotine gained a firm grasp on the main principles of alchemy and brewing, becoming an adept alchemist after his training ended. He has also become slightly famous for his flavorful persimmon wine.

Weaknesses:

• No sane man, elf, or beastman would consider Lhotine anywhere near capable of defending himself. Under no circumstance would man such as Lhotine be able to survive any sort of violent encounter by themselves. Despite the fact that his father had spent cart loads of gold in order to have his son trained by the finest warriors in Eroris, none of the lessons stuck with the sickly boy that Lhotine once was, his marginal strength barely allowing him to swing a sword with any coordination and barely so. Magic was also incapable of helping the poor boy, and many a wizard and alchemist ended up being whipped for their failure to produce results. As such, the only real reason Lhotine even owns a sword is because, in his mind, no self-respecting merchant or noble should be seen walking around without one.
• Lhotine is also incapable of using magic to the extent a normal magic user would be capable of, though he knows and practices a few useful spells. These, however, are limited to a handful of healing spells and illusion spells, he himself being much more accustomed to the brewing of potions and alcoholic beverages than casting spells.

Bio: The Tlorkam family was never known for producing extraordinary men or women (mostly due to some unfortunate inbreeding that had occurred early in the bloodline), their marginal fame resting more upon their uncanny ability to appraise horses and sell them them for a paltry fortune. To he dismay of Lhontine's father Jalbh, this was displayed once more when Erlati Tlorkam, his fourth wife, gave birth to a brood of sickly triplets, all of them born prematurely. Try as they might, one of the babies died within minutes of breathing their first breath, the others left crying meekly as their own conditions worsened. Luckily, the family's wealth allowed them to hire a decent alchemist, and after procuring a few ingredients, they were able to brew a potion to help stabilize the condition of the infants. Ever thankful, Jalbh offered the alchemist a place within his home, promising a steady pay and comfortable lodging, though the alchemist politely refused. With that crisis averted, Jalbh and Erlati named their surviving children Lhotine and Imitias, swearing to love them and care for them with all the affection they could muster.

However, Lhotine proved to be an embarrassment.

While Imitias was able to overcome the sickly state he had been born into, Lhotine always seemed to be on the brink of death. While his brother learned to swing a sword with the grace of a swan, Lhotine was barely able to lift a sword, let alone defend himself with one, despite his father's best efforts. While Imitias became a skilled rider, Lhotine would never again consider sitting on a saddle, his nose breaking after a failed attempt to saddle a horse. While Imitias drew the attention of all sorts of fine ladies, Jalbh was forced to arrange an adequate marriage for Lhotine, his money drained by the hefty dowry. And while Imitias was successful in his attempts to sire children, Lhotine and his wife Akoya failed to produce children. It was obvious to all outsiders that Imitias would be chosen to inherit their father's wealth, while Lhotine would end up becoming his brother's steward or whatever Imitias decided to do with his brother.

When Jalbh finally died of old age, a few members of some of the other Anduran merchant families wondered if Lhotine would oppose Imitias taking control of their families wealth. His stepfather Amirim certainly tried to implant the idea within his supposedly feeble mind, at first dropping hints here and there, later outright demanding that he should. But Lhotine refused, turning down his stepfather's offer of armed help in exchange for service under his brother. Furious with his capitulation, Amirim cut all ties with Lhotine and Akoya, unwilling to associate himself with such a spineless individual.

Lhotine was being reasonable, however. While his brother was certainly one of the most physically fit and impressive Tlorkam to ever be born, he had no mind for business. It wasn't that he was dull, he was just uninterested. Lhotine, on the other hand, was a brilliant steward and managed their family's business exceptionally well. While Imitias would entertain guests and attend banquets, Lhotine balanced budgets and arranged deals with merchants from around Eroris and beyond. While Imitias would go on hunts with nobles and their entourages, Lhotine snuffed out the competition, either by assassination or coercion. While Imitias would compete in tournaments and win, Lhotine managed to increase both the family's influence and his own. And while Imitias assumed Lhotine would be forever loyal to him, Lhotine plotted a successful coup against his brother, deposing him without bloodshed.

After blinding and castrating his brother, he had him exiled from Pandora along with his wife and kids. A few years down the line, when news eventually reached him that his brother had succumbed to some trivial disease, Lhotine dismissed the news as unimportant. Lhotine would continue to increase the fortunes of the Tlorkam Family until they became the empire's foremost merchant family, rubbing shoulders with some of the most influential members of the empire's ruling class. He still remembers the day he first met Emperor Azelian, having been summoned by the now deceased monarch in order to arrange a deal. By the end of the day, Lhotine agreed to finance the emperor's new flagship and palatial renovations, in exchange for some major economic concessions. It was also around the same time that he met a younger Prince Julek, and relating to the young elf's position, casually promised to help him one day win the throne.

For a price, of course.
RP Sample: viewtopic.php?p=33756411#p33756411


Personality: While he is shrewd and greedy, Lhotine is not an overtly cruel person. If one doesn't outright oppose his plans, they can prove useful and might find themselves wealthy if they choose to help him. However, those who do stand in his way to power will find themselves beset by either assassins or economic stagnation, their opponents elevated to their old posts when they eventually succumb to his plotting. Outside of business, Lhotine is quite the agreeable person, though he would rather keep pleasantries short.
Likes: Money, the open sea, spicy foods, his first wife, children, peaches, and dogs.
Dislikes: Lupans, Nagi, horses, Orcs, Redwood trees, sour foods, and idle conversation.
Voice: https://youtu.be/YBbsAnpicaY
Theme Song: https://youtu.be/YGUzbV6-2hs
1738! - Don't Remove; For Tracking

Accepted

[Ithalian Empire]

I'll start work on a post, won't get it done till tomorrow most likely.

[Spindle]

App's done, unless there's any lore fuck-ups I've done.

Sinnweld

Race: Reachman

Gender/Sex: Female

Age: Seventeen

Appearance:

Class: Mage

Equipment: Sinnweld's equipment is basic at best - quilted under-armour, a leather shirt, a dagger for self-defence and a repeater crossbow for offence, plus numerous pouches full of various plant samples and seeds, several scrolls of parchment, a quill and a small clay pot of ink.

Skills: Sinnweld is very, very good at magic. While she can't hold a candle to a true Archmage, she has an almost intuitive grasp of most areas of magic and can shape and wield it with ease, even on the fly. And even compared to her ability with other magics, her skills with the School of Mentalism - and illusions specifically - are exceptional. Swirling clouds of dust, vast behemoths of the oceans and even near-perfect visual replicas are all within her power and skill, and she often uses doppelgangers and invisibility to protect herself from enemy attacks.

In addition to this she is an avid student of subjects both arcane and mundane. Her knowledge of botany is extensive, and with some rudimentary ability in on-site surgery she often doubles as a very basic apothecary should her mage cadre come into trouble. Notable from this, she often picks and chews rustleaf in order to take the edge off of her Arcanist's Fever. Of course, she can also find plants for more exotic or dangerous uses, and whenever a battlemage is caught taking sweetroot Sinnweld is generally the first suspect for the dealer.

Weaknesses: Sinnweld might be a child prodigy but she is still a child and it shows - she is physically much weaker than practically all of her contemporaries, and her ability with weapons of almost all stripes is minimal at best and laughable at worst - she has some minor skill with crossbows but that is the best of it. Further hindering her combat skills she is slight and delicate, and she can bruise from even the mildest of falls - even glancing blows from real warriors can put her out of a fight exceedingly quickly.

Magically, Sinnweld has serious issues with creation and conjuration, instead being forced to manipulate the environment around her for any real effects in the world. While she can freeze ice out of the air around her she can only create so much before the air is dawn dry, and what constructions she can form from this are often fragile and unsuited to combat. To further impede her abilities, Sinnweld does not deal well with Arcanist's Fever and often chews rustleaf when casting to alleviate the worst of the pain. Though she isn't addicted yet, it is likely a matter of time before she finds herself unable to cast without the drug.

Finally, Sinnweld's youth means that she lacks experience in most areas of life. From her interpersonal relations to personal security, Sinnweld often finds herself unsure of what to do and too prideful to ask others for help. The results of this can range from paralysed indecision to simply making every wrong choice possible, and the embarrassment which she incurs every time does nothing to curb her arrogance and little to alleviate her inexperience.

Bio: Sinnweld was just one more orphan when she was first rounded up with dozens of other street-orphans and brought into an Imperial Orphanage, to be brought up as a model Imperial citizen. By six, her Arcanist's Fever first broke and after a week spent waiting for it to blow over, her matron called in an apothecary to have her cured. While various poultices and remedies were attempted, none of them did anything more than alleviate the symptoms for a few hours. Eventually, a dedicated healer from the School of Kuruth was called in, and her Sight was discovered.

From then on, her time was split between working in the orphanage and studying in the local Annex, learning magic and earning her board and lodging with the orphanage in between her lessons. She rapidly developed a firm grasp of the fundamentals of magic, her abilities already beginning to sway towards the School of Mentalism over the more physical aspects of its application. As her studies continued she began to branch away from purely magical research, and started to discover a far broader array of topics to master. Botany, simple physics, history, even brief flirtations with oratory and politics fell under her gaze before she moved on once more.

By fourteen, she was too old to stay in the orphanage and was instead referred to the Shadow Legion as a new recruit. Barely passing their initial examinations - and even then, only on the strength of her magic - she struggled through three years of intense physical and mental training aimed at turning her into a fully-fledged Battlemage. While she repeatedly disappointed her martial instructors, to the point where she was held back from the Proving twice, her magical abilities continued to grow apace and in her third year of training she was finally allowed to take the Proving. She passed.

Upon her return to Magnia, she was given a month to recuperate - a month which was cut short by her being attached to the Seventh Legion's Mage Cadre as the army marched south to Atlas in order to prevent the mysterious fleet there from pushing inland for any real distance. What awaits her there is yet to be discovered...

RP Sample:

From this

Slopes
Mount Kel'urithier
Shi Tialle

Flames rolled up the mountain's forested slopes like a tidal wave breaching against a breach, an audible roar increasing in volume as it surged towards the few-dozen figures scrambling up towards the summit. Larger shapes could be seen stampeding around and through them, the thunder of Bhoerkaral hooves a lower counterpoint to the hiss and spit of flames as they leapt and capered from tree to tree. The sky was darkened with smoke, clouds of birds flitting across the sky in search of safer perches. It was just another turn of the cycle of death and rebirth which encompassed all things.

"Just one Dragonbreath, my foot." Sapper-Sergeant Jerkell spat, almost stumbling as the ground skittered away beneath his footfall, "We were trying to gauge their numbers, not turn them into Keruli-cursed roasts!"

"It's not my fault the Fangwolves smelled us!" Nearid shot back, "If I recall, C'serii was the one who decided to head downwind of them."

"And now she's dead." Illinis interjected, "Now can we focus?"

As if to underline the point a wave of heat scorched their backs, spurring them to scramble up yet faster. A Bhoerkaral stampeded past them, flames dancing on its fur with malevolent glee, forcing the loose knot to scatter for a moment before closing together once more. A tree ahead of them exploded into flames, showering cinders into their path before they were out of the treeline and onto the central ridge which ran across the top of the mountain. A few of their company's members had already assembled, doubled over and breathing hard as the heat from the burning forest below radiated up towards them.

"Nearid?" Jerkell asked after a moment, "Can we make a firebreak down that way?"

Nearid shook her head slowly, large elven eyes roaming along the still-spreading wall of fire below them:

"No point." She sighed after a moment, "It won't spread over the ridge, and I don't want to start a fire down that side as well."

"I feel you shouldn't start any more fires at all." Illinis muttered, slinging her crossbow off of her back and checking the string quickly, "I was under the impression you were trained to use those safely."

Nearid glowered at the goblin for a moment before glancing up and down the mountain ridge, lips moving silently as she counted the heads along the ridge.

"One-thirty two. We came in with..."

She trailed off in silent thought.

"One-thirty seven." Jerkell finished for her, "We lost C'serii to the Fangwolves, Fearid sprained her ankle and Tortoral and En'ke'chen escorted her back."

There was a moment of mental calculation.

"No casualties from the fire, then." Nearid sighed, "Thank the Three."

"Thank Illinis." Jerkell retorted, "If it weren't for her I'd be throwing you back into that fire right now."

"You are, of course, welcome." Illinis cocked her head smugly.

"Quit laying it on." Nearid glared at the elf, "You weren't so great back Eresualla way."

A brief, haughty snort from the elf.

"Only because they achieved momentary surprise."

"Oh, can it would you?" Jerkell hissed, "Head down the slope and see if there are any fangwolves left there? Try not to set this side of the mountain on fire, would you?"

"Sir, yes sir." Nearid growled, sliding her corssbow into her arms and nocking a cracker before glancing to the elf, "Ready?"

Illinis grin beatifically.

"Why, of course I am. As ever."

Nearid ground her teeth together and slipped onto the downwards track, crouched low as she disappeared towards the treeline. A moment later Illinis was running after her, crossbow held looser as she flowed over the ground like a wraith. Jerkell sighed to himself as they vanished into the trees, closing his eyes for a moment as he contemplated exactly what kind of words Perens was going to have with him over this whole debacle. Angry ones, he suspected. Below him, the fires were starting to burn out in the branches of the trees on the leeward side of the mountain, skeletal trees strangely contorted and ashen.

Heaving a sigh, he eventually turned to where he could here Perens' voice thundering above the natural clamour of a company at rest and made towards it. He'd barely made it two steps when there was a distant, thunderous detonation followed by a tree slowly toppling on the verdant side of the mountain. Before it had even hit the ground, his crossbow was in his hands as he jumped down onto the path below and started to make his way down the mountain with a jog which would have completely ruined any element of surprise he might have managed, were it not for the stream of invective doing that job already. Behind him, half a dozen other soldiers were following at a more cautious pace, crossbows and swords readied.

It was a few minutes' advance before they stumbled into what was now a clearing where Nearid and Illinis were crouched, peering at something Jerkell couldn't see. Two dead fangwolves were slumped near their position in pools of their own blood, and a thick red smear on the ground leading to the upper portion of a third's body. As he and his impromptu squad entered, the elf and the goblin stood and made their way over revealing a hole half-obstructed by thick, matted roots, evidently revealed by the explosion which had alerted Jerkell to the situation and smeared the third fangwolf along the forest floor. Eventually, the two parties stopped opposite each other and Jerkell indicated the hole.

"You two remember what happened the last time you started throwing munitions around on mountains?"

"The situation required the use of it." Illinis shrugged.

"And besides." Nearid grinned, "You'll never believe what, sir. There's writing in that tunnel, and it's dwarvish."

Jerkell's eyes widened momentarily, before he clamped down on the reaction. Nearid had seen it though, a broad grin splitting her craggy face.

"Feel like going spelunking, sir?"

Personality: Inquisitive and analytical, and yet arrogant and over-sure of her own abilities at times. While she can often make correct deductions from minimal evidence, she is equally likely to overlook some small piece of data and veer off in entirely the wrong direction. While she can normally adapt once proven wrong, once she has entrenched her beliefs even the most persuasive figure would need to resort to violence to get her to change her mind.

1738! - Don't Remove; For Tracking

[Everhall]

App's done, unless there's any lore fuck-ups I've done.

Sinnweld

Race: Reachman

Gender/Sex: Female

Age: Seventeen

Appearance:

(Image)

Class: Mage

Equipment: Sinnweld's equipment is basic at best - quilted under-armour, a leather shirt, a dagger for self-defence and a repeater crossbow for offence, plus numerous pouches full of various plant samples and seeds, several scrolls of parchment, a quill and a small clay pot of ink.

Skills: Sinnweld is very, very good at magic. While she can't hold a candle to a true Archmage, she has an almost intuitive grasp of most areas of magic and can shape and wield it with ease, even on the fly. And even compared to her ability with other magics, her skills with the School of Mentalism - and illusions specifically - are exceptional. Swirling clouds of dust, vast behemoths of the oceans and even near-perfect visual replicas are all within her power and skill, and she often uses doppelgangers and invisibility to protect herself from enemy attacks.

In addition to this she is an avid student of subjects both arcane and mundane. Her knowledge of botany is extensive, and with some rudimentary ability in on-site surgery she often doubles as a very basic apothecary should her mage cadre come into trouble. Notable from this, she often picks and chews rustleaf in order to take the edge off of her Arcanist's Fever. Of course, she can also find plants for more exotic or dangerous uses, and whenever a battlemage is caught taking sweetroot Sinnweld is generally the first suspect for the dealer.

Weaknesses: Sinnweld might be a child prodigy but she is still a child and it shows - she is physically much weaker than practically all of her contemporaries, and her ability with weapons of almost all stripes is minimal at best and laughable at worst - she has some minor skill with crossbows but that is the best of it. Further hindering her combat skills she is slight and delicate, and she can bruise from even the mildest of falls - even glancing blows from real warriors can put her out of a fight exceedingly quickly.

Magically, Sinnweld has serious issues with creation and conjuration, instead being forced to manipulate the environment around her for any real effects in the world. While she can freeze ice out of the air around her she can only create so much before the air is dawn dry, and what constructions she can form from this are often fragile and unsuited to combat. To further impede her abilities, Sinnweld does not deal well with Arcanist's Fever and often chews rustleaf when casting to alleviate the worst of the pain. Though she isn't addicted yet, it is likely a matter of time before she finds herself unable to cast without the drug.

Finally, Sinnweld's youth means that she lacks experience in most areas of life. From her interpersonal relations to personal security, Sinnweld often finds herself unsure of what to do and too prideful to ask others for help. The results of this can range from paralysed indecision to simply making every wrong choice possible, and the embarrassment which she incurs every time does nothing to curb her arrogance and little to alleviate her inexperience.

Bio: Sinnweld was just one more orphan when she was first rounded up with dozens of other street-orphans and brought into an Imperial Orphanage, to be brought up as a model Imperial citizen. By six, her Arcanist's Fever first broke and after a week spent waiting for it to blow over, her matron called in an apothecary to have her cured. While various poultices and remedies were attempted, none of them did anything more than alleviate the symptoms for a few hours. Eventually, a dedicated healer from the School of Kuruth was called in, and her Sight was discovered.

From then on, her time was split between working in the orphanage and studying in the local Annex, learning magic and earning her board and lodging with the orphanage in between her lessons. She rapidly developed a firm grasp of the fundamentals of magic, her abilities already beginning to sway towards the School of Mentalism over the more physical aspects of its application. As her studies continued she began to branch away from purely magical research, and started to discover a far broader array of topics to master. Botany, simple physics, history, even brief flirtations with oratory and politics fell under her gaze before she moved on once more.

By fourteen, she was too old to stay in the orphanage and was instead referred to the Shadow Legion as a new recruit. Barely passing their initial examinations - and even then, only on the strength of her magic - she struggled through three years of intense physical and mental training aimed at turning her into a fully-fledged Battlemage. While she repeatedly disappointed her martial instructors, to the point where she was held back from the Proving twice, her magical abilities continued to grow apace and in her third year of training she was finally allowed to take the Proving. She passed.

Upon her return to Magnia, she was given a month to recuperate - a month which was cut short by her being attached to the Seventh Legion's Mage Cadre as the army marched south to Atlas in order to prevent the mysterious fleet there from pushing inland for any real distance. What awaits her there is yet to be discovered...

RP Sample:

From this

Slopes
Mount Kel'urithier
Shi Tialle

Flames rolled up the mountain's forested slopes like a tidal wave breaching against a breach, an audible roar increasing in volume as it surged towards the few-dozen figures scrambling up towards the summit. Larger shapes could be seen stampeding around and through them, the thunder of Bhoerkaral hooves a lower counterpoint to the hiss and spit of flames as they leapt and capered from tree to tree. The sky was darkened with smoke, clouds of birds flitting across the sky in search of safer perches. It was just another turn of the cycle of death and rebirth which encompassed all things.

"Just one Dragonbreath, my foot." Sapper-Sergeant Jerkell spat, almost stumbling as the ground skittered away beneath his footfall, "We were trying to gauge their numbers, not turn them into Keruli-cursed roasts!"

"It's not my fault the Fangwolves smelled us!" Nearid shot back, "If I recall, C'serii was the one who decided to head downwind of them."

"And now she's dead." Illinis interjected, "Now can we focus?"

As if to underline the point a wave of heat scorched their backs, spurring them to scramble up yet faster. A Bhoerkaral stampeded past them, flames dancing on its fur with malevolent glee, forcing the loose knot to scatter for a moment before closing together once more. A tree ahead of them exploded into flames, showering cinders into their path before they were out of the treeline and onto the central ridge which ran across the top of the mountain. A few of their company's members had already assembled, doubled over and breathing hard as the heat from the burning forest below radiated up towards them.

"Nearid?" Jerkell asked after a moment, "Can we make a firebreak down that way?"

Nearid shook her head slowly, large elven eyes roaming along the still-spreading wall of fire below them:

"No point." She sighed after a moment, "It won't spread over the ridge, and I don't want to start a fire down that side as well."

"I feel you shouldn't start any more fires at all." Illinis muttered, slinging her crossbow off of her back and checking the string quickly, "I was under the impression you were trained to use those safely."

Nearid glowered at the goblin for a moment before glancing up and down the mountain ridge, lips moving silently as she counted the heads along the ridge.

"One-thirty two. We came in with..."

She trailed off in silent thought.

"One-thirty seven." Jerkell finished for her, "We lost C'serii to the Fangwolves, Fearid sprained her ankle and Tortoral and En'ke'chen escorted her back."

There was a moment of mental calculation.

"No casualties from the fire, then." Nearid sighed, "Thank the Three."

"Thank Illinis." Jerkell retorted, "If it weren't for her I'd be throwing you back into that fire right now."

"You are, of course, welcome." Illinis cocked her head smugly.

"Quit laying it on." Nearid glared at the elf, "You weren't so great back Eresualla way."

A brief, haughty snort from the elf.

"Only because they achieved momentary surprise."

"Oh, can it would you?" Jerkell hissed, "Head down the slope and see if there are any fangwolves left there? Try not to set this side of the mountain on fire, would you?"

"Sir, yes sir." Nearid growled, sliding her corssbow into her arms and nocking a cracker before glancing to the elf, "Ready?"

Illinis grin beatifically.

"Why, of course I am. As ever."

Nearid ground her teeth together and slipped onto the downwards track, crouched low as she disappeared towards the treeline. A moment later Illinis was running after her, crossbow held looser as she flowed over the ground like a wraith. Jerkell sighed to himself as they vanished into the trees, closing his eyes for a moment as he contemplated exactly what kind of words Perens was going to have with him over this whole debacle. Angry ones, he suspected. Below him, the fires were starting to burn out in the branches of the trees on the leeward side of the mountain, skeletal trees strangely contorted and ashen.

Heaving a sigh, he eventually turned to where he could here Perens' voice thundering above the natural clamour of a company at rest and made towards it. He'd barely made it two steps when there was a distant, thunderous detonation followed by a tree slowly toppling on the verdant side of the mountain. Before it had even hit the ground, his crossbow was in his hands as he jumped down onto the path below and started to make his way down the mountain with a jog which would have completely ruined any element of surprise he might have managed, were it not for the stream of invective doing that job already. Behind him, half a dozen other soldiers were following at a more cautious pace, crossbows and swords readied.

It was a few minutes' advance before they stumbled into what was now a clearing where Nearid and Illinis were crouched, peering at something Jerkell couldn't see. Two dead fangwolves were slumped near their position in pools of their own blood, and a thick red smear on the ground leading to the upper portion of a third's body. As he and his impromptu squad entered, the elf and the goblin stood and made their way over revealing a hole half-obstructed by thick, matted roots, evidently revealed by the explosion which had alerted Jerkell to the situation and smeared the third fangwolf along the forest floor. Eventually, the two parties stopped opposite each other and Jerkell indicated the hole.

"You two remember what happened the last time you started throwing munitions around on mountains?"

"The situation required the use of it." Illinis shrugged.

"And besides." Nearid grinned, "You'll never believe what, sir. There's writing in that tunnel, and it's dwarvish."

Jerkell's eyes widened momentarily, before he clamped down on the reaction. Nearid had seen it though, a broad grin splitting her craggy face.

"Feel like going spelunking, sir?"

Personality: Inquisitive and analytical, and yet arrogant and over-sure of her own abilities at times. While she can often make correct deductions from minimal evidence, she is equally likely to overlook some small piece of data and veer off in entirely the wrong direction. While she can normally adapt once proven wrong, once she has entrenched her beliefs even the most persuasive figure would need to resort to violence to get her to change her mind.

1738! - Don't Remove; For Tracking

Accepted!

[Alinora]

LEGATE VIXIUS RICHTER
Race: Reachman
Gender/Sex: Male
Age: 44
Appearance: Here.
Class: Knight
Equipment: Imperial equipment.
Skills: Vixius is an excellent military tactician, known for his strategic wisdom and for leading his men into battle and fighting alongside them.
Weaknesses: Not particularly fond of magic or its practice.
Bio: Vixius Richter was born in the city of Atlas, a militarist city in the Reach known for its fierce loyalty to the Ashen Empire. As a child, he idolized the Imperial Legion, and when he came of age, he joined-- working his way through the ranks over decades, and reaching the rank of Legate by the time he was 35. As a Legate, Vixius led his own Legion, primarily rooting out rebellion inside the Reach. His son, Cynel Richter, served under him for more than a decade, though deserted from the Legion at the rank of Questor, and has since vanished-- a taint on the Legate's reputation that still remains.

Today, Legate Richter is a highly-respected military leader, and a close friend of the Ashen family. Leading his Legion from the Reach's capital, Richter is responsible for ensuring that the province remains under the rule of the Empire.

1738! - Don't Remove; For Tracking

[Beiarusia]

Guess I might go ahead and join this.

[Ithalian Empire]

Guess I might go ahead and join this.

Good, join us.

[Anowa]

Since the creative process of my fantasy RP broke down a week ago, I'll just bounce on in here.

[Nazeroth]

Fasad Abuzad

Race: Anduran
Gender/Sex: Male
Age: 26
Appearance: See picture, he has Arabic features
Class: Warrior
Equipment: Same as picture, curved blade. His belt contains basic items, including a water sack, rope and a few pouches for items and a blanket.
Skills: Basic Warrior skills, Hand to Hand Combat, he is also a decent cook. He is also very strong willed and as can be seen a very muscular man.
Weaknesses: He has no need or use of magic so he is incapable of casting spells, he is also terrible at puzzles and intricate designs save for military ones.
Bio: Fasad grew up in the desert regions of Pandora, a Anduran, his particular life was somewhat nomadic until his family settled down in a small village near a large oasis. His family was somewhat poor but they managed well enough. Fasad had a normal childhood with sporadic moments of conflict with other children, though he was always one to stand up to a bully. Not one to be merchant like his father, he became a bodyguard for a wealthy one. Though his father had wanted him to take the family business he had seen how strong and brave his son had come to be and accepted that to be a warrior was simply in his blood.

After doing this for a few years he was finally able to save up enough coin to buy his own equipment and travel the world before him. He is now a mercenary for hire, though he is a mercenary with some morals. Now he has gone from job to job, as long as the pay was good he was usually up for the task.
RP Sample: viewtopic.php?f=5&t=445989&start=75

(please remove all text in this app that isn't within the bold tags)
(everything underneath is optional)

Personality: Strong willed and somewhat introverted, but once he has made a friend he is loyal and opens up. He is a professional as such his attitude can reflect this at any time going from happy and talkative to serious if the situation requires it to be so. At his heart he is a good man, just trying to make a living and experiencing the world around him.
Likes: Cooking , drinking, personal pleasures(male or female).
Dislikes: He is suspicious of magic users to an extent, he also has issues with elves as to him they come off as "high and mighty"
Voice: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K7K8LfRk4io
Theme Song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ySlaijEVtp8
(Feel free to add anything else!)
1738! - Don't Remove; For Tracking

[Everhall]

Fasad Abuzad

(Image)

Race: Anduran
Gender/Sex: Male
Age: 26
Appearance: See picture, he has Arabic features
Class: Warrior
Equipment: Same as picture, curved blade. His belt contains basic items, including a water sack, rope and a few pouches for items and a blanket.
Skills: Basic Warrior skills, Hand to Hand Combat, he is also a decent cook. He is also very strong willed and as can be seen a very muscular man.
Weaknesses: He has no need or use of magic so he is incapable of casting spells, he is also terrible at puzzles and intricate designs save for military ones.
Bio: Fasad grew up in the desert regions of Pandora, a Anduran, his particular life was somewhat nomadic until his family settled down in a small village near a large oasis. His family was somewhat poor but they managed well enough. Fasad had a normal childhood with sporadic moments of conflict with other children, though he was always one to stand up to a bully. Not one to be merchant like his father, he became a bodyguard for a wealthy one. Though his father had wanted him to take the family business he had seen how strong and brave his son had come to be and accepted that to be a warrior was simply in his blood.

After doing this for a few years he was finally able to save up enough coin to buy his own equipment and travel the world before him. He is now a mercenary for hire, though he is a mercenary with some morals. Now he has gone from job to job, as long as the pay was good he was usually up for the task.
RP Sample: One or more. You can also write one for this RP specifically.

(please remove all text in this app that isn't within the bold tags)
(everything underneath is optional)

Personality: Strong willed and somewhat introverted, but once he has made a friend he is loyal and opens up. He is a professional as such his attitude can reflect this at any time going from happy and talkative to serious if the situation requires it to be so. At his heart he is a good man, just trying to make a living and experiencing the world around him.
Likes: Cooking , drinking, personal pleasures(male or female).
Dislikes: He is suspicious of magic users to an extent, he also has issues with elves as to him they come off as "high and mighty"
Voice: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K7K8LfRk4io
Theme Song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ySlaijEVtp8
(Feel free to add anything else!)
1738! - Don't Remove; For Tracking

I'll need the RP sample before I can accept you.

[Nazeroth]

Fasad Abuzad

(Image)

Race: Anduran
Gender/Sex: Male
Age: 26
Appearance: See picture, he has Arabic features
Class: Warrior
Equipment: Same as picture, curved blade. His belt contains basic items, including a water sack, rope and a few pouches for items and a blanket.
Skills: Basic Warrior skills, Hand to Hand Combat, he is also a decent cook. He is also very strong willed and as can be seen a very muscular man.
Weaknesses: He has no need or use of magic so he is incapable of casting spells, he is also terrible at puzzles and intricate designs save for military ones.
Bio: Fasad grew up in the desert regions of Pandora, a Anduran, his particular life was somewhat nomadic until his family settled down in a small village near a large oasis. His family was somewhat poor but they managed well enough. Fasad had a normal childhood with sporadic moments of conflict with other children, though he was always one to stand up to a bully. Not one to be merchant like his father, he became a bodyguard for a wealthy one. Though his father had wanted him to take the family business he had seen how strong and brave his son had come to be and accepted that to be a warrior was simply in his blood.

After doing this for a few years he was finally able to save up enough coin to buy his own equipment and travel the world before him. He is now a mercenary for hire, though he is a mercenary with some morals. Now he has gone from job to job, as long as the pay was good he was usually up for the task.
RP Sample: One or more. You can also write one for this RP specifically.

(please remove all text in this app that isn't within the bold tags)
(everything underneath is optional)

Personality: Strong willed and somewhat introverted, but once he has made a friend he is loyal and opens up. He is a professional as such his attitude can reflect this at any time going from happy and talkative to serious if the situation requires it to be so. At his heart he is a good man, just trying to make a living and experiencing the world around him.
Likes: Cooking , drinking, personal pleasures(male or female).
Dislikes: He is suspicious of magic users to an extent, he also has issues with elves as to him they come off as "high and mighty"
Voice: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K7K8LfRk4io
Theme Song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ySlaijEVtp8
(Feel free to add anything else!)
1738! - Don't Remove; For Tracking

I'll need the RP sample before I can accept you.

fixed

[Everhall]

Fasad Abuzad

(Image)

Race: Anduran
Gender/Sex: Male
Age: 26
Appearance: See picture, he has Arabic features
Class: Warrior
Equipment: Same as picture, curved blade. His belt contains basic items, including a water sack, rope and a few pouches for items and a blanket.
Skills: Basic Warrior skills, Hand to Hand Combat, he is also a decent cook. He is also very strong willed and as can be seen a very muscular man.
Weaknesses: He has no need or use of magic so he is incapable of casting spells, he is also terrible at puzzles and intricate designs save for military ones.
Bio: Fasad grew up in the desert regions of Pandora, a Anduran, his particular life was somewhat nomadic until his family settled down in a small village near a large oasis. His family was somewhat poor but they managed well enough. Fasad had a normal childhood with sporadic moments of conflict with other children, though he was always one to stand up to a bully. Not one to be merchant like his father, he became a bodyguard for a wealthy one. Though his father had wanted him to take the family business he had seen how strong and brave his son had come to be and accepted that to be a warrior was simply in his blood.

After doing this for a few years he was finally able to save up enough coin to buy his own equipment and travel the world before him. He is now a mercenary for hire, though he is a mercenary with some morals. Now he has gone from job to job, as long as the pay was good he was usually up for the task.
RP Sample: viewtopic.php?f=5&t=445989&start=75

(please remove all text in this app that isn't within the bold tags)
(everything underneath is optional)

Personality: Strong willed and somewhat introverted, but once he has made a friend he is loyal and opens up. He is a professional as such his attitude can reflect this at any time going from happy and talkative to serious if the situation requires it to be so. At his heart he is a good man, just trying to make a living and experiencing the world around him.
Likes: Cooking , drinking, personal pleasures(male or female).
Dislikes: He is suspicious of magic users to an extent, he also has issues with elves as to him they come off as "high and mighty"
Voice: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K7K8LfRk4io
Theme Song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ySlaijEVtp8
(Feel free to add anything else!)
1738! - Don't Remove; For Tracking

Accepted

[Arengin Union]

[Spindle]

(Image)

GENERAL KENOBI

[Arengin Union]

(Image)

GENERAL KENOBI

This is getting out of hand! Now there are 67 million of them!!

[Beiarusia]

Kari Nachtigal

Race: Vampire / Nord
Gender/Sex: Female
Age: 701
Appearance:

On first glance, Kari Nachtigal is quite normal, standing 5'4" (162.6cm) and weighing approximately 120 pounds (54.4kg). Fair-skinned with soft features, freckles, pale hair, and piercing blue eyes. Has a scar on her left shoulder / upper arm. Pronounced canine teeth and eyes seemingly glow in darkness.

Class: Bard / Thief

Equipment:

• Pendant, House Nachtigal
• Cloak
• Parasol
• Tarot Cards
• Violin
• Bone Dagger
• Recurve Bow w/ Simple Quiver

Skills:

• Acting, musical instruments, magic tricks, cards, singing, etc. Has had many years to perfect various arts and is a good showman. Knows how to gather a crowd as an entertainer, and, more importantly, knows how to make a convincing distraction. Can at times be charmingly charismatic.

• Sleight-of-hand. Can pickpocket the most aware of men with little difficulty.

• Excels at target-shooting with her bow-and-arrow within a limited range.

• Being a vampire, Kari is notably stronger than the average human, more agile, and has better senses — specifically her sense of smell and low-light vision. Furthermore, she heals quickly (except for injuries caused by silver) and is immune to illness.

Weaknesses:

• Lacks common sense and generally acts without thinking.

• Despite a flair for the dramatic, is rather self-conscious in personal relationships and is embarrassed easily.

• Being a vampire, Kari is allergic to silver and cannot withstand more than a few moments in direct sunlight. (Indirect sunlight is uncomfortable.) Must consume blood to survive, and going long periods without leads to an insatiable thirst and the likelihood of unprovoked attack to fulfill the need. Suffering from minor obsessive-compulsive disorder.

Bio:

Kari Nachtigal was born two centuries after the unification of Eroris in the city of Àrgin. The daughter of a nobleman, Kari was intimately involved in various conspiracies to promote an independent Norravägg, a movement headed by House Nachtigal. Although small, this independence movement held considerable influence and was gaining support daily. In time, this campaign may well have led to conflict as it furthered a divide between Norravägg and Alaro Ashen, but, alas, the potential for rebellion was quashed suddenly with finality with the destruction of House Nachtigal. Accounts vary, with many believing this to be the doing of a rival clan in support of the Empire, whereas others attribute the killings to assassins. In truth it was a case of circumstance. Kari had drawn the admiration of a foreign lord, a one-sided attraction with fatal consequences. The admirer, in actuality a vampire, resolved to take Kari by force, and House Nachtigal was slain in the ensuing struggle. The cry for independence was waver soon thereafter.

A prisoner, Kari was turned by her would-be lover, and for many years would exist as more a servant than a bride. Gradually, she would come to show the devotion and loyalty the lord demanded, a tainted love obtained by bitter manipulation, and when his guard was carelessly let down Kari would kill the vampire without a second's hesitation. She would return to Norravägg, but after so long House Nachtigal was nothing but a distant memory. There was nothing left for the forever young woman in the frozen north. Without purpose, she would wander the Empire in search of meaning, of hope, or, maybe, understanding, but found nothing to sate the painful void festering inside her heart. She would simply disappear as if to end herself. House Nachtigal was truly dead-and-gone.

The vampire would reappear years later in The Reach. Still wandering, Kari no longer lamented the death and failure of her clan, choosing now to do as she pleased when she pleased. She cares little of the conflicts fracturing Eroris, and has made a career of stealing from the easily deceived. Making the most of a life that is eternal. A gift, but more a curse, she never once asked for. Regardless, she has resolved herself in the absence of meaning, and seeks pleasure to fill what is missing.

RP Sample:

• OUTBREAK
• A Frozen Hell

Personality:

Kari presents herself as charismatic and in-charge, but, in truth, she struggles to maintain this bothersome persona. Years of trauma have left her meek and subservient, a side of herself she constantly battles, but one which she finds solace in when her extroverted antics prove exhausting. Is very self-centered but will unconsciously help those close to her. Has a dry sense of humor and is uncaring about most things happening beyond her life.

Likes:

• Gold / Jewelry / Shiny Trinkets
• Moonlight
• Snow
• Sweets

Dislikes:

• Confinement
• Romance
• Sand
• Sunny Days

Theme Song: The Cursed Lands
(Feel free to add anything else!)
1738! - Don't Remove; For Tracking

[Zanera]

Kari Nachtigal

(Image)

Race: Vampire / Nord
Gender/Sex: Female
Age: 701
Appearance:

On first glance, Kari Nachtigal is quite normal, standing 5'4" (162.6cm) and weighing approximately 120 pounds (54.4kg). Fair-skinned with soft features, freckles, pale hair, and piercing blue eyes. Has a scar on her left shoulder / upper arm. Pronounced canine teeth and eyes seemingly glow in darkness.

Class: Bard / Thief

Equipment:

• Pendant, House Nachtigal
• Cloak
• Parasol
• Tarot Cards
• Violin
• Bone Dagger
• Recurve Bow w/ Simple Quiver

Skills:

• Acting, musical instruments, magic tricks, cards, singing, etc. Has had many years to perfect various arts and is a good showman. Knows how to gather a crowd as an entertainer, and, more importantly, knows how to make a convincing distraction. Can at times be charmingly charismatic.

• Sleight-of-hand. Can pickpocket the most aware of men with little difficulty.

• Excels at target-shooting with her bow-and-arrow within a limited range.

• Being a vampire, Kari is notably stronger than the average human, more agile, and has better senses — specifically her sense of smell and low-light vision. Furthermore, she heals quickly (except for injuries caused by silver) and is immune to illness.

Weaknesses:

• Lacks common sense and generally acts without thinking.

• Despite a flair for the dramatic, is rather self-conscious in personal relationships and is embarrassed easily.

• Being a vampire, Kari is allergic to silver and cannot withstand more than a few moments in direct sunlight. (Indirect sunlight is uncomfortable.) Must consume blood to survive, and going long periods without leads to an insatiable thirst and the likelihood of unprovoked attack to fulfill the need. Suffering from minor obsessive-compulsive disorder.

Bio:

Kari Nachtigal was born two centuries after the unification of Eroris in the city of Àrgin. The daughter of a nobleman, Kari was intimately involved in various conspiracies to promote an independent Norravägg, a movement headed by House Nachtigal. Although small, this independence movement held considerable influence and was gaining support daily. In time, this campaign may well have led to conflict as it furthered a divide between Norravägg and Alaro Ashen, but, alas, the potential for rebellion was quashed suddenly with finality with the destruction of House Nachtigal. Accounts vary, with many believing this to be the doing of a rival clan in support of the Empire, whereas others attribute the killings to assassins. In truth it was a case of circumstance. Kari had drawn the admiration of a foreign lord, a one-sided attraction with fatal consequences. The admirer, in actuality a vampire, resolved to take Kari by force, and House Nachtigal was slain in the ensuing struggle. The cry for independence was waver soon thereafter.

A prisoner, Kari was turned by her would-be lover, and for many years would exist as more a servant than a bride. Gradually, she would come to show the devotion and loyalty the lord demanded, a tainted love obtained by bitter manipulation, and when his guard was carelessly let down Kari would kill the vampire without a second's hesitation. She would return to Norravägg, but after so long House Nachtigal was nothing but a distant memory. There was nothing left for the forever young woman in the frozen north. Without purpose, she would wander the Empire in search of meaning, of hope, or, maybe, understanding, but found nothing to sate the painful void festering inside her heart. She would simply disappear as if to end herself. House Nachtigal was truly dead-and-gone.

The vampire would reappear years later in The Reach. Still wandering, Kari no longer lamented the death and failure of her clan, choosing now to do as she pleased when she pleased. She cares little of the conflicts fracturing Eroris, and has made a career of stealing from the easily deceived. Making the most of a life that is eternal. A gift, but more a curse, she never once asked for. Regardless, she has resolved herself in the absence of meaning, and seeks pleasure to fill what is missing.

RP Sample:

• OUTBREAK
• A Frozen Hell

Personality:

Kari presents herself as charismatic and in-charge, but, in truth, she struggles to maintain this bothersome persona. Years of trauma have left her meek and subservient, a side of herself she constantly battles, but one which she finds solace in when her extroverted antics prove exhausting. Is very self-centered but will unconsciously help those close to her. Has a dry sense of humor and is uncaring about most things happening beyond her life.

Likes:

• Gold / Jewelry / Shiny Trinkets
• Moonlight
• Snow
• Sweets

Dislikes:

• Confinement
• Romance
• Sand
• Sunny Days

Theme Song: The Cursed Lands
(Feel free to add anything else!)
1738! - Don't Remove; For Tracking

ACCEPTED

[Anowa]

Ingrid Grimsdottir

Race: Nord
Gender/Sex: Female
Age: 33
Appearance: Ingrid is what many would confuse for a giant. Standing at a rather colossal 6'11, and weighing close to 240 pounds, she is far from the dainty lady many would expect of a noblewoman. More than a decade of wandering the countryside as a mercenary have resulted in more than a few scars crisscrossing her face and body. In combination with a freckled form and red hair, Ingrid is a somewhat exotic creature. Her eyes are contrasted. One is a healthy looking
eye, with an emerald iris, while the other is a black opal sphere inset with a number of tiny, nigh unnoticable runic inscriptions in bands around the "pupil". Sais "eye" is hidden behind a patch, and set within a severly burned eye socket.
Class: Warrior
Equipment:

• Wootz steel Zweihander sword
• Steel Plate Armor
• 1 liter wine sack
• Eye of the Beholder ★
• Ice Pick

Skills:

• Literate
• Master Swordswoman
• Adequate Archer
• High Tolerance for Pain
• Can Read Runic Script
• Obscene Alcohol Tolerance
• Military Theory
• • Green Runic Band: Can translate any language, but while that's happening the user will get an increasingly more painful migraine.
  • Blue Runic Band: The ability to see the life force of any living thing within 30 meters, but the other eye is effectively rendered blind, as such only leaving it's user with a few glowing spots to judge distance, movement, and the like.
  • Red Runic Band: Generates a intense beam of light that can burn things. Except this can lead to the user bursting into flames or immolating themselves if used for too long.

Weaknesses:

• Almost always in a state of inebriation
• Trauma over the death of her family and hold
• Generally acting without cause or an end goal
• No military to lead, nor fellows to rely upon

Bio: Ingrid Grimsdottir was born to Grimr Odinsson and Sigurd Hapfthorsdottir, as the couple's only child and thus only heir to her house: Blackrock. Throughout her youth, she spent most of her time as a 'good noble lady', training in archery, reading and writing, diplomacy and things generally reserved for the women of a noble house. During her teen years, she started going against what her parents wished, taking a much more masculine side to her life, swordplay, physical conditioning, and generally spending more time at a tavern than in her home, sleeping.

This came to an unforeseen head during a rather rowdy night at the pub, a small disagreement over a game of liars dice resulted, in Ingrid killing five men and losing an eye. As daughter of a rather well known noble house, she was wiped of any legal wrongdoing, though the few she had killed very much had families, one of them a rival noble house.

Then Blackrock came under siege.

For the next month, the people within starved, died, or were riddled with the best disease that could be dug up from a cemetery. But not Ingrid, and not the nobles. Ingrid was subjected to, in her opinion, so much worse.

Knowing that the end of the hold was coming, and with only one person that could be trusted who also happened to be missing an eye, the hushed casket was cracked open, and from within a spherical black opal was produced, bands upon bands of runes winding around it in various criss crossing patterns. But it had a ritual, and it was a brutal one. The stone was heated to a temperature that would've melted steel, and then shoved into Ingrid's vacant eye socket. It was a character building experience, and the pain from that is that which attributes to her current tolerance for pain.

But, as expected the hold fell, and she was ushered out through a secret passage as the walls of the hold were breached.

It's been 12 years since then, and the names of Blackrock hold have largely been forgotten. It's ruins now held by bandits and wildlife, and it's people long since looted. The last remaining member of the hold, and a bloodline of nobles, now spends her days as a sword for hire among those in The Order of Ryenar. That or wasting her days away in the various taverns she wanders into, drinking away the pain from the wounds she's received, and the trauma she has from days long past.

RP Sample: Here's a WIP list of all the RPs I've been in.

Personality: Cynical, curt, and somewhat cold, Ingrid has not held a conversation for longer than three minutes since her home was smashed into rubble. Despite this she has a very strong moral code, and a steadfast devotion to keeping people safe. Risking life and limb to help the smaller settlements and villages around the continent proves she has a heart of gold under all the ice, but she has yet to find a reason to fully defrost it.
Voice: Jennifer Hale
Theme Song: Eurielle - Rescue Me
1738! - Don't Remove; For Tracking

[Vanquaria]

Tag!

Interested in playing the trope of an exiled wandering monk who is disgruntled with his exile and believes accumulating fortune in the lands of Eroris is the path to self redemption. Im open to organising contacts with other chars, maybe he could become a merc or a soldier of some lord. Otherwise, he'll definitely embark on one of those rumor adventures up for grabs. Possibly the heist of the century as that looks fun! Or he'll be competing in one of those tournament of the strongest held by the order of reynar guys.

[Everhall]

Tag!

Interested in playing the trope of an exiled wandering monk who is disgruntled with his exile and believes accumulating fortune in the lands of Eroris is the path to self redemption. Im open to organising contacts with other chars, maybe he could become a merc or a soldier of some lord. Otherwise, he'll definitely embark on one of those rumor adventures up for grabs. Possibly the heist of the century as that looks fun! Or he'll be competing in one of those tournament of the strongest held by the order of reynar guys.

Welcome to the RP! If you have a discord, I would recommend heading over to the Official Eroris Server which you can find here. If you need any help in character creation and prevented the dreaded Side Character Syndrome come ping me on our discord.

[Everhall]

Ingrid Grimsdottir

(Image)

Race: Nord
Gender/Sex: Female
Age: 33
Appearance: Ingrid is what many would confuse for a giant. Standing at a rather colossal 6'9, and weighing close to 230 pounds, she is far from the dainty lady many would expect of a noblewoman. More than a decade of wandering the countryside as a mercenary have resulted in more than a few scars crisscrossing her face and body. In combination with a freckled form and red hair, Ingrid is a somewhat exotic creature. Her eyes are contrasted. One is a healthy looking
eye, with an emerald iris, while the other is a black opal sphere inset with a number of tiny, nigh unnoticable runic inscriptions in bands around the "pupil". Sais "eye" is hidden behind a patch, and set within a severly burned eye socket.
Class: Warrior
Equipment:

• Wootz steel Zweihander sword
• Steel Plate Armor
• 1 liter wine sack
• Eye of the Beholder ★
• Ice Pick

Skills:

• Literate
• Master Swordswoman
• Adequate Archer
• High Tolerance for Pain
• Can Read Runic Script
• Obscene Alcohol Tolerance
• Military Theory
• • Green Runic Band: Can translate any language, but while that's happening the user will get an increasingly more painful migraine.
  • Blue Runic Band: The ability to see the life force of any living thing within 30 meters, but the other eye is effectively rendered blind, as such only leaving it's user with a few glowing spots to judge distance, movement, and the like.
  • Red Runic Band: Generates a intense beam of light that can burn things. Except this can lead to the user bursting into flames or immolating themselves if used for too long.

Weaknesses:

• Almost always in a state of inebriation
• Trauma over the death of her family and hold
• Generally acting without cause or an end goal
• No military to lead, nor fellows to rely upon

Bio: Ingrid Grimsdottir was born to Grimr Odinsson and Sigurd Hapfthorsdottir, as the couple's only child and thus only heir to her house: Blackrock. Throughout her youth, she spent most of her time as a 'good noble lady', training in archery, reading and writing, diplomacy and things generally reserved for the women of a noble house. During her teen years, she started going against what her parents wished, taking a much more masculine side to her life, swordplay, physical conditioning, and generally spending more time at a tavern than in her home, sleeping.

This came to an unforeseen head during a rather rowdy night at the pub, a small disagreement over a game of liars dice resulted, in Ingrid killing five men and losing an eye. As daughter of a rather well known noble house, she was wiped of any legal wrongdoing, though the few she had killed very much had families, one of them a rival noble house.

Then Blackrock came under siege.

For the next month, the people within starved, died, or were riddled with the best disease that could be dug up from a cemetery. But not Ingrid, and not the nobles. Ingrid was subjected to, in her opinion, so much worse.

Knowing that the end of the hold was coming, and with only one person that could be trusted who also happened to be missing an eye, the hushed casket was cracked open, and from within a spherical black opal was produced, bands upon bands of runes winding around it in various criss crossing patterns. But it had a ritual, and it was a brutal one. The stone was heated to a temperature that would've melted steel, and then shoved into Ingrid's vacant eye socket. It was a character building experience, and the pain from that is that which attributes to her current tolerance for pain.

But, as expected the hold fell, and she was ushered out through a secret passage as the walls of the hold were breached.

It's been 12 years since then, and the names of Blackrock hold have largely been forgotten. It's ruins now held by bandits and wildlife, and it's people long since looted. The last remaining member of the hold, and a bloodline of nobles, now spends her days as a sword for hire among those in The Order of Ryenar. That or wasting her days away in the various taverns she wanders into, drinking away the pain from the wounds she's received, and the trauma she has from days long past.

RP Sample: Here's a WIP list of all the RPs I've been in.

Personality: Cynical, curt, and somewhat cold, Ingrid has not held a conversation for longer than three minutes since her home was smashed into rubble. Despite this she has a very strong moral code, and a steadfast devotion to keeping people safe. Risking life and limb to help the smaller settlements and villages around the continent proves she has a heart of gold under all the ice, but she has yet to find a reason to fully defrost it.
Voice: Jennifer Hale
Theme Song: Eurielle - Rescue Me
1738! - Don't Remove; For Tracking

Your application is ACCEPTED

[Everhall]

Kyrenic ‘Kyr’ Olafir, Last of His Line, the Last Lorekeeper, Acolyte of the First Archmage, Cursed Immortal, Kyr the Undying

(Image)

Race: Reachmen, or that was what he once was.

Gender/Sex: Male/Male

Age: 7481 as of the rp, was 60 when he became Cursed. “I have existed on this Plane for a long time, I walked beside the First Archmage and received his tutelage, I have defended the Citadel against the LightBorn, I remember the Forgotten Hero. I have seen the rise and fall of empires, have outlived bloodlines. This has only served to teach me just how young I truly am, ancient though many call me, I know better.”

Appearance: He stands at just over 6 feet and in truth looks more akin to a warrior than a mage scholar.

Class: Cursed One/Lorekeeper (He is essentially indestructible, and he remembers everyhting he has read, seen felt, experienced, etc)

Equipment: He typically wears light robes

Skills: Noncombat magic, combat theory, he is knowlwedgeable about magic and remembers everything that has happened during his lifespan. He is a skilled mage and swordsmen

Weaknesses: He cannot freely use magic outside of the Citadel, or any School of Kuruth Annex. Though extremely knowledgeable about magic he cannot use destruction magic, or rather any that are overly effective in combat. Power of the Dreadlords and the Divines are able to damage him more than anything, as can beings and objects touched by them. Though he cannot truly die, with his body healing fully and reforming after a time, no matter the damage, he still feels everything, in full exquisite detail.

Bio: Kyrenic was born in the northern reach, to a strange family, they adhered to both the Normen and Grove cultures. He was part of a set of twins, an especially rare sight to most, he was the older of the two, and by far the most aggressive and warlike of the two. He was extremely skilled with combat practices, both Arcane and Mundane. Despite being skiled in more than a few ways of combat and suited for it, he took part in it only to experience it, to learn, to remember.

His family possessed a peculiar trait, a magical trait, they had perfect memories, they did not just remember, they were practically capable of reliving anything they had experienced. Those of their blood had used this ability to be of use to those that once ruled them. Both Kyrenic, and his brother, Cynric as well made use of this trait, great use of it, and acquired skills and experience in ways most could not hope to understand.Near the End of the First Age, after establishing the School of Kuruth, Oeric Kalyfir, the First Archmage sought those with talent to be his students, his Acolytes.

Kyrenic and his brother were among the first of these Acolytes, and were among those considered to be Oerics prize pupils. They rose in rank and renown within the school, both becoming Keepers, Kyrenic was the Lore Keeper, the one who catalogued relevant events, and techniques. His brother was the Keeper of Tomes, entrusted with records and manuscripts of great magical power, many written by the Archmage himself. Over time they both changed, settled into their roles, becoming renowned and respected, both within the School, to those that knew their roles, and to others elsewhere, simply for being Acolytes of the First Archmage.

However, despite their fame as they aged and plateau, Kyrenic became restless, with his brother becoming even more so, especially as Oeric remained as powerful as ever. Kyrenic recovered, eventually finding something else to occupy his mind and spirit. That something else was raising other Lore Keepers, continuing the tradition. While he recovered and became content, his brother became desperate, desperate to attain the recognition and prestige that both Kyrenic and Oeric had both attained. Both Kyrenic and Oeric tried to stop him once they discovered what he had done and was doing, but their efforts were in vain for h

Following his brothers Rebirth into Kralon, Kyrenic himself became the receptor of his Brothers deal with Tarna. Kyrenic was stronger willed than his brother had been, and a solution was found after a time. Oeric cast a ritual upon Kyrenic, guided by the will of Kuruth and others as well, Kyrenic was reborn. He was given immortality, eternal youth, the inability to die, as well as other things. He would be responsible for keeping dangerous rituals away from those that would use them, he would keep those that were too dangerous to have actual tomes of, but would be unable to use them himself, so as to prevent a being such as Kralon from being born again.

Kyrenics rebirth would come with perks, he was made immune to diseases of all kinds, poisons and even the grip of death itself. As time passed, its flow ceasing to affect him, Kyrenic became a constant within the School of Kuruth and its Annex's. He became the last of his Line, as well as the last Lore Keeper, and would safeguard the Citadel, and the School, and that which it contained. He walked along with his Mentor, the FIrst Archmage as the Second Age began and the Light-Born sought dominion over all of Eroris.

After the Light-Born were Vanquished and the worship of the Divines became widespread once more, his Curse changed, was improved, changed by both the Divines and the Dreadlords alike. Restrictions were placed upon him, to limit his power even more, though he did not seek power or divinity, the Light-Born had plagued Eroris enough, and it would not be good if he became a Second Coming of the Light-Born, with his knowledge.

He would not remain just within the School of Kuruth, he would also go out, to investigate rumors and collect knowledge, as was his purpose, and for a time he would hunt dread mages in concert with Spellbreakers from Titan's Barrow.. He would encounter unimaginable Beasts, fight against what his brother had become and survived wars and incidents that have toppled empires. Even now, in the Fourth Age, in the year 901, so many Millennia, Centuries and years after his Curse, he persists in his duties and remains within the school of Kuruth, in the Citadel his Master made.
RP Sample:

Personality: He is a tad bit cynical, such is to be expected of someone who has seen what he has.
Likes: knowledge
Dislikes: fools, dread mages
Voice: TBD
Theme Song: King of everything by Anarchy Club
(Feel free to add anything else!)
1738! - Don't Remove; For Tracking

Your application is ACCEPTED

[The Armed Republic of Dutch Coolness]

I'm not 100% back to my old self yet so please forgive the somewhat small post

[The Krogan]

I'm not 100% back to my old self yet so please forgive the somewhat small post

What happened?

[The Armed Republic of Dutch Coolness]

I'm not 100% back to my old self yet so please forgive the somewhat small post

What happened?

Oh! I had heart surgery this past Tuesday.

Also, it's 38C outside hlep