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by Elysian Kentarchy » Mon Mar 25, 2019 10:53 am
Ormata wrote:One day until application will be posted. Four thousand six hundred words total, something like 15 paragraphs(?) for the bio, and one very, very...well, interesting character I hope. He's a thing, I swear.
by Ormata » Mon Mar 25, 2019 12:23 pm
Elysian Kentarchy wrote:Ormata wrote:One day until application will be posted. Four thousand six hundred words total, something like 15 paragraphs(?) for the bio, and one very, very...well, interesting character I hope. He's a thing, I swear.
I did much the same thing with a nation background, never finished it and it is less than halfway done but it was at 2000 words before the RP I was writing it for died.
by Elysian Kentarchy » Mon Mar 25, 2019 3:25 pm
Ormata wrote:Elysian Kentarchy wrote:
I did much the same thing with a nation background, never finished it and it is less than halfway done but it was at 2000 words before the RP I was writing it for died.
That's always fun. Had to pen and psper one bio, had three pages front and back before I got the email saying it died. May turn that one into a book.
by Rykil » Mon Mar 25, 2019 4:02 pm
Granluras wrote:Can i make Bob Ross my God?
by Ormata » Tue Mar 26, 2019 5:53 am
The Breaker
Age: 7,300
Appearance:Breaker stands at 9’9”, a tall man of tall aspects. His figure is lean, deformed, the limbs too long for a body too narrow, the bones gaunt and ribs sticking from his chest like sharpened knives. Breaker’s left arm is severed at the elbow, a stump of blackened charcoal and crystal scars that would never heal at the stump, and his right is long and broken, bent out of shape with hands forever marred with blood and sweat and stains of any number of liquids, the varicose veins always there with no end in sight like a spiderweb with no center. His fingers seem long, always long like talons, and each fingernail holds bite marks and blood underneath as though it scratched and scratched. His back, for whatever it may be worth, can be considered straight and tall, his posture not at all that of a beggar or a man afraid of the world. It was this shape he took, this shape he held.
Gender: Male
His hair, black and darkening blue with stands of gray like silver needles, is always there, always short and broken and as coarse as a dead man’s, uneven in it’s cut. The man’s face is gaunt, sunken-in and too long for it’s own good, the cheekbones standing-out against paper thin skin as pale as the moon. His eyes, stormcloud-gray, are surrounded by black rings, a lack of sleep perhaps. Breaker’s nose looks to have been broken and set many times over, a fighter’s nose. His eyes are calm, calm little beacons that couldn't be called eyes as much as they could be called deep pools one might sink into and never return from. They're always watching, always a little wider than normal as though he might be intently focused upon a thing.
Breaker prefers to wear a simple robe, loose and uncouth as a beggar’s with a brown cloth style, patching in many places by an inexpert hand. Upon his feet are a pair of simple sandals, wooden clogs tied about his waist with a cord belt. No shirt is worn underneath.
Race: Human
Ex-Servitor Races: N/A
Bio:Born of war, Breaker’s aspects first arose in The Stair, a massive mountain city of human design. It was there his first temple was built, a monolith of red rock. About this rock they prayed and, as they prayed, carvings etched themselves into the rock and blood poured from the cracks, staining the rock about the monolith. Those about it turned into priests not from any desire to teach or lead, but for The Breaker who spoke into their minds as they slept, telling of the cycle of all things, the wheel of war and salvation, of trial and triumph, that none might become better than they are if what they are is never challenged, never bent to the breaking point. Soldiers prayed to him during wartime, prayed that they might find glory in battle, peace from what they have performed, that they might become better in one way or another. Lovers looked to him for a decision, any sort of decision, any sort of course to take. Mothers prayed to him to not touch their households, their children and, if he did, for them to come away better, not worse, from it. The Breaker was a god of chaotic things, of chaos afflicting those about, and a god of weathering those storms. His reach turned far-flung, affected many a domain that was not truly his. He asked for little, though, asked always for little. No race was made by his hands, for strife was universal, redemption opened to all, and the God of Trials did not truly wish for any race to be made by his manner. He felt unworthy.
Aspects: Strife and Redemption
In one legend, it was asked of him by a merchant who fell on hard times to lighten that burden. The merchant, head bowed at the red monolith, prayed so hard that business might come his way, that the load might lift, that the starvation might cease. A priest approached and asked why, which the merchant responded “my belly is empty and no one will help me! The wife has left me, the cattle stolen, and my cart lies unsold! The Breaker should help me in my rise back.” The priest shook his head, walked away as the rest had done before him, and a voice called out from the corner in the merchant’s mind. “Help yourself,” that was all the voice said, and that had been the message he had been told before, time and again. The merchant left, left to walk down the street penniless. He came upon a cart, laden heavy with spices of a heavy price, and the merchant thought to himself on the words told. He took a bag, turned to walk down that same street, and was run-over by a passing cart. The God of Redemption, after all, did not look on those who helped themselves at the expense of others without their wishes.
And yet, despite the various blights that fell on The Stair by him, the city survived, grew stronger, more able. He watched them grow and, as the years turned, so too did his retinue. Demigods began to be born to him, born of wives in the city for after all adultery is another form of strife in a more carnal manner. These demigods grew, grew up to reach for their own destinies, to join their father in his domain above. Each of them outgrew their own manner, each of them, other the years, grew to godhood, to power, to strength. The Breaker was proud; after all, many of the trials they had to weather had been of his own hand and he was quite happy they were able and capable. They rose up and joined him, the Pantheon of Trials growing as a singular family. Quarrels happened often between them, yet having a father who is the God of Redemption helped greatly to smooth such things over.
The first of these would be his daughter, Taskmaster, born to a noble in the highest levels of The Stair. Her father was never there, never there at all, forever away and away on his further exploits for power and status. Her mother was much the same, a woman of tact and challenge who wove her webs in the shadows of court life. She would, of course, not be born of that name and yet would still take after her mother, learning the skills and etiquette at court, learning how to find whispers and whispers through servant and guard. Her ascension came with the wind, when nine nobles died for power and she smelled the souls collecting in the earth about her. Each of them had vied for the Demigoddess’s favor and each had died in that pursuit, in the ambition for power and the lust to cloud the self-damage that ambition then did. Once word of that spread some began to worship her as much as a mortal might worship another. They realized what power she held when the secrets of the nine men were found stolen, when one of the houses of the nine threatened her and, the next week, was in chaos by simply a few whispers. Servants hoped to avoid her wrath, prayed to the Breaker that the wrath wouldn’t touch them. Nobles, eventually, drew to do the same. Thus was the Taskmaster raised, Goddess of Ambition and Self-Suffering.
The next, born to a soldier, would be Order. A soldier’s life awaited him and, as such, Order would join the mercenaries once such a thing was available to him. An archer, his was the skill to defy armies with steel and fletching, his was the skirmishing manner to keep them slow, keep them steady. More than one officer found themselves with an arrow to the throat by Order’s doing and, in his time, he created chaos amongst their ranks. Watch rotations, eventually, became like second nature to him, and he would lead the prayers to his father before each battle. Those about him, over the years, grew to trust him, depend upon him, and his presence became akin to a shield for their fears. Their prayers were silent ones, unknowing ones, and yet they were prayers nonetheless. The mercenary unit he was with, the Sullied Sons, would fight at Kazzaran against the plains barbarians and, in that battle, would be cut down to a man. Order survived, however, survived amongst the mound of corpses of his brothers and sisters, and he left not one of the thousand foes live. It took four months yet each would die. They grew, over those four months, to believe in the devil in the dunes, prayed for his mercy, and news of his existence spread to the other barbarian tribes. Thus was the Order raised, God of Rank and Ignorance.
A murderer bore Breaker’s third, a fiend who killed for his own beliefs in the name of his own thoughts masquerading as the orders of gods and angels, bore Breaker’s third for the god thought a child would temper anger and hatred. That night the murderer would die, die for they strode into a den of the same who did not hold the same beliefs. Bloodied would be taken to a chapel to her father, in the midst of the city’s growing slums, and in that area she would join the gangs. Her skills became easily apparent and known, broken-in by constant usage and manner. Murdering other gangs became a talent towards her, though over the years she began to leave her calling cards. Just a simple playing card, the 1st of Clubs, with a few drops of crimson staining the edges, that was left upon every forehead of the dead. The more profane began to believe in her, began to think of her as the avenging angel come from the depths of hellish shadows to find evil, snuff it out. The gang about her grew somewhat jealous, somewhat scared, unsure what to make of the woman there who had been raised into blood. They thought her to be scary, forever scary, and the eldest there challenged. He died in a breath and Bloodied rallied the rest, rallied them to her, and a prayer began lead by none. The underworld knew her name, Thus was the Bloodied, Goddess of Violence and Justice, raised.
Silent drew after, drew after not by being born of a mortal but instead by union of god and spirit. Breaker fell with a spirit of questionable origin, perhaps a demon, perhaps an angel, but most certainly a spirit no longer welcome in it’s original home. It came with the rain, a knock against the proverbial door, and so found both shelter and a more interesting night than previously planned. It was gone in the morning and, a fortnight following, Silent was found on the same doorstep. He grew up away from the mortals, due to the circumstances of his birth, and once he grew the demigod found that he did not stand for the home he lived in. Silent rebelled, stealing away from the pantheon with the intent to strike out his own path, godhood and gods be damned. His path drew to a civil war in Imidursa, far to the north, and there he organized his own methods. He was drawn to the art of the web, the spider, the fly, and became his own web-weaver. Five civilizations were changed by his hand and, after such a time, news of the inhuman lord over whispers, the one who never talked and always was in motion, would become better known in spy-rings and court-shadows. Some prayed to him. Others wished he would never come. Silent’s infamy would grow and, after an age, his godhood would come. Thus was the Silent, God of Challenge and Choice, raised to the shoulder of his father.
Hunger came with a famine in The Stair, came with the visit of blight against the crops and sickness against the people. He was never a child, merely appeared as a spirit might, born of Breaker’s interest to give strife to the city through yet another means, to better guard them against the methods of other gods and godlings. He watched, only ever watched, and drank in the starving about him. Hunger watched as nobles gorged themselves, food drawn from outside the city, and found this distasteful. They held so little interest in the rest of the city, needed to be punished, put in their place, needed to understand what may be called and what may be ordered. He gave to the starved in the streets an interest, a greed, a lust for the food in the keep, for the people in it, gave them hate and gave them what he was. They stormed the castle, ate what they wished, hung who they didn’t. Two years of chaos followed, yet in the end Breaker’s wish for redemption was still kept. Hunger, for his part, would devour a neighboring city’s river and give unto that city starvation, drought, and with their deaths grew to his own infamy. Nothing would slake his thirst and, as such, the Hunger rose, God of Greed and Starving.
Breaker’s last, Home, was born to another noble of a different cut of cloth. Her father was an ignoramus, interested only in titles and scraps of information to not appear so ignorant and stupid, intent only in eating and drinking, in enjoying the pleasures of life. The mother was of the same breed, a harlot whose only aid in finding wealth was her title. Home stayed, stayed and stayed in the city walls for so very long. His parents died, passing away, and then his brothers died, then his cousins and nieces. Grandcousins and grandnieces passed, down and down the tree, and Home merely stayed within the walls, stayed there as the whispers began. The ageless one was such, called by some a guardian spirit, others an addled mind who found no aim, and others a demon. Home stayed, gave life to the fire in the great hall, and watched about him, cup in hand forever. The walls stayed strong, always strong, and after so very long some prayed to him. Some gave him little gifts, hoping he might give them protection against that which was outside. Home passed into godhood quietly, far more quietly than his brothers and sisters. No blood was spilled in his passing, no cities destroyed, an ascension to godhood marked only by the building of a temple, his frequenting to the building enough to cement his worship. Thus was the Home, God of Hearth and Stagnation, born to his own.
The Stair, however, as it grew and grew, as the heart of the city began to rot with age, drew the attention of others. First came Ulm, the adviser whose presence brought some semblance of order to the strife about the city. Breaker disliked this change and, as such, drew an agreement between the two. A civil war in The Stair erupted, claiming many, though in the end a strange city of ordered chaos, of chaos that was often driven to be beneficial to the city, was born. Perhaps he was weakened by this, though few can tell. Ulm would stay, stay with the Pantheon of Trials though he did not precisely ever belong to them, stay with them until the sons and daughters gave him fear and nervousness and he drew away, leaving the city for other, safer areas. A city built and praying to human issues was one he did not wish to stay in. Some Gods felt their domains to be slighted, their homes damaged by the encroachments of these individuals and, after the years, they drew their own plans. A massed army, headed by the Goddess of the Sun and War and Love, came upon The Stair and it was there that a battle was formed. The Breaker himself took to the field, along with his sons and daughters, standing tall to strike down the encroaching menace. They meant death on his followers merely for being his followers, meant to take his domain as their own out of petty greed, and such a thing inflamed The Breaker’s spirit. He saw the enemy, their leader Atarpha, strike down Silent in a massive blow, rallied to his son to do single combat with her. Yet even his aid would not be enough, not enough at all, as she took his arm from him in a rending blow, took his followers from him with death, and the Pantheon of Trials made their own retreat. They watched from afar as The Stair fell, the population slaughtered to a child, the dogs thrown from the battlements, as they fell, fell from godhood to fade away.
That was two thousand years ago, when so many cities simply did not exist, when so many cities still flourished before their candles were extinguished by another, and the Pantheon of Trials traveled. They walked the earth, walked it to turn power to action, to provide some little thing to those mortals about them. Taskmaster patroned artists, writers, those who took what was within them and bore it to the world, patroned their talents and inspired them while also, at times, taking herself to the court where she might find those nobles with which hold nothing more dear than power. She frequented the guilds, never quite joining them, but always drinking in what was about her, the aspects about here. Order turned to militant arts, training soldiers in hundreds of cities in the art of discipline, the art that he once held such total sway over. Bloodied joined her brother, teaching the hand-to-hand to the men, her blades never growing thirsty for lack of drink. Silent, meanwhile, became a spymaster, one eternal through time, attempting to keep balance between each of the cities, each of the regions, each of the nations. Hunger, for his talents and manners, turned to noble arts, turned to those who lived in high-above places and ate high-above food, learning the methods of subterfuge. Home lived at home, kept the fire going and the people warm. Breaker, in his age, simply ran a tavern in an urban city, dealt with the aspects of change about him.
The tavern, however, would eventually burn down in one of the many food riots, Breaker moving away to the Guild itself for some manner of comfort. He had stayed there for so long, so many centuries, that a world about him had changed, that the people only knew of the man behind the bar who never could seem to change, always having those little veins on the hands, the gray strands in his hair few and scattered, that the people only knew of the bar and the tender who never changed. Breaker needed to go away, go away to his own with the sword whose rust never could leave it, and go he did. Since then, the Pantheon of Trials has kept together, kept small within the family, coming together every ten years for a reunion, for a discussion on matters, for a talk on whether they might come together. That same talk occurred every ten years, the decision being no until they began to become targets. Whispers were drawn to the Ten Great Divinities, Pyrus-Dan first learning of their continued existence and, by virtue of the fact that he owed Atarpha for a task, she learned of it as well.
Silent would be the first targeted, a dozen assassination attempts finding him in a day, his web unraveling before his eyes. He and Taskmaster drew away, away to the Guild as they felt another hand move against them. Hunger followed in their steps, not wanting to feel the wrath of others. Arrows began to search for Order and Bloodied upon the battlefield and, after being wounded too many times, they too drew back to the Guild. Thus was the Pantheon of Trials brought back together, back together by virtue of another’s will. They would stay there for some time, a house of their own, though the influences of that clan would be felt even by those other fallen. Chaos followed in Breaker’s wake, death came upon Bloodied’s trail, and Order found himself organizing expedition after expedition into haunted tombs that once held their own followers. The Pantheon would be asked to leave, leave by that council, and leave they did. They walked away, away into the arms of another.
The Frostfather had watched with interest, watched those who embodied his own aspect of hardship, and it was through this that the Pantheon of Trials fell in with the Pantheon Of The Dark. They acted in the stead of others, providing experience to the farwalker demigods of his, training soldiers in war, spies in the web, assassins in poisons. Over the years, however, there was stagnation, a pause for too long that was only uncovered once Silent set his tools to use. The Frostfather, for all his mannerisms, had taken them under his wing for another, ulterior reason. No god was straightforward and the bear in the north was no different. He had found that the fallen there might inspire those others into action, that Breaker might give a sense that redemption and reclamation might be possible for those about him, that Taskmaster might give her ambition to those near, that they might be so armed by Order and Bloodied. He had worried and taken such steps, distancing the two, quietly causing one issue or another in order to give blame to the Pantheon of Trials. They left his service and, as a result, came into the hatred of another of the Ten Great Divinities. Their spit in his face, so to speak, has slighted the angry.
Since then, they have returned to the Guild, taking-on instead a series of steady jobs. Order and Bloodied train the nearby militias in neighboring towns, hunting bandits themselves whenever they can as simple reminders to the past glory days, while Silent has taken control over the scouts and towers guarding the Guild’s lands. Home has begun to tend to his own manners, his own secrets drawn from having ears in a bar and selling such things. Breaker now travels some distance, some say scouting, some say raiding, others say hunting for dead men’s treasures, Taskmaster by his side.
Powers:Weakness:
- Fallen God Physiology:
Fallen gods are ageless. In addition, they are faster, stronger and tougher than most mortal races. However, Breaker is far more worn by this, his strength sapped and hide thinned if not be near any site of conflict or redemption. Were he to become a hermit, for instance, it is entirely possible for Breaker to become as strong as or weaker than a mortal. In addition to this, while within sites of extreme discipline and order, Breaker is significantly weakened. While within a church, for instance, he holds little power.
- As The Dominoes Fall:
As strife about him increases, the longer it occurs, the stronger Breaker grows. He drinks in what was once his, whatever it may be. His time in a city rejuvenates him somewhat, giving strength where it would not be found due to the chaos held in such a place. His time near a battlefield has a far more pronounced effect, the blood and death and redemption about him like carvings into stone where a city’s would be light passings against the sand easily washed away. If placed within a city at war, Breaker’s power increases to a degree between a normal time and a battlefield, depending on precisely how desperate the city is, how little order there might be. This power is manifested in Breaker’s physical strength as well as speed and durability, though overall there is no limit known by this power. This power, however, cannot be implemented if the chaos about him is not ‘true strife’, that is to say strife born of natural circumstances. A war born of Breaker’s own machinations, for instance, would grant no strength as it would be an artificial war.
If placed in Verdun, for instance, it is entirely possible for Breaker to reach the power of a minor god, though for obvious reasons this is incredibly unlikely. The cataclysm required for such a thing has not been seen yet, not in the remembrance of the oldest god on the oldest throne.- Inspire The Raised:
Breaker’s presence inspires those about him to reach for that which may not be thought otherwise attainable which they once held. This is in a minor degree, a small aura, yet Breaker can consciously inspire another for a far greater effect. This has no effect on those whom are already raised, are content with what they have, and also cannot inspire someone to take that which they never held. Furthermore it is of a mental magic and, as such, can be blocked by another versed in the same. What they are inspired to redeem may be a person, such as themselves, a place, such as their ancestral home, or a thing, such as the dignity of their disgraced family. Some have described the ability as dregs of his former self, sloughing off of him like slime. Breaker says little of it. Chaos come from him as well, the strife and sadness of a bitter cup that breaks some, tempers others into better blades. This may be as simple and small as sour food or as great as flies in the air, rats in the cellar, bandits on the road. The strife, however, is far less common than the redemption, harder to create and far more taxing in it’s distance to travel.
Artifact: Release
- Akin To Daemon:
Due to the longstanding association of the Pantheon of Trials to the errors and aspects of mortal existence, many sects and gods associate the Pantheon with daemons, calling them aspects of death, aspects of suffering, cherrypicking what they once represented in easy manner. As such, they have been called daemon for so long that the name has stuck and most if not all in an active city know that such beings are evil, devils in mortal form, and must be hunted. In addition to this, due to the association, only one sect still worships the Pantheon of Trials, a group of former expats to The Stair living among the mountains, though their beliefs are so twisted they no longer truly worship the Pantheon of Trials. They are under the protection of Atarpha who keeps them both as a lure to Breaker and as a simple gesture to spite him.
- Under No Sky:
Breaker can perform no magic and such an attempt is anathema to him. Strife, after all, holds little interest in the aspects of the ordered manner, of turning the chaos of nature and the spirit into a series of laws, incantations, designs in the dirt and in the skin. Any such attempt costs him dearly, a massed pain that only draws him farther away from the world of gods and drags him closer to mortality. If he attempts too often, Breaker will fall farther, become mortal in all manners.
A longsword, the blade measures a long length indeed, a thinner blade than what one might expect from such a named weapon. It’s blade, once a silvery shine, is now cast with rust that will never leave, a curse from the final battle of The Stair. It is a powerful blade, capable of sullying demigods and emissaries with presence alone. With it’s drawing, all enemies suffer in their attempts to end the Strife of combat, harder to cut and run and harder to strike down Breaker once and for all. In addition to this, any form of Redemption by such enemies, such as actions in the cause of Redemption, are far more difficult and labored than they have any reason to be. Release is capable of gravely wounding demigods though is incapable of giving an immediate death. Such a thing, after all, would be the gifting of Redemption.
by Sterkistan » Tue Mar 26, 2019 6:18 am
- Fallen God Physiology: Fallen gods are ageless, in addition, they are faster, stronger and tougher than most mortal races.
- Soul Lantern: The soul lantern is part of her staff and is illuminated by a large manifestation of pure Kibo flames, only possible within the lantern. The lantern's brightness can change at the whim of Irelia, and by increasing the brightness of the pure Kibo flames she can attract wandering souls toward her. Upon attracting the souls, she can get them to follow her to a charm she has drawn on the ground. Irelia then uses the pure Kibo flames to open a rift on the ward that allows the souls to pass through. The lantern's brightness and wind charm are also effective at getting the attention of people who need are lost. The soul lantern also allows Irelia to conduct exorcisms and holy purifications.
- Kibo flames: The Kibo flames are different from the pure Kibo created within the lantern, since falling from Godhood, Irelia cannot use the normal Kibo flames to attract souls, which drastically reduces her effective range when searching, and she can only produce a maximum of 3 at a time. However, her Kibo flames are excellent as practical firestarters or for illuminating large, dark areas. Additionally, she can use them in combat as their brightness can distract enemies or temporarily blind the unprepared.
- Potent Healing Magic: Due to her experience with support magic as a God, Irelia has more potent healing magic than the average Ocairet, who are imbued with minor healing magic. However, critical wounds will require further treatment to fully heal, or a specially trained mage.
- Mass Death: Irelia can suffer from bouts of intense nausea, sickness and vertigo when within a proximity of a location where there is major disease, famine, disaster or war. The sheer number of souls assaulting her enhanced Ocairet senses is even enough to render her unconscious should the circumstances be extreme enough.
- Defence: While Irelia is skilled in combat against Undead and generic raiders, her body type and power list give her poor defence against more powerful or skilled combatants, especially projectiles. Irelia has no direct shielding or armour, and must rely upon her agility and staff to protect herself from attacks.
by Elysian Kentarchy » Tue Mar 26, 2019 10:21 am
Sterkistan wrote:Name: Irelia
Age: 472
Appearance:
Gender: Female
Race: Ocairet
Ex-Servitor Races: Ocairet
Ocairet were created by Irelia as a form of 'Oracle', helping Irealia guide the souls of the dead into the cycle of rebirth, due to the sheer number of souls. The creation of the Ocairet was to prevent souls from being left behind, plus a natural sense for healing and support magic, which can cause hauntings, possessions and zombie/skeletal infestations through improper or tainted reincarnation, and the protection of those in need. Ocairet are typically tall and thin, with pale skin. This race also possesses fox-like features, such as ears and a tail. These features help Ocairet sense wandering souls and guide them toward the afterlife, where they will be ushered into their next life.
The Ocairet culture is founded around a tribal society, where elders lead their group from a temple, the villages are usually built around these temples and are usually secluded. The elders choose a group of young Ocairet to train as 'Sages' each year. The Sages learn how to guide souls and sense curses. However, in order to undertake exorcisms and dispel curses, the Sages must become fully-fledged Oracles. Oracles usually possess a physical medium through which to protect themselves and others from the undead, utilize powerful purification and protection magic and guide both souls and lost travellers. Now that Irelia is a fallen god, the Ocairet are no longer forced to follow the culture, and some have left for other religions. However, the independent nature of their practices means they can continue to guide lost souls back to the rebirth cycle. As they did not require her powers to sense and guide souls.
Bio: Irelia, a comparatively young 'God of Death' was a Goddess who collected the wandering souls of the dead, and transported them to their rebirth. Irelia is naturally inclined to peace, knowing that senseless violence is a tool for death. However, she will fight if needed and does not hesitate against undead, who need to be defeated for their souls to be free, as they technically are not alive. She is soft-spoken and rather reserved but will butt heads with those who challenge her beliefs, even if she is not yelling or visibly angry. She is quite humble as far as Gods go, as she tries to keep away from directly influencing life or death, instead assisting the lost souls in finding their next life. This comes from her ability to attract souls toward her through the use of her lantern, and 'Kibo' flames she can generate.
Irelia worked separately from the God of Death, Ka-phera and refused her many offers to become a minor god underneath her. Stating that it was not her intention to directly influence the cycle of death and rebirth, but simply to guide the souls to their next lives. She was a fairly obscure god until she created the Ocairet, whose exploits in exorcisms and purifications began to draw her more followers at a rapid rate, a large pool of which from Ka-phera. This angered the Divine God of Death, as she was already competing with other emerging Death Gods. Ka-phera sought an excuse to banish the Goddess of Souls, which emerged a mere 50 years after the creation of the Ocairet.
Irelia was guiding the wandering souls when she came across the emerging soul of a dying young man. His village had been attacked by undead, and although he wanted to fight, fear had frozen his body. Regrets clouded the man's soul, and he cried for his family. Irelia felt pity for the man, and reincarnated him, provided he become a Priest for Irelia, wandering the land and slaying undead in her name. Irelia believing it would be a superb way to increase her influence. The young man agreed, and he was reincarnated to defend the people from the undead. However, Ka-phera accused Irelia of breaching her own morals, attempting to trump her into becoming one of her minor gods. Irelia still fiercely refused, but Ka-phera grew tired of her rebellion, and banished her to the mortal realm, stating she would continue to do so should she somehow return to godhood. Irelia was no match for the Divine being and took on the form of an Ocairet as a final defiance against Ka-phera. Irelia now wanders the mortal realm, conducting the duties of an Ocairet Oracle guiding souls to the afterlife and helping people lost in the wilderness, as well as more advanced tasks such as large exorcisms or clearing undead on top of jobs that are given to her by the guild.
Aspects: Goddess of Souls and Rebirth
Powers:
- Fallen God Physiology: Fallen gods are ageless, in addition, they are faster, stronger and tougher than most mortal races.
- Soul Lantern: The soul lantern is part of her staff and is illuminated by a large manifestation of pure Kibo flames, only possible within the lantern. The lantern's brightness can change at the whim of Irelia, and by increasing the brightness of the pure Kibo flames she can attract wandering souls toward her. Upon attracting the souls, she can get them to follow her to a charm she has drawn on the ground. Irelia then uses the pure Kibo flames to open a rift on the ward that allows the souls to pass through. The lantern's brightness and wind charm are also effective at getting the attention of people who need are lost. The soul lantern also allows Irelia to conduct exorcisms and holy purifications.
- Kibo flames: The Kibo flames are different from the pure Kibo created within the lantern, since falling from Godhood, Irelia cannot use the normal Kibo flames to attract souls, which drastically reduces her effective range when searching, and she can only produce a maximum of 3 at a time. However, her Kibo flames are excellent as practical firestarters or for illuminating large, dark areas. Additionally, she can use them in combat as their brightness can distract enemies or temporarily blind the unprepared.
- Potent Healing Magic: Due to her experience with support magic as a God, Irelia has more potent healing magic than the average Ocairet, who are imbued with minor healing magic. However, critical wounds will require further treatment to fully heal, or a specially trained mage.
Weakness:
- Mass Death: Irelia can suffer from bouts of intense nausea, sickness and vertigo when within a proximity of a location where there is major disease, famine, disaster or war. The sheer number of souls assaulting her enhanced Ocairet senses is even enough to render her unconscious should the circumstances be extreme enough.
- Defence: While Irelia is skilled in combat against Undead and generic raiders, her body type and power list give her poor defence against more powerful or skilled combatants, especially projectiles. Irelia has no direct shielding or armour, and must rely upon her agility and staff to protect herself from attacks.
Artefact: Boujin-Staff (omit the katana part in the image)
The Boujin-Staff is the staff that Irelia used as a God, it is stronger than a traditional medium used by Ocairet Oracles, due to its use as a tool of the Gods. The staff allows her to amplify her exorcisms and purifications to a larger scale at the cost of energy, and by manipulating the pure Kibo flames in the lantern, she can have it float away or return to her hands. The staff is also built for combat, and can withstand even the mightiest clubbing.
by Elysian Kentarchy » Tue Mar 26, 2019 6:49 pm
Granluras wrote:the discord invite is invalid now
by Sterkistan » Tue Mar 26, 2019 7:44 pm
Elysian Kentarchy wrote:Granluras wrote:the discord invite is invalid now
Here is a permanent one for anyone who needs one. https://discord.gg/KTKApJ6
by Union Princes » Wed Mar 27, 2019 9:02 pm
by Charmera » Sat Mar 30, 2019 6:29 pm
Ormata wrote:The Breaker
Age: 7,300
Appearance:Breaker stands at 9’9”, a tall man of tall aspects. His figure is lean, deformed, the limbs too long for a body too narrow, the bones gaunt and ribs sticking from his chest like sharpened knives. Breaker’s left arm is severed at the elbow, a stump of blackened charcoal and crystal scars that would never heal at the stump, and his right is long and broken, bent out of shape with hands forever marred with blood and sweat and stains of any number of liquids, the varicose veins always there with no end in sight like a spiderweb with no center. His fingers seem long, always long like talons, and each fingernail holds bite marks and blood underneath as though it scratched and scratched. His back, for whatever it may be worth, can be considered straight and tall, his posture not at all that of a beggar or a man afraid of the world. It was this shape he took, this shape he held.
Gender: Male
His hair, black and darkening blue with stands of gray like silver needles, is always there, always short and broken and as coarse as a dead man’s, uneven in it’s cut. The man’s face is gaunt, sunken-in and too long for it’s own good, the cheekbones standing-out against paper thin skin as pale as the moon. His eyes, stormcloud-gray, are surrounded by black rings, a lack of sleep perhaps. Breaker’s nose looks to have been broken and set many times over, a fighter’s nose. His eyes are calm, calm little beacons that couldn't be called eyes as much as they could be called deep pools one might sink into and never return from. They're always watching, always a little wider than normal as though he might be intently focused upon a thing.
Breaker prefers to wear a simple robe, loose and uncouth as a beggar’s with a brown cloth style, patching in many places by an inexpert hand. Upon his feet are a pair of simple sandals, wooden clogs tied about his waist with a cord belt. No shirt is worn underneath.
Race: Human
Ex-Servitor Races: N/A
Bio:Born of war, Breaker’s aspects first arose in The Stair, a massive mountain city of human design. It was there his first temple was built, a monolith of red rock. About this rock they prayed and, as they prayed, carvings etched themselves into the rock and blood poured from the cracks, staining the rock about the monolith. Those about it turned into priests not from any desire to teach or lead, but for The Breaker who spoke into their minds as they slept, telling of the cycle of all things, the wheel of war and salvation, of trial and triumph, that none might become better than they are if what they are is never challenged, never bent to the breaking point. Soldiers prayed to him during wartime, prayed that they might find glory in battle, peace from what they have performed, that they might become better in one way or another. Lovers looked to him for a decision, any sort of decision, any sort of course to take. Mothers prayed to him to not touch their households, their children and, if he did, for them to come away better, not worse, from it. The Breaker was a god of chaotic things, of chaos afflicting those about, and a god of weathering those storms. His reach turned far-flung, affected many a domain that was not truly his. He asked for little, though, asked always for little. No race was made by his hands, for strife was universal, redemption opened to all, and the God of Trials did not truly wish for any race to be made by his manner. He felt unworthy.
Aspects: Strife and Redemption
In one legend, it was asked of him by a merchant who fell on hard times to lighten that burden. The merchant, head bowed at the red monolith, prayed so hard that business might come his way, that the load might lift, that the starvation might cease. A priest approached and asked why, which the merchant responded “my belly is empty and no one will help me! The wife has left me, the cattle stolen, and my cart lies unsold! The Breaker should help me in my rise back.” The priest shook his head, walked away as the rest had done before him, and a voice called out from the corner in the merchant’s mind. “Help yourself,” that was all the voice said, and that had been the message he had been told before, time and again. The merchant left, left to walk down the street penniless. He came upon a cart, laden heavy with spices of a heavy price, and the merchant thought to himself on the words told. He took a bag, turned to walk down that same street, and was run-over by a passing cart. The God of Redemption, after all, did not look on those who helped themselves at the expense of others without their wishes.
And yet, despite the various blights that fell on The Stair by him, the city survived, grew stronger, more able. He watched them grow and, as the years turned, so too did his retinue. Demigods began to be born to him, born of wives in the city for after all adultery is another form of strife in a more carnal manner. These demigods grew, grew up to reach for their own destinies, to join their father in his domain above. Each of them outgrew their own manner, each of them, other the years, grew to godhood, to power, to strength. The Breaker was proud; after all, many of the trials they had to weather had been of his own hand and he was quite happy they were able and capable. They rose up and joined him, the Pantheon of Trials growing as a singular family. Quarrels happened often between them, yet having a father who is the God of Redemption helped greatly to smooth such things over.
The first of these would be his daughter, Taskmaster, born to a noble in the highest levels of The Stair. Her father was never there, never there at all, forever away and away on his further exploits for power and status. Her mother was much the same, a woman of tact and challenge who wove her webs in the shadows of court life. She would, of course, not be born of that name and yet would still take after her mother, learning the skills and etiquette at court, learning how to find whispers and whispers through servant and guard. Her ascension came with the wind, when nine nobles died for power and she smelled the souls collecting in the earth about her. Each of them had vied for the Demigoddess’s favor and each had died in that pursuit, in the ambition for power and the lust to cloud the self-damage that ambition then did. Once word of that spread some began to worship her as much as a mortal might worship another. They realized what power she held when the secrets of the nine men were found stolen, when one of the houses of the nine threatened her and, the next week, was in chaos by simply a few whispers. Servants hoped to avoid her wrath, prayed to the Breaker that the wrath wouldn’t touch them. Nobles, eventually, drew to do the same. Thus was the Taskmaster raised, Goddess of Ambition and Self-Suffering.
The next, born to a soldier, would be Order. A soldier’s life awaited him and, as such, Order would join the mercenaries once such a thing was available to him. An archer, his was the skill to defy armies with steel and fletching, his was the skirmishing manner to keep them slow, keep them steady. More than one officer found themselves with an arrow to the throat by Order’s doing and, in his time, he created chaos amongst their ranks. Watch rotations, eventually, became like second nature to him, and he would lead the prayers to his father before each battle. Those about him, over the years, grew to trust him, depend upon him, and his presence became akin to a shield for their fears. Their prayers were silent ones, unknowing ones, and yet they were prayers nonetheless. The mercenary unit he was with, the Sullied Sons, would fight at Kazzaran against the plains barbarians and, in that battle, would be cut down to a man. Order survived, however, survived amongst the mound of corpses of his brothers and sisters, and he left not one of the thousand foes live. It took four months yet each would die. They grew, over those four months, to believe in the devil in the dunes, prayed for his mercy, and news of his existence spread to the other barbarian tribes. Thus was the Order raised, God of Rank and Ignorance.
A murderer bore Breaker’s third, a fiend who killed for his own beliefs in the name of his own thoughts masquerading as the orders of gods and angels, bore Breaker’s third for the god thought a child would temper anger and hatred. That night the murderer would die, die for they strode into a den of the same who did not hold the same beliefs. Bloodied would be taken to a chapel to her father, in the midst of the city’s growing slums, and in that area she would join the gangs. Her skills became easily apparent and known, broken-in by constant usage and manner. Murdering other gangs became a talent towards her, though over the years she began to leave her calling cards. Just a simple playing card, the 1st of Clubs, with a few drops of crimson staining the edges, that was left upon every forehead of the dead. The more profane began to believe in her, began to think of her as the avenging angel come from the depths of hellish shadows to find evil, snuff it out. The gang about her grew somewhat jealous, somewhat scared, unsure what to make of the woman there who had been raised into blood. They thought her to be scary, forever scary, and the eldest there challenged. He died in a breath and Bloodied rallied the rest, rallied them to her, and a prayer began lead by none. The underworld knew her name, Thus was the Bloodied, Goddess of Violence and Justice, raised.
Silent drew after, drew after not by being born of a mortal but instead by union of god and spirit. Breaker fell with a spirit of questionable origin, perhaps a demon, perhaps an angel, but most certainly a spirit no longer welcome in it’s original home. It came with the rain, a knock against the proverbial door, and so found both shelter and a more interesting night than previously planned. It was gone in the morning and, a fortnight following, Silent was found on the same doorstep. He grew up away from the mortals, due to the circumstances of his birth, and once he grew the demigod found that he did not stand for the home he lived in. Silent rebelled, stealing away from the pantheon with the intent to strike out his own path, godhood and gods be damned. His path drew to a civil war in Imidursa, far to the north, and there he organized his own methods. He was drawn to the art of the web, the spider, the fly, and became his own web-weaver. Five civilizations were changed by his hand and, after such a time, news of the inhuman lord over whispers, the one who never talked and always was in motion, would become better known in spy-rings and court-shadows. Some prayed to him. Others wished he would never come. Silent’s infamy would grow and, after an age, his godhood would come. Thus was the Silent, God of Challenge and Choice, raised to the shoulder of his father.
Hunger came with a famine in The Stair, came with the visit of blight against the crops and sickness against the people. He was never a child, merely appeared as a spirit might, born of Breaker’s interest to give strife to the city through yet another means, to better guard them against the methods of other gods and godlings. He watched, only ever watched, and drank in the starving about him. Hunger watched as nobles gorged themselves, food drawn from outside the city, and found this distasteful. They held so little interest in the rest of the city, needed to be punished, put in their place, needed to understand what may be called and what may be ordered. He gave to the starved in the streets an interest, a greed, a lust for the food in the keep, for the people in it, gave them hate and gave them what he was. They stormed the castle, ate what they wished, hung who they didn’t. Two years of chaos followed, yet in the end Breaker’s wish for redemption was still kept. Hunger, for his part, would devour a neighboring city’s river and give unto that city starvation, drought, and with their deaths grew to his own infamy. Nothing would slake his thirst and, as such, the Hunger rose, God of Greed and Starving.
Breaker’s last, Home, was born to another noble of a different cut of cloth. Her father was an ignoramus, interested only in titles and scraps of information to not appear so ignorant and stupid, intent only in eating and drinking, in enjoying the pleasures of life. The mother was of the same breed, a harlot whose only aid in finding wealth was her title. Home stayed, stayed and stayed in the city walls for so very long. His parents died, passing away, and then his brothers died, then his cousins and nieces. Grandcousins and grandnieces passed, down and down the tree, and Home merely stayed within the walls, stayed there as the whispers began. The ageless one was such, called by some a guardian spirit, others an addled mind who found no aim, and others a demon. Home stayed, gave life to the fire in the great hall, and watched about him, cup in hand forever. The walls stayed strong, always strong, and after so very long some prayed to him. Some gave him little gifts, hoping he might give them protection against that which was outside. Home passed into godhood quietly, far more quietly than his brothers and sisters. No blood was spilled in his passing, no cities destroyed, an ascension to godhood marked only by the building of a temple, his frequenting to the building enough to cement his worship. Thus was the Home, God of Hearth and Stagnation, born to his own.
The Stair, however, as it grew and grew, as the heart of the city began to rot with age, drew the attention of others. First came Ulm, the adviser whose presence brought some semblance of order to the strife about the city. Breaker disliked this change and, as such, drew an agreement between the two. A civil war in The Stair erupted, claiming many, though in the end a strange city of ordered chaos, of chaos that was often driven to be beneficial to the city, was born. Perhaps he was weakened by this, though few can tell. Ulm would stay, stay with the Pantheon of Trials though he did not precisely ever belong to them, stay with them until the sons and daughters gave him fear and nervousness and he drew away, leaving the city for other, safer areas. A city built and praying to human issues was one he did not wish to stay in. Some Gods felt their domains to be slighted, their homes damaged by the encroachments of these individuals and, after the years, they drew their own plans. A massed army, headed by the Goddess of the Sun and War and Love, came upon The Stair and it was there that a battle was formed. The Breaker himself took to the field, along with his sons and daughters, standing tall to strike down the encroaching menace. They meant death on his followers merely for being his followers, meant to take his domain as their own out of petty greed, and such a thing inflamed The Breaker’s spirit. He saw the enemy, their leader Atarpha, strike down Silent in a massive blow, rallied to his son to do single combat with her. Yet even his aid would not be enough, not enough at all, as she took his arm from him in a rending blow, took his followers from him with death, and the Pantheon of Trials made their own retreat. They watched from afar as The Stair fell, the population slaughtered to a child, the dogs thrown from the battlements, as they fell, fell from godhood to fade away.
That was two thousand years ago, when so many cities simply did not exist, when so many cities still flourished before their candles were extinguished by another, and the Pantheon of Trials traveled. They walked the earth, walked it to turn power to action, to provide some little thing to those mortals about them. Taskmaster patroned artists, writers, those who took what was within them and bore it to the world, patroned their talents and inspired them while also, at times, taking herself to the court where she might find those nobles with which hold nothing more dear than power. She frequented the guilds, never quite joining them, but always drinking in what was about her, the aspects about here. Order turned to militant arts, training soldiers in hundreds of cities in the art of discipline, the art that he once held such total sway over. Bloodied joined her brother, teaching the hand-to-hand to the men, her blades never growing thirsty for lack of drink. Silent, meanwhile, became a spymaster, one eternal through time, attempting to keep balance between each of the cities, each of the regions, each of the nations. Hunger, for his talents and manners, turned to noble arts, turned to those who lived in high-above places and ate high-above food, learning the methods of subterfuge. Home lived at home, kept the fire going and the people warm. Breaker, in his age, simply ran a tavern in an urban city, dealt with the aspects of change about him.
The tavern, however, would eventually burn down in one of the many food riots, Breaker moving away to the Guild itself for some manner of comfort. He had stayed there for so long, so many centuries, that a world about him had changed, that the people only knew of the man behind the bar who never could seem to change, always having those little veins on the hands, the gray strands in his hair few and scattered, that the people only knew of the bar and the tender who never changed. Breaker needed to go away, go away to his own with the sword whose rust never could leave it, and go he did. Since then, the Pantheon of Trials has kept together, kept small within the family, coming together every ten years for a reunion, for a discussion on matters, for a talk on whether they might come together. That same talk occurred every ten years, the decision being no until they began to become targets. Whispers were drawn to the Ten Great Divinities, Pyrus-Dan first learning of their continued existence and, by virtue of the fact that he owed Atarpha for a task, she learned of it as well.
Silent would be the first targeted, a dozen assassination attempts finding him in a day, his web unraveling before his eyes. He and Taskmaster drew away, away to the Guild as they felt another hand move against them. Hunger followed in their steps, not wanting to feel the wrath of others. Arrows began to search for Order and Bloodied upon the battlefield and, after being wounded too many times, they too drew back to the Guild. Thus was the Pantheon of Trials brought back together, back together by virtue of another’s will. They would stay there for some time, a house of their own, though the influences of that clan would be felt even by those other fallen. Chaos followed in Breaker’s wake, death came upon Bloodied’s trail, and Order found himself organizing expedition after expedition into haunted tombs that once held their own followers. The Pantheon would be asked to leave, leave by that council, and leave they did. They walked away, away into the arms of another.
The Frostfather had watched with interest, watched those who embodied his own aspect of hardship, and it was through this that the Pantheon of Trials fell in with the Pantheon Of The Dark. They acted in the stead of others, providing experience to the farwalker demigods of his, training soldiers in war, spies in the web, assassins in poisons. Over the years, however, there was stagnation, a pause for too long that was only uncovered once Silent set his tools to use. The Frostfather, for all his mannerisms, had taken them under his wing for another, ulterior reason. No god was straightforward and the bear in the north was no different. He had found that the fallen there might inspire those others into action, that Breaker might give a sense that redemption and reclamation might be possible for those about him, that Taskmaster might give her ambition to those near, that they might be so armed by Order and Bloodied. He had worried and taken such steps, distancing the two, quietly causing one issue or another in order to give blame to the Pantheon of Trials. They left his service and, as a result, came into the hatred of another of the Ten Great Divinities. Their spit in his face, so to speak, has slighted the angry.
Since then, they have returned to the Guild, taking-on instead a series of steady jobs. Order and Bloodied train the nearby militias in neighboring towns, hunting bandits themselves whenever they can as simple reminders to the past glory days, while Silent has taken control over the scouts and towers guarding the Guild’s lands. Home has begun to tend to his own manners, his own secrets drawn from having ears in a bar and selling such things. Breaker now travels some distance, some say scouting, some say raiding, others say hunting for dead men’s treasures, Taskmaster by his side.
Powers:Weakness:
- Fallen God Physiology:
Fallen gods are ageless. In addition, they are faster, stronger and tougher than most mortal races. However, Breaker is far more worn by this, his strength sapped and hide thinned if not be near any site of conflict or redemption. Were he to become a hermit, for instance, it is entirely possible for Breaker to become as strong as or weaker than a mortal. In addition to this, while within sites of extreme discipline and order, Breaker is significantly weakened. While within a church, for instance, he holds little power.
- As The Dominoes Fall:
As strife about him increases, the longer it occurs, the stronger Breaker grows. He drinks in what was once his, whatever it may be. His time in a city rejuvenates him somewhat, giving strength where it would not be found due to the chaos held in such a place. His time near a battlefield has a far more pronounced effect, the blood and death and redemption about him like carvings into stone where a city’s would be light passings against the sand easily washed away. If placed within a city at war, Breaker’s power increases to a degree between a normal time and a battlefield, depending on precisely how desperate the city is, how little order there might be. This power is manifested in Breaker’s physical strength as well as speed and durability, though overall there is no limit known by this power. This power, however, cannot be implemented if the chaos about him is not ‘true strife’, that is to say strife born of natural circumstances. A war born of Breaker’s own machinations, for instance, would grant no strength as it would be an artificial war.
If placed in Verdun, for instance, it is entirely possible for Breaker to reach the power of a minor god, though for obvious reasons this is incredibly unlikely. The cataclysm required for such a thing has not been seen yet, not in the remembrance of the oldest god on the oldest throne.- Inspire The Raised:
Breaker’s presence inspires those about him to reach for that which may not be thought otherwise attainable which they once held. This is in a minor degree, a small aura, yet Breaker can consciously inspire another for a far greater effect. This has no effect on those whom are already raised, are content with what they have, and also cannot inspire someone to take that which they never held. Furthermore it is of a mental magic and, as such, can be blocked by another versed in the same. What they are inspired to redeem may be a person, such as themselves, a place, such as their ancestral home, or a thing, such as the dignity of their disgraced family. Some have described the ability as dregs of his former self, sloughing off of him like slime. Breaker says little of it. Chaos come from him as well, the strife and sadness of a bitter cup that breaks some, tempers others into better blades. This may be as simple and small as sour food or as great as flies in the air, rats in the cellar, bandits on the road. The strife, however, is far less common than the redemption, harder to create and far more taxing in it’s distance to travel.
Artifact: Release
- Akin To Daemon:
Due to the longstanding association of the Pantheon of Trials to the errors and aspects of mortal existence, many sects and gods associate the Pantheon with daemons, calling them aspects of death, aspects of suffering, cherrypicking what they once represented in easy manner. As such, they have been called daemon for so long that the name has stuck and most if not all in an active city know that such beings are evil, devils in mortal form, and must be hunted. In addition to this, due to the association, only one sect still worships the Pantheon of Trials, a group of former expats to The Stair living among the mountains, though their beliefs are so twisted they no longer truly worship the Pantheon of Trials. They are under the protection of Atarpha who keeps them both as a lure to Breaker and as a simple gesture to spite him.
- Under No Sky:
Breaker can perform no magic and such an attempt is anathema to him. Strife, after all, holds little interest in the aspects of the ordered manner, of turning the chaos of nature and the spirit into a series of laws, incantations, designs in the dirt and in the skin. Any such attempt costs him dearly, a massed pain that only draws him farther away from the world of gods and drags him closer to mortality. If he attempts too often, Breaker will fall farther, become mortal in all manners.
A longsword, the blade measures a long length indeed, a thinner blade than what one might expect from such a named weapon. It’s blade, once a silvery shine, is now cast with rust that will never leave, a curse from the final battle of The Stair. It is a powerful blade, capable of sullying demigods and emissaries with presence alone. With it’s drawing, all enemies suffer in their attempts to end the Strife of combat, harder to cut and run and harder to strike down Breaker once and for all. In addition to this, any form of Redemption by such enemies, such as actions in the cause of Redemption, are far more difficult and labored than they have any reason to be. Release is capable of gravely wounding demigods though is incapable of giving an immediate death. Such a thing, after all, would be the gifting of Redemption.
Sterkistan wrote:Name: Irelia
Age: 472
Appearance:
Gender: Female
Race: Ocairet
Ex-Servitor Races: Ocairet
Ocairet were created by Irelia as a form of 'Oracle', helping Irealia guide the souls of the dead into the cycle of rebirth, due to the sheer number of souls. The creation of the Ocairet was to prevent souls from being left behind, plus a natural sense for healing and support magic, which can cause hauntings, possessions and zombie/skeletal infestations through improper or tainted reincarnation, and the protection of those in need. Ocairet are typically tall and thin, with pale skin. This race also possesses fox-like features, such as ears and a tail. These features help Ocairet sense wandering souls and guide them toward the afterlife, where they will be ushered into their next life.
The Ocairet culture is founded around a tribal society, where elders lead their group from a temple, the villages are usually built around these temples and are usually secluded. The elders choose a group of young Ocairet to train as 'Sages' each year. The Sages learn how to guide souls and sense curses. However, in order to undertake exorcisms and dispel curses, the Sages must become fully-fledged Oracles. Oracles usually possess a physical medium through which to protect themselves and others from the undead, utilize powerful purification and protection magic and guide both souls and lost travellers. Now that Irelia is a fallen god, the Ocairet are no longer forced to follow the culture, and some have left for other religions. However, the independent nature of their practices means they can continue to guide lost souls back to the rebirth cycle. As they did not require her powers to sense and guide souls.
Bio: Irelia, a comparatively young 'God of Death' was a Goddess who collected the wandering souls of the dead, and transported them to their rebirth. Irelia is naturally inclined to peace, knowing that senseless violence is a tool for death. However, she will fight if needed and does not hesitate against undead, who need to be defeated for their souls to be free, as they technically are not alive. She is soft-spoken and rather reserved but will butt heads with those who challenge her beliefs, even if she is not yelling or visibly angry. She is quite humble as far as Gods go, as she tries to keep away from directly influencing life or death, instead assisting the lost souls in finding their next life. This comes from her ability to attract souls toward her through the use of her lantern, and 'Kibo' flames she can generate.
Irelia worked separately from the God of Death, Ka-phera and refused her many offers to become a minor god underneath her. Stating that it was not her intention to directly influence the cycle of death and rebirth, but simply to guide the souls to their next lives. She was a fairly obscure god until she created the Ocairet, whose exploits in exorcisms and purifications began to draw her more followers at a rapid rate, a large pool of which from Ka-phera. This angered the Divine God of Death, as she was already competing with other emerging Death Gods. Ka-phera sought an excuse to banish the Goddess of Souls, which emerged a mere 50 years after the creation of the Ocairet.
Irelia was guiding the wandering souls when she came across the emerging soul of a dying young man. His village had been attacked by undead, and although he wanted to fight, fear had frozen his body. Regrets clouded the man's soul, and he cried for his family. Irelia felt pity for the man, and reincarnated him, provided he become a Priest for Irelia, wandering the land and slaying undead in her name. Irelia believing it would be a superb way to increase her influence. The young man agreed, and he was reincarnated to defend the people from the undead. However, Ka-phera accused Irelia of breaching her own morals, attempting to trump her into becoming one of her minor gods. Irelia still fiercely refused, but Ka-phera grew tired of her rebellion, and banished her to the mortal realm, stating she would continue to do so should she somehow return to godhood. Irelia was no match for the Divine being and took on the form of an Ocairet as a final defiance against Ka-phera. Irelia now wanders the mortal realm, conducting the duties of an Ocairet Oracle guiding souls to the afterlife and helping people lost in the wilderness, as well as more advanced tasks such as large exorcisms or clearing undead on top of jobs that are given to her by the guild.
Aspects: Goddess of Souls and Rebirth
Powers:
- Fallen God Physiology: Fallen gods are ageless, in addition, they are faster, stronger and tougher than most mortal races.
- Soul Lantern: The soul lantern is part of her staff and is illuminated by a large manifestation of pure Kibo flames, only possible within the lantern. The lantern's brightness can change at the whim of Irelia, and by increasing the brightness of the pure Kibo flames she can attract wandering souls toward her. Upon attracting the souls, she can get them to follow her to a charm she has drawn on the ground. Irelia then uses the pure Kibo flames to open a rift on the ward that allows the souls to pass through. The lantern's brightness and wind charm are also effective at getting the attention of people who need are lost. The soul lantern also allows Irelia to conduct exorcisms and holy purifications.
- Kibo flames: The Kibo flames are different from the pure Kibo created within the lantern, since falling from Godhood, Irelia cannot use the normal Kibo flames to attract souls, which drastically reduces her effective range when searching, and she can only produce a maximum of 3 at a time. However, her Kibo flames are excellent as practical firestarters or for illuminating large, dark areas. Additionally, she can use them in combat as their brightness can distract enemies or temporarily blind the unprepared.
- Potent Healing Magic: Due to her experience with support magic as a God, Irelia has more potent healing magic than the average Ocairet, who are imbued with minor healing magic. However, critical wounds will require further treatment to fully heal, or a specially trained mage.
Weakness:
- Mass Death: Irelia can suffer from bouts of intense nausea, sickness and vertigo when within a proximity of a location where there is major disease, famine, disaster or war. The sheer number of souls assaulting her enhanced Ocairet senses is even enough to render her unconscious should the circumstances be extreme enough.
- Defence: While Irelia is skilled in combat against Undead and generic raiders, her body type and power list give her poor defence against more powerful or skilled combatants, especially projectiles. Irelia has no direct shielding or armour, and must rely upon her agility and staff to protect herself from attacks.
Artefact: Boujin-Staff (omit the katana part in the image)
The Boujin-Staff is the staff that Irelia used as a God, it is stronger than a traditional medium used by Ocairet Oracles, due to its use as a tool of the Gods. The staff allows her to amplify her exorcisms and purifications to a larger scale at the cost of energy, and by manipulating the pure Kibo flames in the lantern, she can have it float away or return to her hands. The staff is also built for combat, and can withstand even the mightiest clubbing.
Zarkenis Ultima wrote:And here, we see a wild Shittonicus Charactericus, coloquially known as Charmera, in its natural habitat. It seems to be displaying behavior expected from one of its kind, producing numerous characters and juggling them with its front paws.
by Charmera » Sat Mar 30, 2019 7:50 pm
Zarkenis Ultima wrote:And here, we see a wild Shittonicus Charactericus, coloquially known as Charmera, in its natural habitat. It seems to be displaying behavior expected from one of its kind, producing numerous characters and juggling them with its front paws.
by Ormata » Sat Mar 30, 2019 8:37 pm
Charmera wrote:IC Is up: viewtopic.php?f=31&t=462158
by Granluras » Sun Mar 31, 2019 10:39 am
- Fallen God Physiology: Fallen gods are ageless, in additon, they are faster, stronger and tougher than most mortal races.
- Healing: As a healing deity, Mupeidor is able to heal anyone and anything of anything. However, he is no longer able to protect people from death, as he is no longer strong enough to face off with Ka-Phera.
- Extrasensory Powers: Mupeidor has advanced mental powers such as psychokinesis and telepathy, but while the former is almost unlimited in its strength the latter is restricted to the Kasendu.
- Teleportation: Mupeidor can teleport whenever to any location within a hundred kilometers of his present location.
- Hunted: Due to his ability to heal almost anything, and his weakness brought on by his status as a fallen, Mupeidor is hunted constantly by people to force him to heal one of their relatives or tribes.
- Fate: As mentioned before, if summon is destined to die, Mupeidor cannot intervene with their fate. He is too weak now to face off against Ka-Phera.
The Kresnedu: The Kresnedu is a fifteen inch tall and seven inch wide crystal that appears as quartz and has a red, blue, purple, and green aura around it. The Kresnedu is a device that allows Mupeidor to channel and amplify his powers, and has allowed him to hold onto a majority of his powers. The Kresnedu resides in his chest and acts as his equivalent of a mortal heart.
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