December 4, 2016 at 1:41 pm #225480
DDRP Cool DudesParticipant
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–December 5, 2016 at 9:55 am #225651
(Don’t mind me.)December 28, 2016 at 12:13 am #231991
For Characters Roleplayed Often
Ethnicity, Nationality: White; English
Weight: 106 lb [46 kg]
Height: 5’3″ [1.6m]
Rail-thin, fair-skinned woman with stick-straight, sandy blonde hair, often matted, that brushes her shoulderblades. Beneath her usual thick layers of clothes lay a convoluted criss-crossing of scars– not one had been earned elsewhere other than at the Estate itself.
On her face, heart-shaped with low cheekbones, she has large, expressive, deepset eyes of a murky green hue set above a pointy, prominent, long nose. Thin, colorless lips part to reveal a wide smile: a row of teeth with a dark gap where, in a skirmish gone awry, the corner of her left canine had been chipped off.
The most notable piece of attire would be the tall, ridiculous wide-brimmed cockel hat Tilly is rarely without. Giving her a precious couple extra inches of height, the hat is dearly loved and might perhaps make her more distinguishable in a crowd.
Her coat, a shining example of Theseus’ paradox, has been well-abused and patched and re-patched with whatever fabric she had at hand. Though, vaguely, the shape resembles that of a nobleman’s jacket to a more astute eye. Handstiched pockets, all new expansions to the patchwork that made up the coat, lined the inside and outside– for coins and sensitive materials, and the tools that needed to be easily accessed, respectively.
Beneath her coat, she wears a rough, leather jerkin to soften the impact or sting of an enemy’s blows while still remaining quick and lithe. Then, beneath her jerkin is a stained dress shirt that surely was white at one point, stitched and restitched countless times.
Her gloves, bound by simple and dirtied laces, hug the length of her arm, fitting tightly up a mere hand’s-length away from her shoulder, where the oversized sleeve was bunched and tucked in. With the sheathes normally to be occupied by the fingers uncouthly torn off at the ends, leaving them bare, it would appear that these gloves were tailored for deft handiwork.
Her trousers, a tattered leather clearly stiched and sown to victory, were in better health. They clung to her legs fairly snugly to her legs, so as to not restrict or hinder movement. They still bagged at the joints and the bootcuffs.
Her boots were in noticeably better condition than the rest of her apparrel, shiny buckles and all, albeit a size or so too big for her size. They extended the length of her calf and stopped at just above the knee.
+Steady: It takes more than the average insanity-inducing beast to shake a long-time veteran of the Estate.
+Second Wind: Teetering on the brink often evokes in Tilly a powerful desperation to survive.
+Lurker: Under cover of darkness, she feels more confident in trying cheap-shots at an enemy– and getting away with it.
-Restless: Tilly becomes restless if she sits still in one place for too long. She will spend shorter periods resting between expeditions, and will be the first to offer to scout or hold watch if the opportunity arises, even at a disregard to her personal health.
-Plutomania: Tilly is obsessed with acquiring and hoarding gold. She will lie and cheat for the sake of a few extra coins, and will be loathe to spend it.
-Necromania: The concept of death in its abstractness allures and disturbs her, sometimes to the point of madness.
-Codependent: Bereft of the companionship of others, Tilly will begin to unravel; she relies heavily on socialization to feel secure.
A gentlewoman turned grave robber turned mercenary, Tilly’s past is broad and colorful. While her exploits as a child in the landed gentry are seldom shared, she is all too happy to tell tales of exaggerated truth of her time as a thief or, lately, in the Estate. Harrowing assaults on the mind and brushes with death in her two-and-then-some years in the Darkest Estate have left her with a wide scope of earned knowledge, as well as a fair share of more unsavory habits.
Tilly was born, by another name, privilegedm but restless to a large, well-off family. Often, the more romantic ideals of aristocracy appealed to her, chiefly the lack of manual or otherwise intensive labor for herself, but she resisted when faced drudgery for women of her particular class: rigid education, housework, and childrearing, for example. She rebelled, prolonging her betrothal and squandering her education, and often in ways that embarassed her family. There did come a point, in her effort to remain unmarriageable, where she had crossed the line of what her family would tolerate. Under threat of more dire consequences, Tilly ‘chose’ to leave quietly.
The next few years she spent scrounging from the scraps of the society she once sat on the top of, pilfering from unattended houses and, later, graves when given the opportunity. With few marketable skills, gold was few and far between. Additonally, her lifestyle necessitated frequent travel between towns to prevent an untimely jailing. Tilly spent four hungry and sometimes lonely years traveling from town to village, until a bottleneck lead her through a strange woods, and to a stranger Hamlet.
Her expected two-weeks’-stay at the Hamlet turned to two years as she found herself bogged down in the more dramatic affairs of the Estate: its residents, the mercenaries, the threat of impending evil. The Estate offered wealth, comaradery, and a legal outlet for the skills she had learned on her own– at its own cost, as Tilly would find out, surviving all of her original compatriots in life, health, or sanity, and only just by the skin of her teeth. With buckling mind and hardened body, surely push will come to shove soon?
-Skills & Equipment
A count of nine throwing daggers, for throwing from afar.
A pickaxe hitched onto her belt.
Patchwork, double-layered coat,
Thick, leather gloves and boots
Rough leather jerkin
In the inner pockets: A plentiful amount of hoarded gold, a deck of cards, a stained letter, a few simple lockpicking tools.
Outer pockets: Knives
**Leather satchel of foreign tailoring, which contains
-a wine bottle of strange dust
-a battered feather pen,
-a small, dented inkpot,
-a silver amulet.
-a dusty cloak
-a plain, white mask with flecks of grime at its mouthpiece
-A knack for socializing and comaradery makes for a competant leader
-A mild tolerance for stressful Eldritch horrors and painful wounds
-In combat, she is quick, quiet, fast, and versatile. She makes for a decent scout.
-She is loathe to spend money, and will readily lie, mooch off of others or leave those she hires unpaid
-She is lacking in physical strength, and does poorly in one-on-one or close-range combat
-She does poorly in isolation and is more prone to fits of madness on her lonesome
-A slipping mind sometimes prompts half-coherent rants, especially in high-stress environments, which some may find disturbing.[collapse]
Florence “Crowgazer” Novel
Ethnicity, Nationality: White; Italian, English
Weight: 126 lb [57 kg]
Height: 5’4″ [1.63 m]
Florence stands at a fairly unimpressive and unremarkably average height and weight, though she is typically swathed in layers of dark clothing.
Beneath her mask, she has a mop of deep, brown hair, chopped short just below the chin for ease of maintenance, typically tanged, and greased, for lack of washing.
Her face is angular, with high cheekbones and a pointed chin. Her nose is a fair length, without an arch; straight. Her eyebrows, the same brown as the hair on her head, are smallishly arched, and unkempt. Her eyes are sharp, if not tired, a dark brown color, and almond-shaped. A lack of self-care makes for a fairly gaunt appearance, however; her skin tone is wan, and there are ever-present shadows beneath her eyes for want of rest.
Most notably of Crowgazer is her mask, typical of a plague doctor, and of a bone-white, bleached leather, formed into the shape of a protruding beak, of which is usually filled with fragrant herbs and oils to ward against uncouth attempts on the humors. Two thick lenses, wide and saucerlike oculi, are set firmly in her mask. The leftern lens has a crack running from a bottom quadrant, thinning and tapering off before it could stretch to the opposite side of the circular lens.
Florence wears a cowl that drapes over her shoulders and head.
She wore a thick series of layers, too, beneath her set of dark, heavy robes; A simple tunic, beneath all the other layers tucked into a pair of light cloth trousers hoisted by a drawstring. On her arms, which must be reinforced against the miasmas of the outside, but still without precariously dangerous sleeves, and with a complete range of motion, she wears tightly-woven bands of fabric, a linen of sorts, bleached, rolled across down her arms and over the tunic’s sleeves before being tied off neatly at the wrists. Atop the tunic, as well, is another shirt, a vest, buttoned fast up to her collar, with wide opens for her arms to slip through.
Over the original pants, she wears a heftier pair of trousers, leather, tucked into heavy boots that rise to about her mid-calf.
She wears a set of thick, dark robes, draping down to a point at her mid-calf. It is fastened to her person at her hips by a wide, leather belt, too, with a brass clasp at its center. Lumps of leather serve both as protection, and to heft up her great sleeves, cuffing them at a point just above her bicep.
She typically wears a pair of thick, dark gloves of a heavy leather for protection against the harsh and caustic chemicals she employs. The gloves rise midway up her forearm, but are clasped at the wrist to seal away the hand’s delicate skin. However, she carries with her another pair of gloves, grey, lighter and made of tightly-woven cloth, only loosely covering the wrist; these allow for more nimble handiwork, as is needed in delicate procedures or surgical operations.
+Precise Striker: Florence employs her lifetime of study in medicine with cold strategy.
-/+: Calm: She is difficult to panic, which itself grants a special sort of endurance to assaults on the mind, but also a slowness in combat.
-Curious: Florence seeks knowledge, and will happily put herself in harm’s way in the pursuit of it.
-Tactless: The doctor does not have a way with words.
Florence, named after the English name of the city she was born in, was trained to be a physician from an early age. She worked as an apothecary in a mountain town that later was swept with a strain of plague. After the town was floored, she came to the Hamlet to start anew.
In the Hamlet, she acquired a heart condition that has shortened her lifespan, and studied a variety of phenomena ranging from simple botony to the nature of undeath and the soul.
Florence was born to an English physician and professor, who had emmigrated to the Italian city of Firenze to study in the city’s university. The city was richly academic, and home to chief advances in medicine and other technologies; as such, it lured a large wealth of scholars, professors, inventors and thinkers, like her father– who, himself, was so enamored with the city that it became the eponym of his eldest child: Florence.
Medicine was her family’s trade, and from the moment she could grasp a quill or a scalpel, Florence was thrust into the lifelong pursuit of knowledge. Her education was rigorous, and she readily lapped up what she was taught: Latin, Greek, mathematics, at first, then came chemistry, medicine, and natural biology. Praised for her devotion to her education, successfully performing her first appendectomy at the ripe age of fifteen summers, Florence was hailed as a prodigy.
She was twenty when she was assigned to an isolated village in High Val Camonica, to become the personal apothecary retired of a cartographer and astronomer, who had settled in the rural village in a bid to ease his son’s, Luca Romero, illness with the alpine air. The boy suffered from spasms, and chronic aches; his health was waning.
Florence fell into the monotony of treating the boy, whose illness had managed to plateau, albeit waveringly, under her care, and it wasn’t long before the rest of the town began to employ her services as a physician– to which Florence obliged, even as a strain of plague raked the city.
It was in the first wave of disease that the very old, sick, and young perished, with Luca among them. Bad omens, the stars above, and later Florence became subject to the blame of the townspeople, worsened by the strange actions of the doctor, an outsider, who had begun to wear a bizarre mask, and forbid, with the help and wealth of her patron, entry and exit out of the town. Communication with the university in Firenze halted abruptly, and it was assumed that Florence had succumbed, too, to the plagues that racked the village.
For her safety, as the townspeople became restless, Florence was encouraged by her patron to remain in their house, in her room, where she continued her desperate research, punctuated by nightly outings to retrieve supplies, or treat the dwindling villagers who still harbored trust in the good doctor’s works. This furious bid for a treatment of any sort perpetuated for more than a decade as the town cycled through middling health and terrible plagues. Florence isolated herself on an island of hopeless research and dead-ends, which brought her to half-mad avenues of research.
It wasn’t a cure or the unaminous death of the village that brought her to the end of her research; her funding had dried up, gradually, as the town deteriorated. Her patron could no longer afford to employ her, and thus she was expelled elsewhere, in secret: a path that eventually lead to the Hamlet…
Florence’s arrival in the Hamlet was tumultuous, marked by bloodshed, assaults on the Hamlet, and a lifetime ban from the brothel– all of which were separate occasions!
She bonded with and doctored a few of the residents, which in turn spiraled into expeditions into the dungeons, brushes with death, and, most importantly, unprecedented aveneues of research regarded the Estate’s unique phenomena. Swept up in the Hamlet’s happenings, a gunshot wound shortened her lifespan, as the emergency, self-administered medicine used to postpone her life also damaged the heart’s valves; she is unlikely to live past the age of 40.
And yet, steadfast, she endured, and her stack of notes grew as she continued to prod at the bizzare magicks of the Estate. A man she befriended, Solomon Kranz had acquired a strange staff in his travels before the Hamlet, and on his death, his soul became trapped in the staff, revealed to be a phylactery. An attempt to transfer the soul to another vessel, with the help of an alchemist and another doctor, was a lackluster failure; the soul was gone, released to the ether, and the vessel was useless.
The Crowgazer continued, still, as partners of researches perished, vowing service to a man, an ex-noble, who simply called himself ‘Blood,’ to study the remarkable, ruby amulet he wore, and its apparent cause of nightmares, visions, and other unrests of the humors.
Now, Florence’s research is leading to dangerous heights that border on the blasphemous acts of necromancy: the study of souls and undeath, the monstrosities festering in the dungeons left in the Heir’s Ancestor’s wake, vessels, requiring the tabboo flesh of humans to break her stagnancy– a folly that, more often than not, leads to madness or other unpleasant ends…
Florence walks stiff and rigidly, as if she were some clever creation of levers and pullies.
She has naught but two scars on her body: one, a circular ridge where a bullet shot her, and another, surgical scar extending upwards, bisecting the navel, as she has been surgically sterilized.
Her voice is droning, and toneless. She speaks with a standard English accent, what one might find spoken in schools and academies on the island, but, only speaking English at home as a child, a keen observer might notice a hint of Italian influence in her speech.
She smells slightly acrid, more often than not, on account of the harsh chemicals she works with.
Ref. Images: (Credit to the very talented Bloodtrailkiller.)
-Skills & Equipment
-Various sharps for the purpose of surgery: scalpels, saws, and needles.
-The ability to concoct potions and poisons to a cruel effect, from burning acids and paralytic venoms to tear gasses.
-Her apparel, as lifted above; a combination of heavy cloth and leather.
-An unadorned oaken box, the size of a jewelry box, with iron-reinforced corners and a brass clasp. It holds her surgical tools, an array of steel instruments ranging from pin-like needles and scalpels to saws capable of cutting through bone
-The holy book of a follower of the Light
-A series of glassvare, vials, and jars, half of which contain unsightly and biological specimens, including that of a human bladder, a finger, and mushrooms of varying sizes and hues.
-Two inkpots, slightly dented, but in roughly good shape, along with a quill
-Her notes, which chronicle the discoveries she has made in the Hamlet, along with a large supply of parchment, bound together at a corner by knotted twine.
-A skull, brittle and pockmarked with fine pinholes on the outer surface. The inner cranial cavity is coated with a black, pitch-like substance. There is a crack running down the scalp of it, and a triangular hole of a smoother, surgical cut made adjacent to the crack.
-Florence has spent a lifetime studying medicine, and as such, is a master of surgical practice. A former apothecary, she is also adept at concocting medicines, as well as deadly poisons and venoms. This knowledge of the human body also brooks a knowledge on its weak points.
-She is fluent in both English and Italian, and is also knowledgeable in Latin, French, Greek– and she has the vaguest comprehension of German, do to its proximity to her place of research. Additionally, she can read and write well, and she is well-learned in advanced mathematics.
-She is not startled easily
-She is not strong, or combat inclined at all
-Her reflexes are slow, and she moves sluggishly
-She is dedicated to her research, and will go at lengths to further it
-She likes others well enough, but she socializes poorly. She finds it difficult to express feelings or other non-concrete subjects, and more readily observes the environment and states the obvious. Sarcasm and jests are entirely lost on her. She also has no concept of personal space. Others might find her behavior from offputting to entirely unsettling.[collapse]Graveyard:
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"I'd sneak into your burrito." --Bloodtrailkiller
"you'll never quote me" --Relentless Oblivion
"All flesh fails, in the fullness of time."
Tilly: Grave Robber
Stress: 80/100 [On edge; capped while in Hamlet.]
Florence Novel: Plague Doctor
Stress: 15/100 [Relaxed]
Gold: 75[collapse]December 28, 2016 at 12:32 am #231997
For Characters Roleplayed Often
Physical Description: Leoman is about 6′ and skinny, with eyes so dark brown they are almost black. He is pale and his features can be described as “Just recovered from a illness.”
Attire: Wearing a leather jacket with the sleeves crudely cut off. Covering his arms and hands are mid forearm high leather gloves. He wears small, round, tinted goggles around his neck. Wearing baggy pants of a heavy duty variety, he also wears crude boots. He also wears a tight knit cap made of wool.
Leoman, since he was a young boy, was always sickly. He spent most of his childhood in his parents bed, watching out the window as they slaved away to bring him food and a decent life. He at this point, realized that he was obsessed with fire. He loved watching it burn the pieces of paper he balled up and threw into it while his parents noticed his absentmindedness. They soon stopped allowing Leoman to have paper near him, and soon, a open fire. Leoman then, that night, learned to make fire. In a haze, he did something very painful to himself, only for it to make his love grow. He then traveled far andthen wide, drifting from place to place. He then met Lillian, who he lived with for a while before something forced him to leave. Anywhere.
Quirks: Bad Gambler-What are the rules again?
Eldritch Hater-Kill it! Kill it with fire!
Misc. Notes: Leoman constantly looks at everything with a empty look, like he is looking through it.
-Skills & Equipment
Weapons:Flasks of alcohol, tinder, 2 matchbooks and a large hunting knife
Armor: Leather Jacket, Leather Gloves and some bandages.
Other gear: Coin purse, pouch of black powder
Strengths: Smart, intuitive and dangerous.
Weaknesses: Obsession with fire, hates devil’s advocates[collapse]
Physical: Tod is 5’11, he is a light skinned man with a average American accent. His face is round, with medium sized ears and his eyes are a vibrant green. His mouth is normal sized with white teeth and a good smile. His face is covered with no hair, with roundish cheeks. His nose is on the smaller side, and his eyebrows are thick, but not extreme. The sides of his head show very short hair, but the hair on the top of his head is poofy and curls towards the ends. It is a dark brown but slightly lighter at the tips. His body is not thin, but not fat, he meets in the middle. He is densely tattooed with scripture and prayer, along with his power words, which he casts spells from. The only places not heavily tattooed is his nether regions, mid forearm down, and neck up. Even the bottoms of his feet are densely tattooed. His tattoos glow when he is casting the prayer corresponding to them.
Attire:His hemp tunic and pants cover his body, but his coat with furred edges wool inside goes to his mid thigh. He keeps one button of it buttoned at most times. A leather loop holds his crucifix in place when he isn’t using it. It is a cast iron make, bonded together by layer after layer of twine. He also carries a 4 inch diameter hollow iron sphere for good luck.
Gear: Cross, iron sphere.
(Positive) Hatred of unholy: (Specifically, hatred of undead) “The dead should stay dead, and I will make sure it stays that way.”
Irrepressible: “There is always hope, don’t ever forget that.”
(Negative) Enlightened: “I find that allowing yourself time to look within yourself to be instrumental to mental survival.”
Nervous: “I feel like this was not the best decision to make while pressured!”
Synopsis: Tod feels that helping your fellow human is imperative to living a fulfilled life, that’s why he went to
his church to learn the ways of exorcism. He learned faster than any of his teacher’s previous pupils, and went on to
purify his hometown and remove the paranormal presence out of 4 of it’s people. He comes to the estate for one reason,
to help others, as is the true calling of all.
Full- Tod, at a young age, grew up in a small town with a very strict church. It dictated most city affairs and his parents forced on most of his teachings. As Tod got older he realized that church wasn’t so bad and that he could do great things. Tod then, at the age of 14, began his training as a exorcist. He learned his prayers and did his work, and eventually was accepted and given his church’s most intense form of expressing loyalty. Tattoos. Tod not only received his anti-possession tattoo, he then asked to be tattooed more. He now is densely tattooed with scripture and prayer, along with his power words, which he casts spells from. The only places not heavily tattooed is his nether regions, mid forearm down, and neck up. Even the bottoms of his feet are densely tattooed. The church then sent him to the Estate, were they expect him to destroy evil. Although, no one expected he would do it his own way.
Misc. Notes: Small scar on left cheek, walks with a limp on his left leg.
Carries a positive attitude, can wield the light, and can bash a close enemy with his cross if need be.
Sanandum– Heals small wounds
Tergora diripiunt– Flays pieces of skin (One of his most potent spells)
Praesidium– Wards a person from harm or a activity they are performing, causes acute pain for a few moments
Sensum-Acutes his 5 senses.
Tempus sanat omnia– Heals large wounds (One of his potent spells)
Ad lucem– Preserves a body for a short time.
Ad astra per aspera-Calms negative emotions for a short time
Actus reus– Tod is told if a person has committed one of the 7 sins in the past 2 days.
Cogito ergo sum-Fills himself or one other person with the courage to do something, but cannot be used to encourage a crime.
Loquere veritatem solam-Fills one with the urge to tell the truth about what Tod asks about, they do not have to but guilt will wash over them heavily. (Note: This tattoo is on the inside of his bottom lip.)
Dominus illuminatio mea, Dominus fortitudo nostra, Dominus pastor, Dominus vobiscum
His most potent prayer, scrawled across his chest, gives someone healing, strength and stamina, at the cost of the his most powerful spell’s aftereffects immediately after he casts.
Is scared of overwhelming force or a very strong enemy, and does not hold attention and presence due to his small stature. His spells drain his strength, his most powerful making him lethargic and his most potent draining him of most energy for at least two days and gives him euphoric visions. He is not as strong as others, but damn well tries.[collapse]Graveyard:
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I could never find the right way to tell you, have you noticed I've been gone?
Cause I left behind the home that you made me, but I'll carry it along.December 28, 2016 at 5:02 am #232034
For Characters Roleplayed Often
Ibrahim bin Omer
Resolve level: 0
Physical Description: Tan, short man with an aura of mystery surrounding him. The steely gaze of his pitch black eyes feels like a spear piercing through your very soul. He never seems to smile, always something troubling his mind. His face has strong middle-eastern features, with a pitch black moustache and thin goatee. The head is otherwise bald. His other bodily features are mostly concealed by his clothing, though he is clearly of a thin posture.
Attire: He wears a set of ornate robes, mostly gold, lined with red on the edges. Inside they reveal a vast labirynth of layers and pockets which contain various items and trinkets. On his head, a simple brown turban covers his bald head.
Synopsis: Ibrahim is scholar in pursuit of knowledge who struck a bargain with a demon Xuul to become its vessel. It was a ruse that granted him partial control over the entity, and with it the terrible but rewarding powers of the Abyss.
Through all his life, a scholar by the name of Ibrahim seeked knowledge. He travelled through the world, exploring forgotten crypts, reding dusty tomes in secret libraries, conversing with sages and shamans. His awareness of the nature of the other planes grew steadily through the years, and so did his thirst for power. With varying result, he summoned demons, whom he seeked to control, but to no avail. Desperate, he devised a plan worthy of a madman. He struck a bargain with a demon, whose name in human tongue was Xuul: he offered himself a vessel in exchange for eldritch power. Luckily for Ibrahim, Xuul’s power and cunning were only matched by his arrogance, and the demon failed to see through Ibrahim’s ruse. Despite its best efforts, which involved tremending displays of power, he failed.
The ensuing days were a nightmare, Ibrahim’s mind was flooded by visions of the Abyss and the impending doom. Fortunately, his mind proved a match to the demon, and he eventually overpowered it. He is wary, however, that the achieved balance is very fragile, so he spent many years perfecting himself in the art of meditation and renouncing his emotions, while also testing the limits of his newfound powers. The terrible images of the end has haunted him ever since, it is why he sought out the Hamlet – to fight fire with fire, and put the Abyss’ powers against it.
Misc. Notes: Notably, his voice usually holds absolutely no emotion. It is cold and calm. Very rarely, he uses plural form when referring to himself, only around the people he knows and trusts.
-Skills & Equipment
Weapons: Ceremonial dagger with a ruby embedded in the hilt
Armor: Scholarly robes.
Other gear: Jewel-encrusted human skull with a candle on top of it, quill and ink in a sealed container, multiple written scrolls on various subjects along with some blank ones.
Strengths: Deep understanding of the supernatural workings of the world. Able to call upon the unreliable powers of the Abyss to curse and displace enemies or strengthen and revitalize his allies. Xuul’s perception enhances his own, able to point out what the human has missed and see what cannot be seen. Complete control over his body, emotion and behaviour in all but the most dire of times. Good understanding of anatomy of both humans and eldritch monsters turns his otherwise decorational dagger into a formidable weapon, and also allows him to better utilize his healing powers.
Weaknesses: Has to constantly be on guard, else his demon can overpower him, taking control over their shared body. Can be tempted by knowledge. His attunement to the Abyss leaves him especially vulnerable to attacks of otherworldy origin, this is partially offset by his knowledge and ability to fight off those. Lacks in raw physical strength.[collapse]Graveyard:
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Same!March 3, 2017 at 3:08 pm #257382
For Characters Roleplayed Often
The Crusader aka Phantom, Olivia, Swan and Evelyn
Resolve level: 1 (Apprentice)
Sex: Female (usually hidden under the armor and the veil of silence)
Height: 5’5″ (1,65m)
Weight: 150lb (With Armor: 220lb)
Physical Description: Her body is strong and well-built from years of training and fighting. She has a round face with dimmed ‘wood brown’ eyes, a nose that is a little bit on the bigger side, medium sized dry lips with a cut on them, low cheekbones and thin eyebrows. Her hair is an umber colored, ragged, straight hair that reaches the bottom of her neck. She has dark tan skin, and she looks older than her age.
Attire: She wears a faded green cape that is torn quite badly and has lost most of its color, shape and length. She wears a silver locket underneath her armor. As clothing underneath the armor, she wears an old, slightly dirty dark green tunic and woolen pants of an ‘independence blue’ color.
Iron Willed: The crusader never retreats from battle against the forces of evil and it’s very hard to break her hopes of a victory.
Eldritch Hater: The crusader has a deep hatred for Eldritch that originates from her childhood. The fact that the presence of Eldritch is a nuisance for her head and can give her headaches doesn’t help either.
Claustrophobia: While not very severe, the crusader still feels a high level of discomfort in enclosed, cramped environments.
Lygophobia: The crusader believes she is guided by the Light on her quest for vengeance and worthiness. Without it, she feels lost and it becomes easier to shake her. However, she doesn’t see this as a reason to retreat, and would keep moving to earn back the Light’s favor.
Synopsis: The crusader woke up in a dark, ruined building littered with corpses and blood, without any memory of the past. She realized she only knew the arts of war, so she had to take mercenary jobs to earn money, and eventually she found her way to the Hamlet where she knew that she could unleash her true potential and fight for an actual purpose.
The crusader awoke without any memory of the past or of her identity, in a dark, ruined building inside a ruined town. She had a sword in her hand covered with blood, and there also was a suit of plate armor in the corner of the large room. There also were corpses of monks, and blood, blood, blood… With nothing else to do, she equipped her armor, brandished her sword, and opened the door of the ruined building. She found a small lake next to a spring coming from the mountain and washed herself off of the tremendous amount of blood. After days of drifting around, she came across a caravan protected by mercenaries. When they asked her who she was, she couldn’t answer. She couldn’t talk with them. She was keeping her mouth shut. Finding no answer, but also no signs of aggression from the crusader, the mercenaries invited the armored warrior into the caravan, and the crusader eventually found her way into the mercenary company. Having no other profession than a fighter, she fought for two years as a mercenary, without any purpose other than making a living. Before she could burn out, she heard of the Darkest Estate and the evils that resided within that place. She thought that place had the highest chance of restoring purpose to her miserable life and she immediately took the stage coach to get there.[collapse]
Talk: The crusader doesn’t speak at all. At least 99% of the time.
Walk: The crusader walks a little stiffly due to her body movements having gotten accustomed to wearing heavy armor for long periods of time.
Scars: The crusader has small, crisscrossing scars on her face, chest and back caused by whips. One of these scars goes over her lips. She also has a deep, mostly vertical scar on her sternum caused by a sword; a short, shallow cut scar on the right side of her right leg and another shallow cut scar on her left upper arm.
Scent: The crusader carries a light stench of dried sweat on her clothes. While she has her armor on, it’d probably only be apparent to someone closely sniffing her out.
-Skills & Equipment
Weapons: An old, blessed bastard sword that’s been reforged recently. She carries it inside a long, leather sheath strapped on her back.
Armor: A dusty full-plate crusader armor that’s been battered in a few places and a helm that looks perfectly fine other than being old. The dust hides the protective glyphs etched on the armor.
Other gear: An old, hard leather satchel that has stitches on its sides. Inside are a small, engraved wooden canteen filled with holy water; a half-used bandage; a small, worn knife within a silken sheath; a whetstone and a plain, bigger steel canteen filled with regular spring water.
Strengths: Had an insane amount of mental strength and endurance, is very stoic and durable, is physically strong, is slightly sensitive to Eldritch powers, has skilled attacks and maneuvers backed up by her strength and endurance
Weaknesses: Doesn’t speak, isn’t very bright, can easily stress herself, shudders in dark and cramped environments, her sensitivity to the presence of Eldritch can oftentimes be quite a bother[collapse]
Ariel le Blanc (TA)Spoiler
Ariel Le Blanc
Resolve level: 0 (Seeker)
Age: 23 (Birthday: August 18)
Sex: Male (can easily be perceived as female by people with poor perception and/or prejudices)
Height: 5’9″ (1,75m)
Weight: 140lb (With Armor: 160lb)
Physical Description: With a slender build and a long, French-braided ponytail; one could describe his physical appearance as ‘elegant’. He has soft, fair skin that clearly shows that he takes care of himself. His ‘peruvian brown’ wavy hair is well-groomed and its braided ponytail is long enough to reach his waist. He supports a pair of hazel eyes in which the color green is dominant over blue and brown. His face has overall smooth features, with a small nose, small reddish lips, high cheekbones, medium-sized eyebrows and medium-sized eyes. He also applies a little bit of blusher on his cheeks.
Attire: He wears a light cream colored thin long leather glove on his right hand, a short-sleeved turquoise colored tunic under his leather vest, dark green linen pants, and sturdy leather boots extending to the middle of his thighs. He wears a blue & white embroidered cloak, but usually doesn’t wear the hood.
Nosophobia: After suffering from pneumonia for a full month, Ariel started doing his best to not get sick again.
Soft: As the child of a ‘noble’ family, most of Ariel’s life was spent in the comfort of a manor, which coupled with the fact that he is a careful person in hygiene made him a softie.
Thinker: Ariel loves finding a quiet and secluded place and letting his mind go free.
Eagle Eye: The training in marksmanship Ariel received by an expert of the trade (namely his mother) also included drills for improving eyesight, which turned out to be quite successful thanks to the genes he inherited from his mother.
Pacifism: Ariel acquired a hatred of violence after listening to the stories of war and suffering from an old man for years.
Synopsis: Ariel was born in England into the family of a secret royal guard that disguised as nobles. He wasn’t a social child and he was tutored inside the manor they were given in a variety of subjects. However, for important reasons, he had to live a part of his life in the forest where he was taught animal handling, herbalism and philosophy by a hermit who guided him and his family through the hardships of living in the nature. He also had to disguise as a girl during this time due to the lack of clothing for boys. When they could return to their home, he got out of disguise but he was already affected by this. He resumed his studies and also took marksmanship and fencing courses. However, there was no happy ending for Ariel because another problem arose. His family’s payment from the king was cut, which lowered their income to zero. To avoid impoverishment, Ariel’s father and mother left the manor to find ways to earn money, but they never came back. So Ariel had to leave to search for them. He heard rumors of the Darkest Estate and thought his parents would be there, so he made his way to the Hamlet.
Ariel was born in England into the family of a secret royal guard that disguised as nobles. The reason of this disguise that was approved by the king was making it possible for the secret guards to stand close to the queen during public appearances or meetings without giving the impression of a bodyguard so that these secret guards would be able to get the upper hand against any would-be assassins. These secret guards were given a noble’s manor and were treated like actual nobles by everyone. With that aside, Ariel’s mother was the secret guard Cecily Le Blanc, the markswoman of the team who carried hidden hand-crossbows for subtlety. She was married with a traveling merchant and antiquarian with the name of Ferrand Bauquemare who took the surname of his wife to blend into the ‘noble’ family. However, he still used his own surname when he went on his travels, as it would’ve been weird for a noble to travel around like that. Anyways, Ariel was tutored by teachers inside the manor of his family, not going out much. He didn’t have many friends because of this, but he gained knowledge in a wide variety of subjects. He lived his life like this until he was 11 years old. The king’s son was attacked, and the secret guards apparently couldn’t save him. The king declared the royal secret guards that were ordered to protect the prince that day guilty of getting too buttered-up and not doing their work. The punishment was the execution of them and their families. Hearing this from her colleagues, Lady Cecily quickly took his husband and son, and escaped into the woods. The weather conditions were too bad for the patrols to find them, but it also made Ariel and his family’s chances of survival negligible. That was until they met an old man in the woods who offered to help, asking if those people were still pointlessly warring and killing each other. He pitied these fragments of the humans’ pother and took them inside his humble abode. However, the patrols knew there was a house like this in the forest, which meant that they were going to visit the hut eventually. So Ariel’s family had to disguise as farmers by wearing the old clothes of the hermit’s long dead family that he had kept inside his hut. The 11 year old Ariel had to wear the clothes of the hermit’s daughter and disguise as a girl. The day after, the patrols visited the hut and saw that there were three more people than expected inside the hut. The hermit had made a plan however, and this wasn’t the first time he had taken guests, so the patrols had nothing to do but to record them and continue the search. Since they were recorded and the patrols were visiting the hut every now and then to ask the hermit if he has seen anyone, Ariel and his family had to stay in disguise for an unknown amount of time. For this reason and also because Ariel was recorded as female, they had to make sure he didn’t grow up to look like a man, his genitals were removed. Ariel’s life changed; while he wasn’t secreted away in some house anymore, he was still alone, this time in the nature. He was also taught by his family to act and dress like a girl, including keeping a long hair which he has grown to be fond of. He was taught by the hermit in everything about nature, including handling animals and using herbs for a variety of purposes. He was also taught philosophy by the same hermit who had a lot of time to think during the years he lived alone in the nature. He passed some of his views to Ariel and Ariel also formed the views of his own during his time with him. Ariel, too, started to hate violence after listening to the mostly grim stories of the hermit for years. However, unlike the hermit, Ariel formed a fear of illnesses and diseases after suffering from pneumonia for one full month until it subsided thanks to the herbal knowledge of the hermit and the exotic knowledge of his father. This made him a bit ablutomaniac. His life in the nature continued for 4 years. When he was 15, the prince who was thought to be dead returned to the king’s castle, alive. The king then declared amnesty for the people who were declared guilty for failing to protect him. Hearing this from the patrols, Ariel and his family returned to their former home , but they still visited the hermit every once in a while. They returned to their old lives. Ariel was seen as a boy again, however what’s lost would never come back. He also refused to cut his hair and kept it long and dressed. Ariel continued his studies and courses, and also started getting fencing courses from an Italian tutor and marksmanship courses from his own mother after getting convinced by his family. His life would continue like this until he was 22. Because while the king had forgiven them, the people who loved the king and his family hadn’t, and they had done their best to make sure the guards didn’t live the life of a noble again, which would result in the cut of their payment from the king that’d make them run out of money after a while. Impoverished, they had to sell lots of their furniture and antiques despite Lord Ferrand asking not to. Before they could run out of things to sell, Ferrand left the manor to search for a way to earn money through trading which he hadn’t done for a long time, but never returned. Two months after Ferrand’s leave, Cecily also left the manor in search of mercenary work to earn money, but she never returned as well, leaving Ariel alone in the manor. After waiting for 3 months, Ariel bought himself some supplies and equipment and left out to search for his parents. It wasn’t long until he heard rumors about a place where you could earn lots of money or die trying. Despite the people telling him not to go there, he left out for the Hamlet, thinking that it must be the place where his parents have gone to.[collapse]
Talk: Ariel usually speaks eloquently with an androgynous, soft and caring voice. His speech is refined, but unpracticed.
Walk: Ariel walks casually and usually cheerfully when no one is around. When there are people around, his walk becomes that of a noble. However, his steps always carry a hint of grace regardless of the amount of people around him.
Scars: Ariel has no scars on his person and his skin is cared for, however it’s not flawless.
Scent: He sometimes has a refreshing scent of vanilla and lavenders coming from him. The smell is usually centered on his bag.
-Skills & Equipment
Weapons: A light crossbow painted white that is strapped on his back and an ancient but sturdy baselard that is stored inside a leather sheathe on the left side of his belt.
Armor: A clean set of armor that’s never seen battle, which consists of a light leather armor vest, a hard leather gauntlet that is reinforced with steel on his left arm, and a leather gorget on his neck.
Other gear: Bolas on the right side of his back and a large and sturdy leather bag on his right side. One of the bag’s pockets is used as a quiver and is filled with slim precision bolts. There is an old and empty censer alongside lots of antiseptics, healing salves and bandages inside one of the bigger pockets. The other pockets are mostly empty, their contents include a jar of mixed vanilla and lavender oils as herbal medicine for mental ailments, and a small brass salve container filled with colorless ointment for treating burns and a silver coated blusher with a built-in small hand mirror.
Strengths: Has an excellent eyesight, has an extensive area of knowledge, is open-minded and somewhat wise, feels at home at both indoors and outdoors, his attacks and maneuvers are elegant and precise, is unlikely to get ill due to his habits
Weaknesses: Greatly lacks physical strength, not very durable, somewhat introverted and shy, lowered performance in crowded places, likes to keep loot than to sell it, his cleanliness habits make his life harder and sometimes make him seem impolite[collapse]Graveyard:
For Dead Characters
For Characters away from the RP
–March 24, 2017 at 10:25 am #258996
THE CONTINUUM’S CHARACTERS:
For Characters Roleplayed Often
Resolve level 1 [Optional]
[Including Armor:] 193 lbs
[Without Armor:] 160.5 lbs
[Beast Form:] 631 lbs
Height: 5’10”, bigger in his other form
Physical Description: See the reference images below for a start. For a man who calls himself old and attempts to keep himself out of the eye of the public, his posture can shift from a slouched and unassuming hunch to a commander’s attention in the blink of an eye. He hates doing it, but some people seem to enjoy seeing that little switch. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that while he claims to be weak, he was spotted lifting an armored man with one arm easily. Or that his physique, when not covered by his armor and clothing, is what some would call “a veteran’s body.” Others might describe it as rugged, worn but built and still strong with scarring and at least two brands, one on his chest, one on his throat. . .And something else entirely. Few see these scars though, as he remains covered most of the time, and takes care to never leave a wound untreated. His eyes, a pale blue, almost match the premature greying that has streaked into his dark and messy hair, clearly in need of a cutting. Unfortunately, no amount of cutting or dying his hair will hide the scarring across his left eye; it is permanently seared shut.
[POSITIVE] Unyielding, Hard Skinned
[NEGATIVE] Witness, Dark Temptation
Synopsis: A tired “old man”. A mute, a drifter, and according to a portion of the Hamlet, far more than he will ever admit to.Spoiler
The story of the fall and loss of a famous Condottiero, and the rumors surrounding the events that transpired were, for a while, a topic of great interest and debate when they first reached the Hamlet some years ago. He, for that is one of the only facts that people were able to really recall about the figure by the time the story had reached out beyond its land’s initial borders, was a brilliant Condottierio, or mercenary captain. Highly decorated, an honorary member of knightly orders, his achievements were hailed as the pride of his home city, the pride of his country. A Hero they called him, as if that mattered. But he and his company just vanished in what became known as their final mission; the extermination and subjugation of a village built around an abbey that had, over the course of some years, garnered an increasingly strange and unholy reputation. The fifth squadron of militiamen and conscripts that had failed to return was the final straw for the powers-that-be, it seemed, leading to the “commission,” a thinly-veiled order to the mercenary company.
The results were declared by the powers to be a “tragic, pyrrhic victory;” the abbey and its surrounding blighted lands were supposedly cleansed, the heretics and darkness supposedly driven out, at the cost of the Condottiero and his men. That the families never received any confirmation other than the rumors of blackened skies and screaming the night the final mission occurred, that there were rumors of something else, a sort of plated, horrifying creature rampaging about that had never been seen before, and that nary a scrap of the coat of arms of the band could be found were perfunctorily ignored. Some who spoke too much on the topic perhaps vanished, or were thoroughly discredited, and so in a matter of months, the story became old news, gossip that, by the time it reached outside the territories was nothing more than a fun little ghost story.
The interim decade saw the rise of new stories, besides. In Jerusalem, a man called “Demir Göz” appeared and vanished after a brief trip to sites of knowledge. The towns surrounding the Black Sea and Białowieża Forest told stories of “žaliezny vačej” and “Żelazne Oko” who left with the same stoic expression he first arrived with, searching for Baba Yaga, to no avail. England and Ireland had a visit from “Iron Eye,” who visited Glastonbury and the Skellig Islands. Whatever the “Eye” saw there, he never spoke of, said the monks. A small village in France, which had suffered under the fear of some creature or thing from the forests, found itself given a respite by “Oeil de Fer” in what would be called the first Gévaudan Incident. A tournament held at the borders of Germany and Switzerland saw the victory of “Eisenauge”, who took only half the reward money and a horse for his reward, leaving the kingdom and never looking back.
It is rare for a single failure to so define a man’s life that they are unable to ever escape its shadow. Usually, these sorts of events are a single disastrous defeat or a crushing blow so thorough that it becomes impossible to ever recover fully. Every adventurer or would-be hero that comes to the Hamlet has their own stories, their own hard-learned lessons and skeletons in their closets. “Ulysses” as the scribbled name introduced him, no doubt has his own. His only claims are the trappings of a mercenary, some small and closely guarded books he refuses to let others see, and a small parrying shield with crests that he keeps closer than the books. Utterly mute and habitually paying for a private room, how he is still here is something of a mystery to all, and one he has no intention (or ability) to share any time soon.[collapse]
Black-steel munitions plate, a hatchet, a new longsword of some weirdly colored steel or iron (his old one broke thanks to that excursion), pouches, sheathing across back, a large wrapping covering his neck and lower face, and a small decorative shield with crests and symbols on it.
-Skills & Equipment-
Weapons: a new longsword of some weirdly colored steel or iron (his old one broke thanks to that excursion) and a hatchet
Armor: Black-steel munitions plate, small shield with crests and symbols on it
Items: Flint and steel (stored), waterskin, pack, scraps of fabric, parchment, ink, and a writing utensil, those bloody books he refuses to share
+Skilled in Germanic, Italian longsword styles and a brutal user of knightly armored combat technique, veteran soldier (and all that that entails), strong and highly durable,
is a giant as all hell crab beastseems to possess prior experience as a commanding officer.
-Mute, unhealthy interest in strange phenomena, withdrawn and guarded about possessions,
is a giant as all hell crab beasthas an extremely severe dislike of water
Traits: Quiet (Not always by choice), slightly paranoid, possessive, preoccupied, curious/ driven for information, professional about timing and contracts, crabby[collapse]Spoiler
Gold: 0[collapse]June 15, 2017 at 2:43 pm #262504
RELENTLESS OBLIVION’S CHARACTERS:
For Characters Roleplayed Often
Resolve level: [Apprentice LVL 1]
Physical Description: Overall quite physically fit, barrel chested, a stout and bulky appearance made even more bulky due to his armour. Underneath, he appears a relatively calm man, a light blue hue of sapphire twinkling in his iris. His face is mottled faintly with battle, a long vertical scar trailing down his right eye after an encounter with a Carrion-Worm, whilst the rest of his face is undamaged. A thick, jet black beard spreads wide across his jawline and chin, expertly trimmed by his own hand. The hair upon his head would’ve draped down to his neck in an amazing spectacle, however, due to his attachment to his armour, he has had to tie up his hair until a ponytail in order to fit his helmet on comfortably. Overall, he is quite easy on the eyes, some might consider him attractive, some might consider him bland, but it isn’t a worry for him. A rough, but somewhat sun-kissed skin tone his apparent on his skin, however he remains quite pale when looked upon from afar when he’s not wearing his armour. The man is quite tall, the definite height being ‘6,3’ which adds to the intimidation factor of his armour all the same.
Attire: Usually consists of silk clothing, however he mainly wears a white puffy silk shirt and black silk pants. Fairly apparent with the attire of a noble, but mainly because it relates to what his father wore in the good times of his life.
[Positive] Unholy Slayer, Deadly
[Negative] Fear of Unholy, God Fearing [permanent]
Synopsis: Libourg was brought about by the church at a young age, not that he had a choice due to a horrid event leaving him scarred mentally, and as he grew he became more proficient with combat, eventually being sent on a crusade against the Ottomans. He then served as a Swiss Guard for the European Court, protecting those of his faith that were higher up in the religious hierarchy than himself. Eventually, he was sent back to his church, and was called on by a messenger to be sent to the Darkest Estate.
Misc. Notes: (Special items, notable scars, scents, how they walk, or talk, etc.)
Onyx ring belonging to his father, equipped on his right index finger and can be worn upon his gauntlet.
Large brass cross given to him by his father at a young age.
A wide vicious scar trailing down vertically down his right eye.
A crossbow bolt wound piercing through his left shoulder.
Has a habit of resting his right hand on the top of his pommel whilst walking, walks somewhat casually but with some prestige to it.
Talks with a mixture of both a nobleman and a commoner, mixed vocabulary depending on his mood and circumstance.
-Skills & Equipment
Black Iron Bastard Sword with a brass pommel and handguard, pommel has the sigil of the Light handcrafted on. Comes with a hardened leather scabbard on his right side.
Black Iron Flanged mace which clips onto his belt on his left side.
A steel dagger, similar to the design of a Bowie. Fastened to his lower back.
Armor: Leather armor reinforced with black iron plating, along with a coat of chain mail underneath and leather padding underneath that as well. A thick metal crest on the right side of his chest.
Powerful horizontal and overhead swings,
A skilled duelist so is proficient at 1v1 combat,
Trained in hand to hand combat if the need arises,
Prone to outbursts of zealous rage,
Attacks are quite sluggish and slow.[collapse]Spoiler[collapse]
Physical Description: A stout man, large amount of scars and burns mottling his body, brown uncut long hair, scraggly brown beard, hazelnut eye color, thin face shape, convex nose, bushy eyebrows.
Attire: Rarely takes his armour off, usually resorts to being almost naked, black linen trousers is all he carries for casual attire.
Mankind Hater [Once a man of pride and care, he has devolved into a hate filled being for those he once called friend and ally.]
Un-nerving presence [Has an unsettling aura that grips the nerves of those near him. A silent terror, choking the heart, making it screams.]
Bloodthirsty [The flow of blood, the dripping of gore and the sprawling intestines soaking in the mud tend to leave him in awe… and sacrificial lust.]
Sacrificial addictions [His desires revolve around appeasing his belief. A finger, jawbone or the heart will tend to be what he usually aims to collect.]
Braund was once the average and typical adventurer, living a rather un-exciting life. He was a man of a low financial standing, a peasant as you call them. He wasn’t that bright, and had been turned down from all sorts of jobs, which led to him taking up mercenary work. That was until however he came to the hamlet. He had gone on a few expeditions, done a few deeds, and it was quite a pleasant job for him… despite the horrors constantly surrounding him. With this sense of comfort building around him like a castle, he felt as if he could take them all on. Feeling incredibly cocksure, Braund had decided to undertake a Ruins Expedition on his lonesome. This was the last anyone had heard of him however.
Throughout Braunds lifetime, it had been rough. Very rough, yes, but nothing horrific like watching your family being hung or being kidnapped and raped. It had always been a rough life for him, through childhood and even through into his adulthood, he had struggled to get back up on his feet when he fell occasionally. As it were, the most severe setback he had encountered was the disownment from his rich merchant family, forcing him out of his parent’s humble abode and leaving him without a job. Homeless, jobless and alone, Braund resorted to the only thing he knew how: Fighting. In his early child hood, he got into fights all the time either with his family, mainly cousins and brothers, a balancing amount of inbred brothers and cousins were mottled across his family tree, along with the legitimate kind as well (Braund is not inbred.)Even outside of his family, he got into fights with his friends and the other kids he hated as well. Obviously the older he got, the more violent and dangerous his fights tended to be, both from his end and his opponents. He had even committed murder twice in his teen years, one was out of heated fury for someone he had loved intimately whilst the other was out of blind rage.
Anyhow, recognizing his long history of violence, he took advantage of this and explored the concept of mercenary work. He fought for gold, originally: Bodyguard work was usually what he went with, but he received the more illegal work, such as torture and kidnappings. Anything for a shiny piece of gold was worth it, in his mind anyway. Eventually however, he turned to faith, which was known as the Light. He volunteered amongst the church to take part in the crusades, and had done so for at least nine years of his life before he was sent back home after the crusades had ended, at least the ones he volunteered in that is. After this, he was clueless, left with his suit of steel armour and a steel long sword… he felt alone… and afraid.
Desperate for purpose in life, Braund tried many ways to fill the hole in his soul (unintentional rhyme): Sex, fighting, romance, money making, drinking… none of it worked, and instead of healing him, he only felt the hole get bigger inside himself.
One day however, he came across a flier, mottled with the moist rain that spat from above, he read the flier carefully.
“Heroes, Mercenaries, Witches and nomads! Adventure and glory awaits those who are willing to take a risk into the unknown…
Work for me, in my decrepit Hamlet, restore my land and you shall reap the rewards with me. Either with gold… or the morals of your heart.
My sincerest regards.
Since then, he had taken a stagecoach to the hamlet. He was afraid, but he was determined to find some distraction in life even if it meant his death. He had to find purpose. He just had to!
A few months after, he had accomplished a few expeditions and had made quite a number of gold for himself… but the crawling fear, the mind-numbing knowledge that made his heart break and the little spring in his brain snap in two… it was quite overwhelming. Slowly, but surely, he had begun is descent into insanity. He heard voices at first, malicious giggles and whispers, poisoning his mind with ill thoughts and misleading guidance. Then it began to affect his emotionally, driving him further away from those he had called ally, friend and perhaps lover. Until one day, he had decided to undertake a truly mad plan: To go inside the ruins and complete an expedition, on his lonesome. Surely a sane man would avoid such thing? Ah, but he was no sane man. He was thoroughly and effectively broken, his mind diluted all sense of wellbeing and morality where he could not care for his safety.
That was the last anyone had heard of him.
Amidst the ruins from where he wandered, with sword withdrawn and visor down, he looked about quietly as he traversed through the dungeon. He seemed to have a crossbow bolt deposited inside his shoulder, and from the looks of it, a few sword slashes across his chest. He felt pain, yes… but he didn’t care. He was suicidal, in fact. Braund knew that he had to die, in order to alleviate this torment of mind and body. This was the only way he knew how.
“…Nothing left for me here. In this life, I hold nothing of value. I am but a waste of flesh and bone, a disgrace to my family’s name… I should’ve been drowned at birth… Yeah, that would’ve made their lives so much easier if I were dead, fed to the crows..” Braund cried quietly under his helm, depression and self depreciation infected his mind like a cancer.
Eventually, after he traversed deeper, he eventually succumbed to his wounds, ever-mounting the more he went into the Ruins. He felt nothing, a numbness overcoming his body as bloody seeped out of his mouth and grievous injuries he had inflicted. It was over… it had to be, right?
A rustle of chain, a rasping of metal and the sizzling of a brand. Those were all he could remember from that night. He, had been changed. Amongst crimson lined scene, he saw nothing among the never-ending hills of blood. After a few seconds passed of pure silence, he heard… a heartbeat? Was he alive? Or was this but trickery?
‘Bu-bump!’ The heart beats again, and continues to beat, slowly and unnaturally. It made him… calm, resembling the sound of a slow beating drum, or the croaking of a frog. A sense of serenity washed over him. Perhaps this was his calling, perhaps this is what he needed after all.
Braund was awoken forcefully with the pressing of a brand across his cheek. He did not scream, but hiss loudly as the heat sizzled his flesh and marked him. He opened his right eye, and he noticed had been taken hostage by… Cultists? Why? Why had they kept him alive? He thought to himself the same thoughts, but before he could contemplate further, the mounting pain and anguish forced his mind to pass from the conscience world yet again.
The heart beats.
Multiple scars marred from the past and of recent time.
Large brands depicting cultist symbols of eldritch belief, a large stress symbol similar to the one adorning his Barbuta branded on the front of his chest where the heart is (not on the right pec, it’s inbetween the pecs. Stereotypical misconception of where the heart is located is on the right pec.)
An aged and corrupted scroll from the time he fought within the crusades, however before he was converted to the cultist religion, the scroll was pure and acted like the one in-game. Now, it doesn’t.
-Skills & Equipment-
Darkened spring steel Executioner’s Sword
broad hand guard,
wields in his right hand,
Blunt end of the blade means that a stab isn’t quite effective at damaging the body, but can be used to bludgeon people with it.
Traditionally, executioner swords are weighted and generally quite effective at severing the spinal cord. An accurate chop to the neck or anywhere near the spine could be devastating.
Braund himself is fairly proficient with the blade, as in his early life, he usually had the pleasure of executing his captives when he was given the occasionally… very illegal job. Now, he has taken up a similar blade of the sort, and with his corrupt zealous fury and bloodlust, he is rather deadly with the weapon.
Weight of blade: 2.2kg
Length: Fairly large.
Grip material: Solid Oak.
Base Blade Material: Darkened spring steel.
Handguard material: Darkened brass.
Pommel Material: Brass.
Strap material on Grip: Leather.
Ornamental stress symbol material at the bottom of the base blade: A very finely smelted and grafted brass.
Brass sacrificial dagger
Designed with depictions of eldritch horrors.
Uses in either hand.
Curved edge and jagged touch make it good at slicing up those with bare skin, or light armour.
Mainly used for sacrificial purposes but can be used in a pinch if need be.
Corrupted zealous scroll
This scroll has been afflicted by Eldritch magic, and the ‘Light’ magic has now been converted to eldritch. The scrawlings have been tainted and physically altered, foreshadowing that of a horrid creature, and a mind-numbing foreshadow… but only a vague one. Braund himself has read the scrolls time and time again, becoming numb to its effects. However, anyone else to look upon the scroll, even if they cannot read the text, feel a wash of fear and general sense of horror upon looking, even glancing upon it. Symptons and the sort can vary depending on how strong the victims mental defense is. For some, it could even be negated entirely… for others, they could be swept away into a lapse of fear and distress. Such symptons could range from: Sweating, nausua, increased heart rate and blurred vision (Like in the Amnesia dark descent game where upon looking upon the monster, the player’s field of view distorts, signifying fear and the brain unable to conceive such a being to exist) etc to the more extreme ones such as fainting, emotional instability and generally losing their shit. There is one symptom that will always remain prominent… Once the victim looks upon the Eldritch-malformed scroll, they will begin to hear their own heartbeat, as if it were next to their ear.
If Braund wishes, he may devote more time into ritualistic prayer when using his scroll. This makes him weaker, physically and more susceptible to emotional outbursts of anger. However, as a result, a tentacle will emerge as a result of pure eldritch magic being utilised. The tentacle can only grab people, perhaps even choking them depending on the circumstance. It reaches up to waist height, and can be easily cut down. It doesn’t last for long however, but its duration can be reset if Braund wishes it but will result in the debuff building.
The brass gladiator helmet the player sees in game, however, it is much thicker and menacing from appearance, and isn’t a full dome of brass either, it is in fact a ridged design of sturdy brass, scars mottling the appearance of the armour and general wear and tear making it appear aged and battle worn.
He has no chest plate; his heart protects him the most.
A brass, large pauldron on his right shoulder along with an arm guard stretching from his wrist to under his pauldron. He does not have a pauldron on the other shoulder but has the same battle-worn brass arm guard across his left arm as well.
Wears brass gauntlets, the palms of his gauntlets are fashioned from a rich crimson silk.
Scale Brass Greaves with ornate depictions of eldritch horrors.
Thick fur boats with a braided crimson knot on each one, attached to the ankle of the boot.
A corrupted scroll used to perform rituals and eldritch magic.
Braund’s weaponry (reworked his sword)
Resolve level: 1
Physical Description: Average, well built, toned muscles. Eye color is a elusive emerald green. Rough faced, however, is made somewhat elegant and perhaps perceived to some as a noble depending on their stereotypical views on nobles. Jet black hair, slicked back and a finely trimmed beard along jawline.
Attire: Rich, thick woolen overcoat with a fine velvet crimson red layering, black silk pants, shit kicker shoes made out of a rich exotic leather.
Unerring [After a couple years in a gritty and bloody job, he’s managed to refine his aiming skills; able to hit vital points easier where others could not.]
Evasive [For his line of work before he came to the hamlet, it was usually best to duck under a swinging axe… or to get away from the guards. Either way, he’s still as agile as he’ll ever be.]
Winded [Gambling and heavy drinking aren’t a good combo. Especially when one of the fellas on the other end of the table, are twice your size and double your mass.]
Guilty conscience [Although the job provided plentiful gold which has been described as… innocent, little does the merchant know he is receiving blood money.]
Synopsis: About two years ago, when Duval was about 24 year’s of age, he managed to obtain a job of vast potential… and being quite illegal in the process. Nevertheless, this job was bloody work. Quite literally. He dealt in blood for gold, heads will roll and coffers will spill. Eventually however, after a profitable two years passed by, the individual he worked for regarded him as unreliable and worn out from his uses, and as a result, he placed Duval in his black book. On the run, Duval had been beaten by his contractor’s bodyguards and assumed dead. However, he managed to arise, and stumbled down an old road. Little did he know however, that this road would lead to his undoing, both physically… and mentally.
An erotic aroma of perfume surrounds the man, even in the most stench fouling places, a hint of his exotic scent seems to tickle the nose hairs of those around him. The smell is somewhat refreshing and pleasant too most.
Duval walks in a cocksure manner, imitating that of a noble to perfection.
Flintlock is of high sentimental value to Duval.
Duval manages to store a large amount of liquor within his room.
-Skills & Equipment
Black iron dagger.
Armor: His attire.
Bandolier of gunpowder and lead ball pouches.
Small pouch of stitching equipment on his belt.
Precise stabs with dagger.
Relies on stealth and patience.
Has good aim when under control.
Can lose effectiveness in his aim when under attack or under pressure.
A brash, strong and broad woman, wrought with savage scars marring her face and body. She stands at a small height of 5.5 feet, however her intimidating and cruel appearance makes up for it, and potentially drives away those aiming to discriminate. Once was a young and somewhat attractive young individual was marred by brash scars, a horrific and brutal claw mark rending down the right side of her face, caused by a black bear. Her foot size is rather small, about a 7. Her legs and arms are rather small in length, but defined and muscular, along with the rest of her body. A large scar is drawn vertically down her back, which appears to have been caused by that of an axe head, but the cut itself is seemed rather shallow. Tenita’s eyes are small, thankfully undamaged, and within she retains a mixture of blue and grey upon her iris. Her hair is long and draping downward, but is tied up with a rotting thick rope, creating a small ponytail. The hair itself is rather messy, but she seems to keep it well kept for whatever motive, the hair colour itself being a vibrant brown.
When she is not draped in her fur armour, she tends to wear a thin goat pelt cloak over her form to cover herself from preying eyes. Other than that, she wears rugged linen clothing, usually consisting of a thick material to keep herself warm. Most of the time, she will utilise a linen shirt and pants, covering a large majority of the body, not to mention the goat pelt cloak hiding most of her features. -Biography
Bloodthirsty [Primal savagery drives this woman, pushing her to sate her bloodlust when faced with danger.]
Dacnomania [She will not stop, nor tarry in her pursuit to rip and tear those that stand against her.]
Agile [One might say she moves like the wind, like a crow on the breeze… but it’s all in the footwork.]
Natural Swing [When you’re driven by an otherworldly force to maim and bite into those that threaten your people, your wrists tend to flow more fluently than others when wielding a force to kill..]
Tenita is a but a hunter, a nomadic individual who appears to have nothing to lose. She walks far and wide in search for the great hunt, something to fulfil her bloodlust and brighten the torch of her village… which has all but ash. After certain events… she is left irrational, rather unleashed onto the world like a wild dog, seeking some vengeance rather than recovery. So, she comes to the hamlet, hearing of the horrors that lurk here in order to better herself, and to punish the individual that caused her dismay.
· Tends to crouch low when in combat, and has little to no mercy when it comes to trying to kill something.
· Scar on back upsets her upon seeing it, or being mentioned without her consent.
· Tends to smell a little, a natural and zesty smell of sweat and blood seems to stick on her as if it were glue.
-Skills & Equipment
Two woodsman hatches buckled on either side of her waist, fastened together by a thick strap of leather. The axe heads are a thick iron, and both have a bearded design to them.
She wears a mixture of different pelts, mainly ranging from goat, boar, wolf and fox pelt. The pelt is thick and warm to the touch, keeping Tenita insulated effectively when outdoors. She seems to have fashioned a makeshift string into the pelt to loosen it when needed. Her arms are bare; however, she has two pads of wolf pauldrons on either shoulder, both are small and rounded to fit her shoulder along with a sleeve of fabric that goes down to her elbows. Her greaves are but a hard, brown leather, with criss-cross patterns fashioned into it with goat pelt hanging from her waist down to her knees, partially overlapping her leather greaves. It is tightly bound around her skin, mainly to make her nimbler. Having baggier greaves would’ve made her move slower, as she may trip up. She always seems to wear a pair of thick padded boots made from black boar pelt. Generally her armour seems to cover the majority of her body in binded pelts, minux her head and her forearms.
Strange vials containing hallucinogens and other types of drugs meant to send her away… or to change her mood drastically, given reason.
Agile [Faster than most opponents on her feet]
Cunning [Seems to have obtained a skill in deceit and evasion of foes]
Tactical [Has a natural mindset of a tactician, able to think out a plan if the need arises]
Easily tripped [Although she can maintain balance whilst running, a kick to her shins will surely send her sprawling]
Light weight [Can be easily picked up by larger foes]
Over-confidence [Such a thing may be inspiring, but it leads to a hefty downfall when proven to be all but air…][collapse]Graveyard:
For Dead Characters
((Do not make new CSs for dead characters! If your character dies after their CS was accepted, then move them here.))
For Characters away from the RP
((Do not make new CSs for away characters! If your character goes away after their CS was accepted, then move them here.))
VanityPirate - "Banished to the elephant graveyard"
Blood trail killer - "It's like a thumbs up but with Parkinson's tho."
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