Arteaux
(arr-toh)
Race: Full Elfy
Age: approx. 23
Alliance: Bounding Panther
Rank: Guider
Arteaux. That’s his name. If he ever had a different one, he doesn’t know. He’s nothing. No one. Not really. He’s a Guider, but that is all. Nothing more. Never anything more. He can’t become anyone or anything else as he isn’t allowed to. Suppressed and trained only for one specific purpose, he has no free will anymore. He was found, sick and dying outside the Tribe. When he was cured and awoke, he had absolutely no memory. He couldn’t even talk or move at first either. Those things came back to him over time, but nothing else. Those in power decided to use this to their advantage. They gave him a name and taught him all there was to be taught of the Tribe and what it meant to be a Guider. He had the aptitude for one. It very possible but never spoken of that he had most likely, at one time, had been a Guardian. But they shaped and molded his mind to their ways. They taught him how to protect. They taught him to serve and defend. He became a subservient creature pandering to the Tribe's every whim and order. And he does it willingly. He knows nothing else but the simple order to obey. He came to them with no inhibitions, no memories, no ties to anyone or anything. Now he is tied and bound to the castle and its members. He is inferior in their eyes but loves it. He loves it for it is all he knows. Arteaux is often drawn to matters of simple logic. It might be a mere childish trait, his revulsion for complication and an affinity for black and white. But it’s simply the way he is. He seeks understanding, a limited amount of understanding to be sure. He wants to know things, but seems to hate the answers. He wants to know about himself, but is reluctant to make any discoveries. He doesn’t know what he will find if he tries to learn about himself, and he fears for the result. So he learns of other things instead. Anything, everything, something: so long as it isn’t about himself. He would rather stay the subservient creature, the nobody, the nothing, the bodyguard, than discover what he might have been. If Arteaux was an animal, he would undeniably be a cat. Ask anyone and they would readily agree. Every movement of his is feline. Every step, every turn, every move is made with unmatched grace. His mind and body are in perfect synch, his reflexes at an incredible, heightened peak. His reaction time is instantaneous. He can turn from sleepy and docile to alert and fierce within a matter of milliseconds. He can catch and throw back arrows. He seems to be naught but a haunting, flitting shadow that glides over the ground and flickers against the walls. One minute there, one minute not. So quiet, his tread lighter than feathers. He can creep up on anyone, anything. Only certain Hunters are ever able to hear his approach. He is so still and silent, one can enter, move about, and leave a room that he occupies without ever knowing he was there. It gives him an almost ethereal quality, seeming to appear and disappear in the blink of an eye, always being where one least expects him and always vanishing when one looks his way. He’s flighty, feisty, and very independent. Yes, he lives and breathes every word that commands him, but on his own, he is extremely introverted and despairingly antisocial. He sticks to the shadows and the corners, only coming out when summoned. He does his work, serves his purpose, then disappears. Like a cat. The cat will come out to hunt the mice, eat its meal, and offer a moment of company with its owner before it runs off to new places. Arteaux might run off, but he’s always within the Tribe. He never goes outside unless accompanying the leader or ordered to for whatever purpose. He has explored nearly every nook and cranny of the village, and he keeps exploring. There’s always something new to find in this place. He also has this look about him. In his wide eyes and his usually expressionless gaze. This look that he knows something, that he’s far wiser and above everyone else than he appears to be. It’s a look that demands everyone bow down before him instead of the other way around that it truly is. It is unsettling, the way he seems to command everything with a glance. How his knowing, fathomless eyes pierce right through the soul and extract the essence of it. He is grace and lithe and liquid silver, a pirouetting ghost that haunts, a cat that creeps and crouches, waiting to pounce. There is that as well. He has all this potential, all these forgotten memories, but the feelings are still there. Sometimes he feels things and doesn’t know why. Sometimes he is angry and murderous, but he doesn’t understand. This is why some fear him, why some are loathe to keep him here, and why many are so keen to control him. He is a crouched cat. Every little emotion, every feeling, bottled up, suppressed, coiled about like a coiled spring. Coiled, crouched, waiting to strike. Claws slowly sliding out from velvety paws, serpentine oculars closed to slashed lines of silvery-gray, fangs bared, hackles raised, tail lashing, ears flattened against the skull. He is dangerous, unpredictable. A crouched cat, a ticking bomb, a sleeping dragon: just waiting, watching, for the moment when he will attack. It’s hard to think of him this way. He’s such a gentle, docile creature, but appearances can be deceiving. Arteaux is always thought of gentle. Gentle, meek, quiet, compassionate. He can be a little rough around the edges. He’s very hard to commune with as he’s a very closed, withdrawn person. Despite it, he is very pleasant and a bit more optimistic than many would expect. He has all the innocence of a young child, despite the amount of blood shed by his hands. Everything is new and beautiful and intriguing to him. His curiosity can sometimes make him a bit reckless or even clueless at times, but he isn’t stupid about it. He seems utterly naïve of certain things and quite unable to understand conversation or the ‘current lingo’ or ‘cultural references’. He’s more old fashioned, delving into ancient history and literature rather then looking to the modern things. He finds the past simple in its ways and understands that far more than the complicated drama and flair of the flamboyant present his is a part of. It often frustrated him, this modern world. He’s not frustrated easily and very slow to anger. Even in battle he doesn’t display much rage of any sort. A furrowing of the brow, a concentration, a seriousness of composure, but not anger. He isn’t very temperamental and can put up with nearly everyone and everything no matter how hard they may try to press his buttons and get on his bad side. He doesn’t lash out or lose control, and he would never dream of touching a girl. Never mind the chivalry of not hitting one, he wouldn’t even touch them unless it was his duty. He treats women as if they were divine goddesses, both delicate yet strong, fragile yet unbreakable. He never appears sad and has never been known to cry. He has been known to smile though. His trademark smile is small but very heartfelt, a little fragile thing that transforms his stony face entirely. Some may call it a loving smile, but it is hard to tell what he does or doesn’t love. He doesn’t seem to quite understand the concept. Because of this, there isn’t much worry that he will ever –how to put it- take the purity of any of the girls here. He seems numb to affection anyway. So he is allowed to stay with and among the people he serves, no matter if they're female. It makes him more accessible. They don’t have to wait for him to arrive to get things done, as he is always there. They also have more control over him in that respect. Arteaux is rather harsh looking, a counter to his sweet disposition and downtrodden inferiority. He has pale skin, as though he didn’t spend much time outdoors. A little frosty of pallor, but not pale enough to be sickly or offsetting. He has a healthy enough glow to his color. His hair is pure white, the color of untainted, freshly fallen snow. It is soft to the touch, smooth and rather downy. It was once a honey brown, but turned white after he was poisoned. He has pointed ears, a common attribute of the elvish people. His eyebrows are slanted, giving him a fierce, angry look that offsets his wide, wondering eyes. The eyes themselves are a bright, silvery gray. And rather than black pupils, he doesn’t seem to have any really. They are more of a dull gray than black, occasionally blending in with the color of his irises. His nose is aquiline; sloping gently and a little sharp. He has rather sharp facial features all around. His slightly raised cheekbones and the line of his jaw give him a bit of a feline appearance. Sharp enough to be fierce but not pointed enough to look thin. More slender. Arteaux has his fair share of scars, but the most eye catching are the ones on his neck and chin. They are maddeningly unnatural, a specific design purposely placed there. Starting at the lower lip, the scar becomes two lines that meet at the base of the chin, extending further down, slightly widening, disappearing under the collar of his shirt or whatever he is wearing. It extends all the way down his chest and stomach, following the indented curvature of his muscles till it ends at his bellybutton. Three scar lines, shortening in length as they descend, cut in measured succession across his neck, in such a way that an exact half of each is on either side of the center line. Paler scars come down from the back of his neck and the start of his jaw to run down alongside the center line. These unnatural scars have raised some questions as is conceivable, but Arteaux cannot answer them, nor would he really care to if he even knew. Their origin is unknown, the meaning of them even further indiscernible. Arteaux is quite intelligent, consuming vast amounts of knowledge from reading. He likes to read. He also likes to fight, though he prefers mortal, human opponents to things like mages. At least with humans he has a chance of winning. Arteaux isn’t one for art or music, anything that is remotely involved with self-expression as he has next to none. He’s logical, precise, and simplistic. Things like emotion, things gained over years and years of development and self exploration have been utterly lost to him. He might be relearning, but he is still stuck in a single mindset. It is this mindset that truly holds him back from being whatever man he could possibly be. He doesn’t want to change it. He doesn’t want to find it. He doesn’t know what he will find when he does. Then he might not be Arteaux anymore. Then he might be someone else entirely with memories and feelings and goals and things. He doesn’t want that. Just thinking about it is too much to handle for his simple, steadfast mind. He’s happy being Arteaux. And it seems that’s who he will remain forever.
(arr-toh)
Race: Full Elfy
Age: approx. 23
Alliance: Bounding Panther
Rank: Guider
Arteaux. That’s his name. If he ever had a different one, he doesn’t know. He’s nothing. No one. Not really. He’s a Guider, but that is all. Nothing more. Never anything more. He can’t become anyone or anything else as he isn’t allowed to. Suppressed and trained only for one specific purpose, he has no free will anymore. He was found, sick and dying outside the Tribe. When he was cured and awoke, he had absolutely no memory. He couldn’t even talk or move at first either. Those things came back to him over time, but nothing else. Those in power decided to use this to their advantage. They gave him a name and taught him all there was to be taught of the Tribe and what it meant to be a Guider. He had the aptitude for one. It very possible but never spoken of that he had most likely, at one time, had been a Guardian. But they shaped and molded his mind to their ways. They taught him how to protect. They taught him to serve and defend. He became a subservient creature pandering to the Tribe's every whim and order. And he does it willingly. He knows nothing else but the simple order to obey. He came to them with no inhibitions, no memories, no ties to anyone or anything. Now he is tied and bound to the castle and its members. He is inferior in their eyes but loves it. He loves it for it is all he knows. Arteaux is often drawn to matters of simple logic. It might be a mere childish trait, his revulsion for complication and an affinity for black and white. But it’s simply the way he is. He seeks understanding, a limited amount of understanding to be sure. He wants to know things, but seems to hate the answers. He wants to know about himself, but is reluctant to make any discoveries. He doesn’t know what he will find if he tries to learn about himself, and he fears for the result. So he learns of other things instead. Anything, everything, something: so long as it isn’t about himself. He would rather stay the subservient creature, the nobody, the nothing, the bodyguard, than discover what he might have been. If Arteaux was an animal, he would undeniably be a cat. Ask anyone and they would readily agree. Every movement of his is feline. Every step, every turn, every move is made with unmatched grace. His mind and body are in perfect synch, his reflexes at an incredible, heightened peak. His reaction time is instantaneous. He can turn from sleepy and docile to alert and fierce within a matter of milliseconds. He can catch and throw back arrows. He seems to be naught but a haunting, flitting shadow that glides over the ground and flickers against the walls. One minute there, one minute not. So quiet, his tread lighter than feathers. He can creep up on anyone, anything. Only certain Hunters are ever able to hear his approach. He is so still and silent, one can enter, move about, and leave a room that he occupies without ever knowing he was there. It gives him an almost ethereal quality, seeming to appear and disappear in the blink of an eye, always being where one least expects him and always vanishing when one looks his way. He’s flighty, feisty, and very independent. Yes, he lives and breathes every word that commands him, but on his own, he is extremely introverted and despairingly antisocial. He sticks to the shadows and the corners, only coming out when summoned. He does his work, serves his purpose, then disappears. Like a cat. The cat will come out to hunt the mice, eat its meal, and offer a moment of company with its owner before it runs off to new places. Arteaux might run off, but he’s always within the Tribe. He never goes outside unless accompanying the leader or ordered to for whatever purpose. He has explored nearly every nook and cranny of the village, and he keeps exploring. There’s always something new to find in this place. He also has this look about him. In his wide eyes and his usually expressionless gaze. This look that he knows something, that he’s far wiser and above everyone else than he appears to be. It’s a look that demands everyone bow down before him instead of the other way around that it truly is. It is unsettling, the way he seems to command everything with a glance. How his knowing, fathomless eyes pierce right through the soul and extract the essence of it. He is grace and lithe and liquid silver, a pirouetting ghost that haunts, a cat that creeps and crouches, waiting to pounce. There is that as well. He has all this potential, all these forgotten memories, but the feelings are still there. Sometimes he feels things and doesn’t know why. Sometimes he is angry and murderous, but he doesn’t understand. This is why some fear him, why some are loathe to keep him here, and why many are so keen to control him. He is a crouched cat. Every little emotion, every feeling, bottled up, suppressed, coiled about like a coiled spring. Coiled, crouched, waiting to strike. Claws slowly sliding out from velvety paws, serpentine oculars closed to slashed lines of silvery-gray, fangs bared, hackles raised, tail lashing, ears flattened against the skull. He is dangerous, unpredictable. A crouched cat, a ticking bomb, a sleeping dragon: just waiting, watching, for the moment when he will attack. It’s hard to think of him this way. He’s such a gentle, docile creature, but appearances can be deceiving. Arteaux is always thought of gentle. Gentle, meek, quiet, compassionate. He can be a little rough around the edges. He’s very hard to commune with as he’s a very closed, withdrawn person. Despite it, he is very pleasant and a bit more optimistic than many would expect. He has all the innocence of a young child, despite the amount of blood shed by his hands. Everything is new and beautiful and intriguing to him. His curiosity can sometimes make him a bit reckless or even clueless at times, but he isn’t stupid about it. He seems utterly naïve of certain things and quite unable to understand conversation or the ‘current lingo’ or ‘cultural references’. He’s more old fashioned, delving into ancient history and literature rather then looking to the modern things. He finds the past simple in its ways and understands that far more than the complicated drama and flair of the flamboyant present his is a part of. It often frustrated him, this modern world. He’s not frustrated easily and very slow to anger. Even in battle he doesn’t display much rage of any sort. A furrowing of the brow, a concentration, a seriousness of composure, but not anger. He isn’t very temperamental and can put up with nearly everyone and everything no matter how hard they may try to press his buttons and get on his bad side. He doesn’t lash out or lose control, and he would never dream of touching a girl. Never mind the chivalry of not hitting one, he wouldn’t even touch them unless it was his duty. He treats women as if they were divine goddesses, both delicate yet strong, fragile yet unbreakable. He never appears sad and has never been known to cry. He has been known to smile though. His trademark smile is small but very heartfelt, a little fragile thing that transforms his stony face entirely. Some may call it a loving smile, but it is hard to tell what he does or doesn’t love. He doesn’t seem to quite understand the concept. Because of this, there isn’t much worry that he will ever –how to put it- take the purity of any of the girls here. He seems numb to affection anyway. So he is allowed to stay with and among the people he serves, no matter if they're female. It makes him more accessible. They don’t have to wait for him to arrive to get things done, as he is always there. They also have more control over him in that respect. Arteaux is rather harsh looking, a counter to his sweet disposition and downtrodden inferiority. He has pale skin, as though he didn’t spend much time outdoors. A little frosty of pallor, but not pale enough to be sickly or offsetting. He has a healthy enough glow to his color. His hair is pure white, the color of untainted, freshly fallen snow. It is soft to the touch, smooth and rather downy. It was once a honey brown, but turned white after he was poisoned. He has pointed ears, a common attribute of the elvish people. His eyebrows are slanted, giving him a fierce, angry look that offsets his wide, wondering eyes. The eyes themselves are a bright, silvery gray. And rather than black pupils, he doesn’t seem to have any really. They are more of a dull gray than black, occasionally blending in with the color of his irises. His nose is aquiline; sloping gently and a little sharp. He has rather sharp facial features all around. His slightly raised cheekbones and the line of his jaw give him a bit of a feline appearance. Sharp enough to be fierce but not pointed enough to look thin. More slender. Arteaux has his fair share of scars, but the most eye catching are the ones on his neck and chin. They are maddeningly unnatural, a specific design purposely placed there. Starting at the lower lip, the scar becomes two lines that meet at the base of the chin, extending further down, slightly widening, disappearing under the collar of his shirt or whatever he is wearing. It extends all the way down his chest and stomach, following the indented curvature of his muscles till it ends at his bellybutton. Three scar lines, shortening in length as they descend, cut in measured succession across his neck, in such a way that an exact half of each is on either side of the center line. Paler scars come down from the back of his neck and the start of his jaw to run down alongside the center line. These unnatural scars have raised some questions as is conceivable, but Arteaux cannot answer them, nor would he really care to if he even knew. Their origin is unknown, the meaning of them even further indiscernible. Arteaux is quite intelligent, consuming vast amounts of knowledge from reading. He likes to read. He also likes to fight, though he prefers mortal, human opponents to things like mages. At least with humans he has a chance of winning. Arteaux isn’t one for art or music, anything that is remotely involved with self-expression as he has next to none. He’s logical, precise, and simplistic. Things like emotion, things gained over years and years of development and self exploration have been utterly lost to him. He might be relearning, but he is still stuck in a single mindset. It is this mindset that truly holds him back from being whatever man he could possibly be. He doesn’t want to change it. He doesn’t want to find it. He doesn’t know what he will find when he does. Then he might not be Arteaux anymore. Then he might be someone else entirely with memories and feelings and goals and things. He doesn’t want that. Just thinking about it is too much to handle for his simple, steadfast mind. He’s happy being Arteaux. And it seems that’s who he will remain forever.
Haelstar
(hail-star)
Race: Full Shapeshifter (Eurasian Eagle Owl)
Age: 29
Alliance: Soaring Falcon
Rank: Warrior
Bright, pale blue eyes with red-jasper centers, glowing like some kind of phosphorescent mushroom in the dark of a cave. Beautiful, golden-honey spun hair that reaches a little past his shoulders, thick and full and very soft, always kept at a certain length so it doesn’t get in his way, but always growing back too fast to be permanently manageable. A jagged scar can just be seen on the left side of his face, like the forked tongue of a snake, with the prongs pointing at the corner of his left eye, and the fine tapering point extends down at his lower jaw, reaching just a centimeter above the edge. He has a black, tribal tattoo on his upper left bicep, showing off the figurine of a cross. It was done in a dark red ink with only hints of black edging it, so the tattoo looks almost alive and bloody. Despite the ferocity in such features, there is a gentle, calm that seems to glow from him. He is not nearly so patronizing or so cruel, and such a description as this does not truly encompass all he is. As a full shifter, both his parents had rather high expectations for their child in terms of power. His father was a leopard shifter. His mother could transform into a grizzly bear. But their son became something else: a Eurasian Eagle Owl. The largest owl to grace the skies, he is a very powerful hunter of the night, able to see great distances, and trap his prey in massive talons. Even in his human form, he can see better during the night than average, and he has a better sense when it comes to locating things not so easily seen, whether in dense foliage or hiding in undergrowth. Though a warrior, he finds his skills more applicable in hunting. His parents were not too thrilled by this. They prided themselves on being a part of a long line of massive predators when it came to shifting. And though Haelstar is a massive owl, it did not count by their standings. He was handed off to a mentor rather early, and he never saw his parents again. Perhaps in passing, but he would never recognize them or have them acknowledge themselves as such. Suffice to say, he has been eradicated from his family and all associated with such, for the simple reason that he was not deemed worthy. Haelstar found no reason to be upset by this, as it all happened at a rather young age and he doesn’t quite remember all that happened at that time. Even if someone regaled him with his parent’s indifference, he could hardly care now. It’s been so long as he’s been doing alright. So he does not feel the need to care or even wonder about it.
(hail-star)
Race: Full Shapeshifter (Eurasian Eagle Owl)
Age: 29
Alliance: Soaring Falcon
Rank: Warrior
Bright, pale blue eyes with red-jasper centers, glowing like some kind of phosphorescent mushroom in the dark of a cave. Beautiful, golden-honey spun hair that reaches a little past his shoulders, thick and full and very soft, always kept at a certain length so it doesn’t get in his way, but always growing back too fast to be permanently manageable. A jagged scar can just be seen on the left side of his face, like the forked tongue of a snake, with the prongs pointing at the corner of his left eye, and the fine tapering point extends down at his lower jaw, reaching just a centimeter above the edge. He has a black, tribal tattoo on his upper left bicep, showing off the figurine of a cross. It was done in a dark red ink with only hints of black edging it, so the tattoo looks almost alive and bloody. Despite the ferocity in such features, there is a gentle, calm that seems to glow from him. He is not nearly so patronizing or so cruel, and such a description as this does not truly encompass all he is. As a full shifter, both his parents had rather high expectations for their child in terms of power. His father was a leopard shifter. His mother could transform into a grizzly bear. But their son became something else: a Eurasian Eagle Owl. The largest owl to grace the skies, he is a very powerful hunter of the night, able to see great distances, and trap his prey in massive talons. Even in his human form, he can see better during the night than average, and he has a better sense when it comes to locating things not so easily seen, whether in dense foliage or hiding in undergrowth. Though a warrior, he finds his skills more applicable in hunting. His parents were not too thrilled by this. They prided themselves on being a part of a long line of massive predators when it came to shifting. And though Haelstar is a massive owl, it did not count by their standings. He was handed off to a mentor rather early, and he never saw his parents again. Perhaps in passing, but he would never recognize them or have them acknowledge themselves as such. Suffice to say, he has been eradicated from his family and all associated with such, for the simple reason that he was not deemed worthy. Haelstar found no reason to be upset by this, as it all happened at a rather young age and he doesn’t quite remember all that happened at that time. Even if someone regaled him with his parent’s indifference, he could hardly care now. It’s been so long as he’s been doing alright. So he does not feel the need to care or even wonder about it.
Neko
(nee-koh)
Race: full mage
Powers: Light: Telepathy and Echolocation
Age: 17
Alliance: Others
Rank: Rogue
Neko goes where the wind goes. Ever drawn to its allure, he lets it push and pull him about, only to be spun wildly into numerous directions, both dangerous ones and beautiful ones, little safe havens and little pieces of hell. He vows he’s seen the world. But he has so much more to adore and has much more to live for, that he knows there’s no such thing as having seen it all entirely. Every day, something new appears or is killed off. Everything is changing faster than he can keep up with. A little twist and turn can take him back over the same path a thousand times, and he will still find something new about that path. That is what he loves most about adventures, and that is why nothing can really seem to tie him down. As much as he sometimes thinks on the possibility of settling down somewhere, he has never nurtured the thought enough for it to take root in him. He feels he has so much more to experience before he can simply stop. He knows it is rough. His travels have not all been the sunshine and fluffed clouds of fairytales. If anything, he has faced more grievous travesties in all his wanderings than he has faced anything pleasing. The world is rough to those who do not conform. The wild is called such for it is harsh and cruel and demands that to survive, one must be strong. Dog eat dog world, so they say and so it very well is. Neko possesses a very slim, light form with the proportions and grace of a dancer. He is so slight of build, that many underestimate him, taking in his thin frame and lack of noticeable muscle for weakness. Neko was built for speed rather than brute force, hence why he can overcome the challenges presented to him, as well as defeat his opponents in battle with ease. His fighting capabilities are anything but lacking, and he is strong because of it, relying on martial arts and the art of using ones’ force against them. If he ever flexed, then one could easily see he has very good muscle tone shaping his body. His skinny form is not from atrophy, rather his muscle is more condensed and compact. His skin is fair, with a hint of tan. His natural fairness makes tanning virtually nonexistent, even though the majority of his life has been spent in the outdoors. Being in the thick forest under the trees aids the lack of a darker skin tone, but it should not by that much. His paler complexion only aids to his weak appearance. He looks soft from it: soft and plushy and maybe even womanly. He’s been mistaken for one before, though they shortly regretted it afterwards. His hair is very long, reaching past the small of his back. He keeps it up, but it’s sill long enough that it doesn’t make much of a difference how he wears it. He prefers to keep it out of his face, hating the way it can obstruct his vision. He won’t cut it though. He won’t say why, but will occasionally slip a comment that he likes his hair as it is, if ever someone bothers talking about it, which isn’t exactly often, seeing as Neko hates talking about appearances. His hair is a soft, forest green with light and dark hints throughout. It is very thick, but straight and smooth, silky to the touch, as light as feathers. It floats about his shoulders and torso whenever the wind blows, moving even in the slightest breeze like a ghostly curtain in an abandoned house. They say that eyes are the windows to the soul, and this statement could not stand truer than when applied to Neko. Their color alone is ethereal: a vibrant, ghostly purple that seems to shimmer in certain light. But that is not really what makes them so interesting. It is their expressiveness. Everything he thinks or feels seems amplified in those glimmering optics. They give him away more than his own blunt statements ever could. Of course he can lie, and can get away with it too, but when not fabricating some sort of tale, he can be read easier than a book and perhaps understood no less the same. He doesn’t feel the need to hide anything. If he did, perhaps he would assume better precautions. But he strives to be honorable through and through, bearing no regrets as much as he cans strive to. He is not perfect, and certainly carries as much regret as any average person, but he doesn’t feel the need to hide it. He would rather be held accountable to his mistakes and suffer the consequences than go through life being secret and stewing inside in his own issues and self-pity. He couldn’t care less if others hate him more for his openness. It is not their duty to do anything about him.
MORE COMING SOON
(nee-koh)
Race: full mage
Powers: Light: Telepathy and Echolocation
Age: 17
Alliance: Others
Rank: Rogue
Neko goes where the wind goes. Ever drawn to its allure, he lets it push and pull him about, only to be spun wildly into numerous directions, both dangerous ones and beautiful ones, little safe havens and little pieces of hell. He vows he’s seen the world. But he has so much more to adore and has much more to live for, that he knows there’s no such thing as having seen it all entirely. Every day, something new appears or is killed off. Everything is changing faster than he can keep up with. A little twist and turn can take him back over the same path a thousand times, and he will still find something new about that path. That is what he loves most about adventures, and that is why nothing can really seem to tie him down. As much as he sometimes thinks on the possibility of settling down somewhere, he has never nurtured the thought enough for it to take root in him. He feels he has so much more to experience before he can simply stop. He knows it is rough. His travels have not all been the sunshine and fluffed clouds of fairytales. If anything, he has faced more grievous travesties in all his wanderings than he has faced anything pleasing. The world is rough to those who do not conform. The wild is called such for it is harsh and cruel and demands that to survive, one must be strong. Dog eat dog world, so they say and so it very well is. Neko possesses a very slim, light form with the proportions and grace of a dancer. He is so slight of build, that many underestimate him, taking in his thin frame and lack of noticeable muscle for weakness. Neko was built for speed rather than brute force, hence why he can overcome the challenges presented to him, as well as defeat his opponents in battle with ease. His fighting capabilities are anything but lacking, and he is strong because of it, relying on martial arts and the art of using ones’ force against them. If he ever flexed, then one could easily see he has very good muscle tone shaping his body. His skinny form is not from atrophy, rather his muscle is more condensed and compact. His skin is fair, with a hint of tan. His natural fairness makes tanning virtually nonexistent, even though the majority of his life has been spent in the outdoors. Being in the thick forest under the trees aids the lack of a darker skin tone, but it should not by that much. His paler complexion only aids to his weak appearance. He looks soft from it: soft and plushy and maybe even womanly. He’s been mistaken for one before, though they shortly regretted it afterwards. His hair is very long, reaching past the small of his back. He keeps it up, but it’s sill long enough that it doesn’t make much of a difference how he wears it. He prefers to keep it out of his face, hating the way it can obstruct his vision. He won’t cut it though. He won’t say why, but will occasionally slip a comment that he likes his hair as it is, if ever someone bothers talking about it, which isn’t exactly often, seeing as Neko hates talking about appearances. His hair is a soft, forest green with light and dark hints throughout. It is very thick, but straight and smooth, silky to the touch, as light as feathers. It floats about his shoulders and torso whenever the wind blows, moving even in the slightest breeze like a ghostly curtain in an abandoned house. They say that eyes are the windows to the soul, and this statement could not stand truer than when applied to Neko. Their color alone is ethereal: a vibrant, ghostly purple that seems to shimmer in certain light. But that is not really what makes them so interesting. It is their expressiveness. Everything he thinks or feels seems amplified in those glimmering optics. They give him away more than his own blunt statements ever could. Of course he can lie, and can get away with it too, but when not fabricating some sort of tale, he can be read easier than a book and perhaps understood no less the same. He doesn’t feel the need to hide anything. If he did, perhaps he would assume better precautions. But he strives to be honorable through and through, bearing no regrets as much as he cans strive to. He is not perfect, and certainly carries as much regret as any average person, but he doesn’t feel the need to hide it. He would rather be held accountable to his mistakes and suffer the consequences than go through life being secret and stewing inside in his own issues and self-pity. He couldn’t care less if others hate him more for his openness. It is not their duty to do anything about him.
MORE COMING SOON
Sallyria
(sall-eye-ree-uh)
Race: elfy-mage
Powers: Power Sensory and Healing
Age: 17
Alliance: Soaring Falcon Tribe
Rank: Healer
Familiar: A rather large, saw-whet owl named Branharra.
Diamond in the rough. Sallyria was the rough. He was never a diamond. Flawed. Flawed beyond compare. No amount of cutting or polishing would change that. He’s the kind of stone everyone throws away in search of the gold ore. It started like a chain reaction and was never interrupted. Sallyria. Some think it would have been better had he never been born. He is probably the only one that does not think so.
(sall-eye-ree-uh)
Race: elfy-mage
Powers: Power Sensory and Healing
Age: 17
Alliance: Soaring Falcon Tribe
Rank: Healer
Familiar: A rather large, saw-whet owl named Branharra.
Diamond in the rough. Sallyria was the rough. He was never a diamond. Flawed. Flawed beyond compare. No amount of cutting or polishing would change that. He’s the kind of stone everyone throws away in search of the gold ore. It started like a chain reaction and was never interrupted. Sallyria. Some think it would have been better had he never been born. He is probably the only one that does not think so.
Gavirion
(gav-ear-ee-on)
Race: Full Elfy
Age: 20
Alliance: Shades
Rank: Follower
(gav-ear-ee-on)
Race: Full Elfy
Age: 20
Alliance: Shades
Rank: Follower
Dahlia
(d-ah-lee-uh)
Race: Full Shifter
Powers: takes the form of a polar bear
Age: 27
Alliance: Shades
Rank: Follower
Dahlia was never one to abide by the rules, especially where her ideals conflicted with said rules. Laws and orders became chains that bound her down and renounced her the freedom she wanted. So she ran. Ran off and joined the Shades. It was not that long ago. She used to be in the Bounding Panther, only leaving them when she turned twenty-three. She has been with the Shades a number of years, proving her loyalty multiple times. She hates it when people question her loyalty. It makes her feel like all she's done has been pointless. Only a few people understand her sincerity and take it to heart. Turning away from her Tribe was not easy. She had ties there. Family. Friends. Turning her back on it was difficult, but she broke away cleanly, without hatred or betrayal in her footsteps. And so she
(d-ah-lee-uh)
Race: Full Shifter
Powers: takes the form of a polar bear
Age: 27
Alliance: Shades
Rank: Follower
Dahlia was never one to abide by the rules, especially where her ideals conflicted with said rules. Laws and orders became chains that bound her down and renounced her the freedom she wanted. So she ran. Ran off and joined the Shades. It was not that long ago. She used to be in the Bounding Panther, only leaving them when she turned twenty-three. She has been with the Shades a number of years, proving her loyalty multiple times. She hates it when people question her loyalty. It makes her feel like all she's done has been pointless. Only a few people understand her sincerity and take it to heart. Turning away from her Tribe was not easy. She had ties there. Family. Friends. Turning her back on it was difficult, but she broke away cleanly, without hatred or betrayal in her footsteps. And so she
Fallyn
(fall-in)
Race: Full mage
Powers: earth, power sensory and telepathy
Age: 20
Alliance: Lochburn
Rank: Shop Owner; The Scout and Meadery (a meadery and traveling wares shop)
Fallyn liked the idea of adventure but never pursued it. Her parents were rogues, both full mages, and they settled in Lochburn purely to escape it. Fallyn is happy living her quiet, simple life, but she still likes to hear the stories of the passers through.
(fall-in)
Race: Full mage
Powers: earth, power sensory and telepathy
Age: 20
Alliance: Lochburn
Rank: Shop Owner; The Scout and Meadery (a meadery and traveling wares shop)
Fallyn liked the idea of adventure but never pursued it. Her parents were rogues, both full mages, and they settled in Lochburn purely to escape it. Fallyn is happy living her quiet, simple life, but she still likes to hear the stories of the passers through.
Jory
(jo-ree)
Race: Full Shifter
Powers: form of a dire wolf
Age: 21
Alliance: none
Rank: Bodyguard for Hire
After his actions caused the death of his love, Jory vowed that he would not rest until he had saved enough lives to be redeemed. He has saved four lives so far, but he is not satisfied by such a small number. He has taken lives as well, but never the lives of innocents. On his quest to preserve life, he had to kill to save those he guarded. He bears many horrible scars to show for it, but he feels no satisfaction from his achievements.
Jory is very caring and has very deep empathy. The suffering of others tortures him. The death of one he cares for can cripple him. And so he could never be evil, for he would surely break his own heart and bring about his own death.
Jory takes a while to get used to. It is hard to believe someone cold and violent as he could be so caring and understanding. It is almost unsettling. He seems well aware of this, but that doesn't change. He doesn't change.
(jo-ree)
Race: Full Shifter
Powers: form of a dire wolf
Age: 21
Alliance: none
Rank: Bodyguard for Hire
After his actions caused the death of his love, Jory vowed that he would not rest until he had saved enough lives to be redeemed. He has saved four lives so far, but he is not satisfied by such a small number. He has taken lives as well, but never the lives of innocents. On his quest to preserve life, he had to kill to save those he guarded. He bears many horrible scars to show for it, but he feels no satisfaction from his achievements.
Jory is very caring and has very deep empathy. The suffering of others tortures him. The death of one he cares for can cripple him. And so he could never be evil, for he would surely break his own heart and bring about his own death.
Jory takes a while to get used to. It is hard to believe someone cold and violent as he could be so caring and understanding. It is almost unsettling. He seems well aware of this, but that doesn't change. He doesn't change.
Ever
Race: Full Mage
Powers: Radiation (and Gravity), Telepathy and Echolocation
Age: unknown, somewhere in the forties (or 100s)
Alliance: Evil
Rank: Guardian (maybe), or just Other
Familiar: Nuuk
Race: Full Mage
Powers: Radiation (and Gravity), Telepathy and Echolocation
Age: unknown, somewhere in the forties (or 100s)
Alliance: Evil
Rank: Guardian (maybe), or just Other
Familiar: Nuuk
Nuuk
Rhino
Familiar for Ever
Rhino
Familiar for Ever