MALEFICENT CHRISTIE
human
citizen
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/9229145.jpg?707)
Maleficent Christie
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 14
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Weapon: none
Powers: none
Occupation: factory worker, school student
Affiliation: none
Maleficent Christie was never meant to amount to much. Another body for the gears. Another filled chair at a full table. He has no purpose. No reason for existing other than to bring attention to the one who really needs it: his mother. Her obsession became his downfall, and the downfall of so many siblings before and after him. Upon her death, finally freed of her dangerous coils, Maleficent left his small hometown and traveled abroad, picking up factory work and other manual labor where he could, until finally a wayward house scooped him up and plopped him into what they thought was proper and right. He was young and clueless at the time, not quite capable of fending for himself, looking only a shell of a human being. Some called him freak or unnatural because of his emaciated features. But over time, some things healed. He filled out. He gained more muscle and meat to his tiny frame. He 'got better'. But he is not. Some wounds are not found on the surface. Some things can repair, but not right. Hence why he wears gloves all the time. Hence he doesn't always breathe right. Hence why he gets so exhausted and sick all the time. Hence why his shifting eyes search out their own prey, that he might devour them with his heart, and lose them to his selfishness.
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 14
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Weapon: none
Powers: none
Occupation: factory worker, school student
Affiliation: none
Maleficent Christie was never meant to amount to much. Another body for the gears. Another filled chair at a full table. He has no purpose. No reason for existing other than to bring attention to the one who really needs it: his mother. Her obsession became his downfall, and the downfall of so many siblings before and after him. Upon her death, finally freed of her dangerous coils, Maleficent left his small hometown and traveled abroad, picking up factory work and other manual labor where he could, until finally a wayward house scooped him up and plopped him into what they thought was proper and right. He was young and clueless at the time, not quite capable of fending for himself, looking only a shell of a human being. Some called him freak or unnatural because of his emaciated features. But over time, some things healed. He filled out. He gained more muscle and meat to his tiny frame. He 'got better'. But he is not. Some wounds are not found on the surface. Some things can repair, but not right. Hence why he wears gloves all the time. Hence he doesn't always breathe right. Hence why he gets so exhausted and sick all the time. Hence why his shifting eyes search out their own prey, that he might devour them with his heart, and lose them to his selfishness.
SINDRI SACHEVERELL SENTINEL ARTHURSON
vampire
King
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/kotori_orig.jpg)
Name: Sindri Sacheverell Sentinel Arthurson
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 20
Race: Half-Vampire
Gender: Male
Weapon: none
Powers: magic
Occupation: King
Affiliation: own
mismatched eyes, missing left arm, paralyzed from the waist down but uses his enchanted objects to give him (limited and temporary) mobility
can enchant objects to have magical properties by using blood from his left eye as the mediator of his magic
was banished because he was weak and frail and getting crippled was the last straw. He rules his own place lol
"This one won't last. Not at all."
"When did I tell you it was okay to lose your arm?"
"You don't know the meaning of strength. That concept is beyond you."
"Your failures will not go without judgement."
"Can't be bothered to stand in my presence? I will GIVE you a reason never to stand again!"
"I never want to see your face again. The next time you dare to look up from the dirt where you belong, I'll rip it clean off your useless skull."
"If you had any common sense you would die."
"No offense, but you are broken beyond repair."
"Is this what you do? Did you do this to me too? Am I just an object for you to do with as you please?"
"It seems even strength can be found in the strangest of places."
"You were lost, yet you found us. You were hated, yet you loved us. You were weak, yet you carried us. You were broken, yet you mended us. You were trampled down, yet you rule us. And we could never ask for a greater King than this."
"Sindri Sacheverell Sentinel Arthurson, the Forgotten Son of Armageddon, the Exiled Savior of the Farther Land, the God of Men, calls upon you, his brothers and sisters, to take up arms. To fight the inevitable fight. To take your stand against those who would swallow the land in fire and blood. Your King calls for you. Will you answer? Will you concede to the enemy? Will you take what is yours? Will you keep what is ours? Come to us as we reclaim our rightful throne!"
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 20
Race: Half-Vampire
Gender: Male
Weapon: none
Powers: magic
Occupation: King
Affiliation: own
mismatched eyes, missing left arm, paralyzed from the waist down but uses his enchanted objects to give him (limited and temporary) mobility
can enchant objects to have magical properties by using blood from his left eye as the mediator of his magic
was banished because he was weak and frail and getting crippled was the last straw. He rules his own place lol
"This one won't last. Not at all."
"When did I tell you it was okay to lose your arm?"
"You don't know the meaning of strength. That concept is beyond you."
"Your failures will not go without judgement."
"Can't be bothered to stand in my presence? I will GIVE you a reason never to stand again!"
"I never want to see your face again. The next time you dare to look up from the dirt where you belong, I'll rip it clean off your useless skull."
"If you had any common sense you would die."
"No offense, but you are broken beyond repair."
"Is this what you do? Did you do this to me too? Am I just an object for you to do with as you please?"
"It seems even strength can be found in the strangest of places."
"You were lost, yet you found us. You were hated, yet you loved us. You were weak, yet you carried us. You were broken, yet you mended us. You were trampled down, yet you rule us. And we could never ask for a greater King than this."
"Sindri Sacheverell Sentinel Arthurson, the Forgotten Son of Armageddon, the Exiled Savior of the Farther Land, the God of Men, calls upon you, his brothers and sisters, to take up arms. To fight the inevitable fight. To take your stand against those who would swallow the land in fire and blood. Your King calls for you. Will you answer? Will you concede to the enemy? Will you take what is yours? Will you keep what is ours? Come to us as we reclaim our rightful throne!"
MERRITT DORSEY HAYWOOD ARTHURSON
vampire/demon
prince
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/jofrey.png?433)
Name: Merritt Dorsey Haywood Arthurson
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 16
Race: Vampire/Demon
Gender: Male
Weapon: Poison
Powers: -
Occupation: Prince
Affiliation: Bureaucracy
This good for nothing creep is one of Rupert Arthurson's younger sons. With a smug face and pretentious air, it's a wonder no one has beaten him into decency yet. But then again, he is a prince of sorts. No one would dare. His resulting character is the culmination of a ridiculously pampered upbringing. He got whatever he wanted, never had to do a thing in his life, and never had any consequences doled out. If he had ever done anything directly to Rupert, perhaps his father would have done a bit of fathering, but Merritt was kept mostly out of the Duke's way and so Rupert was not really aware of how bad Merritt was becoming. Perhaps he hardly cared anyway. So Merritt was left to his own devices, and would often be troublesome when he grew bored. As he was never punished or chided, he easily over stepped any bounds of decency and became the careless brat he is today. He's clever and nasty and no one likes him. Not really. If they stay on his good side, they can get what they want out of him for the most part.
Does he have any seriousness or capabilities of emotion? Hard to say. Maybe those close to him can figure it out.
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 16
Race: Vampire/Demon
Gender: Male
Weapon: Poison
Powers: -
Occupation: Prince
Affiliation: Bureaucracy
This good for nothing creep is one of Rupert Arthurson's younger sons. With a smug face and pretentious air, it's a wonder no one has beaten him into decency yet. But then again, he is a prince of sorts. No one would dare. His resulting character is the culmination of a ridiculously pampered upbringing. He got whatever he wanted, never had to do a thing in his life, and never had any consequences doled out. If he had ever done anything directly to Rupert, perhaps his father would have done a bit of fathering, but Merritt was kept mostly out of the Duke's way and so Rupert was not really aware of how bad Merritt was becoming. Perhaps he hardly cared anyway. So Merritt was left to his own devices, and would often be troublesome when he grew bored. As he was never punished or chided, he easily over stepped any bounds of decency and became the careless brat he is today. He's clever and nasty and no one likes him. Not really. If they stay on his good side, they can get what they want out of him for the most part.
Does he have any seriousness or capabilities of emotion? Hard to say. Maybe those close to him can figure it out.
THE NAMELESS ELF
ELF
citizen
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/2366726.jpg?554)
(nameless elf)
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: around 20?
Race: Elf
Gender: Male
Weapon: none
Powers: none
Occupation: none
Affiliation: none
This nameless elf was found at the bottom of Scatterloose Gulch by the Hafling Keb. With no name, memory, or knowledge of even the world around him, he was as helpless as a newborn.
But he learns quickly. With a predatory instinct and a highly attuned perception to the world around him, this nameless elf learns best by the sword. It's hard to predict what he will do next as he comes to understand things from muscle memory and some latent abilities of his own.
The nameless elf has white hair, ice-gray eyes, and bizarre, swirling tattoos across his skin. As far as anyone knows, he has no special abilities or skills.
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: around 20?
Race: Elf
Gender: Male
Weapon: none
Powers: none
Occupation: none
Affiliation: none
This nameless elf was found at the bottom of Scatterloose Gulch by the Hafling Keb. With no name, memory, or knowledge of even the world around him, he was as helpless as a newborn.
But he learns quickly. With a predatory instinct and a highly attuned perception to the world around him, this nameless elf learns best by the sword. It's hard to predict what he will do next as he comes to understand things from muscle memory and some latent abilities of his own.
The nameless elf has white hair, ice-gray eyes, and bizarre, swirling tattoos across his skin. As far as anyone knows, he has no special abilities or skills.
THERON HALE
shifter
Clairvoyant Templar
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/the-monster-inside-me-by-kawacy-d9j7sij_orig.jpg)
Theron Hale
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 14
Race: Shifter (canis major)
Gender: Male
Weapon: none
Powers: none
Occupation: Toby's carrier (templar)
Affiliation: Clairvoyants
This quiet, gentle creature is Theron Hale.
Theron is stoic and very quiet. If you can get him to talk, you are a magical puff pastry.
He is the official carrier of smol puff pastry Toby and he takes his job very seriously. Just look at all the serious rolling off that face.
He is a shifter. His form is categorized as canis major, meaning he can shapeshift into any canis but very very large.
Theron is a clairvoyant because of Toby. He is loyal only to Toby and would do anything for him.
One day, he was minding his business when he came upon a smol puff pastry. He picked it up and hasn't put it down since.
His pose says #thuglyfe but his eyes say #IAmTheSpawnOfYourDarkestNightmares
#remnantfeels . Squishy on the inside maybe, but there are lots of walls all around. Somebody Colossal Titan this muthafucka.
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 14
Race: Shifter (canis major)
Gender: Male
Weapon: none
Powers: none
Occupation: Toby's carrier (templar)
Affiliation: Clairvoyants
This quiet, gentle creature is Theron Hale.
Theron is stoic and very quiet. If you can get him to talk, you are a magical puff pastry.
He is the official carrier of smol puff pastry Toby and he takes his job very seriously. Just look at all the serious rolling off that face.
He is a shifter. His form is categorized as canis major, meaning he can shapeshift into any canis but very very large.
Theron is a clairvoyant because of Toby. He is loyal only to Toby and would do anything for him.
One day, he was minding his business when he came upon a smol puff pastry. He picked it up and hasn't put it down since.
His pose says #thuglyfe but his eyes say #IAmTheSpawnOfYourDarkestNightmares
#remnantfeels . Squishy on the inside maybe, but there are lots of walls all around. Somebody Colossal Titan this muthafucka.
DAGGER FYRES BLACKHEART SNOW
HUMAN
VISCOUNT
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/6929186.jpg?554)
Dagger Fyres Blackheart Snow
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 20
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Weapon: varied
Powers: none
Occupation: Viscount
Affiliation: Bureaucracy
Dagger Fyres Blackheart Snow. If the name seems even slightly familiar, of a kind that stirs older memories, it is common to assume that is because he was once the son of the Duke. Not Rupert, but the former one: Godrick Snow.
Dagger was born in a family of dark secrets. On the outside, they looked happy. Beautiful. Almost perfect. Their subjects loved them, respected them, and honored them. They had their stumbles, but they always overcame them. Their people valued about the Duke and Duchess. They righted their wrongs. But just a year before Dagger was born, contention rose between the Duke and the Duchess, some split views on allegiances with the factions. The people were uneasy about the obvious tension between their leaders, but they were never quite sure of the details, and for the most part, looked past it all. But Dagger's mother was secretly of the Banshee. Five years before his birth, she had revisited the old beliefs of her own mother, and slowly gave her soul over to the ideals of the Banshees. While his father never fully recognized her silent allegiance, he had noticed her changing desires and views. This was ultimately the extent of their quarrels: petty arguments over matters of opinion. But while Godrick only exchanged words with her at a surface value, the Duchess' hatred and twisted thinking ran far, far deeper than he could possibly know. When Dagger was born, a rather grueling task that nearly claimed her life, the servants thought it rather peculiar on how depressed and enraged she was at the sight of her child. While all women suffer levels of post partem depression, the Duchess' imbalanced emotions seemed uncharacteristic of the usual cases. He was raised by a nursemaid for the first six months of his life, but was often isolated due to unfortunate circumstances wherein the Duchess would insist on caring for him, and then forget she had insisted altogether, leaving him alone for days at a time. When he was around one year old, she became extremely obsessive of Dagger and took over his upbringing entirely. She did not do this for love. But for hate. She despised him. In the Banshee fashion, she had hoped for a daughter, but was cursed with a son. Naturally, it was his fault for being born male, and she made sure he bore the consequences of it. She tortured him often. She fed him harmful substances, neglected him, slapped him around, tormented him. She never did anything that would leave noticeable marks. He merely grew up sickly and isolated in himself. He was incapable of trusting others and never asked for attention. He never cried, never laughed, hardly moved, hardly reacted to anything. His father was concerned by the behaviors, but the physician that was brought in merely claimed that Dagger was mentally challenged. The doctor did draw the Duchess aside and remarked on the strange physical imperfections, and the Duchess was rather quick to find the supposed servant prone to temper and possible abuse and have her thrown out. Around the time Dagger was four, the Duchess bore another son. She took to abusing him as well, but she was too rough too soon, and the baby would cry and cry and scream. A very noisy little thing that drew too much attention. So she abandoned him to nursemaids and kept Dagger for herself. Silent little Dagger who never spoke a word or did a thing. But he saw what she did to his brother, and bonded with him, assuming a protective role. Even after she left her baby for others to care for, he would always sneak into his brother's room and sleep with him in his crib, watching over him at night till he fell asleep. Dagger loved his baby brother very much, even if he was not so sure what love really was. His mother did not like this bond. So she locked Dagger in small, dark spaces. He developed claustrophobia as a result. When he was around six, she stopped doing such. Rather she took to burning and bleeding Dagger with her powers, covering the wounds and healing them. And so, began her tortures at a new level, with everyone continuing unawares.
When Dagger was perhaps eight years old, Rupert and his men assaulted the Beurocracy. Dagger could do nothing but watch as his family was raped, tortured, and slaughtered before his eyes. He and his four year old brother were picked out of the shadows, the only survivors. While Rupert and his men continued their takeover, Dagger and his brother were locked in the dungeons. Power changed hands. The world became very disjointed at this sudden change. And Dagger and his brother were quite forgotten in their cell. Dagger watched with wide eyes and a stuttering heart as his brother wasted away from disease and starvation before his eyes. He would cut pieces of himself off with a broken metal shard and feed them to his brother. But then a brain sickness set in that left his little brother insane. To end his suffering, Dagger strangled him to death. To survive, he cannibalized his brother.
When they were finally remembered, two corpses were found: two small boys, one all bones and some with skin on it. But the one corpse moved, and sure enough, Dagger was still alive, if just by a heartbeat. Perhaps it was from sick pleasure or a twisted distortion of pity, but Rupert had Dagger brought back to health. But then, it was not truly out of pity. Seeing that Dagger's body refused to die, Rupert determined that he could make a useful specimen out of his enemy's son. And so, Dagger was left alive as an idol of humiliation and triumph: he was to be Rupert's slave.
Turning ten years old, Dagger was placed in the cruel art of the assassins. He was horrifically abused by his teachers in all manner of ways. It was not uncommon for him to wake on the ground covered in mud and blood, only for older students to stone him and mockingly call him Dagger Fyres Blackheart Snow, Duke of all Coleridge. Dagger was nothing more than a creature to be humiliated and tormented, all for the amusement of them who conquered him and his family that fateful night. Dagger often enough saw red before his eyes, then darkness, only to come to standing on the edge of a roof screaming to the nothing, or find himself lying on the floor in some corner somewhere with a knife in his hand and blood pouring down his arms. He could not die, he realized, when he had tried and failed to shoot himself in the head. His body would not give out even though his soul had long ago. And so, resigned to his fate, he continued on, mimicking life, an entirely hollow and empty shell of a human being. A mere imitation. A homunculus.
It was apparent that all semblance of humanity had left him one fateful day in spring. At fourteen years old, he had soared through the trainings and gone on to be a true assassin. His first real mission was one of a show of strength. He and his team of assassins descended on a nobleman's family. The nobleman was a conspirator against the Duke and had assembled an army of weapons for hire to go against Rupert. And so Dagger and the assassins, under orders of the Duke to the Viscount, were forced to kill five of the man's family, then, he was personally ordered to castrate all the males, saw torture the females, and then dismember the rest piece by piece and package each piece to be specially sent downriver to the conspirator's camp of soldiers for hire. His mission was ultimately a success, but he could never quite wash the blood off his hands.
But his men would beg to differ. As Dagger came to lead his own team of assassins, they expressed unswerving loyalty and respect to him, as he proved time and time again to stand between them and their doom, saving their lives and protecting them at his own expense. He swore against such a thing, but his team knew better than him. They knew he had something of a heart still trying to beat in his cold, dead chest. And they strived again and again to show him their admiration and respect for him as well. They saved his life. They let him lean on them. They helped carry the weight of the world that he had placed on his own shoulders. And Dagger, despite his outward talk, could not deny the warmth that pulsed in his veins, a warmth that he had not felt since he first felt his baby brother's tiny hand wrap around his finger as they lay side by side in that crib all those years ago. And Dagger felt the cold melt a little at this realization. He opened himself to them as far as he could, going so far as to congratulating them on their successes. It was a rare thing, and they rejoiced in his transformation. But it was not to last. Dagger was not to last.
A darkness like no other filled Dagger's vision. When his eyes finally opened, he and his men were trapped in a strange place of which there was no escape. Except a girl. A young, beautiful girl with a voice like an angel. She told them they were to die there. She had been there with others and was trapped there forveer, and now they would be too. But Dagger would not let them give up and die there. So together, they struggled to flee the cursed world they were brought into. But it was too much to hope they could all live. Only Dagger and the girl escaped alive. Dagger was forced to watch as his men, one by one, were slaughtered right in front of his eyes. Their screams and pleas would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life. And he felt himself begin to sink back into that abyss that they had all striven so hard to save him from. And then the girl reached out to him and saved him. She brought him to life with her love. And he found himself loving her too. They spent happy years together. With her, he felt the world could not show him any other struggle. He felt he could overcome his past and any future horror with her at his side. And then, one night, she held his face in her hands, looked him in the eyes, and told him who she was. She was the monster that had caused all his suffering. She was the one who orchestrated the slaughter of his family. She was the one who dragged his men to that place of death and had them killed so. With agonized cries, she confessed how she had hated herself all these years. How she had never wanted to do this. How it had been her job, her mission, nothing more. She confessed her love to him. She confessed that with him she had found feeling, that he had awoken her heart, that she found her soul once more, a soul she thought she lost to her bloody and distorted past long ago. And while he was shocked and horrified and tortured at this revelation, he saw nothing but truth in her eyes and heard nothing but shame and guilt in her words. And he knew she was in agony over this betrayal, and he knew she loved him. And he forgave her, and he loved her as well. Like a story without end, the order came in from the Viscount that Dagger was to go and slay the creature he loved the most. They met one night in a plain lit by the moon, shadowed by dark clouds. It was almost poetry, how they fought. They were too well matched and they wrought upon each other frightful injuries. She knew he had never forgiven her. That he despised her for what she did. But he tossed his weapon aside. Because he could not kill her. He loved her. And he told her that much. She wanted nothing more than to go to him then. For them to run and live in the world together. But she knew he would be hunted and killed for this betrayal. So she stabbed herself through the stomach and drew the blade to her heart. He held her in his arms. She kissed him with her final breath, and it started to rain.
(2118 words)
ANTARES NIGHTHUNTER
ELF
citizen
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/7682972.jpg?691)
Antares Nighthunter
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 23
Race: Elf
Gender: Male
Weapon: bone dagger
Powers: Psychic Navigation, Force Field Generation, Photoprotation, Light Mimicry
Occupation: wanderer
Affiliation: none
Losing his sister in a suspicious accident, all that Antares has left in the world is the twin brother he was separated from years ago. The twin brother who tried to kill him, who hated him, who blamed him for abandoning him. But Antares still loved his brother so much, and it broke his heart to let him go. And now that he is free from those that made him a slave, he seeks to find the brother he lost, and somehow make amends. Antares was an assassin of the beurocracy when his senses were stripped from him by a malevolent stalker. They were promised back to him if he would kill for this person, but Antares refused. Using his powers, he is still able to function, fight, and survive even without them. He is blind, deaf, and mute but learns how to get around through psychic navigation. From his past and his wanderings, he has seen the worst of the worst the world has to offer, but somehow he can still cling to the fervent hope that he will find his happiness in the end, even if he knows that he will be destroyed by it. He has made a name for himself in the underworld. Sort of. Rumors spread of one who can tear anything apart in moments, a ruthlessness so cold not even the sun can burn it. Antares has many enemies now, and none he can call friend. Not really. His only hope is that he finds some sort of ending to everything, before the darkness puts him out for good.
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 23
Race: Elf
Gender: Male
Weapon: bone dagger
Powers: Psychic Navigation, Force Field Generation, Photoprotation, Light Mimicry
Occupation: wanderer
Affiliation: none
Losing his sister in a suspicious accident, all that Antares has left in the world is the twin brother he was separated from years ago. The twin brother who tried to kill him, who hated him, who blamed him for abandoning him. But Antares still loved his brother so much, and it broke his heart to let him go. And now that he is free from those that made him a slave, he seeks to find the brother he lost, and somehow make amends. Antares was an assassin of the beurocracy when his senses were stripped from him by a malevolent stalker. They were promised back to him if he would kill for this person, but Antares refused. Using his powers, he is still able to function, fight, and survive even without them. He is blind, deaf, and mute but learns how to get around through psychic navigation. From his past and his wanderings, he has seen the worst of the worst the world has to offer, but somehow he can still cling to the fervent hope that he will find his happiness in the end, even if he knows that he will be destroyed by it. He has made a name for himself in the underworld. Sort of. Rumors spread of one who can tear anything apart in moments, a ruthlessness so cold not even the sun can burn it. Antares has many enemies now, and none he can call friend. Not really. His only hope is that he finds some sort of ending to everything, before the darkness puts him out for good.
ICARUS
ANGEL
CLAIRVOYANT TEMPLAR
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/8488453.jpg?698)
Icarus
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 32
Race: Angel
Gender: Male
Weapon: dual sun-colored scythes
Powers:
Occupation: Templar -warrior protector
Affiliation: Clairvoyants
There are songs that are sung of a being born from a drop of the sun falling to the earth to the ground below. If such stories were true, then Icarus easily fits such a splendrous origin. His short hair is so pale it appears nearly white. His eyes are pieces of solar light, and his wings are white-hot flame. His skin is a burnished copper from all his time spent reaching towards that eye in the sky. He dresses himself in mostly black, or dark shades of blue and green so that he might stand out more and apart of others in battle. It can be rather imposing to see such a burning figure so willing to stand out as a living target, and it causes a feeling of fear and uncertainty in those who face them rather than make himself out to be a fool. And the fear he strikes in others is only moreso increased by the witness of his skill in a battle. Next to sheer physical strength and speed, Icarus has other strengths and skills. He is very grounded in what he believes is right and cannot be swayed. He strongly believes in the needs of the many outweighing the needs of the few. Self-sacrifice is not beyond his ability. He has suffered much in the name of something greater than himself. He does not give in to emotion easily and can make impeccably rational decisions, even in the face of turmoil and utter chaos. His bloodthirsty streak drives him to win victories even when all hope is lost, and his experience on the field have lent incredible knowledge when it comes to tactics and strategies. Icarus is terrible at forming personal relationships. Though he has a family, he is not close with any of them, treating them with the same respect and decency as he would his subordinates. He views them as valuable assets and people who can work closely with him, but he does not show them love or the proper attention they need. He keeps his heart guarded against everyone, and as a result, has a lot of people who resent him. Icarus was never thought of as a kind or benevolent person. Merely just. Mercy occasionally pops up in his personal dictionary, but otherwise, the wrongdoers best look out in his presence. He cares for those under his care very deeply, but he will not treat them soft. It is often said that through his treatment and training, his subordinates could easily rule themselves and win battles alone should he ever fall in battle, and this perhaps holds more weight than people allow it to. Icarus was the youngest child of the previous Marquess. Since his birth, it was determined that there was no way in heaven or hell that he would ever amount to anything resembling a ruler. So he was set upon the path of the military. From a young age, he was taught tactics and strategy alongside the pomp and circumstance of being royal. He was brought along to view battles from a distance that he might be able to gain experience from them. He held a knife before he could even form full sentences. His first kill was made when a prisoner was set on him in a training match. He was only eight. Soon as he could fly, he was put through private aerial battle training. But when he was thirteen and he entered a real war, things began to change. He found himself becoming more and more attached to his brothers and sisters. And one by one, they died. Battle after battle raged, and their side sustained horrific losses. Everyone believed that they would be the first to truly fall, and so the world held its breath. Then their father died. There were only three left: Icarus and his two older brothers. Each of the older brothers took their father's position as Marquess for less than a winter and went to join their family in the grave. Since neither of them fathered heirs of their own, the role fell to Icarus. He too nearly joined his brothers in their fate. Nearly. But he fought and he fought harder and colder than any of them ever had. In a last ditch effort, during a particularly bloody battle that could have spelled his doom, he made the decision to riddle the sky with gatling gun fire and cannon. He drew his army down to the waiting trap, and they broke apart soon as their enemy was within range. It was this victory that started the ball rolling to their recovery. The enemy quickly rose to the challenge Icarus posed, but they were no match for him. For many long winters, Icarus stood his ground and beat them all back till they finally came to equal grounds. It has become very clear that through survival of the fittest, Icarus was the one destined to lead. But, for reasons unknown, he forsook his role. He passed on the Marquess rank and took up the role of the Templar. Everyone was rather shocked at this change, but Icarus was adamant and would not second guess his decision. He uses his mass amount of wealth and his skills as a fighter to support and defend the weaker and the lesser. Hard to believe that someone so closed and cold as he could possibly have such cares.
NOTES
- he might just secretly be a nymphomaniac
- he has 74 wives, 125 concubines, and 144 children... last he counted
**this seems like a joke, but it's all true
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 32
Race: Angel
Gender: Male
Weapon: dual sun-colored scythes
Powers:
Occupation: Templar -warrior protector
Affiliation: Clairvoyants
There are songs that are sung of a being born from a drop of the sun falling to the earth to the ground below. If such stories were true, then Icarus easily fits such a splendrous origin. His short hair is so pale it appears nearly white. His eyes are pieces of solar light, and his wings are white-hot flame. His skin is a burnished copper from all his time spent reaching towards that eye in the sky. He dresses himself in mostly black, or dark shades of blue and green so that he might stand out more and apart of others in battle. It can be rather imposing to see such a burning figure so willing to stand out as a living target, and it causes a feeling of fear and uncertainty in those who face them rather than make himself out to be a fool. And the fear he strikes in others is only moreso increased by the witness of his skill in a battle. Next to sheer physical strength and speed, Icarus has other strengths and skills. He is very grounded in what he believes is right and cannot be swayed. He strongly believes in the needs of the many outweighing the needs of the few. Self-sacrifice is not beyond his ability. He has suffered much in the name of something greater than himself. He does not give in to emotion easily and can make impeccably rational decisions, even in the face of turmoil and utter chaos. His bloodthirsty streak drives him to win victories even when all hope is lost, and his experience on the field have lent incredible knowledge when it comes to tactics and strategies. Icarus is terrible at forming personal relationships. Though he has a family, he is not close with any of them, treating them with the same respect and decency as he would his subordinates. He views them as valuable assets and people who can work closely with him, but he does not show them love or the proper attention they need. He keeps his heart guarded against everyone, and as a result, has a lot of people who resent him. Icarus was never thought of as a kind or benevolent person. Merely just. Mercy occasionally pops up in his personal dictionary, but otherwise, the wrongdoers best look out in his presence. He cares for those under his care very deeply, but he will not treat them soft. It is often said that through his treatment and training, his subordinates could easily rule themselves and win battles alone should he ever fall in battle, and this perhaps holds more weight than people allow it to. Icarus was the youngest child of the previous Marquess. Since his birth, it was determined that there was no way in heaven or hell that he would ever amount to anything resembling a ruler. So he was set upon the path of the military. From a young age, he was taught tactics and strategy alongside the pomp and circumstance of being royal. He was brought along to view battles from a distance that he might be able to gain experience from them. He held a knife before he could even form full sentences. His first kill was made when a prisoner was set on him in a training match. He was only eight. Soon as he could fly, he was put through private aerial battle training. But when he was thirteen and he entered a real war, things began to change. He found himself becoming more and more attached to his brothers and sisters. And one by one, they died. Battle after battle raged, and their side sustained horrific losses. Everyone believed that they would be the first to truly fall, and so the world held its breath. Then their father died. There were only three left: Icarus and his two older brothers. Each of the older brothers took their father's position as Marquess for less than a winter and went to join their family in the grave. Since neither of them fathered heirs of their own, the role fell to Icarus. He too nearly joined his brothers in their fate. Nearly. But he fought and he fought harder and colder than any of them ever had. In a last ditch effort, during a particularly bloody battle that could have spelled his doom, he made the decision to riddle the sky with gatling gun fire and cannon. He drew his army down to the waiting trap, and they broke apart soon as their enemy was within range. It was this victory that started the ball rolling to their recovery. The enemy quickly rose to the challenge Icarus posed, but they were no match for him. For many long winters, Icarus stood his ground and beat them all back till they finally came to equal grounds. It has become very clear that through survival of the fittest, Icarus was the one destined to lead. But, for reasons unknown, he forsook his role. He passed on the Marquess rank and took up the role of the Templar. Everyone was rather shocked at this change, but Icarus was adamant and would not second guess his decision. He uses his mass amount of wealth and his skills as a fighter to support and defend the weaker and the lesser. Hard to believe that someone so closed and cold as he could possibly have such cares.
NOTES
- he might just secretly be a nymphomaniac
- he has 74 wives, 125 concubines, and 144 children... last he counted
**this seems like a joke, but it's all true
MEZTLI UNDERBOURNE
ELF
PISTONS DIESEL
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/2335496_orig.jpg)
Meztli Underbourne
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 27
Race: Elf
Gender: Male
Weapon: Lancaster pistol
Powers: none
Occupation: Diesel
Affiliation: Pistons
Very little is known about Meztli, and there is even less that he will give out. From what is known and whispered of, is that he was imprisoned by the Banshees for the majority of his childhood. Disfigured and abused, he eventually escaped, passing out in a forest from injuries and exhaustion. When he awoke, he was in an infirmary overseen by the Clairvoyants. They told him he had been found by the Pistons at the edge of town, half-dead and surrounded by a puddle of blood. It had taken them weeks to heal him, but it seemed his stubbornness had helped him pull through. While he was recovering, he was visited by a rather high member of the Piston’s faction who inquired as to why he was there. Meztli told very little of his story, but it seemed the man was most impressed that he had killed several Banshees in his flight. They asked him to join their faction, to which he readily agreed.
Under their care and instruction, Meztli grew in strength and mind. Permanently disfigured and damaged by his childhood ordeals, he will never be a perfect specimen of an elf, but he is the perfect fuel for their feud. Empowered by his hatred and his memories, he is the epitome of everything the Pistons stand for: a hater of the Banshees, a lord over women, a fighter, a survivor, an impervious juggernaut who defies death at every turn. He rose through the faction quickly, surpassing his peers and accelerating through the ranks until he was crowned their leader. While young, he has no care for age. It is just a number. Still learning and growing through his experiences and his desire for ultimate vengeance, he has become their most ruthless leader to date. He is the cursed that became a curse. He is the one who is determined to be the downfall of the Banshees.
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 27
Race: Elf
Gender: Male
Weapon: Lancaster pistol
Powers: none
Occupation: Diesel
Affiliation: Pistons
Very little is known about Meztli, and there is even less that he will give out. From what is known and whispered of, is that he was imprisoned by the Banshees for the majority of his childhood. Disfigured and abused, he eventually escaped, passing out in a forest from injuries and exhaustion. When he awoke, he was in an infirmary overseen by the Clairvoyants. They told him he had been found by the Pistons at the edge of town, half-dead and surrounded by a puddle of blood. It had taken them weeks to heal him, but it seemed his stubbornness had helped him pull through. While he was recovering, he was visited by a rather high member of the Piston’s faction who inquired as to why he was there. Meztli told very little of his story, but it seemed the man was most impressed that he had killed several Banshees in his flight. They asked him to join their faction, to which he readily agreed.
Under their care and instruction, Meztli grew in strength and mind. Permanently disfigured and damaged by his childhood ordeals, he will never be a perfect specimen of an elf, but he is the perfect fuel for their feud. Empowered by his hatred and his memories, he is the epitome of everything the Pistons stand for: a hater of the Banshees, a lord over women, a fighter, a survivor, an impervious juggernaut who defies death at every turn. He rose through the faction quickly, surpassing his peers and accelerating through the ranks until he was crowned their leader. While young, he has no care for age. It is just a number. Still learning and growing through his experiences and his desire for ultimate vengeance, he has become their most ruthless leader to date. He is the cursed that became a curse. He is the one who is determined to be the downfall of the Banshees.
FINIS PRIEST
HALFLING
BANSHEE SLAVE
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/5568791_orig.jpg)
Finis Augustus Priest
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 20
Race: Halfling (gargoyle - human)
Gender: Male
Weapon: none
Powers: unknown
Affiliation: Banshee - Slave
COMING SOON
Kin: Octavian Priest (twin brother), 2 younger and 1 older brother, 6 cousins
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 20
Race: Halfling (gargoyle - human)
Gender: Male
Weapon: none
Powers: unknown
Affiliation: Banshee - Slave
COMING SOON
Kin: Octavian Priest (twin brother), 2 younger and 1 older brother, 6 cousins
OCTAVIAN PRIEST
HALFLING
PISTON IRON MAN
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/1704075.jpg?396)
Octavian Anthony Priest
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 20
Race: Halfling (gargoyle - human)
Gender: Male
Weapon: Buster Sword, Knife Pistol
Powers: unknown (Absolute Sight, Sensorial Link, Aerokinesis)
Affiliation: Pistons - Iron Man
Octavian and his twin brother Finis were raised by their rather disturbed parents. They were very badly abused. Octavian was more loved and considered the stronger one. But his parents madness was projected on him. He began liking the abuses, and he would abuse Finis every chance he got. But while Finis was not physically stronger, he was mentally and emotionally colder. Octavian would get very violent and persistent with how he took out his own suffering on Finis, and it made him angrier and angrier since Finis could never understand Octavian. Octavian and Finis were ten years old when they were taken by unknown assailants and locked in a dark, underground room. They were kept there for forty days and nights, constantly abused. When they were finally brought out, Octavian was kept by the group while Finis was sold off. Octavian was put to work in a chemical plant as child labor. All his money was kept by his overseer who had Octavian listed as his charge. Octavian was really just the man’s slave, used and abused, or rented out to others for services at master’s convenience. Octavian accepted it as life. After four years, he was horrifically burned in an accident at the plant, leaving his back, sides, and stomach horrifically injured as a result. He was dumped on the streets and nearly died. He barely survived by digging through trash, eating rats, and occasionally small orphans. When he was sixteen, Pistons looking for child laborers found him in an alley. He was too old to be used to their purposes, but after much debate, they agreed to let him work for them for room and board. He was healed by some with powers and was given work. He shot through the ranks. Octavian hates being touched, hates the dark, and hates himself too. But he exists with himself. He’s too much of a coward to kill himself.
---------
"I don't know who told you that I'm human, but I'm more stone than flesh. Cold, unfeeling, heartless. More literal than metaphorical."
" 'You're the strong one' they always said. I just appear that way. My brother... he looked fragile, but he was stronger than I. Too strong for his own good. It always made me angry. I tried to tell him, but he never understood. He kept getting stronger... Never learned his lesson... kept getting stronger... never.... learned...."
"What these [scars]? Nothing really. You should see what's on the inside."
"Kind of hard to die when you're never really alive."
"Bullets don't have names on them, and there certainly isn't one out there waiting for you. That's merely wishful thinking."
"I wonder what it would be like to be a Banshee slave... Women every night. Get food sometimes. Know exactly what you're supposed to do. Sounds fine to me. Don't know what the fuss is about."
"You sound like my brother. I'm really not okay with this."
"I like long walks on the beach, hating everyone equally, and watching the world burn."
"Here to kill me? Get in line."
"I sought an illusion called reality. I found the meaning of life in death. I'm disjointed, warped. Twisted out of everything that I ever stood for to become this sick creature standing before you. You reach out, and I bite at your hands. Your hands that once held true love in them. I am nothing and you are everything. But while you remain a soul in a mortal shell, you cannot upset the balance of my chaos. You cannot put broken things together. If you loved me, you would stop. Loved, because you cannot love me. You cannot love that which does not exist, and I died a long, long time ago."
"But oh, they called me beautiful..."
Kin: Finis Priest (twin brother), 2 younger and 1 older brother, 6 cousins
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 20
Race: Halfling (gargoyle - human)
Gender: Male
Weapon: Buster Sword, Knife Pistol
Powers: unknown (Absolute Sight, Sensorial Link, Aerokinesis)
Affiliation: Pistons - Iron Man
Octavian and his twin brother Finis were raised by their rather disturbed parents. They were very badly abused. Octavian was more loved and considered the stronger one. But his parents madness was projected on him. He began liking the abuses, and he would abuse Finis every chance he got. But while Finis was not physically stronger, he was mentally and emotionally colder. Octavian would get very violent and persistent with how he took out his own suffering on Finis, and it made him angrier and angrier since Finis could never understand Octavian. Octavian and Finis were ten years old when they were taken by unknown assailants and locked in a dark, underground room. They were kept there for forty days and nights, constantly abused. When they were finally brought out, Octavian was kept by the group while Finis was sold off. Octavian was put to work in a chemical plant as child labor. All his money was kept by his overseer who had Octavian listed as his charge. Octavian was really just the man’s slave, used and abused, or rented out to others for services at master’s convenience. Octavian accepted it as life. After four years, he was horrifically burned in an accident at the plant, leaving his back, sides, and stomach horrifically injured as a result. He was dumped on the streets and nearly died. He barely survived by digging through trash, eating rats, and occasionally small orphans. When he was sixteen, Pistons looking for child laborers found him in an alley. He was too old to be used to their purposes, but after much debate, they agreed to let him work for them for room and board. He was healed by some with powers and was given work. He shot through the ranks. Octavian hates being touched, hates the dark, and hates himself too. But he exists with himself. He’s too much of a coward to kill himself.
---------
"I don't know who told you that I'm human, but I'm more stone than flesh. Cold, unfeeling, heartless. More literal than metaphorical."
" 'You're the strong one' they always said. I just appear that way. My brother... he looked fragile, but he was stronger than I. Too strong for his own good. It always made me angry. I tried to tell him, but he never understood. He kept getting stronger... Never learned his lesson... kept getting stronger... never.... learned...."
"What these [scars]? Nothing really. You should see what's on the inside."
"Kind of hard to die when you're never really alive."
"Bullets don't have names on them, and there certainly isn't one out there waiting for you. That's merely wishful thinking."
"I wonder what it would be like to be a Banshee slave... Women every night. Get food sometimes. Know exactly what you're supposed to do. Sounds fine to me. Don't know what the fuss is about."
"You sound like my brother. I'm really not okay with this."
"I like long walks on the beach, hating everyone equally, and watching the world burn."
"Here to kill me? Get in line."
"I sought an illusion called reality. I found the meaning of life in death. I'm disjointed, warped. Twisted out of everything that I ever stood for to become this sick creature standing before you. You reach out, and I bite at your hands. Your hands that once held true love in them. I am nothing and you are everything. But while you remain a soul in a mortal shell, you cannot upset the balance of my chaos. You cannot put broken things together. If you loved me, you would stop. Loved, because you cannot love me. You cannot love that which does not exist, and I died a long, long time ago."
"But oh, they called me beautiful..."
Kin: Finis Priest (twin brother), 2 younger and 1 older brother, 6 cousins
ESTHER LEFORGE
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/6933825_orig.jpg)
Esther LeForge
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: frozen at 19 (neither knows nor cares about his true age, but he is ancient)
Race: Vampire
Gender: Male
Weapon: -
Powers: -
Affiliation: Citizen (Rainmill)
Esther is evil, only because, he mentally exists outside of humanity and has a very skewed sense of morals, truth, justice, etc. He acts solely on his own whims and purposes and desires. He does not see himself as evil even if he is. He also does not see his actions as chaos even if they are. Everything is subjective to the extreme in his case.
Esther has a heart-stopping allure and uses it to every extent in order to manipulate, oppress, and thrive. He often gathers people together and forms them into factions, cults, religions, gangs, all-sorts simply because he can. His understanding of his responsibility of them is non-existant. After all, if ever he gets bored, he'll just leave and go hibernate in his lair again waiting for the next century to turn up.
Esther memorizes things when he can. Things he reads, does, or writes. He has lived so long he forgets most things since time is so infinite and life so fleeting. So he tries to memorize things, and will often spout quotes, poetry, plays, anything, and in this manner, recalls things. He has a vast library in his lair full of his memoirs and things of knowledge that he has collected. But even still, he forgets. He's not a hoarder really, but he hangs on to the bits and baubles that he has collected as well because he knows there is significance to them, and he knows he would be devastated if he could not ever remember what that was.
Living forever is an eternal death indeed.
Kin:
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: frozen at 19 (neither knows nor cares about his true age, but he is ancient)
Race: Vampire
Gender: Male
Weapon: -
Powers: -
Affiliation: Citizen (Rainmill)
Esther is evil, only because, he mentally exists outside of humanity and has a very skewed sense of morals, truth, justice, etc. He acts solely on his own whims and purposes and desires. He does not see himself as evil even if he is. He also does not see his actions as chaos even if they are. Everything is subjective to the extreme in his case.
Esther has a heart-stopping allure and uses it to every extent in order to manipulate, oppress, and thrive. He often gathers people together and forms them into factions, cults, religions, gangs, all-sorts simply because he can. His understanding of his responsibility of them is non-existant. After all, if ever he gets bored, he'll just leave and go hibernate in his lair again waiting for the next century to turn up.
Esther memorizes things when he can. Things he reads, does, or writes. He has lived so long he forgets most things since time is so infinite and life so fleeting. So he tries to memorize things, and will often spout quotes, poetry, plays, anything, and in this manner, recalls things. He has a vast library in his lair full of his memoirs and things of knowledge that he has collected. But even still, he forgets. He's not a hoarder really, but he hangs on to the bits and baubles that he has collected as well because he knows there is significance to them, and he knows he would be devastated if he could not ever remember what that was.
Living forever is an eternal death indeed.
Kin:
ZIGFRIED KÖNIGSTEIN
HALFLING
CIVILLIAN
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/2034782.jpg?474)
Zigfried Traugott Königstein
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 14
Race: Vampire/Phantom halfling
Gender: Male
Weapon:
Powers: none - stripped away
Occupation: Trade Guild Master
Affiliation: "civillian" - Trade Guild
DESCRIPTION: Zigfried is a very pale, slight boy, with a sickly pallor to his already too fair skin. is midnight colored hair heavily contrasts against this. His eyes are a very pale shade of lilac with varying hints of blue that literally swirl and glide across the purple of his eyes like swimming minnows or shooting stars. His fingernails are outlined in dark red, that fade into dark, smoky veins spreading out from his fingertips to fade out somewhere at his knuckles. He has a series of scars across his body, some paled out, most rather prominent on his wrists and neck. The skin of his chest is translucent, almost transparent. In bright backlighting, one can see his heart, lungs, veins, and arteries. His spine is rather prominent, with the vertebrae pressing up against the skin of his back, creating a bumpy ridge-line.
PERSONALITY: Zigfried never shows his true colors to anyone really, and often than not, always surprises people. He is very used to wearing what can be called a 'business face'. It's the face he shows to the world of a comfortably smug, charming individual who could coax the spots off a cat. He seldom gets riled up about anything, and never has to raise his voice. Others quiet down for him. He has a strange allure, perhaps related to the bizarre nature of his race.
HISTORY:
Not quite in or of this world, the result of an improbable union between dead and undead, life somehow sparked and formed this little being named Zigfried Traugott Königstein. And he is very alone in this world. Has been since his unnatural birth. He could not be raised by his mother, as she was dead, and his father was only a father for handing over DNA in the mutual exchange lovers often make. No, Zigfried was alone. What little she could, his mother tried to raise him, but when he was six years old, she faded away into the afterlife. Forever. And armed with nothing but fragments of what she was able to teach him and vicious incisors with which to acquire his sustenance, the tiny thing left his so called home and found himself in the outside world soon enough. Living day to day and hand to mouth as a means of the barest survival, Zigfried's path wound its way down to the seedy underbelly of the world. Enduring a series of misfortunate events, he came to understand that his true strength lay in the rather overabundant intelligence of his mind. Despite being antisocial and not the best when it comes to interpersonal relations, he knew how to get his way, how to negotiate, how to twist and spin webs to lure prey in, and above all, he knew how to act. And by using this charismatic negotiator side of himself, he wormed his way through the darkness under the earth to come out on top. Accumulating wealth and stature and a place of his own, he began what has come to be known as the Trade Guild. Legal trades, contracts, black market, slavery, weapons, supplies: anything and anyone comes with a price, and Zigfried can fetch and send anything for it. He knows greed. He knows how to corrupt and taint, tempt and pull. Despite being very young, he has already set himself up for excess, and he is thriving on it.
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 14
Race: Vampire/Phantom halfling
Gender: Male
Weapon:
Powers: none - stripped away
Occupation: Trade Guild Master
Affiliation: "civillian" - Trade Guild
DESCRIPTION: Zigfried is a very pale, slight boy, with a sickly pallor to his already too fair skin. is midnight colored hair heavily contrasts against this. His eyes are a very pale shade of lilac with varying hints of blue that literally swirl and glide across the purple of his eyes like swimming minnows or shooting stars. His fingernails are outlined in dark red, that fade into dark, smoky veins spreading out from his fingertips to fade out somewhere at his knuckles. He has a series of scars across his body, some paled out, most rather prominent on his wrists and neck. The skin of his chest is translucent, almost transparent. In bright backlighting, one can see his heart, lungs, veins, and arteries. His spine is rather prominent, with the vertebrae pressing up against the skin of his back, creating a bumpy ridge-line.
PERSONALITY: Zigfried never shows his true colors to anyone really, and often than not, always surprises people. He is very used to wearing what can be called a 'business face'. It's the face he shows to the world of a comfortably smug, charming individual who could coax the spots off a cat. He seldom gets riled up about anything, and never has to raise his voice. Others quiet down for him. He has a strange allure, perhaps related to the bizarre nature of his race.
HISTORY:
Not quite in or of this world, the result of an improbable union between dead and undead, life somehow sparked and formed this little being named Zigfried Traugott Königstein. And he is very alone in this world. Has been since his unnatural birth. He could not be raised by his mother, as she was dead, and his father was only a father for handing over DNA in the mutual exchange lovers often make. No, Zigfried was alone. What little she could, his mother tried to raise him, but when he was six years old, she faded away into the afterlife. Forever. And armed with nothing but fragments of what she was able to teach him and vicious incisors with which to acquire his sustenance, the tiny thing left his so called home and found himself in the outside world soon enough. Living day to day and hand to mouth as a means of the barest survival, Zigfried's path wound its way down to the seedy underbelly of the world. Enduring a series of misfortunate events, he came to understand that his true strength lay in the rather overabundant intelligence of his mind. Despite being antisocial and not the best when it comes to interpersonal relations, he knew how to get his way, how to negotiate, how to twist and spin webs to lure prey in, and above all, he knew how to act. And by using this charismatic negotiator side of himself, he wormed his way through the darkness under the earth to come out on top. Accumulating wealth and stature and a place of his own, he began what has come to be known as the Trade Guild. Legal trades, contracts, black market, slavery, weapons, supplies: anything and anyone comes with a price, and Zigfried can fetch and send anything for it. He knows greed. He knows how to corrupt and taint, tempt and pull. Despite being very young, he has already set himself up for excess, and he is thriving on it.
LUTHER LANDON
HUMAN
-
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/9709700.jpg?384)
Luther Loyal Landon
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 18
Race: Human (or Halfling)
Gender: Male
Weapon: chemical globes
Power: Blood Flow Vision, Parabolic Hearing, Pyrokinesis, Inflammation
Affiliation: -
hed decent childhood. was never really aware of luanne's abuses, but slowly came to realize them in time, just not fully understood. they had good relationship
Luanne left and the family felt she betrayed them. luther was pressured to pretty much disown her, but he refused. he worked through pistons when he was fourteen.
Kin: Francine Josephine Landon (mother), Matthias Timon Landon (father), Luanne Lina Landon (sister)
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 18
Race: Human (or Halfling)
Gender: Male
Weapon: chemical globes
Power: Blood Flow Vision, Parabolic Hearing, Pyrokinesis, Inflammation
Affiliation: -
hed decent childhood. was never really aware of luanne's abuses, but slowly came to realize them in time, just not fully understood. they had good relationship
Luanne left and the family felt she betrayed them. luther was pressured to pretty much disown her, but he refused. he worked through pistons when he was fourteen.
Kin: Francine Josephine Landon (mother), Matthias Timon Landon (father), Luanne Lina Landon (sister)
VERCINGETORIX
human
citizen
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/vercingetorix2_orig.jpg)
Vercingetorix "Vix"
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 6
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Weapon: n/a
Power: -
Affiliation: citizen, follows Erael
Vercingetorix, or Vix, is a small child of unknown origins, often found in the company of the angel Erael. He is rather shy and frightened easily. Due to his rather weak aura, he was often the target of bullies and others, especially considering that most any form of conflict makes him break down. Weak and pathetic? Of course. He won't really talk much about his life spent before he began trailing after Erael. All he will say is he was saved by his guardian angel. He looks up to Erael and is a bit clingy. He doesn't like being left alone or behind. Even though Erael can get into some rather not-so-good situations, Vix just wants to be near him. He fears being abandoned otherwise. Vercingetorix is about six years old. He has fluffy blonde hair and brilliant blue eyes.
Kin:
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 6
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Weapon: n/a
Power: -
Affiliation: citizen, follows Erael
Vercingetorix, or Vix, is a small child of unknown origins, often found in the company of the angel Erael. He is rather shy and frightened easily. Due to his rather weak aura, he was often the target of bullies and others, especially considering that most any form of conflict makes him break down. Weak and pathetic? Of course. He won't really talk much about his life spent before he began trailing after Erael. All he will say is he was saved by his guardian angel. He looks up to Erael and is a bit clingy. He doesn't like being left alone or behind. Even though Erael can get into some rather not-so-good situations, Vix just wants to be near him. He fears being abandoned otherwise. Vercingetorix is about six years old. He has fluffy blonde hair and brilliant blue eyes.
Kin:
ELYSIUM -
HALFLING
child
![Picture](https://www.editmysite.com/editor/images/na.png)
NAME: Elysium
AGE: 8 Winters
GENDER: Male
COTERIE: Ascended
RANK: Citizen
MENTOR/APPRENTICE:
WEAPON OF CHOICE: gladius
DESCRIPTION: Elysium is a slight boy at only eight winters, with soft, chin-length hair the color of pale gold, and eyes bright and icy blue. He has gorgeous wings, feathers the color of freshly fallen snow.
PERSONALITY: Being a middle child always has its problems: not enough attention, resentment, being passed over for the older or younger ones, etc. But being one of 144 children has its perks in that Elysium never really expected much different from the moment he was born. He gained enough attention in his small years, but was put aside quietly to live with his mother. He is still quiet and rather introverted, but he always smiles for his mother, the one person he loves very much. He is a little afraid of his father and his older siblings, at least the ones he has met. He knows that his status as a Prince matters very little, but he tries to live as much as he can to be a good example for others. He helps whenever he can, and no task is too far beneath him. He has a generally pure spirit. He is not a pacifist though. He wants to grow to become a great warrior. He found a city and a family worth protecting, and now he wants to do everything in his power to fulfill that desire.
STRENGTHS: Elysium is bright and inquisitive. His incredible imagination and willingness to learn have lent themselves to every pursuit he puts his mind to. He is rather good at what sword fighting he has taught himself: mostly moves he imitates from watching the soldiers. He can barely fly at all, going only short distances, but he keeps trying every day to do better. He also has some dancing skills that he learned from his mother, and he can play an instrument already.
WEAKNESSES: Elysium tends to bend easily to anyone who asserts their dominance over him. He won't stand up for himself or really fight back, unless of course he gets backed into a corner. He is like a rabbit in a way. Get him trapped, and he is all teeth and claws. But other than that, he is pretty skittish, shy, and quick to run and hide. He has a big enough heart to be courageous if he needs to be, but in general, he is small and the enemy is big. So he cowers and cringes and backs off with his tail between his legs so to speak. Elysium also has a serious case of respiratory distress (asthma). The healers do as much as they can, but it is merely something he will have to wait out and hopefully grow out of. He tends to get breathless and lightheaded easily if he exerts himself, which leads quickly into hyperventilation. He has had a few serious bouts, but so far he has survived it all.
HISTORY: Elysium has lived a primarily happy life with his mother, Ceres. He is sad that neither of them will really ever have the same love they feel towards his father, the great Icarus. He mostly feels sad for his mother. She seems to care for him so much. But meanwhile, he just lives out his life as a happy little kid.
AGE: 8 Winters
GENDER: Male
COTERIE: Ascended
RANK: Citizen
MENTOR/APPRENTICE:
WEAPON OF CHOICE: gladius
DESCRIPTION: Elysium is a slight boy at only eight winters, with soft, chin-length hair the color of pale gold, and eyes bright and icy blue. He has gorgeous wings, feathers the color of freshly fallen snow.
PERSONALITY: Being a middle child always has its problems: not enough attention, resentment, being passed over for the older or younger ones, etc. But being one of 144 children has its perks in that Elysium never really expected much different from the moment he was born. He gained enough attention in his small years, but was put aside quietly to live with his mother. He is still quiet and rather introverted, but he always smiles for his mother, the one person he loves very much. He is a little afraid of his father and his older siblings, at least the ones he has met. He knows that his status as a Prince matters very little, but he tries to live as much as he can to be a good example for others. He helps whenever he can, and no task is too far beneath him. He has a generally pure spirit. He is not a pacifist though. He wants to grow to become a great warrior. He found a city and a family worth protecting, and now he wants to do everything in his power to fulfill that desire.
STRENGTHS: Elysium is bright and inquisitive. His incredible imagination and willingness to learn have lent themselves to every pursuit he puts his mind to. He is rather good at what sword fighting he has taught himself: mostly moves he imitates from watching the soldiers. He can barely fly at all, going only short distances, but he keeps trying every day to do better. He also has some dancing skills that he learned from his mother, and he can play an instrument already.
WEAKNESSES: Elysium tends to bend easily to anyone who asserts their dominance over him. He won't stand up for himself or really fight back, unless of course he gets backed into a corner. He is like a rabbit in a way. Get him trapped, and he is all teeth and claws. But other than that, he is pretty skittish, shy, and quick to run and hide. He has a big enough heart to be courageous if he needs to be, but in general, he is small and the enemy is big. So he cowers and cringes and backs off with his tail between his legs so to speak. Elysium also has a serious case of respiratory distress (asthma). The healers do as much as they can, but it is merely something he will have to wait out and hopefully grow out of. He tends to get breathless and lightheaded easily if he exerts himself, which leads quickly into hyperventilation. He has had a few serious bouts, but so far he has survived it all.
HISTORY: Elysium has lived a primarily happy life with his mother, Ceres. He is sad that neither of them will really ever have the same love they feel towards his father, the great Icarus. He mostly feels sad for his mother. She seems to care for him so much. But meanwhile, he just lives out his life as a happy little kid.