![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/2118550.jpg?383)
Name: Keiro Adarian Visaerys
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 25
Worship: Lectum, Silvana, Cosmos
Weapon: Daggers
Species: Hybrid
Gender: Male
Rank: Nimrod Hellhound
Type of Mancer: Carnomancer
Keiro grabbed the man and turned him inside out. Without thought. Without hesitation. Without remorse. Just a cool, casual demeanor and motions acted out as smoothly as quicksilver. He knows his very touch is dangerous. He knows he has corrupted his magic, and it, in turn, has corrupted him. He believes he does not care, but perhaps he does. Maybe he cares so much he has numbed himself to the things he does. Keiro hates all other carnomancers for their powers and will seek them out with a vengeance. He has the most hateful of stares despite whatever he is feeling. It makes him seem indifferent and angry, which drives people away. Just as he prefers it. he does not want to get close to others. That just causes problems. Especially if he finds he has to kill them later, a terrible deed he has had to perform on many compatriots many times over. But though he enters everything with a distant air, he is not evil or cruel. In fact, he is one of the kinder members of the family. He is very gentle and polite to his subordinates, even if they screwed up royally or deserve harsh punishment. He does demand their respect though. Jut because he is kind does not mean he is on equal terms with them all of a sudden. But despite his treatment of subordinates, he still appears to others as the stiff, cold menace that lurks about the halls. So they send him off in hopes of ridding themselves of his presence. He is hardly ever within the headquarters, always running out on missions and the like. Sometimes they are bogus things that any common slave could be sent out to do, but even though he knows they do this just because they dislike them, he still performs his duties the best he can. He gives a lot of himself without expecting anything in return. He is almost a slave himself. Not that he will not act of his own free will on things, but he does tend to obey orders without question. He is definitely more military than the Nimords typically are. He just follows the orders and addresses others by their rank. He always seems at attention and ready to spring into action. He has a terrible time relaxing in any situation and denies himself any comforts so as to stay sharp and hard. Keiro is a cockatrice hybrid. He does not seem able to turn others to stone with his gaze though. Perhaps it really is only a myth. Nevertheless, he sports a rather odd appearance, as typical of hybrids. He has a rooster's plumage for a tail and there are feathered tufts at his wrists as well. His hair is a fiery gold that fades to an ocean blue and green near the end, long enough to reach his shoulders. His slanted eyes are a rich gold color, like a reptile's. He is very muscular and strong, and it shows in his large body, leaned and honed into a fighting machine.
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 25
Worship: Lectum, Silvana, Cosmos
Weapon: Daggers
Species: Hybrid
Gender: Male
Rank: Nimrod Hellhound
Type of Mancer: Carnomancer
Keiro grabbed the man and turned him inside out. Without thought. Without hesitation. Without remorse. Just a cool, casual demeanor and motions acted out as smoothly as quicksilver. He knows his very touch is dangerous. He knows he has corrupted his magic, and it, in turn, has corrupted him. He believes he does not care, but perhaps he does. Maybe he cares so much he has numbed himself to the things he does. Keiro hates all other carnomancers for their powers and will seek them out with a vengeance. He has the most hateful of stares despite whatever he is feeling. It makes him seem indifferent and angry, which drives people away. Just as he prefers it. he does not want to get close to others. That just causes problems. Especially if he finds he has to kill them later, a terrible deed he has had to perform on many compatriots many times over. But though he enters everything with a distant air, he is not evil or cruel. In fact, he is one of the kinder members of the family. He is very gentle and polite to his subordinates, even if they screwed up royally or deserve harsh punishment. He does demand their respect though. Jut because he is kind does not mean he is on equal terms with them all of a sudden. But despite his treatment of subordinates, he still appears to others as the stiff, cold menace that lurks about the halls. So they send him off in hopes of ridding themselves of his presence. He is hardly ever within the headquarters, always running out on missions and the like. Sometimes they are bogus things that any common slave could be sent out to do, but even though he knows they do this just because they dislike them, he still performs his duties the best he can. He gives a lot of himself without expecting anything in return. He is almost a slave himself. Not that he will not act of his own free will on things, but he does tend to obey orders without question. He is definitely more military than the Nimords typically are. He just follows the orders and addresses others by their rank. He always seems at attention and ready to spring into action. He has a terrible time relaxing in any situation and denies himself any comforts so as to stay sharp and hard. Keiro is a cockatrice hybrid. He does not seem able to turn others to stone with his gaze though. Perhaps it really is only a myth. Nevertheless, he sports a rather odd appearance, as typical of hybrids. He has a rooster's plumage for a tail and there are feathered tufts at his wrists as well. His hair is a fiery gold that fades to an ocean blue and green near the end, long enough to reach his shoulders. His slanted eyes are a rich gold color, like a reptile's. He is very muscular and strong, and it shows in his large body, leaned and honed into a fighting machine.
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/7474619.png?461)
Name: Amaryllis Stendarr
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 17
Worship:
Weapon:
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Rank: Slave to del Bosque
Type of Mancer: Diviner
As a diviner, 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. 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 a diviner 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, his was thrown in with the del Bosque family 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. 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
Worship:
Weapon:
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Rank: Slave to del Bosque
Type of Mancer: Diviner
As a diviner, 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. 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 a diviner 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, his was thrown in with the del Bosque family 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. 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.
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/9109897.jpg?425)
Name: Lorelei Tamerlane Ferreira
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 23
Worship: Ignis, Lyphma, Petra
Weapon: Spear, sabre, and battleaxe. Also his magic.
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Rank: Patron
Type of Mancer: Terramancer
A name such as his ought to belong one on who is of the sea, or maybe one who sings, or a girl. Not the proud and possibly insane patron of the Ferreira family. But his mother liked it so much that there was no saying otherwise. Lorelei could hardly care. A man by any other name is still who he always has been. And a name such as Lorelei could hardly suit him any better than it does. He charms and attracts and plays about so coyly, then he rips apart and tears down and rends. He is slave to a demon of greed, selfishness, vanity: and it is consuming him body and soul. With hardly a thought as to who he harms, he looks out only for himself, and maybe his family. Maybe. If it suits him too. He hates to make the tough decisions and plays around with his responsibilities rather carelessly. Word is out that he will not be reigning long, but he has been successful in staying off many attempts thus far. He can tell when someone intends him harm or ill will. He is a deceiver, but also a lie detector. He is very good at spotting deception, especially in women. He has had to, since he has been approached by quite a few who just want to use him for his power and money. Though a notorious womanizer, he does not pursue those who are overly confident and full of themselves, probably because they are too much like him. And though he flirts and seduces, he has never touched a girl. Ever. And he will not until they have been properly married. He has heard too many stories of affairs gone foul and bastard children reigning in issues and all the diseases one can catch if they are not careful. So he avoids the matter entirely. Lorelei took his place as Patron when he was only fifteen after the subsequent deaths of his parents. He did not care, not outwardly at least. They never really loved him or showed him attention, so he felt much the same towards them. He had waited all his life to be patron, and it was finally his. That was the icing of the black cake that was their death, and it was plenty enough to comfort him. However, he never thought he would receive so much hate and opposition for ascending on the throne at such an age. He had to fight and claw his way through a sea of spite-filled faces just to stay put, relying on his intelligence and talents to stay there. He had been trained very young to perfect the art of his terramancy. His father had gotten him the best tutors to teach him from even the young age of three. So he crafted and perfected his art, but as it as forced on him, he despised it. He much preferred pyromancy. The way fire moves and breathes, lives and burns. The perfect balance of life and destruction held in the burning cold flames of a fire. Secretly, he may be trying to learn it, though to all he is merely a master terramancer. He is also an expert strategist. Among his array of skills, he knows tactics, battle strategy, navigation, and how to utilize his troops till so they are all efficient. He also has skills in conversation, persuasion, and lie detection -as previously mentioned. Among his skills are also harp playing and singing, but he hates having these skills and so they shall not be explained further. And when the mad tide subsided, he found himself worn and spiteful and mad himself. He keeps it hidden under his well-crafted guise. The people want a reason to despise him? He decided to give it to them. He is the pompous, idiot little boy they all want. But at night, in the dark and the loneliness, he is tired. Exhausted. Drained of all his senses and his soul. Many times he wonders what it would be like to tear the mountain apart, fake his death, and vanish into another corner of the world. Somewhere no one can find him. Somewhere he can be at peace. Lorelei has wind tossed black hair with a violet sheen. His eyes are red as blood and rubies and burn as bright as falling stars. His fair skin glows white as snow, and his beautiful smile tears apart many heartstrings.
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 23
Worship: Ignis, Lyphma, Petra
Weapon: Spear, sabre, and battleaxe. Also his magic.
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Rank: Patron
Type of Mancer: Terramancer
A name such as his ought to belong one on who is of the sea, or maybe one who sings, or a girl. Not the proud and possibly insane patron of the Ferreira family. But his mother liked it so much that there was no saying otherwise. Lorelei could hardly care. A man by any other name is still who he always has been. And a name such as Lorelei could hardly suit him any better than it does. He charms and attracts and plays about so coyly, then he rips apart and tears down and rends. He is slave to a demon of greed, selfishness, vanity: and it is consuming him body and soul. With hardly a thought as to who he harms, he looks out only for himself, and maybe his family. Maybe. If it suits him too. He hates to make the tough decisions and plays around with his responsibilities rather carelessly. Word is out that he will not be reigning long, but he has been successful in staying off many attempts thus far. He can tell when someone intends him harm or ill will. He is a deceiver, but also a lie detector. He is very good at spotting deception, especially in women. He has had to, since he has been approached by quite a few who just want to use him for his power and money. Though a notorious womanizer, he does not pursue those who are overly confident and full of themselves, probably because they are too much like him. And though he flirts and seduces, he has never touched a girl. Ever. And he will not until they have been properly married. He has heard too many stories of affairs gone foul and bastard children reigning in issues and all the diseases one can catch if they are not careful. So he avoids the matter entirely. Lorelei took his place as Patron when he was only fifteen after the subsequent deaths of his parents. He did not care, not outwardly at least. They never really loved him or showed him attention, so he felt much the same towards them. He had waited all his life to be patron, and it was finally his. That was the icing of the black cake that was their death, and it was plenty enough to comfort him. However, he never thought he would receive so much hate and opposition for ascending on the throne at such an age. He had to fight and claw his way through a sea of spite-filled faces just to stay put, relying on his intelligence and talents to stay there. He had been trained very young to perfect the art of his terramancy. His father had gotten him the best tutors to teach him from even the young age of three. So he crafted and perfected his art, but as it as forced on him, he despised it. He much preferred pyromancy. The way fire moves and breathes, lives and burns. The perfect balance of life and destruction held in the burning cold flames of a fire. Secretly, he may be trying to learn it, though to all he is merely a master terramancer. He is also an expert strategist. Among his array of skills, he knows tactics, battle strategy, navigation, and how to utilize his troops till so they are all efficient. He also has skills in conversation, persuasion, and lie detection -as previously mentioned. Among his skills are also harp playing and singing, but he hates having these skills and so they shall not be explained further. And when the mad tide subsided, he found himself worn and spiteful and mad himself. He keeps it hidden under his well-crafted guise. The people want a reason to despise him? He decided to give it to them. He is the pompous, idiot little boy they all want. But at night, in the dark and the loneliness, he is tired. Exhausted. Drained of all his senses and his soul. Many times he wonders what it would be like to tear the mountain apart, fake his death, and vanish into another corner of the world. Somewhere no one can find him. Somewhere he can be at peace. Lorelei has wind tossed black hair with a violet sheen. His eyes are red as blood and rubies and burn as bright as falling stars. His fair skin glows white as snow, and his beautiful smile tears apart many heartstrings.
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/3355391_orig.jpg)
Name: Ptolemy Nyracuse
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 18
Worship: none
Weapon: none
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Rank: Slave
Type of Mancer: unskilled
Ptolemy believes in nothing. Belief is a curse to his situation. It makes him hope for better and dream of futures and long for freedoms he knows he will never have. But there is always the promise of one. There is always that faint and flickering hope just beyond his grasp. One day he will touch it, he believes. And just as he believes, so he tries not to. He makes the most of his situation even though it is bleak. He holds on even though it is dire. Perhaps because he too longs for what all men truly crave, and that is freedom. Ptolemy never thought much of it at first. He was very young when it was taken from him, young enough to not know he had it. His father was in the UmbraCruor and his mother was an Imperium, though he does not know from where. When he was barely three years old, she was killed and he was taken to live as a slave with a new name and a new pair of chains. He does not know who his parents were or are or where they could be. He hardly even thinks about that sort of thing. Slaves don't have parents. They don't have families or friends or acquaintances. They have masters, and that is all they are supposed to know.
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 18
Worship: none
Weapon: none
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Rank: Slave
Type of Mancer: unskilled
Ptolemy believes in nothing. Belief is a curse to his situation. It makes him hope for better and dream of futures and long for freedoms he knows he will never have. But there is always the promise of one. There is always that faint and flickering hope just beyond his grasp. One day he will touch it, he believes. And just as he believes, so he tries not to. He makes the most of his situation even though it is bleak. He holds on even though it is dire. Perhaps because he too longs for what all men truly crave, and that is freedom. Ptolemy never thought much of it at first. He was very young when it was taken from him, young enough to not know he had it. His father was in the UmbraCruor and his mother was an Imperium, though he does not know from where. When he was barely three years old, she was killed and he was taken to live as a slave with a new name and a new pair of chains. He does not know who his parents were or are or where they could be. He hardly even thinks about that sort of thing. Slaves don't have parents. They don't have families or friends or acquaintances. They have masters, and that is all they are supposed to know.
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/732665.jpg?524)
Name: Number 1, "Oshiro"
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: appears 15
Worship: none
Weapon: none
Species: n/a; Living Doll
Gender: Male
Number One, or "Oshiro", is a young boy, appearing to be fifteen years old. He has pale blond hair, nearly white, and a single golden eye with a slitted cat's pupil. The golden color seems to gleam and glow, giving him a most frightening appearance. The very first creation of the one he calls "Father". From a mix of flectomancery and carnomancery, he is the living yet not living doll. For those who understand what he is, there is always much hostility and wonderment at the person known as Father. Why did your father make you? What deranged morbidity possessed him to do such things to you? So they ask. He does not reply. He does not understand why people hate Father. He doesn't understand hate either. His past is unspoken and riddled with blood. He has no recollection of events or memories of things that occurred before he was lost in the outside world. One of the worst memories of Number One's life that occasionally flash in little flickers through his mind is the memory of how he lost his eye. He remembers blood and darkness. Screams and fire. Faces that seem familiar yet hard to place. He remembers digging into his own skull and ripping something free. He remembers utter darkness, an absence of all sight. But then, Father gave him an eye that was indestructible: the cat's eye he now bears. It has increased range of vision and is strong enough to stare into the sun without being damaged. A few who have met him dubbed it "the all seeing eye", but he cannot actually see everything. He simply has far more accurate vision and a higher perception of his surroundings. Hardly any details escape his sight. His left eye seems to pain him though, causing him terrible headaches. But like the doll he is, he'll simply ignore them. Oshiro is always traveling, always wandering, always fighting. He never stays in one place for very long. He seems to obey everyone's orders, so it is hard for any one person to become his master. Despite that he's a doll, he will occasionally speak for himself, make judgement calls, voice opinions, have conversations, and act of his own will. Some people's first impression is that he is a regular, somewhat odd person, but one injury, command, or death and it will be apparent that he is not real at all. He alludes these, almost "emotions" to the fact that he technically died and resurrected. His name is the Japanese word for "castle." The reason behind this name is unknown. He often says the name Sinclaire Delacour, a name he will sometimes say out of the blue, but he does not attribute that name to himself. They seem to be nothing more than two random things that popped into his head and became spoken word. He is incapable of emotion, and lacks empathy and sympathy, but he tries to 'learn' what can't be learned. Number 1 is cold and calculated, very naive, but not stupid, and he does not understand life or death. He knows that things function one minute and stop the next, but the does not fathom what is beyond that. He likes what pleases Father and dislikes what displeases Father. He is lost and alone, unaware of where Father is or what happened to him. So Number One sits and waits.
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: appears 15
Worship: none
Weapon: none
Species: n/a; Living Doll
Gender: Male
Number One, or "Oshiro", is a young boy, appearing to be fifteen years old. He has pale blond hair, nearly white, and a single golden eye with a slitted cat's pupil. The golden color seems to gleam and glow, giving him a most frightening appearance. The very first creation of the one he calls "Father". From a mix of flectomancery and carnomancery, he is the living yet not living doll. For those who understand what he is, there is always much hostility and wonderment at the person known as Father. Why did your father make you? What deranged morbidity possessed him to do such things to you? So they ask. He does not reply. He does not understand why people hate Father. He doesn't understand hate either. His past is unspoken and riddled with blood. He has no recollection of events or memories of things that occurred before he was lost in the outside world. One of the worst memories of Number One's life that occasionally flash in little flickers through his mind is the memory of how he lost his eye. He remembers blood and darkness. Screams and fire. Faces that seem familiar yet hard to place. He remembers digging into his own skull and ripping something free. He remembers utter darkness, an absence of all sight. But then, Father gave him an eye that was indestructible: the cat's eye he now bears. It has increased range of vision and is strong enough to stare into the sun without being damaged. A few who have met him dubbed it "the all seeing eye", but he cannot actually see everything. He simply has far more accurate vision and a higher perception of his surroundings. Hardly any details escape his sight. His left eye seems to pain him though, causing him terrible headaches. But like the doll he is, he'll simply ignore them. Oshiro is always traveling, always wandering, always fighting. He never stays in one place for very long. He seems to obey everyone's orders, so it is hard for any one person to become his master. Despite that he's a doll, he will occasionally speak for himself, make judgement calls, voice opinions, have conversations, and act of his own will. Some people's first impression is that he is a regular, somewhat odd person, but one injury, command, or death and it will be apparent that he is not real at all. He alludes these, almost "emotions" to the fact that he technically died and resurrected. His name is the Japanese word for "castle." The reason behind this name is unknown. He often says the name Sinclaire Delacour, a name he will sometimes say out of the blue, but he does not attribute that name to himself. They seem to be nothing more than two random things that popped into his head and became spoken word. He is incapable of emotion, and lacks empathy and sympathy, but he tries to 'learn' what can't be learned. Number 1 is cold and calculated, very naive, but not stupid, and he does not understand life or death. He knows that things function one minute and stop the next, but the does not fathom what is beyond that. He likes what pleases Father and dislikes what displeases Father. He is lost and alone, unaware of where Father is or what happened to him. So Number One sits and waits.
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/6238348.jpg?322)
Name: Varkas Leeds
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 28
Worship: Lectum
Weapon: Jade hilted Jian and black shuriken with diamond edges.
Species: 1/4 tiger hybrid, 3/4 human
Gender: Male
Rank: Chester Member
Type of Mancer: Necromancer
Varkas Leeds, though a necromancer, has an uncontrollable fear of death. No one really knows why. He had this problem long before he joined the Chester family, though they did not find out about it till afterwards. He kept his problem hidden for good reason. But one day during a little training spar, someone summoned zombies to attack him, an he broke down; screaming, crying, going berserk; the whole nine yards. He has been driven nearly mad by PTSD. As a result of all this, he has issues controlling his own creations, and often suffers for his mistakes. If his allies are lucky, he can keep it together long enough to eliminate their enemies or the threat or whatever it is. But afterwards, he is a frayed ball of ragged, raw nerves. He loves and hates his powers, and he struggles between his desire and fear of using them. He also seems to hate and love the living about the same amount. He never keeps friends or companions around for very long, and has turned almost everyone in the family away from him. He does not like being alone though. He can become paranoid. Varkas is described as having a very 'fox-like' face with his rounded eyes, sharp nose, and angular jaw. He has spiky auburn hair kept short with some bangs that fall in his eyes at times, or are hurriedly brushed aside to keep his vision clear. His expressions are usually dull and emotionless, so his crazed jack-o-lantern smile stands out when he slips into one of his insane moments. His body is covered in tribal tattoos which hide the scars underneath, most self-inflicted or gained from his own creations turning on him when he loses control. He is never in want for injuries and can often be seen bandaged up. He wears clothing meant for a tough, cruel street fighter as compensation for the truly weak person he is through and through. Mostly baggy combat pants, buckled work boots and leather vests or jackets. He can be very imposing at first glance, but a lot of people fail to take him seriously once they see him summon the dead.
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 28
Worship: Lectum
Weapon: Jade hilted Jian and black shuriken with diamond edges.
Species: 1/4 tiger hybrid, 3/4 human
Gender: Male
Rank: Chester Member
Type of Mancer: Necromancer
Varkas Leeds, though a necromancer, has an uncontrollable fear of death. No one really knows why. He had this problem long before he joined the Chester family, though they did not find out about it till afterwards. He kept his problem hidden for good reason. But one day during a little training spar, someone summoned zombies to attack him, an he broke down; screaming, crying, going berserk; the whole nine yards. He has been driven nearly mad by PTSD. As a result of all this, he has issues controlling his own creations, and often suffers for his mistakes. If his allies are lucky, he can keep it together long enough to eliminate their enemies or the threat or whatever it is. But afterwards, he is a frayed ball of ragged, raw nerves. He loves and hates his powers, and he struggles between his desire and fear of using them. He also seems to hate and love the living about the same amount. He never keeps friends or companions around for very long, and has turned almost everyone in the family away from him. He does not like being alone though. He can become paranoid. Varkas is described as having a very 'fox-like' face with his rounded eyes, sharp nose, and angular jaw. He has spiky auburn hair kept short with some bangs that fall in his eyes at times, or are hurriedly brushed aside to keep his vision clear. His expressions are usually dull and emotionless, so his crazed jack-o-lantern smile stands out when he slips into one of his insane moments. His body is covered in tribal tattoos which hide the scars underneath, most self-inflicted or gained from his own creations turning on him when he loses control. He is never in want for injuries and can often be seen bandaged up. He wears clothing meant for a tough, cruel street fighter as compensation for the truly weak person he is through and through. Mostly baggy combat pants, buckled work boots and leather vests or jackets. He can be very imposing at first glance, but a lot of people fail to take him seriously once they see him summon the dead.
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/6080194.png?355)
Lyrie de Charleone
RPer: Niitari
Age: 17
Worship: none
Weapon: none
Species: Human
Gender: Female
Rank: Noble
Type of Mancer: Necromancer
RPer: Niitari
Age: 17
Worship: none
Weapon: none
Species: Human
Gender: Female
Rank: Noble
Type of Mancer: Necromancer
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/407399.jpg?275)
Name: Irae "Godslayer" St. Noxviator
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 23
Worship: none
Weapon: none
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Rank: St. Augustine Member
Type of Mancer: Pyromancer
His name literally translates to "anger/rage ; night's messenger". It is rumored that when he was seventeen, he killed a god, earning him the title Godslayer. Rather, he killed the occupied Vase of a god, bringing upon him the god's wrath and a horrendous curse. He hates being called Godslayer, and not just because it has caused him so much pain, but because he truly is remorseful for what he did.
Roleplayer: Niitari
Age: 23
Worship: none
Weapon: none
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Rank: St. Augustine Member
Type of Mancer: Pyromancer
His name literally translates to "anger/rage ; night's messenger". It is rumored that when he was seventeen, he killed a god, earning him the title Godslayer. Rather, he killed the occupied Vase of a god, bringing upon him the god's wrath and a horrendous curse. He hates being called Godslayer, and not just because it has caused him so much pain, but because he truly is remorseful for what he did.
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/635401.jpg?419)
Sefira Wheelock
RPer: Niitari
Age: 25
Worship: Mortality
Weapon: Sabre
Species: Human
Gender: Female
Rank: Patroness
Type of Mancer: Aeromancer
Checkmate. Everything up to this point in time has been a little bit of a ruse that Sefira played out for you. Her appearance and her sweet, smiling charm were all just pieces of the game. While you flirted and laughed and danced and spun around with this strange mystery lighter than air, she all the while plotted and contrived and backstabbed and mobilized everything against you. You are nothing special, no. Do not think your defeat is worth tacking onto a wall as a trophy. You are nothing special, no. You are just another victim in her scheme, one of many, and most definitely not the last either.
RPer: Niitari
Age: 25
Worship: Mortality
Weapon: Sabre
Species: Human
Gender: Female
Rank: Patroness
Type of Mancer: Aeromancer
Checkmate. Everything up to this point in time has been a little bit of a ruse that Sefira played out for you. Her appearance and her sweet, smiling charm were all just pieces of the game. While you flirted and laughed and danced and spun around with this strange mystery lighter than air, she all the while plotted and contrived and backstabbed and mobilized everything against you. You are nothing special, no. Do not think your defeat is worth tacking onto a wall as a trophy. You are nothing special, no. You are just another victim in her scheme, one of many, and most definitely not the last either.
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/6567345.jpg?382)
Yggdrasil
RPer: Niitari
Age: 10
Worship: none
Weapon: none
Species: Half-Human, Half Hybrid (cat)
Gender: Male
Rank: Servant
Type of Mancer: none
This adorable neko fluff is Yggdrasil. No last name. His mother never had one and his father's is far too powerful to be given to a lowlife like Yggdrasil. It would raise too much suspicion. Already people talk about him. If they knew his true heritage, thing could get very ugly very fast.
RPer: Niitari
Age: 10
Worship: none
Weapon: none
Species: Half-Human, Half Hybrid (cat)
Gender: Male
Rank: Servant
Type of Mancer: none
This adorable neko fluff is Yggdrasil. No last name. His mother never had one and his father's is far too powerful to be given to a lowlife like Yggdrasil. It would raise too much suspicion. Already people talk about him. If they knew his true heritage, thing could get very ugly very fast.