Humans: 1
Elves: 2
Vampires: 1
Angels: 1
Halflings: 2
Elves: 2
Vampires: 1
Angels: 1
Halflings: 2
name
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age:
Race:
Gender:
Weapon:
Powers:
Occupation:
Affiliation:
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age:
Race:
Gender:
Weapon:
Powers:
Occupation:
Affiliation:
VICTORIAN NAMES (for later)
Talmage, Harper, Denver, Ivey, Blair, Sanders, Claire, Spurgeon, Armand, Reinhold, Pleasant, Len, Worth, Vester, Godfrey, Rafael, Mathias, Orrin, Hazel, Leander, Leland, Vivien, Hezekiah, Pierce, Madison, Lawson, Cicero, Seymour, Eldritch, Fate, Blain, Wash, Minor, Pierre, Ivory, Florian, Royce, Aubrey
VICTORIAN F NAMES (for later)
Susan, Madge, Faye, Audrey, Phoebe, Penelope, Minerva, Annette, Madeline, Magnolia, Hannelore, Novella, Millicent,
VICTORIAN SURNAMES (for later)
Grey, Fawns, Enright, Drogace, Burns, Black, Bennett, Archer, Griffin, Hennessy, Hanrahan, Hunter, Knight, Mar, Magrath, Middlemiss, Rule, Saxon, Spice, Stoker, Snape, Shorten, Treadway, Taylor, Xavier, Wright, Strain, Down, Ashdown,
Talmage, Harper, Denver, Ivey, Blair, Sanders, Claire, Spurgeon, Armand, Reinhold, Pleasant, Len, Worth, Vester, Godfrey, Rafael, Mathias, Orrin, Hazel, Leander, Leland, Vivien, Hezekiah, Pierce, Madison, Lawson, Cicero, Seymour, Eldritch, Fate, Blain, Wash, Minor, Pierre, Ivory, Florian, Royce, Aubrey
VICTORIAN F NAMES (for later)
Susan, Madge, Faye, Audrey, Phoebe, Penelope, Minerva, Annette, Madeline, Magnolia, Hannelore, Novella, Millicent,
VICTORIAN SURNAMES (for later)
Grey, Fawns, Enright, Drogace, Burns, Black, Bennett, Archer, Griffin, Hennessy, Hanrahan, Hunter, Knight, Mar, Magrath, Middlemiss, Rule, Saxon, Spice, Stoker, Snape, Shorten, Treadway, Taylor, Xavier, Wright, Strain, Down, Ashdown,
CHARLOTTE ASHER
SHAPESHIFTER
CIVILLIAN
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/3761088.jpg?390)
Charlotte Asher
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 87
Race: Shapeshifter (odd-toed ungulates)
Gender: Female
Weapon: spear
Power: Geokinesis, Predatory Instinct, Illusion Awareness, Name Indentification, Somatosensory Imprint
Affiliation: Civillian
This eighty-seven year old woman is rather short and wrinkly and gray with age, but she isn't weak. She gets up at before the crack of dawn. She tends the garden. She feeds the chickens and rabbits that she likes to keep around. Does all the cleaning and cooking. She is very simple and sweet. She wears plain and simple clothing, never any jewelry or makeup. She just stays neat and tidy and that's all she feels she needs to do.
Charlotte is a shapeshifter that governs the odd-toed ungulates, being the seventeen different species of rhinos and tapirs.
Charlotte is the type of person typically described as never going to hurt a fly. She is the heart and soul and glue of any good family. She listens. She guides. She helps the needy and the not-so-needy. She does not turn anyone away from the door, and rain or shine, one can count on her to help.
Charlotte was once the most brutal assassin in the entire land. She held a reputation for leaving her victims disemboweled and ripped to pieces to die horrifically painful deaths beyond the ability of healing. She went under a codename then, but after she was given a pardon by Rupert ten years ago, she is allowed to not have to live in hiding. And she gets to tell all her stories too.
Kin: Nolen Asher (grandson), Leavitt McMahon (great grandson), Hadi Karmnchi (great grandson / adopted), Kaia Karmnchi (great granddaughter / adopted), Amber Asher (great granddaughter)
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 87
Race: Shapeshifter (odd-toed ungulates)
Gender: Female
Weapon: spear
Power: Geokinesis, Predatory Instinct, Illusion Awareness, Name Indentification, Somatosensory Imprint
Affiliation: Civillian
This eighty-seven year old woman is rather short and wrinkly and gray with age, but she isn't weak. She gets up at before the crack of dawn. She tends the garden. She feeds the chickens and rabbits that she likes to keep around. Does all the cleaning and cooking. She is very simple and sweet. She wears plain and simple clothing, never any jewelry or makeup. She just stays neat and tidy and that's all she feels she needs to do.
Charlotte is a shapeshifter that governs the odd-toed ungulates, being the seventeen different species of rhinos and tapirs.
Charlotte is the type of person typically described as never going to hurt a fly. She is the heart and soul and glue of any good family. She listens. She guides. She helps the needy and the not-so-needy. She does not turn anyone away from the door, and rain or shine, one can count on her to help.
Charlotte was once the most brutal assassin in the entire land. She held a reputation for leaving her victims disemboweled and ripped to pieces to die horrifically painful deaths beyond the ability of healing. She went under a codename then, but after she was given a pardon by Rupert ten years ago, she is allowed to not have to live in hiding. And she gets to tell all her stories too.
Kin: Nolen Asher (grandson), Leavitt McMahon (great grandson), Hadi Karmnchi (great grandson / adopted), Kaia Karmnchi (great granddaughter / adopted), Amber Asher (great granddaughter)
HURT MAIDEN
ANGEL
BUREAUCRACY SHIELD
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/4243434.jpg?418)
Hurt Bradley Maiden
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 28
Race: Angel
Gender: Male
Weapon:
Powers:
Occupation: Shield
Affiliation: Bureaucracy
description
personality
history
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 28
Race: Angel
Gender: Male
Weapon:
Powers:
Occupation: Shield
Affiliation: Bureaucracy
description
personality
history
-
PRIM FARIS
-
CIVILLIAN
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/1717198_orig.jpg)
Prim Tellurian Faris
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 8
Race: Human (or Halfling)
Gender: Male
Weapon: none
Power: n/a
Affiliation: Civillian
description
personality
history
Strange disease: hallucinations, extremely fragile bones, bizarre pains, susceptible to heavy bleeding
He is also paralyzed from the waist down and spends the majority of his time in a wheelchair.
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 8
Race: Human (or Halfling)
Gender: Male
Weapon: none
Power: n/a
Affiliation: Civillian
description
personality
history
Strange disease: hallucinations, extremely fragile bones, bizarre pains, susceptible to heavy bleeding
He is also paralyzed from the waist down and spends the majority of his time in a wheelchair.
VAUGHN AUDITTORE
DEMON
EARL of the BUREAUCRACY
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/6997546_orig.jpg)
Vaughn Audittore
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 835
Race: Demon
Gender: Male
Weapon: -
Powers: -
Affiliation: Bureaucracy
COMING SOON
Kin:
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 835
Race: Demon
Gender: Male
Weapon: -
Powers: -
Affiliation: Bureaucracy
COMING SOON
Kin:
ARTEAUX
ELF
n/a
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/_____7093542.jpg)
Arteaux
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: about 19
Race: Elf
Gender: Male
Weapon: knives
Powers: none
Occupation: none
Affiliation: none
Arteaux. That’s his name. If he ever had a different one, he doesn’t know. He’s nothing. No one. Not really. He’s an elf, but that is all. Nothing more. Never anything more. He can’t become anyone or anything else as he isn’t allowed to. Suppressed and trained only for one specific purpose, he has no free will anymore. He was found, sick and dying outside the capital city. When he was cured and awoke, he had absolutely no memory. He couldn’t even talk or move at first either. Those things came back to him over time, but nothing else. Those in power decided to use this to their advantage. They gave him a name and taught him all there was to be taught of the cities and the factions and what it meant to be a bodyguard. He had the aptitude for one. It very possible but never spoken of that he had most likely, at one time, had been a shield or bodyguard of some sort. But they shaped and molded his mind to their ways. They taught him how to protect. They taught him to serve and defend. He became a subservient creature pandering to their every whim and order. And he did it willingly. He knows nothing else but the simple order to obey. He came to them with no inhibitions, no memories, no ties to anyone or anything. Now he is tied and bound to whomever might call him their slave. Their guard. Their property. He is inferior in their eyes but loves it. He loves it for it is all he knows. Arteaux is often drawn to matters of simple logic. It might be a mere childish trait, his revulsion for complication and an affinity for black and white. But it’s simply the way he is. He seeks understanding, a limited amount of understanding to be sure. He wants to know things, but seems to hate the answers. He wants to know about himself, but is reluctant to make any discoveries. He doesn’t know what he will find if he tries to learn about himself, and he fears for the result. So he learns of other things instead. Anything, everything, something: so long as it isn’t about himself. He would rather stay the subservient creature, the nobody, the nothing, the bodyguard, than discover what he might have been. If Arteaux was an animal, he would undeniably be a cat. Ask anyone and they would readily agree. Every movement of his is feline. Every step, every turn, every move is made with unmatched grace. His mind and body are in perfect synch, his reflexes at an incredible, heightened peak. His reaction time is instantaneous. He can turn from sleepy and docile to alert and fierce within a matter of milliseconds. He can catch and throw back arrows. He seems to be naught but a haunting, flitting shadow that glides over the ground and flickers against the walls. One minute there, one minute not. So quiet, his tread lighter than feathers. He can creep up on anyone, anything. Only certain spies are ever able to hear his approach. He is so still and silent, one can enter, move about, and leave a room that he occupies without ever knowing he was there. It gives him an almost ethereal quality, seeming to appear and disappear in the blink of an eye, always being where one least expects him and always vanishing when one looks his way. He’s flighty, feisty, and very independent. Yes, he lives and breathes every word that commands him, but on his own, he is extremely introverted and despairingly antisocial. He sticks to the shadows and the corners, only coming out when summoned. He does his work, serves his purpose, then disappears. Like a cat. The cat will come out to hunt the mice, eat its meal, and offer a moment of company with its owner before it runs off to new places. Arteaux might run off, but he’s always within the Tribe. He never goes outside unless accompanying the leader or ordered to for whatever purpose. He has explored nearly every nook and cranny of the village, and he keeps exploring. There’s always something new to find in this place. He also has this look about him. In his wide eyes and his usually expressionless gaze. This look that he knows something, that he’s far wiser and above everyone else than he appears to be. It’s a look that demands everyone bow down before him instead of the other way around that it truly is. It is unsettling, the way he seems to command everything with a glance. How his knowing, fathomless eyes pierce right through the soul and extract the essence of it. He is grace and lithe and liquid silver, a pirouetting ghost that haunts, a cat that creeps and crouches, waiting to pounce. There is that as well. He has all this potential, all these forgotten memories, but the feelings are still there. Sometimes he feels things and doesn’t know why. Sometimes he is angry and murderous, but he doesn’t understand. This is why some fear him, why some are loathe to keep him here, and why many are so keen to control him. He is a crouched cat. Every little emotion, every feeling, bottled up, suppressed, coiled about like a coiled spring. Coiled, crouched, waiting to strike. Claws slowly sliding out from velvety paws, serpentine oculars closed to slashed lines of silvery-gray, fangs bared, hackles raised, tail lashing, ears flattened against the skull. He is dangerous, unpredictable. A crouched cat, a ticking bomb, a sleeping dragon: just waiting, watching, for the moment when he will attack. It’s hard to think of him this way. He’s such a gentle, docile creature, but appearances can be deceiving. Arteaux is always thought of gentle. Gentle, meek, quiet, compassionate. He can be a little rough around the edges. He’s very hard to commune with as he’s a very closed, withdrawn person. Despite it, he is very pleasant and a bit more optimistic than many would expect. He has all the innocence of a young child, despite the amount of blood shed by his hands. Everything is new and beautiful and intriguing to him. His curiosity can sometimes make him a bit reckless or even clueless at times, but he isn’t stupid about it. He seems utterly naïve of certain things and quite unable to understand conversation or the ‘current lingo’ or ‘cultural references’. He’s more old fashioned, delving into ancient history and literature rather then looking to the modern things. He finds the past simple in its ways and understands that far more than the complicated drama and flair of the flamboyant present his is a part of. It often frustrated him, this modern world. He’s not frustrated easily and very slow to anger. Even in battle he doesn’t display much rage of any sort. A furrowing of the brow, a concentration, a seriousness of composure, but not anger. He isn’t very temperamental and can put up with nearly everyone and everything no matter how hard they may try to press his buttons and get on his bad side. He doesn’t lash out or lose control, and he would never dream of touching a girl. Never mind the chivalry of not hitting one, he wouldn’t even touch them unless it was his duty. He treats women as if they were divine goddesses, both delicate yet strong, fragile yet unbreakable. He never appears sad and has never been known to cry. He has been known to smile though. His trademark smile is small but very heartfelt, a little fragile thing that transforms his stony face entirely. Some may call it a loving smile, but it is hard to tell what he does or doesn’t love. He doesn’t seem to quite understand the concept. Because of this, there isn’t much worry that he will ever –how to put it- take the purity of any of the girls here. He seems numb to affection anyway. So he is allowed to stay with and among the people he serves, no matter if they're female. It makes him more accessible. They don’t have to wait for him to arrive to get things done, as he is always there. They also have more control over him in that respect. Arteaux is rather harsh looking, a counter to his sweet disposition and downtrodden inferiority. He has pale skin, as though he didn’t spend much time outdoors. A little frosty of pallor, but not pale enough to be sickly or offsetting. He has a healthy enough glow to his color. His hair is pure white, the color of untainted, freshly fallen snow. It is soft to the touch, smooth and rather downy. It was once a honey brown, but turned white after he was poisoned. He has pointed ears, a common attribute of the elvish people. His eyebrows are slanted, giving him a fierce, angry look that offsets his wide, wondering eyes. The eyes themselves are a bright, silvery gray. And rather than black pupils, he doesn’t seem to have any really. They are more of a dull gray than black, occasionally blending in with the color of his irises. His nose is aquiline; sloping gently and a little sharp. He has rather sharp facial features all around. His slightly raised cheekbones and the line of his jaw give him a bit of a feline appearance. Sharp enough to be fierce but not pointed enough to look thin. More slender. Arteaux has his fair share of scars, but the most eye catching are the ones on his neck and chin. They are maddeningly unnatural, a specific design purposely placed there. Starting at the lower lip, the scar becomes two lines that meet at the base of the chin, extending further down, slightly widening, disappearing under the collar of his shirt or whatever he is wearing. It extends all the way down his chest and stomach, following the indented curvature of his muscles till it ends at his bellybutton. Three scar lines, shortening in length as they descend, cut in measured succession across his neck, in such a way that an exact half of each is on either side of the center line. Paler scars come down from the back of his neck and the start of his jaw to run down alongside the center line. These unnatural scars have raised some questions as is conceivable, but Arteaux cannot answer them, nor would he really care to if he even knew. Their origin is unknown, the meaning of them even further indiscernible. Arteaux is quite intelligent, consuming vast amounts of knowledge from reading. He likes to read. He also likes to fight, though he prefers mortal, human opponents to things like mages. At least with humans he has a chance of winning. Arteaux isn’t one for art or music, anything that is remotely involved with self-expression as he has next to none. He’s logical, precise, and simplistic. Things like emotion, things gained over years and years of development and self exploration have been utterly lost to him. He might be relearning, but he is still stuck in a single mindset. It is this mindset that truly holds him back from being whatever man he could possibly be. He doesn’t want to change it. He doesn’t want to find it. He doesn’t know what he will find when he does. Then he might not be Arteaux anymore. Then he might be someone else entirely with memories and feelings and goals and things. He doesn’t want that. Just thinking about it is too much to handle for his simple, steadfast mind. He’s happy being Arteaux. And it seems that’s who he will remain forever.
(1959 words)
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: about 19
Race: Elf
Gender: Male
Weapon: knives
Powers: none
Occupation: none
Affiliation: none
Arteaux. That’s his name. If he ever had a different one, he doesn’t know. He’s nothing. No one. Not really. He’s an elf, but that is all. Nothing more. Never anything more. He can’t become anyone or anything else as he isn’t allowed to. Suppressed and trained only for one specific purpose, he has no free will anymore. He was found, sick and dying outside the capital city. When he was cured and awoke, he had absolutely no memory. He couldn’t even talk or move at first either. Those things came back to him over time, but nothing else. Those in power decided to use this to their advantage. They gave him a name and taught him all there was to be taught of the cities and the factions and what it meant to be a bodyguard. He had the aptitude for one. It very possible but never spoken of that he had most likely, at one time, had been a shield or bodyguard of some sort. But they shaped and molded his mind to their ways. They taught him how to protect. They taught him to serve and defend. He became a subservient creature pandering to their every whim and order. And he did it willingly. He knows nothing else but the simple order to obey. He came to them with no inhibitions, no memories, no ties to anyone or anything. Now he is tied and bound to whomever might call him their slave. Their guard. Their property. He is inferior in their eyes but loves it. He loves it for it is all he knows. Arteaux is often drawn to matters of simple logic. It might be a mere childish trait, his revulsion for complication and an affinity for black and white. But it’s simply the way he is. He seeks understanding, a limited amount of understanding to be sure. He wants to know things, but seems to hate the answers. He wants to know about himself, but is reluctant to make any discoveries. He doesn’t know what he will find if he tries to learn about himself, and he fears for the result. So he learns of other things instead. Anything, everything, something: so long as it isn’t about himself. He would rather stay the subservient creature, the nobody, the nothing, the bodyguard, than discover what he might have been. If Arteaux was an animal, he would undeniably be a cat. Ask anyone and they would readily agree. Every movement of his is feline. Every step, every turn, every move is made with unmatched grace. His mind and body are in perfect synch, his reflexes at an incredible, heightened peak. His reaction time is instantaneous. He can turn from sleepy and docile to alert and fierce within a matter of milliseconds. He can catch and throw back arrows. He seems to be naught but a haunting, flitting shadow that glides over the ground and flickers against the walls. One minute there, one minute not. So quiet, his tread lighter than feathers. He can creep up on anyone, anything. Only certain spies are ever able to hear his approach. He is so still and silent, one can enter, move about, and leave a room that he occupies without ever knowing he was there. It gives him an almost ethereal quality, seeming to appear and disappear in the blink of an eye, always being where one least expects him and always vanishing when one looks his way. He’s flighty, feisty, and very independent. Yes, he lives and breathes every word that commands him, but on his own, he is extremely introverted and despairingly antisocial. He sticks to the shadows and the corners, only coming out when summoned. He does his work, serves his purpose, then disappears. Like a cat. The cat will come out to hunt the mice, eat its meal, and offer a moment of company with its owner before it runs off to new places. Arteaux might run off, but he’s always within the Tribe. He never goes outside unless accompanying the leader or ordered to for whatever purpose. He has explored nearly every nook and cranny of the village, and he keeps exploring. There’s always something new to find in this place. He also has this look about him. In his wide eyes and his usually expressionless gaze. This look that he knows something, that he’s far wiser and above everyone else than he appears to be. It’s a look that demands everyone bow down before him instead of the other way around that it truly is. It is unsettling, the way he seems to command everything with a glance. How his knowing, fathomless eyes pierce right through the soul and extract the essence of it. He is grace and lithe and liquid silver, a pirouetting ghost that haunts, a cat that creeps and crouches, waiting to pounce. There is that as well. He has all this potential, all these forgotten memories, but the feelings are still there. Sometimes he feels things and doesn’t know why. Sometimes he is angry and murderous, but he doesn’t understand. This is why some fear him, why some are loathe to keep him here, and why many are so keen to control him. He is a crouched cat. Every little emotion, every feeling, bottled up, suppressed, coiled about like a coiled spring. Coiled, crouched, waiting to strike. Claws slowly sliding out from velvety paws, serpentine oculars closed to slashed lines of silvery-gray, fangs bared, hackles raised, tail lashing, ears flattened against the skull. He is dangerous, unpredictable. A crouched cat, a ticking bomb, a sleeping dragon: just waiting, watching, for the moment when he will attack. It’s hard to think of him this way. He’s such a gentle, docile creature, but appearances can be deceiving. Arteaux is always thought of gentle. Gentle, meek, quiet, compassionate. He can be a little rough around the edges. He’s very hard to commune with as he’s a very closed, withdrawn person. Despite it, he is very pleasant and a bit more optimistic than many would expect. He has all the innocence of a young child, despite the amount of blood shed by his hands. Everything is new and beautiful and intriguing to him. His curiosity can sometimes make him a bit reckless or even clueless at times, but he isn’t stupid about it. He seems utterly naïve of certain things and quite unable to understand conversation or the ‘current lingo’ or ‘cultural references’. He’s more old fashioned, delving into ancient history and literature rather then looking to the modern things. He finds the past simple in its ways and understands that far more than the complicated drama and flair of the flamboyant present his is a part of. It often frustrated him, this modern world. He’s not frustrated easily and very slow to anger. Even in battle he doesn’t display much rage of any sort. A furrowing of the brow, a concentration, a seriousness of composure, but not anger. He isn’t very temperamental and can put up with nearly everyone and everything no matter how hard they may try to press his buttons and get on his bad side. He doesn’t lash out or lose control, and he would never dream of touching a girl. Never mind the chivalry of not hitting one, he wouldn’t even touch them unless it was his duty. He treats women as if they were divine goddesses, both delicate yet strong, fragile yet unbreakable. He never appears sad and has never been known to cry. He has been known to smile though. His trademark smile is small but very heartfelt, a little fragile thing that transforms his stony face entirely. Some may call it a loving smile, but it is hard to tell what he does or doesn’t love. He doesn’t seem to quite understand the concept. Because of this, there isn’t much worry that he will ever –how to put it- take the purity of any of the girls here. He seems numb to affection anyway. So he is allowed to stay with and among the people he serves, no matter if they're female. It makes him more accessible. They don’t have to wait for him to arrive to get things done, as he is always there. They also have more control over him in that respect. Arteaux is rather harsh looking, a counter to his sweet disposition and downtrodden inferiority. He has pale skin, as though he didn’t spend much time outdoors. A little frosty of pallor, but not pale enough to be sickly or offsetting. He has a healthy enough glow to his color. His hair is pure white, the color of untainted, freshly fallen snow. It is soft to the touch, smooth and rather downy. It was once a honey brown, but turned white after he was poisoned. He has pointed ears, a common attribute of the elvish people. His eyebrows are slanted, giving him a fierce, angry look that offsets his wide, wondering eyes. The eyes themselves are a bright, silvery gray. And rather than black pupils, he doesn’t seem to have any really. They are more of a dull gray than black, occasionally blending in with the color of his irises. His nose is aquiline; sloping gently and a little sharp. He has rather sharp facial features all around. His slightly raised cheekbones and the line of his jaw give him a bit of a feline appearance. Sharp enough to be fierce but not pointed enough to look thin. More slender. Arteaux has his fair share of scars, but the most eye catching are the ones on his neck and chin. They are maddeningly unnatural, a specific design purposely placed there. Starting at the lower lip, the scar becomes two lines that meet at the base of the chin, extending further down, slightly widening, disappearing under the collar of his shirt or whatever he is wearing. It extends all the way down his chest and stomach, following the indented curvature of his muscles till it ends at his bellybutton. Three scar lines, shortening in length as they descend, cut in measured succession across his neck, in such a way that an exact half of each is on either side of the center line. Paler scars come down from the back of his neck and the start of his jaw to run down alongside the center line. These unnatural scars have raised some questions as is conceivable, but Arteaux cannot answer them, nor would he really care to if he even knew. Their origin is unknown, the meaning of them even further indiscernible. Arteaux is quite intelligent, consuming vast amounts of knowledge from reading. He likes to read. He also likes to fight, though he prefers mortal, human opponents to things like mages. At least with humans he has a chance of winning. Arteaux isn’t one for art or music, anything that is remotely involved with self-expression as he has next to none. He’s logical, precise, and simplistic. Things like emotion, things gained over years and years of development and self exploration have been utterly lost to him. He might be relearning, but he is still stuck in a single mindset. It is this mindset that truly holds him back from being whatever man he could possibly be. He doesn’t want to change it. He doesn’t want to find it. He doesn’t know what he will find when he does. Then he might not be Arteaux anymore. Then he might be someone else entirely with memories and feelings and goals and things. He doesn’t want that. Just thinking about it is too much to handle for his simple, steadfast mind. He’s happy being Arteaux. And it seems that’s who he will remain forever.
(1959 words)
AMARYLLIS STENDARR
HUMAN
BANSHEE - SLAVE
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/1924494.png?536)
Name: Amaryllis Stendarr
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 17
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Weapon: none
Power: Chrono Vision, Shared Vision, Enhanced Senses
Affiliation: Banshee - Slave
Amaryllis Stendarr hates his abilities, for they cause him pain, both emotionally and physically. He does not want to see the future, for he knows he cannot change it, no matter how hard he tries. He does not want to see the past, for it can be just as terrible. As for the physical pain, well, the strain he puts on his body to achieve the different spectrums of divination that he performs take different tolls on his body. It can just be aches and dizziness or even bleeding and passing out. But one with his talents is a special thing. A special thing that can be worth a lot to those who want to predict their futures. So, to make that money for himself, Amaryllis’ older brother sold him into slavery when Amaryllis was just five years old. He was thrown into lots of different situations, passed from slave auction to slave auction, dragged all over the continent, before finally getting bought by an evil man when he was ten years old. He was put through horrendous, unspeakable things. His next master was no better. Nor was the next. After passing hands between those three masters, he was thrown in with the Banshees when he was fifteen. If they know of his past, they do not really say. It is not as if they care about him. He is a slave. Dispensable. They think this because he keeps his powers hidden from them. Because he is male. Because he is a soulless vessel that is supposed to do nothing more than obey orders. He does not want to be used and abused as he was with his previous masters. As a slave, he is extremely complacent and will do anything he is told, even if it will cause himself harm or even death. He does not care anymore. He was broken long ago. But there is one scrap of dignity left in that torn soul of his, a scrap that seizes hold of him in the most dire situations and keeps him from begging for mercy or his life. His eyes are always narrowed in a glare or staring into nothingness as he is addressed by superiors. His pale skin is blanketed by scars of all shapes and sizes. His legs are both tattooed, from his hips all the way down to his ankles. He often hides these tattoos, and he won't tell the meanings of them, though there are certainly are a lot. He has dark brown hair, often tucked under a hat or hood. He always wears boots too. It makes him feel a little military. He would have killed to be a soldier. A pity he will never be one. Amaryllis is very advanced in his power. Being very studious, he has explored all aspects of it, managing to take full control of it. There's much he has to learn yet despite his grasp, for as he grows in power, more knowledge appears for him to find and acquire. He is very selective of those he will call friends. A harsh life has taught him the meaning of misplaced trust very well. And despite all his appearances of being a docile and numb person, he feeds his 'shadow'- the darker side of his psyche- and tends to view the world in a very twisted way. Perhaps it was twisted for him by all the people he has met throughout his life. In the end result, he has become broken and finds his own life to be meaningless.
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 17
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Weapon: none
Power: Chrono Vision, Shared Vision, Enhanced Senses
Affiliation: Banshee - Slave
Amaryllis Stendarr hates his abilities, for they cause him pain, both emotionally and physically. He does not want to see the future, for he knows he cannot change it, no matter how hard he tries. He does not want to see the past, for it can be just as terrible. As for the physical pain, well, the strain he puts on his body to achieve the different spectrums of divination that he performs take different tolls on his body. It can just be aches and dizziness or even bleeding and passing out. But one with his talents is a special thing. A special thing that can be worth a lot to those who want to predict their futures. So, to make that money for himself, Amaryllis’ older brother sold him into slavery when Amaryllis was just five years old. He was thrown into lots of different situations, passed from slave auction to slave auction, dragged all over the continent, before finally getting bought by an evil man when he was ten years old. He was put through horrendous, unspeakable things. His next master was no better. Nor was the next. After passing hands between those three masters, he was thrown in with the Banshees when he was fifteen. If they know of his past, they do not really say. It is not as if they care about him. He is a slave. Dispensable. They think this because he keeps his powers hidden from them. Because he is male. Because he is a soulless vessel that is supposed to do nothing more than obey orders. He does not want to be used and abused as he was with his previous masters. As a slave, he is extremely complacent and will do anything he is told, even if it will cause himself harm or even death. He does not care anymore. He was broken long ago. But there is one scrap of dignity left in that torn soul of his, a scrap that seizes hold of him in the most dire situations and keeps him from begging for mercy or his life. His eyes are always narrowed in a glare or staring into nothingness as he is addressed by superiors. His pale skin is blanketed by scars of all shapes and sizes. His legs are both tattooed, from his hips all the way down to his ankles. He often hides these tattoos, and he won't tell the meanings of them, though there are certainly are a lot. He has dark brown hair, often tucked under a hat or hood. He always wears boots too. It makes him feel a little military. He would have killed to be a soldier. A pity he will never be one. Amaryllis is very advanced in his power. Being very studious, he has explored all aspects of it, managing to take full control of it. There's much he has to learn yet despite his grasp, for as he grows in power, more knowledge appears for him to find and acquire. He is very selective of those he will call friends. A harsh life has taught him the meaning of misplaced trust very well. And despite all his appearances of being a docile and numb person, he feeds his 'shadow'- the darker side of his psyche- and tends to view the world in a very twisted way. Perhaps it was twisted for him by all the people he has met throughout his life. In the end result, he has become broken and finds his own life to be meaningless.
MORPHEUS
HALFLING (angel/demon)
n/a
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/6079522.jpg?608)
Morpheus
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age:
Race: Halfling (demon/angel)
Gender: Male
Weapon:
Powers:
Occupation:
Affiliation:
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age:
Race: Halfling (demon/angel)
Gender: Male
Weapon:
Powers:
Occupation:
Affiliation:
MIKIAEL ADRUSE
VAMPIRE
NO ALLEGIANCE
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/1713128_orig.jpg)
Mikiael Adruse
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: appears 24 (about 200)
Race:
Gender:
Weapon:
Powers:
Occupation:
Affiliation:
Tactical, cold, and corrupt. His corrupt nature delves into his inability to hold sanctity to the life of any human. This perhaps is true for other vampires as they feed off the living at will, but Mikiael's levels of indifference reach new highs. He would kill a human even without taking their blood. They are dispensable, disposable, and there are so many that he hardly fears them ever running out. He sees it as almost laughable how pathetic they are: milling about in meaningless lives, striving towards something pointless, only to die so soon without being able to enjoy their efforts. Mikiael does love their blood. He's addicted to it as any addict to a drug. He loves the smell, the taste, the heavy, warm feeling of fresh, pumping life blood swirling on his tongue and sliding down his throat. He could drain a human in a manner of seconds if he desires to, and he often does. As much as he loves the taste, his insatiability makes the pleasure of the drinking short lived. Mikiael is a devious hunter, utilizing the abilities of his familair as well as his own enhanced sight to accomplish his desires. His familiar: a Boomslang. The thirteenth deadliest animal in the world, the Boomslang is a rather small, shy snake, but its venom is a hematoxin that prevents blood clotting. Essentially, the victim will bleed to death from every pore of their body, something Mikiael enjoys very much. The messier a kill, the more strange Mikiael can become. He doesn't come across as this kind of person, or vampire rather. He's very caring, sociable, soft spoken, and could even be described as gentle. He can be rather sadistic, but his demeanor is so pleasant, it's easy to let the actual statements he makes pass by. He seems to be the sort that could hardly hurt a thing intentionally and without reason, but he is the exact opposite. His disguise is efficient enough, taking many by surprise when he lays into them and sucks them dry. A very handsome man, Mikiael has tanned skin, a very muscular body with a tall, strong build, brilliant red eyes, and long, flaming red hair.
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: appears 24 (about 200)
Race:
Gender:
Weapon:
Powers:
Occupation:
Affiliation:
Tactical, cold, and corrupt. His corrupt nature delves into his inability to hold sanctity to the life of any human. This perhaps is true for other vampires as they feed off the living at will, but Mikiael's levels of indifference reach new highs. He would kill a human even without taking their blood. They are dispensable, disposable, and there are so many that he hardly fears them ever running out. He sees it as almost laughable how pathetic they are: milling about in meaningless lives, striving towards something pointless, only to die so soon without being able to enjoy their efforts. Mikiael does love their blood. He's addicted to it as any addict to a drug. He loves the smell, the taste, the heavy, warm feeling of fresh, pumping life blood swirling on his tongue and sliding down his throat. He could drain a human in a manner of seconds if he desires to, and he often does. As much as he loves the taste, his insatiability makes the pleasure of the drinking short lived. Mikiael is a devious hunter, utilizing the abilities of his familair as well as his own enhanced sight to accomplish his desires. His familiar: a Boomslang. The thirteenth deadliest animal in the world, the Boomslang is a rather small, shy snake, but its venom is a hematoxin that prevents blood clotting. Essentially, the victim will bleed to death from every pore of their body, something Mikiael enjoys very much. The messier a kill, the more strange Mikiael can become. He doesn't come across as this kind of person, or vampire rather. He's very caring, sociable, soft spoken, and could even be described as gentle. He can be rather sadistic, but his demeanor is so pleasant, it's easy to let the actual statements he makes pass by. He seems to be the sort that could hardly hurt a thing intentionally and without reason, but he is the exact opposite. His disguise is efficient enough, taking many by surprise when he lays into them and sucks them dry. A very handsome man, Mikiael has tanned skin, a very muscular body with a tall, strong build, brilliant red eyes, and long, flaming red hair.