Name: Rochelle Devicrux of the Black Ember Age: 25 Gender: Female
Appearance(pic and description)
Spoiler: Rochelle
In her former life Rochelle or "Shelly" was your typical highschool girl. She was pretty, a cheerleader, and the one girl every guy wanted, but couldn't catch. Being a supple, but respectable 5'8 and 120 pounds of bouncy muscle. Her hair was a mix between blonde and brunette and her eyes were the type of clear blue songs were written about. She wore the nicest clothes and made sure she had makeup on before leaving any house and her skin was kept flawless.
This all changed the day she moved to college. The good girl left after the first month, and the hard partying club girl took over. She dyed her hair black, wore only dark lipstick and mascara, and always dressed like she was either coming back from a rave or going to one. She even bought some contacts that changed the color of her eyes, they were now a devious lavender color. She kept partying and her youthful glow faded dying under a cloud of smoke.
This was how she was when she died and this is how she is in undeath. While still pretty, she lost the healthy girl-next-door vibe, it was replaced with a more predatory beauty, like looking at a black panther ready to pounce. Her hair remains black, her skin pale, and the lavender contacts became her real eyes and took on a more sinister deep violet color. She is still 5'8, but partying made her an almost sickly 110 pounds. She tried to regain her old fashion sense, but her wardrobe remains primarily black.
Race: Human Job: Revenant of the Order of the Black Ember
Racial Skills and Abilities(limit of 4)
Almost invincible: Like all Revenants Rochelle is nigh indestructible, as long as the black ember necklace that anchors her to earth is safe. She can be shot, burned, stabbed, poisoned, electrocuted etc. It'll all hurt like the dickens, but it won't stop her.
Black Fire: A power given to every member of the Black Ember Order, it allows them to tap into the power of their anchor and shoot out a gout of black fire to attack with. While powerful, it strains on their own powers if used too much and weakens them.
Physically superior: Once more as long as her anchor is safe and she hasn't overused the Black Fire power, Rochelle is physically more power and quicker than the greatest athletes.
Magically attuned: As most Revenants are brought back to hunt down evil humans who wronged them they supernaturally attuned to it. While not able to hone in on anyone who has done evil, anyone that has wronged her can be followed like the north star. It also extends to anyone associated to that person or in some way had a hand in her own demise.
Normal Skills and Abilities(limit of 5)
Acrobat: Years of cheerleading and gymnastics have given Rochelle the skills of a circus acrobat and contortionist.
Charm: While basically a zombie she's still pretty and still holds some of the charm she had when alive.
Underworld knowledge: While the reason for her damnation into hell. He knowledge of drugs and the criminal culture that pushes them have proven very useful in her stint as a Bounty Hunter for the "Poison of God".
Pistoleer: Something she needed to learn to stay on the living end of the many drug deals she found herself in. Rochelle is a good shot with pistols.
Intelligent: Despite having a short adult life full of mostly stupid choices Rochelle is smart. Every year of High School she was a straight-A Honors student.
Weapons(Limit of 4 weapons): She carries a Ruger 9 mil with two extra mags.
Armor(one sensible suit of armor): She doesn't need any.
Equipment: She carries only enough to make her job of blending in easier, but her Black Ember pendent is always on her.
Augs(Limit of 3): N/A
Personality: Before she died she might've been called a bubbly naive girl who was always laughing and enjoying life. Afterwards though after years of substance abuse, a number of rough careers, a very violent inglorious death, and a time in hell that is no more. Jaded and sarcastic would best describe her now, while not malicious and still able to be nice and smile it comes very hard and is often short-lived. She keeps everyone at a distance with jokes and shocking tales of her time in Hell to get them to leave her alone if they persist.
Likes: Being alive again, the fresh air, the cold, and having a nice glass of wine with some Chinese food. Dislikes: Her past, Hell, most of the Churches in the world, failing her mission.
Spoiler: Background
Born to an upper crust white American family in the heartland, Rochelle wanted for nothing, rarely got in trouble, and was expected to do great things. And all through high school she stayed on that path set to her by her parents. She was a cheerleader, Honors student, on the student council, and even completed her Girl Scouts making to the Gold Award. Her life was good and she was happy, all throughout her school career she was the closest to a Fairy Tale princess a normal girl could get.
But it wasn't until she left for college that she found out most of that was her parents keeping her line. Now that she was out on her own she didn't have their kind hugs and stern lectures to keep her on the up and up. The friends she had in high school went to other places and she had gone to a school well out her home state, so alone and with no one around to really reel her in Shelly went down a dark path that could only lead to one place. Hell.
It started out innocently enough, being invited to Sorority parties hanging out with boys, allowing them to fetch her drinks and compliment her and make-out with her. But as she went to more parties and rumors got around she was easy to get drunk more boys brought her more drinks and she found herself loving the attention just as she did in high school only there was much more booze at college and she didn't need to worry about getting busted for underage drinking. It got worse each weekend until finally at the end of her first month she got very drunk and one lucky guy got extra lucky. She slept with him and it was the end of her good girl ways, she liked drinking, and partying, and sex. And he liked her, too bad for Rochelle he was a big wig in a local gang and was always on the lookout for pretty little things like her. She didn't know that at the time so too liked them alot, and she continued to like them right up until she "woke up" in the middle of some downtown club with six guys and seven girls all crammed into a small upstairs room with heroine spread on a small mirror in front of her. It was like she had been blind to where she was going and now it was too late. She tried to leave the room suddenly, but apparently she was an "escort" and her customer was ready for the "special". She tried to get away, but she was strong-armed by the guy at the door and thrown onto one of the couches. The other girls, either too high or too scared simply laughed and went back to their own customers. Rochelle spent the rest of the night on her back going between her customer and any guy who was bored. It was horrid, but it was her life.
The night ended and she staggered her way home, once there she found the pistol she kept under her pillow and lifted it to her head pulling the trigger and ridding herself of these past seven years. This was when she found herself in Hell and a whole new plethora of horror was visited upon her. It sucked, but it was her afterlife. It was endless and like the other damned souls she screamed and squirmed when the tormentors wanted her to. Time passed differently in hell while not even a year had passed on Earth before she was brought back as a Revenant it was like one-hundred years in the lake of fire. She never expected to be brought back, but as she looked up at the cool night sky and saw the Archangel Sameal standing before her with a black pendent on a silver chain she was grateful and very confused.
He knew and answered every question she could think with a single phrase.
"This is your second chance." She took the pendent and thus began her servitude as a Bounty Hunter of the Order of the Black Ember. This was ten years ago and while she's never aged beyond twenty-five she'd been instrumental in slowing bringing down the Cartel that had brought about her suicide. Known as the Black Sparrow to them she has been slowly earning her place back on the righteous side of hell.
Other: She had lots of boyfriends and a few girlfriends too, but now she keeps most people away from her damaged heart.
Last edited by SikstaSlathalin; 07-04-2017 at 02:51 AM.
Xbox One Gamertag: Free Today56 just say who you are first.
Breath deep as the snow falls around you. Let it fill your lungs and purify the fires of doubt within you.
• Race and Background: Troll, immigrant, and down on his luck moonshiner coming from a prosperous family of Distillers.
• Appearance:
Spoiler: Bondor
11 feet tall and weighing a solid 700 pounds of Highland bulk. Bondor is usually seen dressed as above(minus the bagpipes) and his main weapons an Elephant gun and a nine foot long bat are across his back in custom made sheaths.
• Who are you?: Bondor had come down from the Highlands across the sea carrying his family's recipe with him to the rural lands around New Arc. It's a drink called Trollblight and it has been known to cause blindness in less sturdy races, but for those tough enough to take it the drink was well worth the pricetag of $300 in American units.
Among Trolls, the Graybacks were rich and ambitious it was actually this wealth and ambition that brought Bondor to America's shores and for a few years before the Volstead Act the Graybacks were on the edge of being one of the world's premier Distillers. Unfortunately the family saw the dust-up coming, but did very little to insure the survival of Bondor and his operation.
He had a few stockpiles of ingredients stashed in the woods and lived on them. But as the legislation took hold and started getting muscle behind it those stockpiles ran out or had to be abandoned because police were getting too close. They prowled the woods with full tactical teams shooting down anyone who wasn't on their side. Now he's only able to distill a quarter of the stock he used to and is being forced to actually venture into the city for supplies and reluctant allies. One such ally came in the form of a jaded war vet named Jecht Haldenbridge. At first the 11 foot Troll wasn't sure of the little man that was less than half his size. But once he saw the sheer brutality of the Hafling at work breaking legs for the Stafford Mafia family. They were a prospective business partner for Bondor, but once the old man kicked the scramble for control of the group soured the simple Moonshiners outlook on them, but the Halfling found his way into Bondor's woods and a partnership was struck, Bondor needed a driver and a smaller operative in the city and Jecht needed someone to keep him off Belfont's radar.
As of now Bondor, his two nephews Jongo and Hamish, Jecht, and a female Gargoyle named Elsa are all that is left of the once prosperous Trollblight operation. Their HQ is located on the side of Big MT and consists of a Model A truck to run the whiskey and an old Bison drawn cart to gather ingredients and carry Bondor to town when needed.
• What do you want?: Business to return and bring honor to the Grayback Clan.
Last edited by SikstaSlathalin; 07-04-2017 at 02:52 AM.
Xbox One Gamertag: Free Today56 just say who you are first.
Breath deep as the snow falls around you. Let it fill your lungs and purify the fires of doubt within you.
Under his mask Salazar is a man of character and feature. Completely bald and covered from head to toe with bizarre markings of unknown origin. His skin is fair and dotted with scars from his former life.
A 6'1 fighter's build with defined muscle and taut skin, the strange tattoos continue across his body in a random patterns and it is said if one stares at him long enough they'll be hypnotized...or get smacked with a frying pan for being a peeping tom. While his entire body is remarkable his eyes are quite mundane by comparison. A simple deep brown that darts from side-to-side as if expecting trouble at all times. On mission he dresses as above, a long many belted trenchcoat with metal studs poking up across his shoulders and arms. He wears black combat gloves with magic channeling material under the sturdy layer of leather. Like the rest of his outfit his utility belt is also black leather and the pouches are filled with mission sensitive gear. He wears black camo fatigues and classy pointed shoes with non-rubber soles that also help him channel magic.
Outside of missions he can usually be found in a bathrobe and on good days he even wears jeans and a t-shirt under it.
Spoiler: Personality
Salazar's personality is the product of years of normal military training, Spec ops training, and most recently extreme reconditioning methods by the Cult of the Second Son who wanted to make a super weapon.
The man is an unhinged mess and can actually be split into three different personalities which ironically coincide with each phase of his life. The Soldier, the Agent, and the Manic. Sometimes the changes are subtle; other times it's like throwing an M-80 into a room of sleeping Elephants.
The Soldier: Thankfully this is Sal's most frequent and amicable personality. He's your typical soldier, hard-working, reliable, lusty, and safe to be around. He laughs, he jokes, he plays grab ass. The type of guy you can get drunk with one day and rely on to watch your back in a hot LZ the next.
The Agent: This is one of the personalities Sal falls into when he's in danger or going on a dangerous mission. Gone is the jolly soldier boy only the grim faced Merc who's seen too much and done too many dark deeds to allow joy to enter his life remains. He's all business and is quick to crack down on anyone fucking off when lives are on the line. He pulls the trigger and never ask questions.
The Manic: An extremely dangerous state of mind for Salazar and anyone around him. This is the personality that has built up his killcount and earned him the most trouble. He loves to kill and laughs when he does so. When this mask is on it's better to just point him at an enemy and go the opposite direction. He kills and destroys until the bloodlust passes.
Spoiler: Powers, Traits, and Abilities
Powers: Sal's powers were forced upon him by the Cult of the Second Son. He was sublimely forced to absorb the collected works of John Dee, namely The Speech of God. For hours and days on end he was chained to a chair while being pumped full of ethereal energy and listening to a recorded loop of the Cult's leader reading the books over and over again. He only has three mystical powers at the moment and he must communicate with his Guardian Angel in the Third Sphere of Heaven and ask permission before he can use them. This can take a few seconds of steady concentration. He has the power to heal with Holy Heal, the power to bless and enhances his allies with Divine Light, and the power to severely damage Unholy things with White Fire.
Holy Heal: The longest of the three spells to activate. Holy Heal surrounds the afflicted with golden light and patches minor wounds and burns fairly quickly. The more severe the wound the longer it takes to heal.
Divine Light: This spell is in the middle range of time needed to activate. The recipient is imbued with white light and depending on the situation one attribute can be bolstered for a set time. Be it strength, speed, durability, etc Sal needs to be physically touching the individual to activate Divine Light.
White Fire: This is the quickest of his three spells and the only one that can be used offensively. It can be used like a fireball or fused into blades and bullets to make them deal Holy Damage. It can only be used on Unholy things though, not even bad humans can be harmed by it and it can even backfire on him if he does attack anything but the Unholy.
Abilities: While his powers are useful Sal's real skill lies in his military training. Over twenty years of fighting for freedom and money, have given Salazar a potent repertoire of ways to kill others.
Expert Marksmen: Able to shoot the eye of a Harpy at two-hundred yards, Sal's skilled with pistols, shotguns and rifles. But only goes as high as Semi-auto he's never been a fan of automatic weapons.
Sword-fighter: Enjoying the elegance and reputation attached to swords. Salazar is a skilled blade fighter able to wield big swords or dual-wield smaller ones if it's pointy and stabby he can use it.
Combat Medic: When he just doesn't have the time to use his healing powers Sal is proficient as a Field Medic and often carries the groups Med supplies on him.
Survivor's mindset: When you have lived the life Sal has you develop the mindset of a true survivor. Unafraid of death, willing to do anything to see tomorrow, and able to face down the most vile of people and creatures and crack a number of witty one-liners.
Brawler: Though not a favored skill, Sal can take a beating and throw-down with a combination of Pankration and panic fists.
Tricky: Due to his training and unstable mind Salazar can be a very unpredictable man in a close fight and has been known to use the land to his advantage.
Spoiler: Standard Loadout:
Salazar's loadout is very mission dependent and to an extent dependent on his mind at the time. But no matter what is going on he always has fire making tools, holy objects of power, and information on a magically resistant PDA to tap into.
The Soldier favors guns over melee and he carries two .45 caliber pistols and a
bolt-action Remington rifle all able to take normal rounds or special silver rounds.
The Agent favors melee over ranged and he carries two katanas, a tactical tomahawk, and an extending metal staff.
The Manic has no weapon preference and has been known to use anything he can get his hands on to kill and destroy from broken pipes to a crane he once used to drop a shipping crate on the target.
Spoiler: Background:
For most of his life Salazar was named Riley and lived a good life. His family was upper-middle class and he was a star in school. He joined the Army at seventeen with hopes of earning a few bucks and getting his degree in Graphic Design. He signed the papers with a smile and expected his life to be filled blazing glory. In short...it wasn't, the training was far more difficult than he expected and his unit was full of assholes.
As the reality of life in the military dawned on him he was just waiting for his contract to be up, his degree to be earned, and never look back. He got his bachelor's degree a month before his stint was to be up, but work for a Graphic Designer was impossible to come by so despite his parents and his better judgement saying no he re-upped for a further six years and was stuck for life. Each time his contract was coming up money troubles and lack of work would force him to pick up that pen and sign his soul away once again.
For twenty years Riley was a warrior, Fifteen in the normal rank and file and as his contract ended for the last time he had enough money to get out, but killing was all he knew so he joined a group Black Op Mercs at his first chance and ran with them for five years. Flying out on missions all over the globe and killing people he couldn't even pronounce the names of. He never asked the why of it, just did what he only knew to do, follow orders. It was his last mission with the Mercs that set him on the final chapter to be becoming Salazar. He was in the desert...again...hunting supposed terrorists again...going on very little intel...again. All and all this mission looked to be like any other, but the group wasn't the usual Taliban dress wearers, they were called the Cult of the Second Son and apparently they were a group of Conspiracy Theorists who believed God had a another son and that this one was the true Messiah and Jesus was just a ploy so God wouldn't lose his favorite offspring.
The team landed and that was the last time Riley saw the sun and the last time he was named Riley. The mission went to hell quick and the group of Spec Op soldiers was murdered by magic slinging zealots. All but Riley, he was captured alive and apparently was the reincarnation of God's Second son. They just needed to unlock the Divine presence from it's human shell and then they could use the wrath of the Denied Son to rid the world of evil. That meant ten years of torture both physical and mental, if he wasn't being beaten with metal crosses he was being forced to listen to the Cult's leader rant on and on about the Speech of God while he was being bathed in strange magical beams that made him glow like a spotlight for hours afterwards.
He forgot his own name and took the name of the Denied Son Salazar. They had almost had him convinced too, but one faithful day on what Salazar later found out to be his 40th birthday the Valkyries stormed the Cult's compound and wiped the group out. Salazar was kept in the innermost sanctum and he was too out of it to even notice them busting the door down. He was muttering the first book in the strange tongue the cult leader used and only looked up when he felt a cold gun barrel placed against his head. His eyes were glazed over and unmoving and his lips constantly moved around the words. It was actually Nate who stayed the would-be executioner's hand, he knew some of Salazar's pain and the power pulsing off the prisoner couldn't be ignored. They took him away and have spent five years slowly bringing Salazar back to reality using white magic, modern meds, and patience.
What did the most good for him though was sending him on missions, the fighting and using hard-wired skills allowed Salazar to maintain his grasp on reality even if he has permanent mental damage from the torturing. Now Salazar is on the verge of having a clean bill of health, he's stable, lucid, and no longer thinks he's actually the Second Son of God.
Spoiler: RP Sample:
The Denied Son of God....Salazar...harbinger of the true might of God... The words were emphasized by horrendous scenes of baseball bats and spiked clubs pummeling purple flesh and breaking already broken limbs. The words grew louder and louder until Salazar leapt from his bed shooting an entire mag of his pistol into the far wall. Even after it was empty the man kept pulling the trigger trying to kill the ghosts of his past.
Feet came thundering down the hall and soon Salazar's door was ripped open and in came two of his fellow Valkyries. An Orc named Dire and a woman named Mildra and her Wolf, they were both armed and the dog had his teeth bared and the hair bristled along it's thick black hide. Dire only snarled, his saber glistening in the firelight but Mildra spoke holstering her weapon and walking slowly up to the still dreaming man as he continued to yank uselessly on the gun's trigger. She's been Salazar's neighbor for the five years since the team rescued him. At least once a week this happened so she was used to it and knew exactly how to bring the killer back to reality. Motioning for Dire to leave she took her gun belt off and handed it to her dog who clamped it in his teeth and sat by the door. Reaching for the gun she began singing a simple lullaby to him. The woman had the voice of an angel with just enough motherly affection that the horrors of Salazar's past began to vanish. His breath stilled and his eyes became focused again, he allowed the woman to to take the empty gun and pulled the tall man into a firm hug holding him close until he wrapped his arms around her tears streaming down his tattooed face.
Despite being an Amazon from a culture where such affections were frowned upon Mildra held onto Salazar allowing his hot tears to dampen her short toga. From the start Mildra and Salazar had been close, they've been through many missions and were actually paired up a lot so even when you're hunting nightmarish monsters there are lots of stake-outs and time to kill between the bouts of action. They spoke and the Brass told her to be open and let him do the talking she was part of his therapy even before she knew he needed it. That developed into this, her singing to him in the wee hours of the morning and hugging him until he stopped shaking. Tonight it was only needed for three minutes, the man's tears dried up and he released the Amazon smiling softly at her.
"You may have to move your bed in here instead of busting my door down every night."
The dark-haired woman chuckles giving the soldier a firm punch in the arm.
"And risk you shooting me instead of the wall? I don't know you'd need to be one hell of roommate big guy. How about we just head to the training room and spar a bit."
Feeling like his Soldier self Salazar chuckled going to his dresser and grabbing his gym clothes.
"So you can kick my ass and put me to sleep? You sure you just don't want to show off that new sleeping toga you got?" He winked looking the white mid-thigh length garment up and down.
Giving a small spin Mildra winked back whistling a command to her dog who simply huffed and turned around walking the Amazon's pistol-belt back to her room.
"Well it certainly helps with distracting you so I don't have to deal with any of your cheap Merc tricks."
This got a rich laugh from Salazar as he finished wrapping his hands and feet in boxing tape before tossing it to the woman heading for the door.
"Hey those cheap merc tricks saved your fine ass a few times remember?"
Mildra only laughed following Salazar out of his room wrapping her own hands in the tape.
"Once or twice more like it."
Spoiler: Salazar the Hunter
Name: Salazar
Age: 45
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Straight
Appearance:
Spoiler: Salazar
Under his mask Salazar is a man of character and feature. Completely bald and covered from head to toe with bizarre markings of unknown origin. His skin is fair and dotted with scars from his former life.
A 6'1 fighter's build with defined muscle and taut skin, the strange tattoos continue across his body in a random patterns and it is said if one stares at him long enough they'll be hypnotized...or get smacked with a frying pan for being a peeping tom. While his entire body is remarkable his eyes are quite mundane by comparison. A simple deep brown that darts from side-to-side as if expecting trouble at all times. On mission he dresses as above, a long many belted trenchcoat with metal studs poking up across his shoulders and arms. He wears black combat gloves with magic channeling material under the sturdy layer of leather. Like the rest of his outfit his utility belt is also black leather and the pouches are filled with mission sensitive gear. He wears black camo fatigues and classy pointed shoes with non-rubber soles.
Personality:
Spoiler: Personality
Salazar's personality is the product of years of normal military training, Spec ops training, and most recently extreme torture methods by the Agency.
The man is an unhinged mess and can actually be split into three different personalities which ironically coincide with each phase of his life. The Soldier, the Agent, and the Manic. Sometimes the changes are subtle; other times it's like throwing an M-80 into a room of sleeping Elephants.
The Soldier: Thankfully this is Sal's most frequent and amicable personality. He's your typical soldier, hard-working, reliable, lusty, and safe to be around. He laughs, he jokes, he plays grab ass. The type of guy you can get drunk with one day and rely on to watch your back in a hot LZ the next.
The Agent: This is one of the personalities Sal falls into when he's in danger or going on a dangerous mission. Gone is the jolly soldier boy only the grim faced Merc who's seen too much and done too many dark deeds to allow joy to enter his life remains. He's all business and is quick to crack down on anyone fucking off when lives are on the line. He pulls the trigger and never ask questions.
The Manic: An extremely dangerous state of mind for Salazar and anyone around him. This is the personality that has built up his killcount and earned him the most trouble. He loves to kill and laughs when he does so. When this mask is on it's better to just point him at an enemy and go the opposite direction. He kills and destroys until the bloodlust passes.
>Strengths: Skilled gunman, fighter, martial artist, explosive expert and extremely physically fit and quick.
>Weaknesses: Unpredictable, split personalities, his gift only applies to Gifts not normal attacks, and he is bloodlusty over killing Agents.
Spoiler: Backstory
For most of his life Salazar was named Riley and lived a good life. His family was upper-middle class and he was a star in school. He joined the Army at seventeen with hopes of earning a few bucks and getting his degree in Graphic Design. He signed the papers with a smile and expected his life to be filled blazing glory. In short...it wasn't, the training was far more difficult than he expected and his unit was full of assholes.
As the reality of life in the military dawned on him he was just waiting for his contract to be up, his degree to be earned, and never look back. He got his bachelor's degree a month before his stint was to be up, but work for a Graphic Designer was impossible to come by so despite his parents and his better judgement saying no he re-upped for a further six years and was stuck for life. Each time his contract was coming up money troubles and lack of work would force him to pick up that pen and sign his soul away once again.
For twenty years Riley was a warrior, Fifteen in the normal rank and file and as his contract ended for the last time he had enough money to get out, but killing was all he knew so he joined a group Black Op Mercs at his first chance and ran with them for five years. Flying out on missions all over the globe and killing people he couldn't even pronounce the names of. He never asked the why of it, just did what he only knew to do, follow orders. It was his last mission with the Mercs that set him on the final chapter to be becoming Salazar. He was in the desert...again...hunting supposed terrorists again...going on very little intel...again. All and all this mission looked to be like any other, but the group wasn't in the usual terrorist dress, they were called the Order. Riley had heard about the shadowy before, but so far in his life he's never had to deal with them before.
Still he knew from experience a well placed bullet will kill anyone Gifted or no. But this group was organized like a paramilitary group. The ambushed his squad their pet Gifted blasting attacks down from the ridge line. His brothers and sisters in arms dropped like flies all around him, they all fought to the bitter end and Riley forgot how many Gifted abilities he dodged...or so he thought. As the last of his comrades died the Order soldier swooped down from the high ground to end him, but as the one solider threw a large metal spike into his chest the spike bent and bounced off his chest. As surprised as the rest of the group Riley managed to use the metal spike and his military training to kill three of his attackers before he was struck from behind.
He awoke deep in a basement somewhere. He was stripped of his shirt and tied to a chair that was bolted to the concrete floor. He was alone upon waking up, but that didn't last long soon six people in white coats walked in followed by at least eight more dressed in black clothes. No words were exchanged as the eight in black surrounded him taking combative stances around him. One of the people in lab coats snapped their fingers and the people in black began attacking him with their gifts. He felt the attacks, but didn't seem to take any damage. They carried on for hours each Gifted taking turns using every techniques and variation of their ability as possible. But nothing injured the captured man, he was a Gifted with a most unique power.
For years this was his everyday. Torment, abuse, and isolation, everyday they brought in more and more Gifted to test his powers. And while he wasn't damaged his body began to change taking on strange markings and scars that seemed equal parts tattoo as healed injury. But still nothing showed up, there were whispers he was an Omega whatever that meant. This seemed to really excite the people in the Lab Coats. They brought in people called Alphas to try, and a whole new world of pain was visited upon him. Only now he was tied to a wall at the end of a big firing range like a rifle range dummy. Luckily he blacked out after the first volley, like before this carried on for awhile until his salvation arrived in a raid by another group called the Agency.
He doesn't remember much after that, just that he wasn't a target anymore. It took him a long time to recover from the mental trauma, but he did and now he's the leader of a group called the Project Hunter. Activated when shit gets out of hand and tossed into the fan, the last time they were activated was when the three Omegas Psion, Storm Breaker, and Warlock were captured. A good chunk of the group was killed, but him, Taipan, Echolash, Flash, Maho Shojo remained and like the secret little weapons they are were deactivated and sent back into the real world until the time would come where they would be needed again.
Faction: The Agency
Gift: Omega
Resilience: A purely defensive and powerful ability. Salazar can take and lessen hits from gifts, he can withstand nearly fifteen hits from Betas, ten hits from Alphas, and three hits from an Omega. It has no time limit, but once the number of hits land the force causes Salazar to black out, which leaves him open to death unless someone takes his body somewhere else. And separate effects can still happen like his clothes can be set on fire if he takes a too many fireballs, Acid powers can melt him if he stays too long in it. etc.
Last edited by SikstaSlathalin; 08-15-2018 at 05:11 AM.
Xbox One Gamertag: Free Today56 just say who you are first.
Breath deep as the snow falls around you. Let it fill your lungs and purify the fires of doubt within you.
Personality: Like many Sunners, Alimiax is a very cheerful individual with a busy body personality. She also zipping around doing something or helping someone, volunteer work, tutoring, or doing a sports or club. Very little can dampen her smile or make her say an unkind thing about anyone.
Spoiler: Appearances
Spoiler: Ali
Spoiler: Human Form
In her human form Ali is a pale skinned young woman of average height at 5'7 and slightly underweight at 120lbs. Her hair is medium length, straight as arrows and black as night. Her body is lithe and flexible like a dancer and considering that is what she is it works. Being a Sunbeam Dragon her eyes can shift with the time of day, in the morning they're pale yellow, in the afternoon they're fiery orange, and in the evening they're a dark purple.
Spoiler: Half Form
Sunbeam Dragons aren't the biggest Dragons around as such in her half form Ali is only 7 feet tall and 600 pounds. Her body becomes longer and sleeker and now shows the shine of a layer of orange-red dragon scales covering her entire body from head to toe. Her spiraling horns poke out the side of her head about half a foot. Her wings are 12 feet long and 8 feet wide and her tails is thin, whip-like, and 10 feet long.
Spoiler: Dragon Form
In her Dragon form Ali becomes a prime example of her people. Covered in glistening scales that can change color with the time of day matching her eyes. Her horns are now 2 feet long with 2 complete spirals.
She is now 14 feet tall, 24 feet long(with tail), with 28 foot wings which are now 16 feet wide, her tails is 12 feet long now. She also weighs 1000 pounds. Her teeth and claws are thin and knife like now.
Spoiler: Neophyte Form
As a Mystic Neophyte Ali's forms don't change too awful much. All three forms now hold a golden glow and in her human and half forms her dark hair lightens. And she always seems to be surrounded with very bright lights.
Spoiler: Adept Form
As an Adept her body begins to really reflect her more powerful connection to the Light.
Human Form: In her Human form, her skin begins to shimmer like she is coated in a thin layer of dull gold. Her hair lengthens and lightens to a Chestnut color that also looks reflective. Her fingers begin to spark with the light coursing through her.
Half Form: In her half form, her scales take a brighter gold coloring as do her wings, horns, and claws. While still learning control she always seems to have a stage light on her unless she really focuses on dimming it.
Dragon Form: In her Dragon Form Ali's scales area a brighter gold and it covers her entire body now. The Light within her is now coursing just under scaly hide pulsing through her body like blood.
Spoiler: Master Form
In her Master form Ali's body undergoes the greatest changes.
Human Form: In her Human form she looks to be made of soft glowing gold. Her hair is now a shimmering platinum blond and down her back stopping just short of her hips. Her body has grown taller and heavier. Now a solid 6'2 weighing an athletic 150lbs with long taut muscles. Now under full control of the Light she can be either bright as the sun or darker than ink though under normal circumstances it just gives her body a healthy golden glow.
Half Form: Like her Human form she is bigger and heavier in her Master Form. 9 feet tall and weighing an Amazonian 900 pounds. Her skin is a brighter gold and her hair is white and glistens with it's own inner light. Her wings have grown slightly to accommodate her greater size they are now 17 feet long and 14 wide. Her horns are also bigger now going a full foot from her head.
Dragon Form: Her Draconic Master Mystic form is truly a sight to behold. She is now 30 feet tall, 35 feet long(with tail), with a 40 foot wings which are now 45 feet wide, her tails is 20 feet long now. She also weighs 1700 pounds. She is nearly identical to the appearance of a Base Element Light Dragon now only with the Quad legs dual wings style Dragon body rather than Serpentine. Her scales are like solid gold plates and can now change color with the time of day like her eyes have always done. The power to control the light around her carries over and she moves with such skill and speed many can think she is really made of light.
Equipment: Just her school supplies, some pictures of her friends and family and a small knife given her by her father.
Spoiler: Abilities
Spoiler: Racial Abilities
As a Dragon Ali has the usual abilities found within her species.
Deeper knowledge of spells, charms and lore.
Enhanced strength and durability.
Enhanced senses.
Amazing speed and agility.
Claws and teeth are extremely strong and sharp.
Obvious dragon flight even in human form just has to summon her wings.
Being a Sunbeam Dragon she also has slight control over sunlight able to control it as an attack, defense, or as a healing tool, and she can both travel via sunbeams, but can create her own light to see by in the dark. And her breath weapon is a quick firing bursts of solar energy that she can utilize with great accuracy.
Spoiler: Neophyte Light Mystic Abilities
Great control over light able to use it like basic hardlight now. It gives her a few more abilities she doesn't have just being a Sunbeam Dragon.
Beam: A basic attack that fires a strong beam of burning light in front of her, though she can't control it once fired she can pop off a few rounds before tiring.
Shield: A single side shield that pops up in front of her or others and can protect from some physical attacks, but is more effective against magic.
Glow: A simple skill that allows her to create light and use it to see by.
Heal: Using the light within her she can heal minor wounds like cuts and scrapes. More grave wounds can be fixed, but it's equal parts luck and skill if she manages it.
Dazzle: Used to blind things the length of the ailment depends on exposure and at this level it can do as much harm as good.
Enhancement: She can use the Light to boost her speed and power a little, but it's a quick fire type of thing she can't maintain it for very long.
Spoiler: Mundane Abilities
Like any girl Ali has skills and hobbies that have nothing to do with being a Mystic or a Dragon.
Dancer: Years of Ballet and a few mischievous nights at a downtown club have given Ali the smooth sweeping skills of a great dancer.
Helper: Whether it's helping out in the kitchen or in the garden pulling weeds Ali knows a number of simple little tricks that can make her a great asset around the house.
Smart: Study hard, be great. It was one of her Grandfather's favorite sayings and he worked it into the minds of every grandkid. Ali studies every night and does her best to maintain an A average.
Guitar: She's tried to learn a few instruments, but the only one she stuck with was the guitar. She's quite good at it.
Backstory: Like many Dragons Ali was born and has lived much of her young life in the Dragon Homeland. She learned the basics about being a Dragon and some of their magic and has begun to undergo the more specialized teaching of being a Sunbeam Dragon and all that entails. But this means leaving the Homeland and actually living among the Non-Draconics, every youngling has to do it when they reach 13 years of age. Now that may not seem like much when you're a race that can live for thousands of years. But young Alimiax had to go through crash course after crash course before she could be dropped into the Human realm. Languages, social studies, learning she couldn't eat every tasty meat filled animal that she saw.
Luckily though Ali has always been bright and kind, but boy were those some long nights. Eventually she was given into the care of her Aunt who lives in the Human Realm and sent out into the big fleshy world. It was all flash and fresh smells at first, but as she dug deeper she saw the badness hidden under the fake smiles and mechanical gestures. She went from living in a world filled with only one race into one full of many races and all the prejudice and spite that brings. It saddened her at first, but with the guidance of Aunt Deliahax she turned that sadness into drive and in usual Sunner fashion become everyone's friend and helper.
She has been called a Mary Sue many times, but this is the way of her people. She cannot change from what she is anymore than she can change her elemental alignment. So why fight it? Now she is a Senior at Blackbrick Academy where magical creatures from around the world learn to control their powers and live in peace with each other. Sometimes that doesn't work...but that's High School.
Other: Ali keeps herself busy, but can usually be found sitting outside enjoying the sun.
Last edited by SikstaSlathalin; 07-04-2017 at 02:54 AM.
Xbox One Gamertag: Free Today56 just say who you are first.
Breath deep as the snow falls around you. Let it fill your lungs and purify the fires of doubt within you.
Name: Roderick St. Scorn
Age: 2500
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Straight
Personality: Roderick is what can be called a man's man. He's rough, he's tough, and he eagerly knocks down anyone allies or enemies who prove to be too annoying. He never speaks in hushed tones, but prefers to rely on his actions speaking louder than his words. He's the go-to-leg breaker, intimidator, and front line commander for powers the world over. And considering (in his opinion) the rest of the world is full of cowardly creatures who rely on trickery and deception to win he is the only front line commander of his caliber calling himself Marshal St. Scorn.
Appearance:
Spoiler: Roderick
8 feet and a pillar of power, speed, and death at 1200 pounds. Usually he can be seen in just a loincloth and his machetes sheathed on his back. His eyes burn with red fury and his fur is the color of a wildfire.
Beast Form:
Spoiler: Flying Tiger POWER!
While shorter than his normal form at 7'8 his weight jumps up to 1600 pounds and his claws, teeth, and body become the razor like stone of his machetes and now he has 20 foot long wings sprouting from his back.
Equipment: Roderick carries a pair of cruel looking obsidian machetes that weigh more than most races he's come across.
Abilities: Being a very physical being Roderick abilities lie in straight blood and gore violence. He has the power of 8 full grown bull elephants, the speed of around 60 mph, and the durability of a big rig. His senses are the keenest among his peers and his claws and teeth can rip through most hides.
And while being a mindless killing machine is his default tactical choice he is capable of surprisingly brilliant warmongering having led many campaigns in his military career and using his affinity for the fire element makes him the whole package of what you want in a Jackboot.
The weakness of such a beast is one of his lack of magical defenses. While he's tough enough to take a few hits enough magic being thrown at him will kill him.
Backstory: Roderick St. Scorn wasn't born with that name, he cast aside his old name because it was the sound of weakness to his ears. He hated the peaceful life of his Pride, he wanted war and battle. He wanted to coat his claws with blood and be a god of war like his ancestors were, this is what turned him on the path of a Warmonger. He actively sought out wars and picked a side almost ensuring their victory himself. He loved the life of a warrior and it brought to every country in the world meeting many interesting people and forming tentative alliances.
Other: Roderick has his own line of Ghost Pepper meat snacks only the toughest can handle.
Last edited by SikstaSlathalin; 07-04-2017 at 02:55 AM.
Xbox One Gamertag: Free Today56 just say who you are first.
Breath deep as the snow falls around you. Let it fill your lungs and purify the fires of doubt within you.
Mortimer Grimm is a man of means and fine tastes wrapped around the body of a prize-fighter. 6 foot even in height and a sturdy 190 pounds of tight muscle. His green eyes glow with magic and his face is kept in a state of perpetual stubble. His wavy blond hair is kept slicked back and shoulder length. His face is strong and masculine, but not brutish one look will tell anyone he's a man of high education and razor edged ruthlessness.
Race: Wizard Job: Resistance Mage
Racial Skills and Abilities (limit of 4):
Magical Blood: Being a pure blooded Wizard comes with the perks of a long life, a durable body, and the ability to enhance his senses to a certain degree.
Arcane Knowledge: Trained from before the end of the world in magic, but ever since his magic has been geared towards destruction and melting flesh from bones. But he does know a few protective charms and Restoration spells.
Normal Skills and Abilities(limit of 5):
Sword fighting: A classic skill and one invaluable skill for surviving in a world full of death.
Athletics: Running and jumping are always handy to not dying.
Staff fighting: Like sword fighting this skill is classic and life saving especially when you're using a magically runed staff to do it.
Runes: A skill that comes in handy, but takes time and can't be used a lot.
Weapons(Limit of 4 weapons): Edge of the Orchard Staff A 6 foot tall staff made from the wood of an ancient apple orchard that used to grow on the Grimm estates. It is runed with magic boosters and ones that make the staff extra durable.
Saber: The blade in the picture a simple steel saber with silver worked into the metal to make it more effective against monsters.
Dagger: The other blade in the picture good for staking hearts.
Personality: He puts survival and magic first and foremost. This world is fucked and he wants to get the hell out of it, ruthlessness, cunning, magical might, and that shining will to live on. This is what drives Mortimer on, he'd just as easily go by himself and take a pretty Witch with him to try and repopulate this next world. He treats those around him with as much respect as they pay him, but should they screw him they will be used as Hellhound bait.
Background: Born to the ancient and damn near unkillable line of Grimm, Mortimer was the second son before the end of the world happened, but after it he quickly became the only survivor. All of his family were born with great magic and had centuries of training behind them, but Mortimer had somethings they did not. Stupid luck and a careless ruthlessness that led men of his line like the pirate Captain Sebastian Grimm into infamy.
Being skilled in elemental magic gave Mr. Grimm an edge over the gun-totting Doomsday preppers and monster hunters around the world. He can punch holes through steel while bullets need to be specially made to do that. He knows spells that can banish a demon with a thought while others need time to prep ingredients and scribble things on the floor to make traps. Magic has many advantages, but like all things it has it's downside. Magic wears a body down and in a world of madness using it too much brings you closer to the edge. Also those with magic blood were among the first to be killed, the Grimms held out longer than most, but like all that stood against the end they fell forcing anyone left to run for their lives. And with much shame Mortimer joined them, though he never lost his feet or his head he joined the ranks of the low-brow monster hunters and preppers he once hated and has been fighting with the resistance ever since.
Now for over one hundred years Wizard Grimm has been sending Gum Men who are susceptible to magic and Monsters back to the pit from whence they sprung. But after years of nonstop magic using Mortimer began seeing the ominous shadows of the Outer Gods in his dreams and whenever he closed his eyes. It was the madness of this world and he found it got worse and worse each time he used magic. He held off it for a few years and was finally able to get a full night's sleep, now he uses his magic only when absolutely necessary relying on his wits and other skills to win the day. He now works as an advisor and guard to the Druid. A mystic and mankind's last hope at survival and eventually victory over the Outer Gods and their minions.
His days are spent fathering the new generation, leading high risk scout patrols, and planning with the Druid and Jason to take the fight directly to the Monsters.
Where were you the day the sun didn't shine?: At the blasted remains of my family's estate dueling my brother Malik with rapiers made from the bones of giants.
Last edited by SikstaSlathalin; 12-21-2017 at 09:01 PM.
Xbox One Gamertag: Free Today56 just say who you are first.
Breath deep as the snow falls around you. Let it fill your lungs and purify the fires of doubt within you.
Name: Combat Medical Robot Model X03. Prefers Medbot X03, Medbot, or just M.B.
Age: 36 years of operation
Gender(m/f): Programmed with a male voice.
Appearance(pic and description):
Spoiler: Medbot
Medbot is a 5'8 Medical Droid weighing around 450 pounds. His skin is the color of clean bronze and his eyes are blue and red. The blue eye has a built in x-ray scanner, and the red has an MRI scanner built in. Being made of metal he has little need for clothing, but when needed he does dress in built to fit black medical scrubs.
Race: Robot
Job: Assistant Medic
Racial Skills and Abilities (limit of 4):
Robo Might: A robot, even a Medical Robot is twice as strong as your average human. M.B. uses this advantage to restrains heavier patients who don't like needles
Robo Skin: Being made of metal has it's advantages. Medbot has armored skin that can protect against small arms fire, melee attacks and some energy weapons.
Swiss Army Hands: A standard feature in all Medical Bots M.B. has a wide selection of attachments he can strap onto his hands and use in his medical work.
Normal Skills and Abilities(limit of 5):
Medical: His programming and purpose in life. M.B. is filled with detailed files on Human and Alien anatomy, biology, medicinal techniques be it natural or synthetic, and cybernetics.
Combat Medic: While not his primary function M.B. was designed to be used on the battlefield. As such he comes with basic combat training firearms, hand-to-hand and melee, while not of the quality to make him a front line fighter it gives him enough skill to not die two seconds into CLS.
Exonet uplink: M.B. can access the medical directory from anywhere he can get plugged in.
Weapons(Limit of 4 weapons): Not being made for combat Medbot's only means of defense come from what he can use from his environment or what medical tools he can attach to his arms before being attacked. He has three primary choices at any given time.
Cryo Gun: A rapid flash freezing device, M.B. attaches this to his right arm and it allows him to shoot concentrated jets of liquid nitrogen at attackers.
Defibulator Hands: His standard issue hands come with high-power electroshock batteries that can work to taze attackers into submission.
Surgical Laser: Normally used when cutting through thick bones or armor Medbot's surgical laser attaches to his left arm and can function as a handy laser gun able to stop most attackers.
Armor(one sensible suit of armor): He is a robot built for combat, his body is made of a strong temperature resistant metal that can keep him alive in nearly any dangerous LZ.
Augs(Limit of 3):
Optical X-ray: His blue eye which gives him the ability to X-ray scan Cyborgs. It can even look through walls and doors should they be thin enough.
Optical MRI: His red eye which gives him the ability to MRI Scan Organics for various kinds of injuries.
Personality: Medbot is surly individual, he would tell you he was programmed to save lives not gives hug. As such his bedside manner is nonexistent and because he was programmed to be mission oriented he hates idleness and is often seen as insensitive and mean. But under it his A.I. is programmed to learn and adapt to those around him. In a strange robotic way he cares very deeply for the welfare of his comrades even when he insults and forces them to move at his high-speed.
Likes: Keeping his comrades alive, Warworld, learning new things, and organization.
Dislikes: Lazness, whining, boredom, and chaos.
Background: Medbot's early history isn't one much different from the other members of his build. He was turned on one day, given his orders, and sent to the frontline. His body endured the harshest places known to man, and has fixed biologicals from one side of the Alliance to the other. But one thing that did set him apart from his fellow scalpel swinging comrades was the Advanced A.I. that was implanted in his head. To this day he's not sure if it was an accident by some absent minded developer or a meant to be, but a few years into his operation he found himself observing and questioning what he saw.
Biologicals have an insatiable need for conflict and it never made any sense to the robot. His purpose was to repair them, but he wondered why should their stupidity be rewarded with medical care and allowed to continue? These questions plagued him throughout his military career, but his programming wouldn't let him stop. He asked many of the Organics he worked with, but none of them gave a satisfactory answer. So in search of an answer the Droid filed for separation and after he was checked for an sensitive military information he was repainted and sent out. Finding work for a Doctor isn't hard in this universe, but when that Doctor comes with armored skin and built in weaponry the work flows in.
Moving from world to world MB, continued to heal stupid Organics and continued to ask why. So far his quest has proven fruitless, but now that he's working for a crew of space pirates maybe he'll find the answer...or be amused when they start singing shanties.
Other: N/A
Last edited by SikstaSlathalin; 07-04-2017 at 02:58 AM.
Xbox One Gamertag: Free Today56 just say who you are first.
Breath deep as the snow falls around you. Let it fill your lungs and purify the fires of doubt within you.
Name: Tsarmina Anastasia Uberfang or just Mina.
Age: 18
Gender(m/f): Female
Appearance(pic and description):
Spoiler: Mina
Like all other members of her race Mina has human torso and a long serpentine lower body. From head to tail she is 8 feet long and weighs around 190 pounds. Unlike nearly all of her people though she is very pale and lacks the usual golden diamond pattern the other Tsok say shows they are favored of the Golden One.
Her tendrils are long and a bright turquoise color adding further to her overall paleness. Her eyes, often called her most attractive feature by other races are a bright gold like a new coin. Because of her body shape she only needs to wear a top which usually consists of the short Black Star issued Engineer coat. But since she has been on her own she's picked up a liking for peasant blouses and longer and much warmer trenchcoats with lots of pockets.
Race: Tsok
Job: Assistant Engineer
Racial Skills and Abilities (limit of 4)
Enhanced physical attributes: Like all Skillian races Tsok are stronger, quicker, and tougher than your average human. Mina is small by her races standards, but can still toss around full grown men.
Venom: The Tsok have a potent neurotoxin in their fangs that can kill even large creatures. For females the venom goes more potent with age, because Mina is still young her venom can still kill, but it would take a few minutes for it to do that. The initial bite or spit can cause severe pain and potential blindness if she got a head shot with it.
Keen Intelligence: Mina excels at this particular ability. The Tsok are the smartest race on Skillio and have the greatest skill with technology. With only a few minutes of hands on work or teaching Mina can figure out most civilian operating systems and some military.
Normal Skills and Abilities(limit of 5)
Techie: An inherent skill, but one she had to teach herself the fine points of. Mina can rebuild and reprogram computers, high-tech vehicles, and hack security systems.
Pole-arm fighter: One of the few things she was actually taught Mina is skill at fighting with polearm weapons like pikes and naginatas.
Energy gunwoman: Something she learned on her own again Mina can suit rifle-gripped laser weapons with moderate skill.
Spitting cobra: While all Tsok women can spit their venom with decent accuracy, Mina has had a rougher life than most girls her age and has learned to be deadly accurate with hers.
Weapons(Limit of 4 weapons):
A simple Naginata, an old weapon made of steel and wood and about as long as her.
Fang, a laser rifle with a beam splitter mounted to the front. While not as powerful as a single beam it can hit two targets at once.
Personal defenses: When it really comes down to it, Mina can use her own fangs and venom to fight, though she isn't good at it.
Armor(one sensible suit of armor): Because of the unique body shape of the Tsok they have been responsible for creating their own clothing and armor for centuries. This is where the H.I.S.S comes in. The Holistic Interstellar Safety Suit is made unique to each Tsok because it uses their own unique venom and genetics to suit it to the personal needs of the Tsok it's being made for. It is kept in a belt around the Tsok's waist and with a press of the buckle a thick gel like substance is released and using the biolocked nanobots within the gel it quickly latches to and covers the creature's entire body. The gel is ideal for surviving in environments too dangerous for organic life and can stop small arms and energy fire.
Augs(Limit of 3): None
Personality: Despite her life as a reject and freak among her people Mina is a very curious and kindhearted girl. She is awkward at times, but only because she doesn't want to say something that might offend someone or make her look the fool. Once her nerves die down though she's creative and intuitive, she's spent much of her life watching people and as such she can sometimes tell what they're going to do next and adapt to it.
Likes: Technology, drawing, having her own room and bed, warmth, and having a home.
Dislikes: Her parents, her people, being cold, messing up, and shedding her skin.
Spoiler: Background
Born in the Southern part of the Tsokoko Ocean on Skillio, Mina's parents were highly respected Scientists for the Tsok people. They were responsible for creating the H.I.S.S and the Adder venom gun, they were a childless couple, but it was widely beleived that any child they did have would likely go on to serve on the Tsok Committee which functioned as the Government for their people. And once it was announced Mina's mother Tatiana was pregnant many of the community celebrated.
Since the average number of Tsok children is around six per litter, it was expected that all or at least one of the younglings would go onto to greatness. Sadly that was not meant to be the case, while rare it is possible for Tsok to have only one child at a time. Thus is the case with Tsarmina Anastasia Uberfang. That itself was a disappointment, but once the girl was born and it was seen that she was ghostly pale and lacked two arms. The disappointment turned to shame and resentment. How could two perfect Tsok make such a misshapen thing? Her parents didn't want the Community to know, so they kept young Mina locked away until she was old enough to be put up for adoption at age five. Then like an old bag the young Tsok was foisted off to the only multiracial orphanage on Skillio. Called the refuse bin behind closed doors the Cooperative Child Retention Facility is located in the biggest city on Skillio, the central hub on the agreed upon neutral ground. The city was called Moordust and it was home for eleven years.
She grew up alongside fellow castoffs from the other races. Kessen, Kabbals, Tang Mongs, even another Tsok named Nicolai, but only him. It further cemented her own lack of worth, surely she and Nico weren't the only imperfect children of the Tsok race? There must be others someplace yes? But as the years grew long no other Tsok were dropped off, and a few years before her own release Nico ran away and she never saw him again. After she reached the age of sixteen she was given a few credit from the Head Master an old coat and sent back to the Ocean, but that place had forsaken her and she had no desire to return. So taking the money she hopped a ship and went off into the universe. She had few skills to make money on, but her natural affinity for tech eventually got a job aboard a Shipping company, they only dealt in spices and other food stuffs so the work was safe enough to get her scales wet and hone her technological skills. Now a year later she has moved from ship to ship getting odd jobs for enough credits to get her further away from Skillio. She had just finished fixing up some high-end carnival's robotic singing bear when she found the PDA to the Black Star, she'd heard about the crew's many adventures, and often thought how much fun it would be to be a pirate. Just going off to do what you want when you want, Carin would be the furthest away from home she has been, which was good enough for her so she quickly signed on as the Asst. Engineer and finally found a place where she wouldn't be considered a freak.
Other: N/A
Last edited by SikstaSlathalin; 07-04-2017 at 03:01 AM.
Xbox One Gamertag: Free Today56 just say who you are first.
Breath deep as the snow falls around you. Let it fill your lungs and purify the fires of doubt within you.
What is best in life? To crush your enemies. See them driven before you. Hear the lamentations of their women.
Name: Iolaire-Sealgair (translates to eagle hunter in the ancient Calbannach tongue)
Race: Half breed, his father was a Calbannach warrior and his mother was a Varagnir Sea-Raider. A more violent coupling the Gods couldn't imagine.
Gender: Male
Age: 27
Visage:
Spoiler: Iolaire and Dubhar
Like any spawn birthed from two warrior races Iolaire is a bear of man. 6'11 and weighing a mighty 280 pounds of thick cold resistant muscle. His hair is the color of fresh bark and his eyes burn with the cyan glow of Calbann's purest skies.
His ever present companion and oldest friend is his Dire Eagle Dubhar(translates to Shade in the ancient tongue). A bird both large and imposing with feathers of dark brown and eyes of vibrant amber and tipping the scales at 40 inches tall, weighing in at 15 pounds with a wingspan of 7 feet.
Iolaire's outfit usually consists of the above, a sturdy mix of scale mail armor on his shoulders and studded leather covering his torso. His gauntlets are also studded leather and lined with fine rabbit fur to ward off the cold in the north. He wears modified iron greaves on his thighs and his boots are metal shined leaving his knees free to move with ease they are also rabbit fur lined. He often has a bear fur cloak draped about his shoulders and the Varagheim raid flag his father and mother bedded on when they conceived him is wrapped about his neck like a scarf. He also carries a bone fetish carved in the shape of a soaring eagle. He wears it at all times, keeping the amulet under his armor and always close to his heart.
Spoiler: Temperament
Upon first glance fear is often the thing someone feels when looking upon the large Ranger. His unsmiling face, his steady brooding eyes, the square and defensive way he keeps his broad shoulders pulled back, as if waiting for death to come calling after him. Everything lends towards an air of a hard fought life and the unspeakable cruelty of the far north.
And those initial feelings are not wrong, a life of isolation will leave anyone grim faced and cheerless. Iolaire is one such case, but he is not an emotionless block of ice as many would expect. He simply wishes to take each step carefully, born with a most savage of tempers the Ranger has spent much of his solitary life trying to keep himself in check. Because death often follows when red crosses his eye and his anger wins out.
With only Dubhar and the occasional traveler he has traded with for companionship, Iolaire is a private man. He has a kind disposition towards animals of all kinds and a knack for calming them should they get upset. Women fascinate him to the point of distraction at times. He has had enough contact with them to know what to expect, but even then he mostly just watches them from a distance and lets them make the first move.
Spoiler: Skills, Talents, and Virtues
Iolaire is a Ranger of strong arm, strategic mind, and keen eye. Years of living off the land and fighting snow covered giants Lowlanders can only dream of have turned him as much bear as man. Brutally strong, surprisingly quick and agile, and tough as the rocky hills of his homeland.
Able to think and react with the quickness of a large cat, and able to track his quarry over many miles and plunge an atlatl thrown dart into it's heart with meticulous accuracy. Spear making and fighting, Throwing, Falconry, Alchemy, and leather working are also within the Ranger's range of skills all of which he has needed to survive.
Despite being on the road for a bit Iolaire only knows the Ancient Calbannach Language and the Trade Tongue.
Spoiler: Weaknesses, Blunders, and Shortcomings
While Iolaire is man of the wilds with great skill in woodcraft and survival he has no formal training or even any real knowledge in the Scholarly pursuits many associate with a "civilized society" He cannot read or write, nor can he look at a mathematical problem on a sheet of paper and be able to make heads or tails of it. He has no artistic understanding or cultured opinions on politics or fashion. He speaks bluntly and with no skill in the finer points of speechcraft he often steps over an invisible line that calls for him to rectify the problem with his fist. He is not stupid, but all his skills are born from surviving and word of mouth. He also lacks a cultured tongue and accent, living his whole life in Calbann means he wields the thick northern accent like a warhammer rushing past others in a desire to get his thoughts out first before he becomes confused with the flow of conversation.
He knows full well his intellectual limitations and it has often made him into the fool when he tries to respond properly to something and it comes out wrong causing others to mock and force him to step back before he hurts anyone. The burning pride of both the Calbannach and the Varagnir smoulders forever in the man's heart and it stops him from asking for aid in the fields he is weakest in.
And lastly his biggest weakness would be his temper. Even with a better control of it in his late twenties that fiery dragon is always just under the surface waiting for a single chain to break before it rends it's cage asunder and rains pain down upon the offender and those around him. This rage is quick and devastating, he has been known to break the necks of horses and splinter the walls of wooden houses when in the throes of his anger. And short of killing him, there is no way to quell it, all that can be done is run and hide until he comes down on his own.
As is always the effect of a man's anger, guilt and regret follow close on the heels of a rage. He is brought face to face with the pain and suffering he has wrought each and every time. Angry mobs chase him into the wilds and force him deeper and deeper into isolation. With that isolation comes a certain lucidity of madness. He stares into the abyss for hours feeling the utmost sadness for his actions, but he lacks the ability to end his own life. So he chooses to try and focus that regret into hunting and surviving doing what he can to keep his mind off it.
Faith: Having been raised among the Calbannach, Iolaire follows their faith of harmony with nature. In particular he is a follower of the Way of the Eagle. He still carries the amulet he got from the old man that saved him, pulling it out when he is alone and chanting softly asking the Eagle to guide him. The Way of the Eagle is a belief system that man must follow three paths or "ways" to reach a point of true harmony with himself and the world around him. The Ways are, the Way of the Warrior which is the physical plane, the Way of the Hunter which is the mental plane, and lastly is the Way of the Leader which is the Spiritual plane. As of now Iolaire has mastered the Way of the Warrior and is skilled in the Way of the Hunter, but he has only just begun upon the Way of the Leader.
Spoiler: Origin
Iolaire's origins are as coated in blood as his present life. He was born from a three day tryst between Chalmers, a Calbannach warrior and Gudrun, a Varagnir raider from the sea. His father Chalmers was part of a militia created to combat the ongoing raids from Varagheim. He and his men had the raiders pinned down and were readying a final assault on their encampment when a storm of legend blew in from the sea. Both sides were tossed into chaos and any thoughts of war were quickly dispelled as most of the raiders fled to their ships to try and sail through the icy winds and the warriors ran for the protection of the many caves along the coast.
By some sick twist of fate Iolaire's parent wound up using the same cave for protection. Like a Sabercat and Direwolf being locked into the same room together the two warriors fought themselves bloody. Exchanging blow for blow until they sunk into a battleborn lust and passion. Using Gudrun's signal flag as a bed they coupled well into the night. The storm ravaged the coast for three days seeking out and destroying both the raiders on their ships and the militiamen squatting in the caves. Almost all fell to the rage of the blizzard, all but the man and woman huddling together besides a natural hot springs deep in a cave to the East. Feeling a carnal love and mutual lust for one another, they continued to couple and at the end of the third day when the storm had finally dissipated. Gudrun was shown a dream of motherhood and knew right then she was with child.
Chalmers had a dream as well. Only this one showed a dark cloud was hanging over the child's soul and if it was allowed to live it would kill them both in a thunderous rage. He kept this from Gudrun though, maybe the spirits were playing tricks on him for bedding a Varagnir "whore". When the storm passed the couple fled into the wilds and stayed there for the nine months needed for their son to come full term. He was born strong and healthy, but also under a cold moonless night with thick black clouds hanging overhead. Chalmers replayed the dream in his head and knew this waif would be the one to kill them in the years to come. But his woman was glowing with motherly energy and he couldn't bring himself to ruin it for her. He remembered the stories she told about the children she had lost in the past. For a year they raised the boy, but as soon as he was weaned from Gudrun's breast Chalmers wrapped the boy in his mother's raid flag and stole him away one night. He left the sleeping child beneath a Faerie tree as a way to appease the little folk and ask them spare him and his mate from the death he knew would come to pass.
The night was cold and wet, but it was not the night destined to bring about the end of Iolaire. He remained comfortable and safe in the roots of the Fae tree the thick fabric of the raid flag shielding him and by morning an old Shaman had found him and rescued the wailing child. For five years the old man raised him, teaching him the ways of the Calbannach and giving him the name Iolaire-Sealgair. The man taught him the way of the spear, the knife, and the hunt, but it was only temporary. The old man who Iolaire never learned the name of died one warm summer night. Age had caught him, and then fate decided to raise the child itself. Wild and free under the skies and unchecked in all aspect of life, Iolaire knew only his name, his hunting skills, and the Eagle amulet Shaman had given him with his last breath. For many this would've spelt the end, but the anger his parents feared gave him the edge he needed to fight the wild animals, so for fifteen more years he let the rage be his best weapon against the claws of death.He caused a great many troubles for the villages in the shadow of the mountain where he lived. Using his eagle to pillage and hunt and his massive size and power to terrorize farmers, he was the bane of peace everywhere. That is until he angered a powerful Bann and felt the man's wrath come crashing down upon his head like a wave from the coast. He escaped with his life, but the injuries taught him a lesson he had never been taught before, consequences come for those who bring havoc.
At age twenty he decided to turn over a new leaf and try to control his anger. It didn't always work, but eventually he managed to go a few years without losing it. He traded meat and hides for things he needed and generally stayed out of everyone's' way. The Ranger seemed to finally find peace giving thanks to the spirits for it all along the way, that is until his twenty-sixth winter. He had made a fair pile of coin capturing and taming a rare white stag for Bann Rindar, the man had been tracking the beast for years and believed it to be proof his rule was ordained by nature since his banner was the rampart white stag on a field of deep green. Many men, the Bann included had failed to catch the large beast getting just close enough to see it's burning red eyes before it vanished like smoke into the elder wood.
Word of Iolaire's skill came to the Bann's ears and the man was so obsessed with the stag he was willing to forgive the wild hunter's past crime if he could capture that which the Bann valued most.
With a reward like that it was impossible for Iolaire to say no. Packing up everything he would need the Ranger began the most important hunt of his life, the hunt for his redemption. For many months he tracked the Stag over vale and dale, across moors, and up ragged peaks. He caught it at midnight besides the very Faerie tree that sheltered him after his father abandoned him. Of course he didn't know this at the time, he just saw his prey and lunged. He crashed into the animal and the two of them scuffled for a few minutes until the white deer leapt at Iolaire and sent him crashing through the old tree destroying it in the process, but the loose soil made for unsure footing and the stag fell allowing the hunter to muzzle it and jump upon it's back. The two males fought throughout the night, the stag using all it's might to try and toss the giant man from it's back and Iolaire wrapping his thick arms around the creature's neck holding on with all of his own considerable strength.
It was the early stages of dawn when the Stag finally reached it's end and laid down in defeat. Iolaire let out a triumphant bellow and wrapped the gold inlaid rope the Bann had provided around the stag's neck and tied it to a large oak tree nearby. They rested for a few hours, then the Ranger began leading his prize back to the village. There the Bann and his men greeted him with praise and fanfare allowing the hunter to walk the great white stag right through the gates of Rindar's Keep. There the Bann gave Iolaire his word that all his crimes were forgiven and a sack of gold to spend as he wished. This looked to be the happiest day of the big man's life and he was on his way to the local inn to enjoy some of the Innkeeper's famous mead and roasted pig.
The people there were warm and inviting, Iolaire was already enjoying his new fame, sadly the wild man had spent too much time in the forests and wasn't up on all the gossip surrounding the Bann. Rindar was a cruel and vindictive man, he was also one of the people Iolaire had wronged in one his rages. Iolaire had killed the Bann's prized hunting hounds a few years back and ever since Rindar has been trying to exact his revenge, but Iolaire was too good at hiding in the woods for anyone to find him so the Bann needed to convince the recluse to show himself.
And that is when he decided to combine the two things he wanted most. The White Stag and Iolaire-Sealgair's head, it was just good fortune he managed to convince the dimwitted hunter to catch the deer for him. But now with the Stag in his clutches he was ready to kill and make an example of the huntsman. Eagle Hunter was well into his cups when the Bann stormed into the inn and had Iolaire arrested. He was then dragged out into the street to be executed. Too drunk to fight back at the moment the Ranger looked on in a daze as four men grabbed him and carried him away from the warmth of the inn and tossed him into the muddy street outside. He saw the Bann through a haze and could only hear his words as a fuzzy whining. He didn't know what was going on, but as he saw the bright glint of a headsman's axe in the firelight of the mob's torches his instincts told him he had been betrayed and his rage told him the time had come to fight. Red blurred his vision and the city of Rindale became bloody that night.
He does not know how long he was in this blind rage and he still doesn't know exactly how many met their end at his hand. His next memory after the inn was in the southern parts of Calbann carrying his hunting equipment, his cloak, armor, the flag scarf and his eagle. His hands were still bruised and swollen and a large cut around the back of his neck had been hastily mended with a bit of linen. Still to this day that entire night is lost to him. He wandered for a year hopping the first boat to the Khoran Isles where he hoped he would be far enough away from the anger of Bann Rindar's retainers. No one cared for your crimes in this haven for pirates and cowards, as long as you watched your back and kept your head down you'd be fine.
He found odd jobs hunting and did some manual labor, putting his massive size to use when game was scarce. It was during one of these manual labor jobs that Iolaire came across a bloated Susrahnite slave master and a copper skinned Mazanian slave girl. Iolaire was simply wishing to eat a quiet dinner by himself when the man arrived all perfume and gaudy robes, he was drunk and tossing coins all around the bar buying up tables for his many "friends".
The Highlander was used to pitiful displays like this. And most times he would simply finish his meal as quickly as possible and leave, but the Slave Master moved quicker than the Huntsman could eat. He had bought and seated every table in the spacious inn, and he had taken a fancy to the table by the fireplace for his own, but Iolaire had claimed it first the warmth helped soothe the aches in his back from lifting heavy crates onto ships all day. He was doing his best to be done and go home, but the Susrahnites lack of patience wouldn't allow it.
He approached Iolaire and sneered.
"Begone sheep shagger, your betters require this table."
Finishing his mouthful of food Iolaire began voicing an apology, but one of the Slaver's guards stepped up and swept the remnants of the hunter's food from his table shattering them against the floor and wall. Sealgair could feel the anger stirring so he quickly stood and tried to move away, but that same guard swung at the giant's head with his club. It connected with a resounding thud, but the impact forced the man to drop his broken club and stagger back. Iolaire didn't see red, but no attack on him would go unpunished. The attacker's arm was grabbed and broken before Iolaire spun in a circle ripping the limb from its socket and sending the guard into the stone mantle above the fireplace. The second guard then tried to come to his comrade's aid but was kicked squarely in the chest and sent through the railings of the stairs. The last man standing between the cowering Slave Master and the massive Calbannach was grabbed around his throat and hefted several feet off the floor before being smashed through the very table Iolaire had been sitting at.
With his guards so easily dispatched and the rest of his party too stunned to act the black bearded man dropped to his pudgy knees and tried to bargain with the Highlander for his life.
"Please, good warrior it was just in jest. My men didn't mean to offend you! Please spare my life we'll be on our way! I...I'll even give you my newest servant, little Asteria! She's a young nubile thing, a touch on the small side, but of Mazanian stock! She can cook, she can dance, and you know what they say about those warrior women...right? Lovers of endless stamina and known for producing strong sons and daughter! Everything a great Calbannach warlord could want in a woman!" The man even called the girl over for the big man to look at. Iolaire loomed over the quaking man, the very idea of slavery sickened him. All people should be free, by rights he should crush this bastard's skull and free all of his servants, but he could already hear the Slave Master's other men plucking up their courage to attack him, the giant did not wish to fight any more this night. So he took the girl's contract and ripped it to shreds freeing her before making his way through the tavern to the road. He had done his good deed for the day, what happened to the girl next was out of his hand.
Spoiler: Bonds
Despite being a rough man from the wilds Iolaire has managed to make a few bonds in his travels.
Asteria, the slave girl: After having freed Ria from her master Iolaire pushed the incident from his mind, until he saw her again under a new master, but still a slave. He then wished he'd have asked her to tag along as a free woman. At least then she'd be able to enjoy life. But he cannot beat this new master to death and free her. He is the caravan boss and Iolaire really doesn't want to fight a small army for one slave girl. So he simply treats her kindly when he can and shows her a few tricks to defend herself.
Nomad, the man with no name: Like minded individuals often seek each other out. In the case of Nomad the drifter from the alien world of desert sands and sandstorms Iolaire saw a fellow survivor and a chance to learn more about harmony with nature. Even if it's a nature far from what he was used to. The two men exchange stories, techniques, and skills. Most notably Iolaire is teaching Nomad about Falconry and Nomad teaches the Ranger about other cultures that live in harmony with nature.
Lasair, the fiery Maiden: An unexpected twist in his travels along the Ivory Road. Ms. Lasair MacCaderyn, a fellow Calbannach has been a point of curiosity for Iolaire since he met her. She treats everyone coldly, but he senses a mix of fear and disgust when the young woman watches or speaks with him. He knows both reasons well, he's a Calbannach known for killing his own kind. He's tried to explain the situation to her, but the fear he senses stops the words in his mouth. He's been a terror of the Highlands for many years, and he remembers her village and the people he hurt there. While cordial when she wishes to speak with him he gives Lasair plenty of space to avoid him as well.
Lash, the woman of the wild: Finding one more woman of his people was unexpected enough, but finding a second and this one from a more similar background as him is a joke by the spirits. While communication is iffy they share a kinship going back years, some of the few times Shaman sent him to a village for supplies he remembers seeing a wild little girl. She seemed to him more animal than woman, but she fascinated him nonetheless. And through the years he saw her roaming the wild where he hunted, he tracked the wild woman wondering many things about her. She put his skills to the test, but eventually he saw her shift into her puma form. This sealed the big man's curiosity, Shaman had taught him old tales about shifters like Lash, but Iolaire never thought he'd actually see one. After that he couldn't keep tracking her, but once he came upon her while walking the Ivory Road all his old curiosities returned, and now the pair share a predator's respect exchanging stories, techniques, and slowly figuring out each other's histories.
Tyrgan, the Lion Slayer: It has been an exceedingly rare thing in Iolaire's life to come across a man who could take him in a fight. Many have tried, but all have failed. Tyrgan though is one man who may be so lucky. A warrior from an even more savage background than himself whose life has been nothing but war and blood. While they have never come to blows, Iolaire has handily drunken the gladiator under the table leaving the lion-cloaked man to pay the bill once he had come to his senses.
Spoiler: Older Iolaire-Sealgair
Name: Iolaire-Sealgair (translates to eagle hunter in the ancient Albanach tongue) Age: 32 Gender: Male
Appearance(pic and description)
Spoiler: Iolaire and Dubhar
Like any spawn birthed from two warrior races Iolaire is a bear of man. 6'11 and weighing a mighty 280 pounds of thick cold resistant muscle. His hair is the color of fresh bark and his eyes burn with the cyan glow of Albain's purest skies.
His ever present companion and oldest friend is his Dire Eagle Dubhar(translates to Shade in the ancient tongue). A bird both large and imposing with feathers of dark brown and eyes of vibrant amber and tipping the scales at 40 inches tall, weighing in at 15 pounds with a wingspan of 7 feet.
Iolaire's outfit usually consists of the above, a sturdy mix of scale mail armor on his shoulders and studded leather covering his torso. His gauntlets are also studded leather and lined with fine rabbit fur to ward off the cold in the north. He wears modified iron greaves on his thighs and his boots are metal shined leaving his knees free to move with ease they are also rabbit fur lined. He often has a bear fur cloak draped about his shoulders and the Visigoth raid flag his father and mother bedded on when they conceived him is wrapped about his neck like a scarf. He also carries a bone fetish carved in the shape of a soaring eagle. He wears it at all times, keeping the amulet under his armor and always close to his heart.
Race: Half breed, his father was an Albanaigh warrior and his mother was a Visigoth Raider. A more violent coupling the Gods couldn't imagine.
Job: Big game hunter
Racial Skills and Abilities(limit of 4)
Magical Resistance: An ability of unknown origin, but something the allows Iolarie to tank magic spells offensive ones and buffers. While not unheard among his people is extremely rare.
Powerful: Genetics, living a hard life, and hunting animals big enough to kill him in one blow. Iolaire is a bear of a man, both in strength and durability.
Swift Hunter: Much like a Sabercat he can move quickly over short distances, but his size makes it hard to be a marathon runner.
Keen Eyes: A natural skill he mastered over the years the man has very good eyes and can see decently enough in the dark.
Normal Skills and Abilities(limit of 5)
Ranger: His skillset, his lifestyle, living in the wilds and learning the thrill of the hunt.
Tracker: Able to find and follow tracks under any conditions and go with it for many miles.
Primitive Hunter: Using long metal tipped spears and darts and an elk antler atlatl. Iolaire is deadly accurate and able to drop mammoths from one hundred yards.
Falconry: While not using a falcon, Iolaire still uses the same techniques with his Dire Eagle, Dubhar.
Leather working: Able to skin, tan, and work with leather to make things like armor, clothes, saddles, etc.
Weaknesses: While Iolaire is man of the wilds with great skill in woodcraft and survival he has no formal training or even any real knowledge in the Scholarly pursuits many associate with a "civilized society" He cannot read or write, nor can he look at a mathematical problem on a sheet of paper and be able to make heads or tails of it. He has no artistic understanding or cultured opinions on politics or fashion. He speaks bluntly and with no skill in the finer points of speechcraft he often steps over an invisible line that calls for him to rectify the problem with his fist. He is not stupid, but all his skills are born from surviving and word of mouth. He also lacks a cultured tongue and accent, living his whole life in Albain means he wields the thick northern accent like a warhammer rushing past others in a desire to get his thoughts out first before he becomes confused with the flow of conversation.
He knows full well his intellectual limitations and it has often made him into the fool when he tries to respond properly to something and it comes out wrong causing others to mock and force him to step back before he hurts anyone. The burning pride of both the Albanacha, and the Visigot smoulders forever in the man's heart and it stops him from asking for aid in the fields he is weakest in.
And lastly his biggest weakness would be his temper. Even with a better control of it in his late twenties that fiery dragon is always just under the surface waiting for a single chain to break before it rends it's cage asunder and rains pain down upon the offender and those around him. This rage is quick and devastating, he has been known to break the necks of horses and splinter the walls of wooden houses when in the throes of his anger. And short of killing him, there is no way to quell it, all that can be done is run and hide until he comes down on his own.
As is always the effect of a man's anger, guilt and regret follow close on the heels of a rage. He is brought face to face with the pain and suffering he has wrought each and every time. Angry mobs chase him into the wilds and force him deeper and deeper into isolation. With that isolation comes a certain lucidity of madness. He stares into the abyss for hours feeling the utmost sadness for his actions, but he lacks the ability to end his own life. So he chooses to try and focus that regret into hunting and surviving doing what he can to keep his mind off it.
Weapons(Limit of 4 weapons):
Atlatl and hunting darts: His primary hunting tools the atlatl itself is two feet long and the darts themselves are about a foot long apiece and tipped with hardened metal heads.
Boar Spear: A stout spear about as long as his arm from shoulder to middle finger tip and topped with a hefty black metal barbed head.
Hunting Knife: Like his spear his hunting knife is made of a strong black steel. Razor sharp cutting edge with a saw back and thick blunted pommel.
Armor(one sensible suit of armor): The thick studded leather armor in the image.
Equipment: Fire-making tools, leather working tools, dart and spear maintenance tools, thick bedroll, trapping tools, his heavy bear fur cloak.
Personality: Upon first glance fear is often the thing someone feels when looking upon the large Ranger. His unsmiling face, his steady brooding eyes, the square and defensive way he keeps his broad shoulders pulled back, as if waiting for death to come calling after him. Everything lends towards an air of a hard fought life and the unspeakable cruelty of the far north.
And those initial feelings are not wrong, a life of isolation will leave anyone grim faced and cheerless. Iolaire is one such case, but he is not an emotionless block of ice as many would expect. He simply wishes to take each step carefully, born with a most savage of tempers the Ranger has spent much of his solitary life trying to keep himself in check. Because death often follows when red crosses his eye and his anger wins out.
With only Dubhar and the occasional traveler he has traded with for companionship, Iolaire is a private man. He has a kind disposition towards animals of all kinds and a knack for calming them should they get upset. Women fascinate him to the point of distraction at times. He has had enough contact with them to know what to expect, but even then he mostly just watches them from a distance and lets them make the first move.
Faith: Having been raised among the Albanacha, Iolaire follows their faith of harmony with nature. In particular he is a follower of the Way of the Eagle. He still carries the amulet he got from the old man that saved him, pulling it out when he is alone and chanting softly asking the Eagle to guide him. The Way of the Eagle is a belief system that man must follow three paths or "ways" to reach a point of true harmony with himself and the world around him. The Ways are, the Way of the Warrior which is the physical plane, the Way of the Hunter which is the mental plane, and lastly is the Way of the Leader which is the Spiritual plane. As of now Iolaire has mastered the Way of the Warrior and is skilled in the Way of the Hunter, but he has only just begun upon the Way of the Leader.
Likes: Women, meat, the cold, sunrise, hot mead, the wilderness and Mizia.
Dislikes: Southerners, the heat, the night, tea, cities, and losing his prey.
Spoiler: Background
Iolaire's origins are as coated in blood as his present life. He was born from a three day tryst between Chalmers, a Albanaigh warrior and Gudrun, a Visigoda raider from the sea. His father Chalmers was part of a militia created to combat the ongoing raids from Goth. He and his men had the raiders pinned down and were readying a final assault on their encampment when a storm of legend blew in from the sea. Both sides were tossed into chaos and any thoughts of war were quickly dispelled as most of the raiders fled to their ships to try and sail through the icy winds and the warriors ran for the protection of the many caves along the coast.
By some sick twist of fate Iolaire's parent wound up using the same cave for protection. Like a Sabercat and Direwolf being locked into the same room together the two warriors fought themselves bloody. Exchanging blow for blow until they sunk into a battleborn lust and passion. Using Gudrun's signal flag as a bed they coupled well into the night. The storm ravaged the coast for three days seeking out and destroying both the raiders on their ships and the militiamen squatting in the caves. Almost all fell to the rage of the blizzard, all but the man and woman huddling together besides a natural hot springs deep in a cave to the East. Feeling a carnal love and mutual lust for one another, they continued to couple and at the end of the third day when the storm had finally dissipated. Gudrun was shown a dream of motherhood and knew right then she was with child.
Chalmers had a dream as well. Only this one showed a dark cloud was hanging over the child's soul and if it was allowed to live it would kill them both in a thunderous rage. He kept this from Gudrun though, maybe the spirits were playing tricks on him for bedding a Visigoda "whore". When the storm passed the couple fled into the wilds and stayed there for the nine months needed for their son to come full term. He was born strong and healthy, but also under a cold moonless night with thick black clouds hanging overhead. Chalmers replayed the dream in his head and knew this waif would be the one to kill them in the years to come. But his woman was glowing with motherly energy and he couldn't bring himself to ruin it for her. He remembered the stories she told about the children she had lost in the past. For a year they raised the boy, but as soon as he was weaned from Gudrun's breast Chalmers wrapped the boy in his mother's raid flag and stole him away one night. He left the sleeping child beneath a Faerie tree as a way to appease the little folk and ask them spare him and his mate from the death he knew would come to pass.
The night was cold and wet, but it was not the night destined to bring about the end of Iolaire. He remained comfortable and safe in the roots of the Fae tree the thick fabric of the raid flag shielding him and by morning an old Shaman had found him and rescued the wailing child. For five years the old man raised him, teaching him the ways of the Albanach and giving him the name Iolaire-Sealgair. The man taught him the way of the spear, the knife, and the hunt, but it was only temporary. The old man who Iolaire never learned the name of died one warm summer night. Age had caught him, and then fate decided to raise the child itself. Wild and free under the skies and unchecked in all aspect of life, Iolaire knew only his name, his hunting skills, and the Eagle amulet Shaman had given him with his last breath. For many this would've spelt the end, but the anger his parents feared gave him the edge he needed to fight the wild animals, so for fifteen more years he let the rage be his best weapon against the claws of death.He caused a great many troubles for the villages in the shadow of the mountain where he lived. Using his eagle to pillage and hunt and his massive size and power to terrorize farmers, he was the bane of peace everywhere. That is until he angered a powerful Bann and felt the man's wrath come crashing down upon his head like a wave from the coast. He escaped with his life, but the injuries taught him a lesson he had never been taught before, consequences come for those who bring havoc.
At age twenty he decided to turn over a new leaf and try to control his anger. It didn't always work, but eventually he managed to go a few years without losing it. He traded meat and hides for things he needed and generally stayed out of everyone's' way. The Ranger seemed to finally find peace giving thanks to the spirits for it all along the way, that is until his twenty-sixth winter. He had made a fair pile of coin capturing and taming a rare white stag for Bann Rindar, the man had been tracking the beast for years and believed it to be proof his rule was ordained by nature since his banner was the rampart white stag on a field of deep green. Many men, the Bann included had failed to catch the large beast getting just close enough to see it's burning red eyes before it vanished like smoke into the elder wood.
Word of Iolaire's skill came to the Bann's ears and the man was so obsessed with the stag he was willing to forgive the wild hunter's past crime if he could capture that which the Bann valued most.
With a reward like that it was impossible for Iolaire to say no. Packing up everything he would need the Ranger began the most important hunt of his life, the hunt for his redemption. For many months he tracked the Stag over vale and dale, across moors, and up ragged peaks. He caught it at midnight besides the very Faerie tree that sheltered him after his father abandoned him. Of course he didn't know this at the time, he just saw his prey and lunged. He crashed into the animal and the two of them scuffled for a few minutes until the white deer leapt at Iolaire and sent him crashing through the old tree destroying it in the process, but the loose soil made for unsure footing and the stag fell allowing the hunter to muzzle it and jump upon it's back. The two males fought throughout the night, the stag using all it's might to try and toss the giant man from it's back and Iolaire wrapping his thick arms around the creature's neck holding on with all of his own considerable strength.
It was the early stages of dawn when the Stag finally reached it's end and laid down in defeat. Iolaire let out a triumphant bellow and wrapped the gold inlaid rope the Bann had provided around the stag's neck and tied it to a large oak tree nearby. They rested for a few hours, then the Ranger began leading his prize back to the village. There the Bann and his men greeted him with praise and fanfare allowing the hunter to walk the great white stag right through the gates of Rindar's Keep. There the Bann gave Iolaire his word that all his crimes were forgiven and a sack of gold to spend as he wished. This looked to be the happiest day of the big man's life and he was on his way to the local inn to enjoy some of the Innkeeper's famous mead and roasted pig.
The people there were warm and inviting, Iolaire was already enjoying his new fame, sadly the wild man had spent too much time in the forests and wasn't up on all the gossip surrounding the Bann. Rindar was a cruel and vindictive man, he was also one of the people Iolaire had wronged in one his rages. Iolaire had killed the Bann's prized hunting hounds a few years back and ever since Rindar has been trying to exact his revenge, but Iolaire was too good at hiding in the woods for anyone to find him so the Bann needed to convince the recluse to show himself.
And that is when he decided to combine the two things he wanted most. The White Stag and Iolaire-Sealgair's head, it was just good fortune he managed to convince the dimwitted hunter to catch the deer for him. But now with the Stag in his clutches he was ready to kill and make an example of the huntsman. Eagle Hunter was well into his cups when the Bann stormed into the inn and had Iolaire arrested. He was then dragged out into the street to be executed. Too drunk to fight back at the moment the Ranger looked on in a daze as four men grabbed him and carried him away from the warmth of the inn and tossed him into the muddy street outside. He saw the Bann through a haze and could only hear his words as a fuzzy whining. He didn't know what was going on, but as he saw the bright glint of a headsman's axe in the firelight of the mob's torches his instincts told him he had been betrayed and his rage told him the time had come to fight. Red blurred his vision and the city of Rindale became bloody that night.
He does not know how long he was in this blind rage and he still doesn't know exactly how many met their end at his hand. His next memory after the inn was in the southern parts of Albain carrying his hunting equipment, his cloak, armor, the flag scarf and his eagle. His hands were still bruised and swollen and a large cut around the back of his neck had been hastily mended with a bit of linen. Still to this day that entire night is lost to him. He wandered for a year hopping the first boat to the Khoran Isles where he hoped he would be far enough away from the anger of Bann Rindar's retainers. No one cared for your crimes in this haven for pirates and cowards, as long as you watched your back and kept your head down you'd be fine.
He found odd jobs hunting and did some manual labor, putting his massive size to use when game was scarce. It was during one of these manual labor jobs that Iolaire came across a bloated Sarbai slave master and a pale skinned Shenkai slave woman. Iolaire was simply wishing to eat a quiet dinner by himself when the man arrived all perfume and gaudy robes, he was drunk and tossing coins all around the bar buying up tables for his many "friends".
The Highlander was used to pitiful displays like this. And most times he would simply finish his meal as quickly as possible and leave, but the Slave Master moved quicker than the Huntsman could eat. He had bought and seated every table in the spacious inn, and he had taken a fancy to the table by the fireplace for his own, but Iolaire had claimed it first the warmth helped soothe the aches in his back from lifting heavy crates onto ships all day. He was doing his best to be done and go home, but the Sarbian's lack of patience wouldn't allow it.
He approached Iolaire and sneered.
"Begone sheep shagger, your betters require this table."
Finishing his mouthful of food Iolaire began voicing an apology, but one of the Slaver's guards stepped up and swept the remnants of the hunter's food from his table shattering them against the floor and wall. Sealgair could feel the anger stirring so he quickly stood and tried to move away, but that same guard swung at the giant's head with his club. It connected with a resounding thud, but the impact forced the man to drop his broken club and stagger back. Iolaire didn't see red, but no attack on him would go unpunished. The attacker's arm was grabbed and broken before Iolaire spun in a circle ripping the limb from its socket and sending the guard into the stone mantle above the fireplace. The second guard then tried to come to his comrade's aid but was kicked squarely in the chest and sent through the railings of the stairs. The last man standing between the cowering Slave Master and the massive Albanaigh was grabbed around his throat and hefted several feet off the floor before being smashed through the very table Iolaire had been sitting at.
With his guards so easily dispatched and the rest of his party too stunned to act the black bearded man dropped to his pudgy knees and tried to bargain with the Highlander for his life.
"Please, good warrior it was just in jest. My men didn't mean to offend you! Please spare my life we'll be on our way! I...I'll even give you my newest servant, Mizia! She's a young nubile thing, a touch on the small side, but of Shenkai stock! She can cook, she can dance, and you know what they say about those warrior women...right? Lovers with endless stamina and known for producing strong sons and daughters! Everything a great Albanaigh warlord could want in a woman!" The man even called the girl over for the big man to look at. Iolaire loomed over the quaking man, the very idea of slavery sickened him. All people should be free, by rights he should crush this bastard's skull and free all of his servants, but he could already hear the Slave Master's other men plucking up their courage to attack him, the giant did not wish to fight any more this night. So he took the woman's contract and ripped it to shreds freeing her before making his way through the tavern to the road. He had done his good deed for the day, what happened to the woman next was out of his hand.
This was five years ago. He continued living his life as he always had, but on the sixth year Mizia found him feeling she owed him a debt and has been his unofficial wife ever since.
Last edited by SikstaSlathalin; 07-07-2021 at 12:49 AM.
Xbox One Gamertag: Free Today56 just say who you are first.
Breath deep as the snow falls around you. Let it fill your lungs and purify the fires of doubt within you.
While he has the size and temperament of an Ogre, it is obvious he is not a full blood, there are many speculations as to the other half though. Some say he is part human, others part Orc or Giant, some say he is a recessive mutant of the old Ogre blood line. Some even say he is part Dark Elf, because of his black skin and the fact he prefers the company of the somber Elves to any other.
Whatever his genetic build-up, Y'gol is a monster of gnarled flesh. 9'5 feet tall, but is a leaner 668 pounds of savage wired muscle. Where other Ogres are huge and lumbering Y'gol is a hunter. Speed and ambush are as much his tools as the twin cleavers he used to earn his meals. His skin is black and gnarled like an old burnt tree and his tail, a rare gene among his kind is whiplike and has metal spikes surgically implanted along the spine so he would have a weapon handy at all times.
His head is long and narrow and fits perfectly into his signature skull helmet and his eyes are a fiery red. His body has no hair anywhere, but the scars make up for it. His cheeks a shallow and the overall shape of his face is sickly and unnatural looking. He carries himself like a yoked animal, hunched shoulders and a silent stare, but his actions have always spoken louder than his words. He has killed and eaten a member of every race on Eisignol. And despite doing most of that under the orders of a King, he still likes the taste of sentients flesh, especially Elf flesh.
With or without his helmet his voice sounds the same a rough whisper.
Race/Species: Half-Breed-Ogre/Unknown
Racial Skills and Abilities (limit of 4)
Savagery: As much born to him as learned. His raw power,claws, teeth, speed, and blood lust make him a relentless fighter and killer. And even those brave enough to catch and face him quake in fear when he stares and lets loose one of his hunting calls.
Senses: One of the most prized skills he's been able to bank on. He has highly trained senses and can use them to track his prey over great distances. Even if the person tries to elude him. He can see in total darkness, and distinguish one scent among hundreds.
Tough Hide: A natural occurrence enhanced by a life lived in the harshest of places and against the most frightful of elements. Works just like a suit of tough studded leather armor.
Whip-like tail: Slightly prehensile and able to be used like a razor whip Y'gol's tail is a handy weapon and tool.
Normal Skills and Abilities(limit of 5)
Dreadnought: He is as much tank as he is fighter, his generally superior strength and tough leather like skin means he can take on even a squad of Sinkeepers or some Purged Blood Knights and only shed a few drops of blood.
Trapper: A skill not well known outside of his employers Y'gol has a hunter's knack for using traps and ambushes to catch his targets.
Barbarian: Both a mindset and a skillset. Y'gol fights with the raw power of his Ogre heritage delivering crushing blows to his enemies with nearly endless fervor.
Wise: A very surprising skill, Y'gol like all Ogres is wise beyond his appearance. Able to think deeply and come to elegant decisions and advice. Should you be able to keep him from eating you.
Good Intuition: Similar to wisdom, but ruled more by his keen senses and experiences Y'gol has a knack for being able to judge a person or situation keenly and act quickly upon those judgements.
Weapons(Limit of 4 weapons)
Mother and Father: His massive cleavers in the picture.
Armor(one sensible suit of armor): The Skull of the Beast, his naturally tough skin, gauntlets made out of leather and petrified wood, and a pair of tattered black cloth pants held up with a woven bramble belt.
Equipment: Black Powder, sharpening stone, water bag, a long strip of leather, and salted wild boar Jerky.
Personality: Y'gol is an animal through and through. He speaks rarely and when he does it's in rough guttural speech. He prefers to keep to himself. He seeks solitude, but is always quavering with pent up motion like he is waiting for the order to do something more. He takes orders quite well, but the issue lies in no one knows who has their hand on the beast's chain, and he has killed Guards and Lords for daring to command him.
Likes: Meat, eating, the wilds, the night, and the snow.
Dislikes: Vegetables, being hungry, towns, sunlight, and the rain.
Spoiler: Backstory
Born in darkness, nursed on blood, and forever trapped within the skull of an unknown beast. He killed and ate his own mother after birth and his father followed soon after. He slept within his mother's dead rotting skeleton until he grew too big then he used the bones of his parents to build a house deep within the Blackwood of Ebonrock. From there he ravaged nearby tribes and settlements feasting on the bodies of his countrymen and foreigners alike.
Soon the great leaders of Eisignol joined forces and finally brought the beast to heel, but the fear he spread not only in the Dwarf Kingdom but other countries was too good an opportunity to miss. With a chain as long as their Empires they let the black skinned monster whose only desire was to eat, loose upon their enemies. And did he feast from the tough and spicy flesh of the Dragonkin to the creamy and sweet flesh of the High Elves and every race in between. Each had it's own unique flavor and raw always tastes better than cooked. It wasn't until he killed the wrong people that the Rulers decided to cover up any involvement and toss the monster into the deepest, darkest, pit they could find. But it is rumored that even now some of the more ruthless leaders have a key to the Carnivore's shackles and may wish to free him someday.
Thus is the widely held belief about the origins of the "King's Killer". It is equal parts truth and equal parts embellishment. No one truly knows Y'gol's origins, he started life as a Cautionary Tale of sorts. The malicious young Ogre who ran wild in the woods of Ebonrock, The Dominion, Avelar, and the White Peaks. Stealing and sometimes killing for the smallest scrap of food, sightings of him were reported on every continent, but in truth once he set up on the shores of the four kingdoms he never left.
Game was plentiful and his reputation made all but the bravest of fools leave him be. The few that did try to seek him out though were killed, eaten, and their bloody personal effects left scattered around the nearest settlement. These deaths all placed bounties on his head and invited more brave fools to die and be eaten. This continued for many years, until the public outcry filled the ears of the Monarchs and they were forced to do something about it. This led to a small war where Y'gol had to use every ounce of his skill to evade capture and keep himself fed. The soldiers scared off all the monster's game and they soon came to rue that. Another two years would pass before the Army caught Y'gol and brought him before the Royal Courts, he was bound in heavy chains and kept in a great cage, but the fearful reputation he gained led to a dark and devious idea.
He would be the tool they would use to keep their thrones. The myth of the Grizzly Beast was born and they would cash in on those fears for many, many years. He squashed whole rebellions by simply being seen hunting through the forests near civic unrest and snatching a few malcontents. But his mere presence wasn't always a sure-fire win, no...sometimes he was actually dropped into fortified camps, and by morning the rebels were dead and their mangled remains put on display to scare down any more revolutions. And it worked, the great leaders were the only ones who had been able to capture Y'gol and each time he showed up the bystanders would cry for the protections of the Monarchs and they got it quickly and with great ceremony.
No one was any the wiser, but the problem with having a cool toy is everyone wants a turn, and once the Monarchs stop having the ignorant masses to beat down they would turn inward and try to destroy each other. Now Y'gol was rarely one to argue a free meal so he played "The Game", but no one ever wins this game and Y'gol's time was at an end. The man he only called "The King" ordered him to kill the new groom of a High Elf Princess, he did so easily and his Elvin flesh was quite delicious, but this broke an unspoken rule apparently. Because the royal houses of both the Humans and the High Elves turned on the King. He was ready though, once they came to his gates he invited them in and with the skill gained only from years of playing The Game he convinced them that attacking him would result in all their hard work crumbling under them. So they let loose the Grizzly Beast once more, but this time they made a big show of catching and publicly executing him.
But anyone who knows politics knows this was just for show, in reality Y'gol was bound in chains, his distinct helmet removed and after being heavily sedated he was sent to Frostwarren to be kept on ice until the Monarchs needed him to kill once again. A few years later he escaped in a prison riot and has been a fearful specter among the wild lands ever since.
Other: While currently without a mate Y'gol has bred before though he knows not what has become of his offspring.
Last edited by SikstaSlathalin; 06-26-2020 at 04:27 AM.
Xbox One Gamertag: Free Today56 just say who you are first.
Breath deep as the snow falls around you. Let it fill your lungs and purify the fires of doubt within you.
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